The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [33]
It would have been an understatement to say that the bizarre figure was impressive. The watchers were struck dumb with awe. When the man moved, they fell back before him as worshippers of olden times would have given way to a priest or a king. Looking neither to right nor to left, he advanced till he stood before the mummy case.
The Lady Henutmehit had a pretty taste in coffins. Instead of being covered by bright, ofttimes garish, scenes of gods and demons, hers had been painted a soft gold – leading one to speculate whether the coffins of more distinguished individuals might not have been made of the precious metal itself. (A speculation unhappily not susceptible to verification, since no royal coffins have been found, or are likely to be, the skill of ancient tomb robbers being what it was.)
More relevant, perhaps, was the obvious fact that the coffin had belonged to a person of modest means and social position. She wore no crown or uraeus or other insignia of royalty. The chaplet encircling her black hair was adorned with a simple lotus flower.
After bowing deeply, the priest stood motionless, gazing steadily into the serene face of Henutmehit. The tableau had a certain effectiveness, but Emerson, who is not easily affected, soon became bored. Turning to young Wilson, he said loudly, ‘This performance is even more tedious than the last. Why don’t you carry out your orders, Wilbur? Apprehend the lunatic, remove his mask, ascertain his identity, and hand him over to the keepers of the asylum from which he has escaped.’
But Wilson could only wring his hands and murmur distressfully. One of the guards edged up to Emerson. ‘The pore chap ain’t doin’ nothing to make a disturbance, Professor, ’e’s just standin’ there, you see. Course, if you should ask me to clear the room –’
‘No need to put yourself out, Smith,’ Emerson replied. ‘If I want a room cleared, I will clear it myself.’
The masked figure turned and pointed. The movement was so startling, after his prolonged immobility, that those nearest him gasped and started back. A low husky voice murmured,
‘His sister was his protector,
She who drives off the foe.
Who foils the deeds of the disturber
By the power of her utterance.’
‘What the devil,’ muttered Emerson. ‘Peabody, is that –’
But the performer had not finished. His voice gained strength. ‘The clever-tongued, whose speech fails not. Admirable . . . admirable in . . .’
The voice faded, with an odd suggestion of indecision. I held my breath. What deep and solemn warning would break the silence?
The voice that broke the silence was not deep and solemn, it was small and high-pitched. ‘Admirable in the words of command,’ squeaked Ramses. ‘Mighty Isis, who protected –’
Emerson burst into a shout of laughter. ‘Mighty Isis? No, by heaven – it is you he means, Peabody! The clever-tongued . . . ha, ha, ha! Whose speech . . . fails not . . .’ Mirth overcame him, and he doubled up, clutching his stomach.
I caught at Ramses. ‘Where are you going? Stay with Mama.’
‘But he is getting away,’ cried Ramses.
He was. Moving with astonishing speed, his sandals slapping on the stone floor, the ‘priest’ reached the doorway and disappeared.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘What possessed you to prompt the fellow, like a stage director with a forgetful actor?’
‘It appeared to me he might have forgot his lines,’ Ramses explained. ‘He was reciting the “Hymn to Osiris,” and he –’
‘Never mind, I said. Emerson, you are making a spectacle of yourself. The lunatic has escaped –’
‘Let him,’ Emerson gasped. ‘I feel a great sympathy for the fellow. He is obviously a person of wit and refinement. Oh, good Gad! “Whose speech fails not . . .”’
‘A very pretty compliment,’ said Walter, whose lips were twitching in sympathy. (Emerson’s laughter, however inappropriate, has so cheery a ring to it that it is very contagious.) ‘“She who drives off the foe and foils the deeds of the disturber.” No truer word was ever said,