The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [66]
Jack gaped at me, showing an even greater number of teeth. “But Mrs. Emerson, why do you want to go down there? The place is absolutely empty and it’s very dark and dirty and close.”
I did not reply to this inane remark but followed Emerson, who had already started down the stairs.
That word most probably gives my Reader an inaccurate impression, for the steps were so worn and broken they more resembled a ramp than a staircase, and the angle of descent was steep enough to render progress somewhat hazardous. After a time the passage entered the rock and the slope became gentler. It was not such a long passage—a bit over a hundred feet—but the darkness that soon enveloped us made it seem longer. I wondered what Emerson was going to do about light. The candles we carried were adequate for the limited space of the passage, but whether we could keep them lighted in the bad air of the lower regions was another matter.
Not that there was much to see. The walls were squared off but not smoothed or plastered, the ceiling had a number of cracks running across its surface. This was not a good sign; the rock appeared to be of rather poor quality, and there is always the danger of a collapse. None appeared imminent at the moment, however, or so I told myself.
Finally Emerson stopped and put out his arm. “Slowly,” he called, his deep voice booming in hollow echoes. “Very slowly, if you please, my dear.”
His warning to me had been quite unnecessary. To proceed precipitately through the passages of a pyramid is something I never do. Even if I had not known there was a deep shaft in this particular pyramid, I would have been on the lookout for some such thing; the builders of these monuments constructed pitfalls and other dangers in the hope of foiling tomb robbers.
Emerson’s muscular arm formed a barrier as effective as a steel railing. He had come to a halt several feet from the shaft. Above, a square opening stretched up into darkness. The lower extension of the shaft had been partially bridged over by several stout planks. On the left-hand wall of the shaft I saw another dark opening.
“The passage goes on through there,” Emerson said, indicating this side opening. “I’ve had a quick look round—”
“Well, Emerson, really! You knew how desperately I have anticipated exploring the substructure! You might have waited for me.”
Emerson chuckled. It was an eerie sound in those dark depths. “You have no more sense than a child,” he said fondly. “Look up, Peabody.”
He caught me round the waist and helped me out onto the plank that crossed the shaft.
There was not much to see in the emptiness overhead even when Emerson held his candle up at arm’s length. Then I made out a rough ladder leaning against the wall. “Have you been up there?” I demanded.
“Selim held the ladder for me,” replied Emerson calmly. “I don’t recommend the ascent, however. There is an entrance to another passage approximately ten feet above; it appears never to have been finished. What concerns me—”
He broke off with a grunt of disgust. Looking back up the passage, I beheld the twinkle of several candles. Others had followed us.
I muttered a subdued “Curse it!” for in my opinion exploring a new pyramid should not be regarded as a social event. Emerson emitted a much louder expletive. “Ramses!” he bellowed. “Keep everyone back, I don’t want people jostling one another on the edge of a deep drop.”
He then handed me his candle and helped me back onto the rock floor of the passage.
“I want to go over there, Emerson,” I said, indicating the opening to the left.
“I’m sure you do, Peabody. Just hang on a minute.”
“And down there into the shaft.”
“You cannot and may not.” Emerson rubbed his chin. “As I was saying … Confound it, Reynolds, get hold of your sister and keep hold of her. Ramses, why did you let her come down here?”
“It was not his fault,” Nefret said.
“Yes, it was. He is in charge when I am not on the spot. If I failed to make that clear to you, Reynolds, I am doing so now.”
“It wasn’t Ramses’s fault,” Maude insisted. “Or Jack’s. He spoils me terribly.