The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [82]
“I wish everyone would stop talking about me in the third person,” Bertie said stiffly. “Jumana—”
“Yes, I did it!” She jumped up, jangling. “You see, I have my belt of tools, too, like the Sitt Hakim! I washed his hand and bandaged it and I took care of him. He was very stupid to go there alone.”
Bertie turned red, but he didn’t have a chance to defend himself; he had not yet learned that in our circle it is necessary to shout in order to be heard. Emerson did it for him. Men always close ranks when women criticize one of them.
“And so were you, Jumana.” Emerson slammed his cup down in the saucer. “Any man or woman, even the most experienced, could suffer an accident in that terrain, and die of exposure before he was found. No, young lady, don’t talk back to me! Why didn’t you tell Vandergelt where you were going?”
Jumana bowed her head. “I wanted to find him myself,” she murmured.
“I see.” Emerson’s voice softened, and Bertie’s face went even redder. Men are such innocents; they had taken her statement as a declaration of affectionate interest. I, who had once pointed out to Jumana that wealthy and powerful Cyrus Vandergelt would think well of anyone who looked after his adopted son, suspected that self-interest had been her primary motive.
“Enough of recriminations,” I said. “We must—”
“I’m not finished recriminating,” Cyrus declared. “Not by a damned sight. Excuse my language, ladies, but I’ve got a few words to say to my old pal here. Emerson, you deliberately and with malice aforethought pawned Deir el Medina off on me so you could do what I would have done if you hadn’t told me not to do it! And by the Almighty, there is a tomb out there! We’ve got proof now.”
Emerson looked sheepish and drank out of his cracked cup. Tea dribbled down the front of his shirt, but I cannot say its condition was appreciably worsened thereby.
“If we had found anything of interest, I would have let you in on it, Vandergelt,” he mumbled. “I only wanted to—er—save you time and effort.”
“Oh. All right, then,” Cyrus said, mollified. “But now we know there is a tomb—”
“I’m afraid not, Cyrus,” Ramses said. “Jamil may not be the most intelligent opponent we’ve ever faced, but he isn’t stupid enough to give away the location of the tomb—if there is one.”
“The gold Bertie saw—” Cyrus began.
“He said it glittered like gold,” Ramses interrupted impatiently. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that the boy has been deliberately leading us astray?”
“It had occurred to me, of course,” I said.
Ramses’s sober face relaxed into a grin and Emerson snarled wordlessly. “Where is the tomb, then?” Cyrus demanded.
“Like Ramses, I am not convinced there is one,” I replied. “I can think of a number of reasons why Jamil might want to lead us on a wild-goose chase. ‘He only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases.’ Or he may want to lure us into a trap. It is wild country, and Bertie’s accident today is a grim reminder of what can happen if he catches one of us alone.”
Jumana lifted her chin and stared defiantly at me. The rather pathetic collection of tools on her belt jingled as she shifted position. I wondered if she had also acquired a parasol.
“He didn’t mean to hurt Bertie,” she declared. “It was an accident.”
“That’s right,” Bertie said quickly.
“Perhaps he didn’t intend to,” I said. “But the result might have been disastrous. He’s been watching us—spying on us.”
“Damnation!” Emerson exclaimed. “Jumana—Bertie—all of you—don’t take any more chances, do you hear? Even if Jamil appears decked out in the Double Crown and the full regalia of a pharaoh, blowing kisses, don’t follow him.”
“Here!” Cyrus exclaimed, his eyes brightening. “Do you think it’s a royal tomb he’s found?”
“Good Gad, Vandergelt, is that all you can think of?” Emerson gave him a rueful smile. “I thought of it, too, I admit. But there won’t be a king’s tomb in that area. My point is that none of us must go into a remote area alone. It is too dangerous, as Bertie discovered today.”
“Oh.” Cyrus glanced apologetically at Bertie. “Sorry,