The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [74]
‘It is there on the table beside you, Emerson.’
‘Oh.’ Emerson returned to his chair. Instead of ripping off the wrappings in his usual vigorous manner he sat quite still, turning the object over and over in his hands. ‘Yes, it looks the same,’ he remarked after a moment. ‘Wrapped in brown paper, addressed in block letters and black India ink, with a pen whose nib wants mending. And by a man of some education.’
Anxious as I was to behold the dread contents of the deadly packet, I could not help being distracted by this sweeping pronouncement. ‘Now, Emerson, you are inventing that. Especially the bit about education. How can you possibly tell anything about the sender’s education, or even gender?’
‘The writing is masculine – bold, sprawling, forceful. As for the other – I have my methods, Peabody, it would take too long to explain them.’
‘What nonsense,’ I exclaimed indignantly.
‘That appears to be all there is to learn from the external wrappings,’ Emerson continued. ‘Nevertheless, we will remove them carefully . . . so . . . in order to preserve them for future examination. Inside we find . . . Ha! Just as I suspected.’
‘What, Emerson, what?’
‘A cardboard box.’
I sank back into my chair. ‘Your attempt at humour is singularly misplaced, Emerson. I am in a positive fever of apprehension for you, and you make jokes.’
‘I beg your pardon, Peabody. Hmmmm. The box has nothing distinctive about it. Except . . .’ He raised it to his nose. ‘A faint, lingering scent of tobacco. And good tobacco, too. From my pipe-smoking days I recall –’
‘Emerson, if you don’t open that box, I am going to scream.’
‘I have been thinking of taking up a pipe again,’ Emerson mused. ‘It is conducive to meditation. Peabody, you are exhibiting unbecoming impatience for someone who claims to be an investigator of crime. We must go about this slowly and methodically, overlooking no possible clue.’
I snatched the box from his hand and wrenched off the lid.
A thick layer of cotton wool hid the contents, but not for long. Flinging it to the floor, I removed the object inside.
‘A shawabty,’ I cried.
‘Don’t wave it around in that theatrical fashion,’ Emerson said coolly. ‘It is faience, and will break if you drop it.’
The shawabty (or ushebti – Walter, among others, favoured the latter reading) figures were quaint examples of the Egyptians’ fanciful yet practical attitude towards the requirements of life after death. In order to explain their function, I believe I can do no better than to quote the spell inscribed on the little figurines (taken from Chapter VI of the so-called Book of the Dead). ‘Oh thou shawabty, if the Osiris Senmut [or whatever the name of the owner might be] is called on to do any work that has to be done in the Underworld – to cultivate the fields, to irrigate the desert, to carry sand to the East or the West – “Here am I! I will do it!” thou shalt say.’
Shawabtys were made in a variety of materials, from stone and gilded wood to the pastelike faience, but they always imitated the mummified human form. Sometimes a tomb might contain dozens, even hundreds, of the little servant figures. This example was unusual, however, for it was that of a pharaoh wearing the nemes headdress and holding the two sceptres. A line of hieroglyphs identified the owner, but I paid scant attention to them at the time.
‘Was Budge’s the same?’ I asked.
‘It appeared to be identical. But I can’t say that it was, since I was given no opportunity to examine it.’ Emerson had taken the box from me. Now he extracted a scrap of paper covered with close-written signs. ‘Well, well, what a strange coincidence,’ he remarked, after a cursory glance. ‘We were just now speaking of this very thing. Here you are, Peabody, have a look.’
A hideous premonition set my hands to trembling so that I could scarcely hold the paper. In a hollow voice I read the words aloud: ‘“As for any man who shall enter into this my tomb, I will pounce on him as on a bird –”’
‘“Pounce” seems a bit playful and frivolous for a document of such portentousness,’ commented Emerson.