The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [74]
Ramses and David were not with us. I had, quite by accident, happened to overhear part of a conversation between them that morning. They were in Ramses’s room; the door was slightly ajar and both their voices were rather loud, so inadvertent eavesdropping was unavoidable.
The first words I heard were David’s. “I am going with you.”
“You can’t. Father has asked—excuse me, demanded—your help today.”
“He will change his mind if we ask him. You promised you would not—”
Ramses cut him off. “Don’t be an old granny. Do you think I can’t take care of myself?”
I had never heard him speak so brusquely to David, or sound so angry. Intervention was obviously in order. I tapped lightly at the door before pushing it open.
They were both on their feet, facing one another in attitudes that could only be described as potentially combative. David’s fists were clenched. Ramses appeared unmoved, but there was a set to his shoulders I did not like.
“Now, boys, what is this?” I asked. “Are you quarreling?”
Ramses turned away and reached for his knapsack. “Good morning, Mother. A slight difference of opinion, that is all. I will see you this afternoon.”
He slipped neatly out of the room before I could inquire further, so I turned to David, who was not as quick or as rude as my son. When I questioned him, as I felt obliged to do, he insisted that he and Ramses had not been quarreling, and that nothing had happened to give him cause for concern.
Except for Ramses’s ungovernable habit of getting himself in trouble, I thought. A stentorian shout from Emerson summoned us to our duty, so I allowed David to depart and followed him into the sitting room in time to overhear another loud exchange. This time it was between Ramses and Nefret, and I must admit that she was doing all the shouting. She broke off when I entered, and I said in exasperation, “What is wrong with you three? It must be Ramses who is responsible for all the arguing, since—”
“We were not arguing, Aunt Amelia.” Nefret’s face had turned a charming shade of rosy brown. “I was just reminding Ramses of a certain promise he made me.”
Ramses nodded. He was wearing what Nefret calls his stone pharaoh face, but his high cheekbones were a trifle darker than usual—with pure temper, I supposed. “If you are coming with me, David, let us go.”
He strode out without waiting for a reply. David and Nefret exchanged one of those meaningful glances, and David hurried out. I decided not to pursue the subject. Even the best of friends have little differences of opinion from time to time, and I would have enough on my mind trying to keep Emerson from harassing poor Ned Ayrton—for I felt certain that was what he intended to do.
The young man arrived with his crew shortly after us. He had to pass us in order to reach the area where he had begun work the day before, on the west face of the cliff along the tourist path. As I had expected—and hoped—Davis was not with him. The American was not interested in the tedious labor of clearance; he only turned up when his “tame archaeologist” sent to tell him something interesting had been found.
Ned’s innocent countenance brightened with surprise and pleasure when he saw Emerson, who had been lying in wait for him.
“Why, Professor—and Mrs. Emerson, good morning to you, ma’am—I thought you were working at the other end of the Valley. Tomb Five, is it?”
“As you see.” Emerson moved out of the way of a man carrying a basket of rock chippings. “Weigall kindly gave me permission to investigate it.”
“I don’t envy you the job, sir. The fill is packed as hard as cement.”
“As it was in the tomb of Siptah,” said Emerson, “which you never finished clearing. Left the job half-done. Well, young man, let me tell you—”
“Emerson!” I exclaimed.
Ned flushed painfully, and Nefret turned from the camera she was inspecting. “Don’t scold Mr. Ayrton, Professor, you know the decision was not his.