The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [185]
For the past week Emerson had done nothing at the site, not even starting to remove the stones that blocked the passage. We had been busy enough, heaven knows, telegraphing Geoffrey’s family and making the arrangements for a quiet private burial, talking with various government officials and Mr. Russell of the police. (I made it quite clear to him that Ramses was not to be a policeman.) Poor Jack Reynolds had to be consoled and nursed, Karl von Bork had to be lectured and set straight. The Vandergelts had rushed back to Cairo as soon as they learned of the tragedy, and Katherine was a great help to me with the last two; it was she who suggested that Karl be given the responsibility for Jack’s care, and our German friend’s response encouraged me to hope that this would be the saving of both of them.
Of Geoffrey’s burial I will not speak. I was there because I felt I ought to be. The only member of the family who accompanied me was Ramses. I had told him he could not come, but he came anyhow.
I did not know what I was going to do about Ramses. “Leave him alone” was Emerson’s advice; “leave me alone” was the unspoken message I received loud and clear from Ramses himself.
Now, with his mind more at ease about Nefret, Emerson declared his intention of investigating the substructure of the pyramid. Privately he explained to me that he was only doing it in the hope of “cheering Ramses up.” I did not question his motives—not aloud, at any rate.
When we set out that morning for Zawaiet the weather was perfect; dawn spread across the eastern sky like a blush on a maiden’s cheek. A soft breeze ruffled Lia’s hair. We were all present—except Nefret, of course—and half a dozen of our most trusted men were waiting when we arrived. Nothing remained to testify to the tragedy that had occurred; even the bloodstains had been covered by blowing sand.
When Selim advanced to meet us, the look of suppressed excitement on the young man’s ingenuous countenance told me that he had news for us.
“Well?” my spouse inquired.
“All is prepared, O Father of Curses. We have removed the rubble from the corridor and brought brooms.”
“Emerson!” I exclaimed indignantly. “How could you?”
“Now, Peabody,” Emerson began.
The others began talking very quickly. I was delighted to see that even Ramses had perked up a bit. He said, “What was it you saw, Father?” Lia said, “Brooms? Why brooms?” and David exclaimed, “I thought the passage was completely blocked.”
Emerson glanced self-consciously at me. “It was all Selim’s doing, really. He discovered that by shoving some of the fallen stones down into the lower part of the shaft he could crawl over them into the continuation of the entrance passage. I asked him to have a closer look at a section of the corridor outside the burial chamber. I had just—er—happened to notice the floor there was uneven. The surface was dusty and littered, and it was too dark to see clearly, and I—er—hmph.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded indignantly.
“Because you would have gone haring down to see for yourself,” Emerson snapped. “And been mashed by falling stones, or buried alive. I wanted the shaft empty before we continued, and then—well, you know what happened. I still don’t know for certain that we’ve found the right place.”
“Then let us ascertain whether it is so,” I cried, starting for the stairs.
Emerson insisted on preceding me, of course. Seim had done a good deal more than move a few stones; the way was clear, and we proceeded without mishap into the corridor that ended in the soi-disant burial chamber. As soon as we reached the spot I saw what had caught Emerson’s trained eye. It was more obvious now that the litter of millennia had been partially removed—a section of the floor that was slightly sunken and partially defined by patterns of suspiciously regular cracks.
“Give me a broom!” I cried, snatching it from Selim.
My first enthusiastic assault on the surface raised