The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [110]
“We haven’t quite finished yet.”
“Hmmm,” said Sethos.
“Why are you going to Luxor?” I asked.
“I intend to follow some of the leads you so cleverly suggested. May I borrow that excellent little list of yours? I believe I saw you put it in your pocket.”
I handed it over. “You will, of course, inform me of the results of your investigations.”
“How could you suppose otherwise, my dear?”
He and Ramses went off toward the donkey park—not exactly together, for although they walked side by side they did not speak or look at each other. As we pushed through the tourists I saw Sir Malcolm, dapper as ever, under a very large umbrella held by his dragoman.
“What luck?” he called.
“None,” Emerson bellowed, without stopping.
It was only midmorning, so I took it for granted that Emerson had no intention of returning to the house just yet. “The West Valley?” I inquired hopefully. Cyrus always brought an ample supply of food and water. Emerson hadn’t given me time to pack a luncheon basket.
“May as well,” said Emerson.
“You are behaving most erratically,” I informed him.
“No, I am not,” said Emerson.
Nefret and David caught us up soon after we turned into the road to the West Valley. I prefer to set a deliberate pace over rough ground, for the sake of the dear horses.
Cyrus hailed us with delight. “I was hoping you’d come. Seems I’m in need of a photographer.”
“Happy to oblige,” said Emerson. “David—”
“Let the boy have a glass of tea first,” Cyrus said. “You all look pretty hot and dusty.”
“The ride is hot and dusty,” I replied. “Is that Mr. Lidman?”
Cyrus glanced round. Like myself, he always erected a temporary shelter when there was no convenient empty tomb at hand. My question had been unnecessary; seated under the canvas canopy, beside a large basket, was the unmistakable form of Mr. Lidman.
“He insisted on coming out today,” Cyrus replied. “He still isn’t fit for much, but he wanted to resume his duties.”
Lidman rose and removed his hat when we approached. In my opinion he had been unwise to leave his bed. Sunburn patched his pale, puffy face, and his attempt at a smile was rather pitiful.
“I have taken on the duties of a houseman, you see,” he said. “Alas, I am unable to do more.”
Nefret studied him with sympathetic concern. “You ought not tax your strength so soon, Mr. Lidman. Take it slowly.”
Emerson had very little patience with weakness and even less with Mr. Lidman. “Quite,” he said, having drained his glass. “Now then, Vandergelt, let’s see how you are getting on. David and Nefret, unpack the cameras. Peabody, there is a nice high heap of debris that requires sifting. You can help Jumana.”
“What, don’t I get Hassan and the other fellows too?” Cyrus inquired with a grin.
“They’ll be along later,” said Emerson, oblivious to sarcasm. “I left them closing up KV55.”
“You finished there already?” Cyrus asked.
“Not quite. No, not quite. However, there is more to be done here. Always give a friend a helping hand, eh? Ah, Bertie. What were you doing over there with Jumana? You ought to be working on your plan of the tomb.”
“I thought I’d wait until we finished the clearance,” Bertie said meekly. “The debris is piling up, and Jumana—”
“Mrs. Emerson will give her a hand. Come along.”
Nefret gave Bertie a consoling pat on the arm.
Though Cyrus yielded to Emerson in most cases, he was adamant about stopping work by midafternoon. “I’ve been out here since six A.M.,” he announced, “and I’m tired and hot and ready for a long cool bath. I sent Lidman home already, he was looking sickly.”
“The man is absolutely useless,” Emerson grumbled.
“I can’t fire a fellow because he’s been taken sick,” Cyrus said. “That wouldn’t be right. I’ll see you folks later.”
By the time we reached our house I too was ready for a long, cool bath. Ramses and Katchenovsky were working and Sethos had not yet returned