The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [134]
‘They wouldn’t have been much use to him,’ Emerson said, without looking up. ‘Four and a half centimetres, Nefret. A nameless spirit could not partake of offerings. And five centimetres across.’
Hearing footsteps on the outer staircase, I returned to the antechamber. The newcomer was Sir Edward, camera in hand. ‘I overslept – mea culpa, Mrs Emerson, I confess it. I was up rather late developing the plates. And then the ferry grounded on a sandbar.’
‘That is always the way when one is in a hurry,’ I said. ‘Never mind, Sir Edward, Emerson is making drawings.’
‘I really am very sorry,’ the young man began, and then broke off, looking past me down the steps. ‘Is the coffin out already? You have been hard at work.’
I had thought Emerson would be too preoccupied to notice my absence, but I was in error. ‘Peabody!’ he shouted. ‘Fetch some of those baskets, and be quick about it.’
Sir Edward politely took them from me. ‘Charming,’ he said with a smile. ‘His use of your maiden name, I mean.’
‘It is employed as a term of approbation,’ I explained. ‘A sign of professional equality and respect.’
‘So I assumed. Please allow me to precede you; the steps are very uneven.’
Emerson took the baskets from Sir Edward without looking up. ‘That will have to do, Evelyn,’ he grunted. ‘Curse it! I will never forgive myself for this! Ramses, have you finished numbering the objects?’
‘It is the only thing to do, Emerson,’ I said consolingly.
‘Hmph.’ Quickly, but with the delicacy of touch that marked all his actions, he began lifting the objects into the baskets.
Then came the moment for which we had all been waiting. In silence Abdullah handed the chisel and hammer to Emerson. In silence Emerson gestured us to move back.
The ancient mud plaster crumbled and fell trickling to the floor under his precise, steady blows. At last he gave the implements to Abdullah, who placed a lever in Emerson’s out-thrust hand. Emerson inserted it into the crack and bore down. Under his sweat-soaked shirt the muscles of his back bunched and tightened.
An eerie grating groan, like the protest of an animal in pain, was the first indication of success. Until I saw a shadow along the edge of the block, I could not tell it had moved. Slowly the shadow lengthened. Emerson shifted his grip and spoke for the first time. ‘Twelve inches. Be ready, Abdullah.’
The reis’ hands were already under the front edge of the block. Sir Edward put me gently out of his way. He did not speak as he slipped past me; his eyes had a wild glitter. Dropping to his knees, he put both hands under the stone.
‘Damn fool,’ said Emerson distinctly. ‘Don’t try to hold it, let the back slide down and then get your fingers out from underneath. When I give the word . . . Now!’
The stone fell. Abdullah was slower than the younger man, but he knew exactly what he was doing. It was his skill that allowed the back edge of the block to hit the floor first, so that there was time for Sir Edward to pull his hands back. The block settled onto the floor with a thud.
‘Bloody stupid business,’ Emerson grumbled, adding fairly, ‘My fault as well. If I were not in such a bloody damned hurry . . . I beg your pardon, Peabody; just hand me that candle, will you?’
I had hardly taken notice of his bad language. This was the moment. For the first time in heaven knew how many centuries, light would enter the eternal darkness of the tomb and the eyes of the profane would violate the rest of the royal dead. Or would they? Would we see the glitter of golden ornaments, the massive shape of an untouched sarcophagus – or only scattered wrappings and broken bits of bone? The flame wavered as I handed him the candle, and a tear blurred my vision. He had summoned me, of all those who stood nearby, so that I might be the first to share that moment with him.
He thrust his arm within. The flame flickered and burned blue and then went out. But before it died I saw what I had never dared hope to see – a chaotic tumble of decayed wood and fallen stone, yes; but the brief light had set off a hundred golden sparks, and looming