The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [40]
I occupied the time by writing up a few notes about the appearance and location of the tomb, while Emerson dug in the rubble as happily as a dog looking for buried bones, and Nefret paced restlessly back and forth, glancing from time to time at the top of the cliff. The sun was almost directly overhead and it was very warm. I removed my coat, folded it neatly, placed it on the ground beside me, and went on with my journal. The smell did not seem so strong now. The olfactory sense is quick to adjust.
Despite Nefret’s frequent glances upward, Jumana was the first to see them. She began jumping up and down and waving her arms. The two figures, diminished by distance, made me realize how high the cliff was, and how precipitous the drop. I wondered if the rope would be long enough, and if they could find some stout object to which it could be fastened, and if Ramses would have sense enough not to rely solely on Daoud to hold it. Our friend’s strength was legendary, but if a slip or a snakebite caused him to lose his grip, even for a second . . .
The rope came tumbling down, and one of the small figures began to descend—rather too rapidly, in my opinion. It was Ramses, as I had known it would be. It was hard to make out the outlines of his form, even with the sunlight full upon him, since his dusty clothing blended with the color of the stone, but his bare black head was clearly discernible. When he reached a point some forty-five feet above us he stopped, feet braced against the cliff, and waved.
“Keep hold of the damned rope!” I shouted.
He heard me. A faint and unquestionably mocking “Yes, Mother” floated down to us. Then he disappeared.
“Into the cleft,” Emerson muttered. “How long . . .”
It was only a few minutes before Ramses reappeared. Instead of reascending he looked up and shouted something at Daoud. Apparently the rope was not long enough to reach all the way to the ground; after Daoud had untied it, Ramses pulled it down and busied himself doing something I could not see—fastening it again, I assumed, since in a short while it uncoiled, the lower end touching the ground not far from where we stood. It had been knotted at regular intervals—a primitive but effective method of preventing the climber from losing his grip.
Ramses swung himself out of the cleft and descended. Even before he turned to face us I knew something was amiss.
“It isn’t an animal,” he said. “It’s a man. Was a man.”
Nefret reached for the rope. Ramses pulled her back and turned her to face him, holding her by the shoulders.
“He’s dead, Nefret. You can’t do anything for him.”
“I can tell how he died.” She tried to twist away from him but he tightened his grasp.
“Nefret, will you listen to me? I’m not talking about a nice dry mummy. There’s still water in the chamber, and he’s been there for days, possibly weeks.”
Her face was flushed with heat and rising temper. “Damnation, Ramses, I’ve examined more cadavers than you have!”
“You aren’t going to examine this one.”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
“Er,” said Emerson.
I poked him with my parasol. “Not you, Emerson. Nefret, stop and think. I am in full sympathy with your interest in corpses, but I do not see that anything is to be gained by your inspecting this one at this time.”
The smell seemed to have intensified since Ramses’s announcement. I pressed my handkerchief to my nose, and Emerson gaped at me.
“You mean you don’t insist on inspecting it, and the tomb, too? Good Gad, Peabody, do you feel well?”
“Quite well, my dear, thank you, and I intend to remain so.”
The children, still facing each other in somewhat belligerent attitudes, turned their heads to look at us. I was happy to observe that my reasonable remarks had lowered the