The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [85]
“No.” Ramses took it upon himself to answer. “We ought to have done so, perhaps, but with the wedding less than a week away …”
“It may have been an error, but it was kindly meant,” Katherine murmured.
I decided to intervene, since we were getting off the track. “You still harbor doubts, Cyrus. Look at it this way. The man who sold these objects was not David, and that means he selected David as a scapegoat, and that means he is a forger and a criminal. The logic is inescapable.”
“Ah,” said Cyrus.
“And that,” said Emerson dogmatically, “means your ivory king is a forgery. The digestive tract of a camel—”
“Yes, sure,” Cyrus said. “All the same, my friends, I believe I will take very good care of this little object until you’ve had that delayed chat with David.”
SEVEN
They have not the flair for self-governance, but they are fine fighting men, when led by white officers.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
The message came the day before Christmas. It was only a note from one of the antiquities dealers in Cairo saying he had the gift he had been asked to find, and Ramses would have thought nothing of it if it had been directed to his mother. However, the messenger had insisted on delivering it personally into his hands, and said he had been instructed to wait for a reply.
Ramses scribbled a few words on the back of the note and went looking for Nefret.
How she and his mother had persuaded, bullied, or bribed Emerson to close down the dig for a few days he didn’t know; he suspected Nefret had painted a pathetic picture of a suffering, tight-lipped Ramses concealing two broken legs and several cracked ribs. What they really wanted was time to prepare for a sentimental English Christmas. Mysterious parcels filled every cupboard and drawer, the smell of spices wafted from the kitchen, and the two of them had hung lanterns and ribbons and palm branches and other tasteless objects all over the house. He found Nefret in the courtyard, perched precariously on top of a long ladder tying a bit of greenery to one of the arches.
“Where the devil did you get that?” he asked in surprise. Mistletoe was not indigenous to Egypt.
He steadied the ladder as she scrambled down. “In Germany. The berries kept falling off, so I put pins through them. It should be inaugurated, don’t you think?” Standing on tiptoe, she pulled his head down and kissed him on the mouth.
As a rule he managed to avoid those generous, agonizing, sisterly kisses. This time she was so quick he hadn’t time to move, or even turn his head. Knowing it meant nothing to her, he did his best not to respond, but when she stepped back her eyes were puzzled and her cheeks a little pinker than usual.
“Aesthetically and horticulturally it lacks a certain something,” he said, glancing up at the withered leaves and blackened berries. “But I suppose it’s the thought that counts. If you have quite finished playing the little woman, come over here where Mother can’t hear. I’ve something to tell you.”
She was quick to reach the same conclusion he had reached. The flush in her cheeks deepened and her eyes sparkled with excitement. “I take it you did not ask Aslimi to find a rare and beautiful and very expensive antiquity as a Christmas gift for me or Aunt Amelia?”
“I ought to have done, oughtn’t I?” A wrinkled globule bounced off his head and onto the floor.
“Don’t be silly. It’s an assignation! When?”
“I sent back to say I’d come at once.”
“Not alone.”
“There’s not the least risk.”
“Then there’s no reason why I can’t go with you. Come to the Professor.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the stairs.
Emerson was in his study working on his notes. When Nefret burst in, without knocking, he looked up with a frown. It deepened into a formidable scowl when she explained.
By that time Ramses knew he wasn’t going to get away without Nefret. The problem now was to keep his father from accompanying them. If what he suspected was true, Nefret’s presence