The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [60]
Before I had gone a mile, whom should I chance to meet but Geoffrey Godwin, strolling along with his hands in his pockets.
“Why, Mrs. Emerson,” he exclaimed, removing his pith helmet. “What an unexpected pleasure!”
“Is it really?”
A shy smile crossed his face. “A pleasure, certainly; unexpected—well, not entirely. I happened to run into the others a little while ago. They said they were on their way to Zawaiet el ’Aryan and that you would probably follow as soon as you—er—”
“Discovered they had eluded me,” I finished. “That was Emerson, I suppose. He was quite correct. I am on my way there now, Mr. Godwin.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, why not?”
“No reason at all,” he said quickly. “Only your horse appears a trifle nervous.”
“I can handle her,” I assured him, gathering the reins more firmly into my hands as the wretched beast tried to kick a passing donkey.
“Of course. Look here, Mrs. Emerson, I am staying with Jack and Maude for a few days; he is working on an article, and Maude is in Cairo, so I can borrow one of the horses and be with you in a few minutes.”
“Kind but unnecessary,” I assured him. “I am not a lady tourist.”
He stepped back with a smile and a shrug. “You are going by way of the pyramids, I suppose.”
“I may just stop for a word with Karl von Bork. He is there today, I believe?”
“Yes, ma’am. Herr Junker’s season begins earlier than ours. If you are certain—”
My leave-taking was perhaps somewhat abrupt; he seemed willing to go on talking interminably, and I was in a hurry.
Karl was indeed at work on one of the mastabas in the Great Western Cemetery, one section of which had been assigned to the Germans—though, to be strictly accurate, I should say “the Austrians.” Herr Steindorff, the original excavator, had been replaced by Herr Junker of the University of Vienna. He was not present that day; it was Karl who popped up out of the ground with a beaming smile and an offer to show me the tomb. Tempted though I was (for it looked to be a most interesting tomb), I declined, explaining that I was on my way to our site and that I had only stopped by to proffer an invitation to supper that night. Karl accepted, of course. Then he offered to accompany me, urging his case with such vigor that I was forced to leave him as abruptly as I had left Geoffrey.
Really, these men, I thought. One would suppose I was incapable of taking care of myself.
My spirits rose as I went on, following the dimly defined path that led across the plateau. Sun and solitude, blowing sand and silence! The empty blue sky above, the light-bleached barren ground below! Remembering the concern of my two young friends, I laughed aloud. This was my spiritual home, this the life I loved. There was not the slightest possibility of losing my way.
The mare had settled down and I had no difficulty controlling her until someone began shooting at us.
The first shot made her start and shiver; the second, which struck the ground just ahead of us, made her rear. I did not fall off. I dismounted. I admit I did it rather hastily. It is the better part of wisdom to take cover when someone is shooting at you.
Lying flat behind a low ridge, I watched the cloud of dust that marked the flight of my faithless steed and considered my next move. What to do, what to do? I had covered more than half the distance, and was, I calculated, less than a mile from my destination—an easy walk for a woman in fit condition, which I always am, but an upright figure would be a tempting target, and I was not keen on crawling all the way. To remain in my present position was probably the safest course. However, there was no way of knowing how long I might have to remain there before someone happened along or my unseen adversary abandoned the hunt. A few hours under the burning rays of the solar orb, and I would be baked like a sun-dried brick. Once he got to digging, Emerson was likely to go on until darkness fell, and he might return to the house by way of the road along the river, instead of following the desert path.