The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [52]
“You needn’t shout, Emerson,” I exclaimed.
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Confound it,” he added petulantly, “I have wasted too much time on this foolery. We will start work at Deir el Medina tomorrow.”
Dinner was a trifle late that evening, since Emerson was determined to stow his bits and pieces away before he bathed. They looked rather pitiful on the shelves of our storage room—the only artifacts we had discovered thus far. Emerson was pleased with them, however, and could talk of nothing else all through dinner. The meal was excellent. We had a new chef, Maaman, one of Fatima’s cousins; our old cook, Mahmud, had been persuaded to retire. For years he had punished us for coming late to meals by scorching the soup and letting the beef dry out.
After dinner, when we had retired to the parlor, and Jumana had gone to her room to study, I managed to get Emerson off the subject of archaeology. “I hope you convinced Selim that he must leave Jamil to us. If he and the other men injured the boy, it would split the family apart. Not all of them take the matter as seriously as Selim does; some may even sympathize with Jamil.”
“Why do you suppose I was talking so loudly to Selim? I wanted the others, especially Jumana, to overhear. The boy has done nothing except bully his sister and play the fool—if it was he we saw. We don’t know that. We don’t know that he killed that fellow, or even that murder was committed! It may have been an accident, or self-defense. These beggars squabble constantly amongst themselves. All we know for certain is that some person unknown placed the body in position, possibly as a warning or a threat, possibly only to hide it.”
“That is all very well, Emerson, but two of the original thieves have met a violent death. In criminal investigation—”
“This is not a criminal investigation,” said Emerson, with a snap of his teeth. “We have no proof of murder.”
Undeterred, I proceeded. “Then how do you explain the position of the body? It is a most inconvenient hiding place. How did Jamil—oh, very well, whoever it was—how did he get the body there?”
Emerson replied with a rhetorical question. “How did the ancient workmen get that damned sarcophagus of Hatshepsut’s into her tomb in the cliff? That tomb is even less accessible than this one, and a stone sarcophagus is considerably heavier than a man.”
“Perhaps it was meant to warn us, and others, away from the place.”
“There was nothing of value left in the tomb,” Emerson said. “Anyhow, Jamil knows better than to threaten me.”
The shrubbery outside rustled, and Horus came in through the open window. He was carrying something in his mouth.
“Oh, my goodness,” I exclaimed. “It’s not a mouse—it’s too big. A rat. Disgusting. Emerson—”
Emerson was too slow. Horus darted past him and laid the object at Nefret’s feet. He then sat down and stared fixedly at her.
“It’s not a rat,” Ramses said. He reached down and scooped the motionless form into his hands. “It’s a cat—a kitten. I’m afraid it’s . . .”
A faint but unmistakable purr contradicted his assumption. The small creature was so dirty I could not make out its markings.
Nefret said gently, “Cats sometimes purr when they are frightened or in pain. If it is beyond help, we had better put it out of its misery.”
The parlor door opened. Sennia stood on the threshold, rubbing her eyes. “Horus woke me up. He had . . . Oh!”
Emerson caught hold of her. “Now, child, don’t touch it. It is sick, or hurt, or . . .”
Sennia leaned against Emerson. She looked charming, her hair ruffled with sleep and the hem of her white nightdress baring slim brown feet and ankles. “If it is sick, Aunt Nefret will make it well.”
“Oh, Sennia . . .” Nefret glanced at the motionless body Ramses cradled in his cupped hands. “I’ll try. I’ll do my best. Go back to bed, darling.”
“Yes, Aunt Nefret. Horus, you are a good boy. Come to bed now, Aunt Nefret will take care of the kitty.”
Horus considered the suggestion. With what looked alarmingly like a nod of acquiescence, he got up and followed Sennia out.
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Nefret, do you think