The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [78]
“Have you ever met a storm you could not weather, Sitt? But you will need all your courage to face this one.”
Then I woke with his words of farewell echoing through the darkness. “Maas salama—Allah yibarek f’iki.”
I had no intention of repeating that conversation to Nefret. She would have thought me hopelessly fanciful and superstitious. It had disturbed me enough to trouble my slumber for the remainder of the night, and it had reminded me of the duty I owed my dear old friend.
“I would be in a happier frame of mind if we were making some progress with our investigation of the forgeries,” I admitted. “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
“Perhaps something will result from our council of war. When do the Vandergelts arrive?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Unless the cursed boat runs aground,” said a voice from the next room. “Why can’t Vandergelt take the train like a sensible man instead of clinging to his confounded dahabeeyah?”
“Because he chooses.”
“Hmph,” said the voice.
I did not really want another boiled egg, but I cracked one and began to peel it. “Has Ramses heard anything from Mr. Wardani?”
“No.” Meeting my skeptical eye, Nefret added firmly, “He would have told me—us.”
“He hasn’t been creeping out at night, I hope. I don’t like that, it is too dangerous.”
“I don’t like it either. He promised me he would not. Aunt Amelia, are you ready to leave now? You have surely tormented the Professor long enough.”
I could hear Emerson stamping and swearing outside. “It doesn’t do to allow a man to become too confident of his authority,” I explained.
“I see,” said Nefret, dimpling.
When we arrived at the site we found Geoffrey already there, talking with Selim and Daoud. “Practicing my Arabic,” he explained, shaking hands all round. “Daoud has been telling me about some of your exploits, Professor. You have certainly led an interesting life!”
Emerson looked suspiciously at Daoud, who looked away. “Don’t believe a word he says. Daoud, stop telling lies about me and get to work. Where is Karl? Where are the workmen? Confound it, this traveling back and forth wastes too much time. Tents. That is what we need, a few tents. Selim—”
“Emerson, do keep quiet for a minute,” I exclaimed.
“Herr von Bork went to have a look at the mastaba,” Geoffrey said.
Ramses turned on his heel and went off, almost running. Nefret laughed. “He’s afraid someone will touch his precious rubbish without his permission. Are you coming, Geoff?”
He took her arm. It was quite unnecessary, but she permitted it and even, I thought, leaned toward him as they walked along.
“Hmmm,” I said. “I wonder …”
“So do I,” said Emerson. “I thought I had it here. I could have sworn it was in this notebook.”
He had dumped the contents of his knapsack out onto the table and was rummaging through the papers in his usual haphazard fashion. I asked what he was after, found it stuck between the pages of his notebook, and was about to deliver a little lecture on order and method when I heard a woman’s scream and a rumbling crash. Both came from the north side of the pyramid.
Emerson was ten feet away, running at full speed, before the echoes of the crash died. I followed as fast as I could, my limbs shaking with apprehension. Nefret was not much given to screaming.
When I arrived on the scene, the cause of the disaster was easy to ascertain. The wooden props had slipped or broken or given way, and the wall had collapsed in a tumble of stones and dirt onto a form that lay facedown and unmoving on the floor of the trench. The form, as I immediately realized, was that of Ramses. Geoffrey knelt at his side, digging the dirt away with his hands. Nefret was squirming in the grasp of Daoud, who let out a gusty sigh of relief when he saw Emerson.
“The effendi ordered me not to let her go down there,” he explained.
“Quite right,” Emerson said. “There is not enough space for more than one person. Hang on to her, Daoud. Clear out of