The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [42]
‘You prefer to be a slave to this man?’ Emerson inquired evenly. ‘The Inglîzi do not beat their servants.’
The boy’s lip curled. ‘They hire them to fetch and carry and then dismiss them. I learn a trade here. I learn –’ He brandished the scarab at Emerson. ‘The signs are right. I know what they mean!’
‘Oh, indeed,’ said Emerson. ‘Read the inscription, then.’
It had been copied from one of the commemorative scarabs of Amenhotep III; I recognized the names and titles, which David rattled off, indicating the signs with a filthy forefinger, but he stuck after a while. Ramses, who undoubtedly knew the text by heart, opened his mouth. Catching his father’s eye, he closed it again.
‘It is well done,’ Emerson said. ‘And so is the workmanship. What else have you made for Hamed?’
The boy gave his master a wary look and shrugged. Hamed, who had settled himself on a stool, decided it was time to assert himself.
‘Father of Curses, you are the greatest of men, but by what right do you break into my house and question my apprentice? I will show you my poor collection if you like. Let the boy go. He knows nothing.’
‘The boy may go when he chooses,’ Emerson said, in the same mild voice. Hamed, who knew that voice, swallowed audibly. ‘And where he chooses. David, we are hiring workers. If you come to us, now or at any time, you will be well treated.’
He moved away from the door.
David looked from him to Hamed, and, for the first time, directly at his grandfather. Abdullah’s stern face did not change. I was the only one, I believe, to see the look in his eyes.
Ducking his head, the boy ran out the back door.
‘Oh, go after him,’ Nefret cried. ‘We cannot leave him with this terrible old man.’
‘The choice must be his,’ Emerson said.
‘Yes, yes.’ Hamed shot Nefret a malignant look. ‘The young Sitt has a tender heart, she knows nothing of evil. You did wrong to offer him a place with you, Emerson Effendi. The boy is dangerous, he will attack like a wild dog. I keep him only out of charity.’
‘A quality for which you are well known,’ Emerson said. He tossed the scarab negligently into the air and waited till the last second before catching it. Hamed squawked in alarm. ‘Well, my dears –’
An outburst of cries, thuds and thumps interrupted him. They came from beyond the door through which the boy had vanished. Emerson vanished in his turn, for he, like myself, had recognized an all-too-familiar voice. How Ramses had slipped out without being observed I did not know, but he obviously had, for he was not in the room.
A short passage, more like a rough tunnel than a corridor, led into a room cut out of the rock of the hillside. The only light came from a few small crude pottery lamps, but it was sufficient for me to see, not only the traces of paint on the walls, but the tableau vivant before me.
Emerson had separated the two boys and held them apart, one hand on Ramses’ shirt collar and the other gripping David’s bony shoulder. I could not tell what damage Ramses had inflicted on the other boy, but it was evident that at least one blow had struck Ramses, for his prominent nose was streaming blood.
Both were too breathless to speak at first. Then Ramses dragged his torn sleeve across his face and gasped, ‘He was eavesdropping, Father. He ran when I confronted him and I went in pursuit and when I cornered him, for, as you see, this is a dead end, he –’
David called Ramses something extremely rude in Arabic. Ramses called him something so much ruder that even Emerson blinked, and David’s eyes widened – with, I thought, a certain degree of admiration. Emerson shook them both.
‘There are ladies here,’ he said,