The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [49]
“The only alternative is to return to our original plan of letting them leave early Friday morning,” I replied.
“Then they will have to return Friday night,” Emerson declared. “Otherwise they won’t be here until mid-morning on Saturday and will complain that they are too tired after their long walk to put in a good day’s work.”
At least the men did not linger to argue about the amount of their pay; they were anxious to be safe at home before the dread demons of darkness came out of hiding. As they dispersed I closed the account book and remarked, “Supper tonight will be out of tins, gentlemen; cooking is not an activity at which I excel or in which I care to do so.”
“My servant Ahmed is an excellent cook,” Reggie said. “It was one of the skills for which I selected him. Perhaps you will all do me the honor of being my guests at dinner this evening.”
I accepted with proper expressions of appreciation. After Reggie had gone off to his tent, Emerson remarked sourly, “It wouldn’t surprise me to see him turn out in full evening kit. I warn you, Amelia, if he does I will go and dine with Kemit.”
“Mr. Forthright brought a considerable quantity of luggage,” said Ramses, sitting cross-legged at my feet. “In addition to a revolver, he has two rifles and quantities of ammunition as well as—”
“He probably plans to do some hunting,” I replied, thinking it best not to ask Ramses how he knew of these facts.
“Should that be the case, I will feel myself obliged to remonstrate,” said Ramses in his stateliest manner.
“Just so you don’t run into the line of fire, as you have been known to do,” I said sternly. “You spend far too much time interfering in other people’s business, Ramses. Come and give me a hand; there are several hours of daylight left and I want to have a closer look at those small piles of debris south of number four. I suspect they may have been queens’ tombs—for even in Cush, where women enjoyed considerable power, the ladies were shortchanged in the matter of pyramids.”
Emerson decided to join us, and we spent a most enjoyable hour poking around the rubble and arguing about where the burial chambers might be. Ramses, of course, had to disagree with me and his father. “We cannot assume,” he claimed, “that because the burial chambers in Egyptian pyramids were, for the most part, under the superstructure, that such was the case here. Remember Ferlini’s description of the chamber in which he found the jewelry that is now in the Berlin Museum—”
“Impossible,” I exclaimed. “Lepsius agrees with me that Ferlini must have made a mistake. He was no archaeologist—”
“But he was there,” said Ramses. “Herr Lepsius was not. And with all due respect, Mama—”
“Hmmm, yes,” Emerson said quickly. “But, my boy, even if Ferlini did find a burial chamber in the upper portions of one pyramid, that could have been an exception to the general rule.”
His attempt at compromise failed, as such efforts generally do. “Nonsense!” I exclaimed.
“That is not the point, Papa, if you will excuse me,” said Ramses.
The debate continued to rage as we walked back to our tents. Few families, I venture to assert, share so many agreeable interests as ours, and the freedom and candor with which we communicate our opinions to one another only adds to our mutual pleasure.
I had brought along one good frock just in case—for one never knows when one may encounter persons of a superior social status. It was a simple evening dress of eau-de-Nil spotted net, the bodice cut low and square, the skirt flounced, with pink silk roses trimming the flounces and the short puffed sleeves. By allowing Emerson the privilege, which he much enjoys, of buttoning me into the frock, I managed to persuade him to wear a jacket and change his boots for proper shoes, but he refused to wear a cravat, claiming that