The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [104]
I probed the perimeter of the door, found it securely wedged into the rock of the cliff. The door seems to be at least a foot thick and should come out as a solid block, a task for tomorrow, or as long as necessary to do it correctly, as Carter would do it, to give the old, unlucky fellow his due.
Meantime, Ahmed and the men have been sent home to perform a series of crucial tasks while I sleep guard under Atum-hadu’s sky. I wish I could imitate the ancient kings and cut out the men’s tongues, then count on their likely illiteracy, but tasks do need to be performed, and I cannot do them all. Tomorrow they will return with ropes and harnesses, metal cylinders to roll the door out, a cart with padding, and a canvas to get it back to my villa unseen.
Under traditional protocol, I would now contact the Antiquities Service for an Inspector of Antiquities to be sent out to participate in and oversee a correct opening, excavation, clearance, and cataloguing of the tomb located within the area specified by my concession. However, due to my continued gavotte with Lacau, I am at a bit of a loss, and see no other way than to continue for the time being on my own, until I know what help I will actually need from them. When that time comes, I will return to Cairo and tell them in person what treasures I have found. I will complete their paperwork, pay gentle fines, play along as they snicker and delicately slap my wrist, watch them lick their lips to hear where the tomb is, and listen closely to the slicing sound of Winlock’s concession being trimmed to accommodate the hauling and laboratory needs of the Trilipush Expedition.
Tomorrow we open our tomb!
CABLE. LUXOR TO C. C. FINNERAN, BOSTON, 11 NOV. 1922, 5.58 P.M. MASTER OF LARGESSE. VICTORY! THE GLITTER OF DISCOVERY IS MINE AND YOURS. ASSURE CREDIT FOR THE 22ND. DELAYS OVER PENNIES RISK MOUNTAINS OF GOLD. RMT.
I’d been buying gifts for your aunt, truth to tell. The usual sort of thing. Billable, of course, since she was a key source of information. And she accepted all my gifts, you know, no hesitation at all; I wasn’t a fool. And the day came when I decided to tip my hand, declare myself a little. That same morning, before I could even decide on my technique, I was summoned to the royal court, for Finneran had news from Egypt. “Look at this, Ferrell,” he says to me, pushing me into a chair. “Looks like we were both wrong about my boy, and that’s good news.” He showed me a cable from Trilipush: the devil had found his tomb, or so he claimed, and his team was opening it up, glitter and mountains of gold. “You should’ve seen Maggie’s face when I showed her this,” Finneran said, waving the cable about, too excited to sit down, capering about his study, offering me a drink from beneath his desk. He’d never shared any of his concerns with Margaret—no mention of Oxford—and he begged me—no, he commanded me, and you could see what a tough old bastard he really was when he felt strong about something—commanded me to follow his lead, now that his decision was “vindicated.”
Finneran was so delighted, he was going to restart the money supply that he’d halted when the Oxford news had come in. “Are you sure that’s wise?” I asked. “If Trilipush is a liar, and we do have some reason to think so, surely this cable doesn’t prove anything.” Do you blame me, Macy? He’d asked me to look after his daughter. And I really spoke not out of any self-interest,