The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [85]
Do not suppose, reader, that because I have not expressed my fears they did not exist. To say that my husband was unpopular with the thieves’ guild of Gurneh is to express a laughable understatement. Certain other archaeologists tacitly cooperate with these gentry in order to have first chance at the illicit antiquities they dig up, but to Emerson an object ripped from its location lost much of its historical value, and it was often damaged by ignorant handling. Emerson insisted that if people would not buy illicit antiquities, the thieves would have no reason to dig. He was therefore anathema to the entrepreneurs of the trade on economic grounds, and personally—I think I have made it clear that tact is not his strong point. I was fully cognizant of the risk he ran in approaching the Gurnawis. They might decide not to pay blackmail but to remove the blackmailer.
It was therefore with profound relief that I beheld the familiar form striding vigorously toward me, brushing away tourists as one might swat at gnats. The journalists followed at a respectful distance. I observed that the man from the Times was limping, and hoped devoutly that Emerson had not been responsible for his injury.
“Where is the donkey?” I inquired.
“How is the work going?” Emerson asked simultaneously.
I had to answer his question first or he would never have answered mine, so I gave him a summary of the morning’s activities while he seated himself beside me and accepted a cup of tea. When his speech was temporarily impeded by the medium of a sandwich, I repeated my question.
Emerson stared blankly around him. “What donkey? Oh —that donkey. I suppose the owner retrieved it.”
“What happened at Gurneh? Did you succeed in your mission?”
“We ought to be able to remove the rest of the fill today,” Emerson said musingly. “Curse it, I knew I had forgotten something—all that hullaballoo last night distracted me. Planks. We need more—”
“Emerson!”
“There is no need to shout, Amelia. I am sitting next to you, in case you failed to observe that.”
“What happened?”
“What happened where? Oh,” Emerson said, as I reached for my parasol. “You mean at Gurneh. Why, just what I had planned, of course. Ali Hassan Abd er Rasul—he is a cousin of Mohammed—was quite cooperative. He and his friends have already begun searching for Armadale.”
“As simple as that? Come now, Emerson, don’t assume that air of lofty competence, you know how it enrages me. I have been sick with worry.”
“Then you weren’t thinking clearly,” Emerson retorted, holding out his cup to be refilled. “Ali Hassan and the rest have every incentive to do what I asked, quite aside from the—er—private matters we discussed to our mutual satisfaction. I offered a sizable reward for Armadale. Also, this search gives them a legitimate reason to do what they habitually do on the sly—prowl around the mountains looking for hidden tombs.”
“Naturally I had thought of that.”
“Naturally.” Emerson smiled at me. He finished his tea, dropped the cup (he is almost as hard on crockery as he is on shirts) and rose to his feet. “Back to work. Where is everyone?”
“Karl is sleeping. Now, Emerson,” I added, as his brows drew together in a scowl, “you can hardly expect the young man to watch all night and work all day. Vandergelt returned to the house for luncheon. He wanted to make sure everyone was all right and get the latest news about Arthur.”
“He wanted to lunch in comfort and bask in Lady Baskerville’s smiles,” Emerson snapped. “The man is a dilettante. I suspect him of desiring to steal my tomb.”
“You suspect everyone of that,” I replied, picking up the pieces of the broken cup and packing away the remainder of the food.
“Come along, Amelia, you have wasted enough time,” Emerson said and, shouting for Abdullah, he bounded away.
I was about to resume my labors when I saw Vandergelt approaching. He had taken advantage of the opportunity to change his clothes and was wearing another immaculately tailored set of tweeds, of which he seemed to have an endless number. Leaning on my parasol, I