The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [19]
As Emerson might have said, this was the wrong approach to take to me. (In fact, Emerson would have put it more emphatically, using terms like “red flag to a bull.”) I tucked the fragment carefully into my bag. “Thank you for your warning, Abd el Atti. Now hear mine. If the possession of this scrap is dangerous to me, it is also dangerous to you. I suspect you are in over your turbaned head, old friend. Do you want help? Tell me the truth. Emerson and I will protect you—word of an Englishman.”
Abd el Atti hesitated. At that moment Bastet rose upon her hind legs and planted her forefeet on Ramses’ shoulder, butting her head against his. It was a habit of hers when she was restless and desirous of moving on, and it was sheer coincidence that she should have chosen that precise moment to move; but the sight seemed to strike terror into Abd el Atti’s devious soul.
“It is the will of Allah,” he whispered. “Come tonight, with Emerson—when the muezzin calls from the minaret at midnight.”
He would say no more. As we retraced our steps I glanced over my shoulder and saw him squatting on the mastaba, still as a glittering life-sized statue. He was staring straight ahead.
We pressed against the wall to let a donkey squeeze by. Ramses said, “De old gentleman was lying, wasn’t he, Mama?”
“What about, my boy?” I inquired absently.
“About everyt’ing, Mama.”
“I rather think you are correct, Ramses.”
v
I was afire with impatience to tell Emerson we had been given an opportunity to expose the ring of antiquities thieves. When we reached Shepheard’s I was surprised to find he had not yet returned. He was not so fond of de Morgan that he would have lingered, chatting. However, he had many friends in Cairo, and I supposed he had stopped to see one of them and, as he often did, lost track of the time.
After looking in on John and finding him sweetly sleeping, I ordered water to be brought. Ramses needed a bath. He needed a bath three or four times a day under normal circumstances, and the dust of the bazaars, not to mention the honey, had had dire effects. Ramses obediently retired behind the plaited screen that concealed the implements of ablution. For a time he splashed and sputtered in silence; then he began to hum, another annoying habit he had picked up while staying with his aunt and uncle. Like his father, Ramses is completely tone-deaf. The flat insistent drone of his voice was extremely trying to sensitive ears like mine, and it seemed now to have acquired a certain oriental quality—a quavering rise and fall, reminiscent of the Cairo street singers. I listened until I could bear it no longer and then requested that he desist.
He had finished bathing and was almost dressed before my senses, straining for the longed-for harbingers of his father’s return, became aware of a sound like distant thunder. Ever louder and more furious the noise became as it neared our door. I looked at Ramses. He looked at me. The cat Bastet rose from the mat and retreated, with dignity but in haste, under the bed. The door quivered, shuddered, and flew open, striking the wall with a crash. Loosened plaster dribbled floorward.
Emerson stood in the opening. His face was brick-red. The veins in his throat stood out like ropes. He strove to speak, and failed; only a low growling noise emerged from his writhing lips. The growl rose to a roar and from the roar words finally took shape.
I covered my ears with my hands, then removed one hand to gesture imperatively at Ramses. Emerson was cursing in Arabic, and I felt sure the boy was making mental notes of “de colloquial speech.”
Emerson’s rolling eyes focused on his son’s fascinated face. With a mighty effort he controlled his wrath. He allowed himself the final solace of kicking the door closed. A stream of plaster added itself to the heap already on the floor. Emerson took a long breath, his chest expanding to such an extent, I feared the