The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [125]
I also blessed Ramses’ uncanny sense of direction. The maze-like corridors and chambers turned and twisted, some ending in blind alleys, but he led us unerringly toward his goal. “I believe we can assume that these complex substructures are typical of Twelfth Dynasty pyramids,” I remarked to Emerson, as we crawled along single-file. “This example resembles the one at Hawara that Petrie explored in ’87.”
“It seems a reasonable assumption,” was the reply. “I suspect our pyramid is of the same period, so it will probably have a similar substructure. A pity we have not been able to find an inscription naming the pharaoh for whom it was built.”
“We may yet find it, Emerson. I think this must be earlier than ours. It is more sturdily built—”
At this point I was struck smartly on the head by a mass of mixed mud brick and sand falling from a gap in the ceiling and had to save my breath for moving more rapidly. Emerson also quickened his pace, and we did not resume our conversation until we had gone a little distance.
It may seem strange to some that we should carry on a scholarly discussion at a time when our sole preoccupation should have been bent toward escape from deadly peril. Yet the act of crawling does not in itself engage all the critical faculties, and what better way to pass the time than in conversation? Archaeological passion burns brightly in our family, thank heaven, and I sincerely trust that my penultimate breath will be employed in speculating on the latest Egyptological theories. The ultimate breath, I hardly need say, will be reserved for the affectionate descendants who stand by my couch.
The fall of rubble that raised another lump on my aching head was not the only such peril we had to contend with. In several places the stone lining of the corridor had given way. One place was almost completely blocked, with only a narrow tunnel through at one side of the fallen stones. Ramses became very quiet at this point—he had been lecturing us about the construction of Middle Kingdom pyramids—and looked even more enigmatic than usual as we carefully widened the tunnel to permit our larger bodies to pass. I said nothing; I had determined to reserve my remarks on his mendacious behavior until after the other criminals had been dealt with.
Except for such occurrences and Ramses’ falling into a pit (from which Emerson drew him up by means of my waist flannel—proving once again the usefulness of this article of dress), we had no real difficulty until we reached the end of our underground journey. A long, straight passageway led into a sizable chamber cut in the rock. It, too, had been robbed in antiquity (at least I assumed so at the time); for it contained nothing but an empty stone sarcophagus. Here at last we were able to stand upright, and Ramses directed Emerson to hold his candle up toward the roof.
One of the stones was missing. “It is de opening of de shaft from de surface,” said Ramses. “De depth is not great—twelve feet eight inches, to be precise. My only concern is dat de stone I placed atop de surface opening of de shaft may be too heavy for Papa to move. It took bot’ Selim and Hassan to put it dere.”
I promised myself an interview with Selim and Hassan later. “What do you think, Emerson?” I asked.
Emerson’s fingers rasped across his unshaven chin. “I can but try, Peabody. After all we have been through I don’t mean to let a mere stone stop me.”
The shaft was so narrow he could climb by bracing his back against one side and his feet against another—chimney climbing I believe the process is called. It was