The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [133]
‘Just a moment,’ I said. ‘At least protect your breathing apparatus. You ought to have done it before. Where is your handkerchief, Emerson?’
It was a foolish question. He never has one. While he was fumbling in his pockets Walter produced his, and Emerson bound it over his mouth. Abdullah wound his scarf over the lower part of his face, and then they started down the steps. Both had to stoop; they were tall men and the roof was low.
With the assistance of my trusty and magical parasol I dispersed the locals as requested. I had to chase them some distance, and when I returned I saw Emerson on the stairs. He had the front end of the coffin on his shoulder; Abdullah kept it level, his hands supporting the other end.
Once they reached the ground they moved quickly and without hesitation to the place Emerson must have selected in advance. It was hardly more than a pit, the entrance to a tomb half-choked with rubble. There was just enough room for the coffin.
The watching men moved rather too alertly out of its path. Nefret, standing next to me, said softly, ‘Is that what the Professor meant, Aunt Amelia, when he said “Is it so?” And why Abdullah insisted on helping him?’
‘In part it was Abdullah’s pride that was at stake, Nefret. He hates admitting he is getting old. But I fear you are right; some of the men might have objected, or even refused to touch the thing. Oh dear, I hope we are not going to have another problem with curses, it is such a nuisance.’
‘It would give Radcliffe a chance to perform one of his famous exorcisms,’ said Walter. A night’s rest had done him good; reminiscent amusement warmed his face. ‘Excuse me, ladies, I will just go and help them cover the pit. Better to do the job oneself than risk a flat refusal from the men.’
Ramses was already with his father, helping him and Abdullah pour sand over the coffin. After a while Selim joined them, swaggering and smiling contemptuously at the other men. They could not be outdone; when they were all at work, Emerson and Walter returned to us. Apparently they had been arguing, for Walter’s face was flushed and I heard him say, ‘Under no circumstances will I allow it, Radcliffe.’
‘Allow?’ Emerson repeated. ‘I don’t know how you’ve kept her under control all these years, Walter – I have never been able to do it – but I fear your domestic tyranny is ended. We could put it to the test. I will tell her what I want done and you will forbid her to do it, and then we will see what happens, eh?’
‘What is the disagreement, gentlemen?’ I inquired.
‘I need a detailed drawing of the area before we demolish the doorway,’ was the answer I had expected. ‘Even with reflectors there may not be sufficient light for a photograph and . . . where the devil is Sir Edward? He should have been here by now.’
‘See here, Radcliffe,’ Walter began.
‘Curse it, Walter, will you leave off badgering me? After all,’ Emerson added in an injured voice, ‘I was considerate enough to refrain from asking her to do the sketch while the repulsive thing was still in situ, although that would have been the proper procedure.’
He strode off without giving Walter time to reply. I patted him on the arm. ‘Your concern is unnecessary, Walter.’
‘Hmph,’ said Walter, sounding astonishingly like his brother.
Evelyn promptly agreed to Emerson’s request, of course; in fact she appeared delighted to be asked. She had been sitting with David, watching him as he worked on the sculptured head. I lingered long enough to commend him, for it really was quite a lovely thing. He did not reply except with a long steady look, and I felt his eyes upon me as I walked away.
The others were already at work when I descended the steps. The removal of the coffin had exposed a number of objects scattered randomly on the floor behind it. Evelyn was making a quick sketch of their relative positions while Nefret wrote down the numbers and descriptions Emerson dictated.
‘Food offerings,’ said Ramses, before I could ask. ‘Jars of oil and wine, most of them broken, a mummified haunch of meat.’
‘For our mummy?