The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [24]
“I know you will,” I said. “But I don’t see what you want with it. Your Uncle Walter has not taught you Coptic along with hieroglyphs, has he?”
“Uncle Walter does not know de Coptic,” replied Ramses loftily. “I am only curious to see what I can make of dis from my acquaintance wit’ de ancient language; for, as you may be aware, de Coptic language is a development of de Egyptian, t’ough written in Greek script.”
I waved him away. Bad enough to be lectured on Egyptology by one’s husband; the smug and dogmatic pronouncements of my juvenile son were sometimes extremely trying to my nerves. He settled down at the table with Bastet beside him. Both bent their attention upon the text, the cat appearing to be as interested as the boy.
The door of the adjoining room now responded to a series of blows—John’s version of a knock. He has extremely large hands and no idea of his own strength. It was a pleasure to hear the sound, however, after the long silence from that direction, and I bade him enter. Emerson took one look at him and burst out laughing.
He wore the uniform of a footman, which he had presumably brought with him from England—knee breeches, brass buttons and all—and I must confess that he looked rather ridiculous in that setting. Emerson’s mirth brought a faint blush to his boyish face, though it was apparent he had no idea what his master found so funny. “I am at your service, sir and madam,” he announced. “With apologies for failing to carry out me duties in the past days and respectful thanks for the kind attentions received from madam.”
“Very well, very well,” Emerson said. “Sure you are fit, my boy?”
“Quite fit,” I assured him. “Now, John, be sure never to leave off your flannel, and take care what you eat and drink.”
I glanced at Ramses as I concluded my advice, remembering the sweetmeat he had consumed—an incident I had not thought worth mentioning to his father. He seemed quite all right. I had been sure he would. Poisonous leaves and berries, india rubbers, ink and quantities of sweets that would have felled an ox had all passed through Ramses’ digestive tract without the slightest disturbance of that region.
Standing stiffly at attention, John asked for orders. I said, “There is nothing to do at present; why don’t you go out for a bit? You have seen nothing of the city, or even the hotel.”
“I will go wit’ him,” said Ramses, pushing his chair back.
“I don’t know,” I began.
“What of your work, my son?” inquired Emerson. This attempt, more subtle than my own, was equally fruitless. Ramses picked up his hat and started for the door. “De manuscript appears to have belonged to a person called Didymus Thomas,” he said coolly. “Dat is all I can make out at present, but I will have anodder go at it after I have procured a Coptic dictionary. Come along, John.”
“Stay in the hotel,” I said quickly. “Or on the terrace. Do not eat anything. Do not speak to the donkey boys. Do not repeat to anyone the words you learned from the donkey boys. Do not go in the kitchen, or the bathrooms, or any of the bedrooms. Stay with John. If you mean to take Bastet with you, put her on the lead. Do not let her off the lead. Do not let her chase mice, dogs, other cats or ladies’ skirts.”
I paused for breath. Ramses pretended to take this for the end of the lecture. With an angelic smile he slipped out the door.
“Hurry,” I implored John. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”
“You may count on me, madam,” said John, squaring his shoulders. “I am ready and equal to the task. I—”
“Hurry!” I pushed him out the door. Then I turned to Emerson. “Did I cover all the contingencies?”
“Probably not,” said my husband. He drew me into the room and closed the door.
“There is no way of locking it,” I said, after an interval.
“Mmmm,” said Emerson agreeably.
“They will not be gone long….”
“Then we must make the best use of the time at our disposal,