The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [40]
“As von Bork did once before,” said Emerson, looking grave. “Curse it, Peabody, I must confess you have made a serious case.”
“But he’s a friend of ours!” Nefret exclaimed.
“So is Mr. Carter,” said Ramses. “Hadn’t you realized that if the culprit is an Egyptologist he is bound to be a friend, or at least an acquaintance?”
“No, but see here,” Emerson exclaimed. “We cannot dismiss the possibility that there are two people involved, and that the artist at least is Egyptian. The late and unlamented Abd el Hamed was the only one I’ve known who had that degree of talent, but this person may be unknown to us—a forger of unusual ability, discovered and trained by our hypothetical … Oh, good Gad! There is no solid ground here; we are fencing with shadows.”
“True,” I said. “It is time we went on the offensive! If we threw out a few hints to some of the likely suspects—”
Emerson jumped to his feet with a roar. “I knew it! I knew you’d come to that! I absolutely forbid you to run randomly around Cairo accusing people of criminal activities! One would have supposed that by this time you might have learned not to put your head under the blade of a guillotine in order to get a good look at the executioner. Concentrate on the damned house. There’s enough to be done there to keep you out of mischief.”
“There certainly is a great deal to be done,” I replied pleasantly. “And it will be accomplished more quickly and easily if I can count on your wholehearted cooperation. I refer to all three of you. To leave me with the tedious tasks of cleaning and moving while you are enjoying yourselves with our pyramids would be unfair. You agree, of course.”
“Of course,” Nefret exclaimed.
“No reasonable individual could deny your premise,” said Ramses.
“Bah,” said Emerson.
“So that is settled,” I said, with more optimism than confidence. “We had better retire now if we are to go to the site tomorrow.”
“Would you mind very much if I didn’t come with you tomorrow?” Nefret asked. “There is a visit I must make. They will be expecting me.”
I glanced at Emerson. I could see by his grave look and compressed lips that he did not like the idea any better than I did, and that he knew as well as I that it would be futile to object.
“You must do as you think best, Nefret,” I said.
“She will anyhow,” said Ramses. “Do you mind if I come with you, Nefret?”
Her blue eyes flashed. “As a chaperon, Ramses, or a bodyguard?”
“As a friend.”
“You do know how to get round a girl, don’t you?” She smiled and offered him her hand. When he would have taken it, Horus bit his finger.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
“How much farther?” Ramses asked.
“We’re almost there.” Nefret took a firmer grip on his arm and hopped neatly over a steaming pile of camel dung. She did not look at him. Keeping one’s eyes fixed on the ground was expedient in the alleys of el Was’a, where one had to walk a sort of hopscotch pattern around piles and puddles of noxious substances.
The narrow twisting lanes were crowded, but not as crowded as they would be later in the day, when the shutters covering the ground-floor windows would be raised and the women would take their places behind the iron grilles, gesturing and calling out to the men who paused to inspect them as if they had been animals in a zoo. The area between the Ezbekieh and the Central Train Station was so notorious it was featured on certain tours, though not those of the respectable Mr. Cook.
Just now they were the only foreigners in sight, and Nefret was approximately as inconspicuous as a tigress in her boots and trousers, her golden head bare. People stared and whispered, but made way for them. The camels and donkeys did not. Ramses pulled Nefret to one side to let