The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [153]
As if drawn by a magnet, his eyes went back to the statuette.
“Well, well,” said Emerson. “One never knows what may happen, does one?”
Emerson does not lie, but this was unquestionably a misleading statement, since Harriet Petherick had accepted Cyrus’s offer for the statuette.
“So where are you going to excavate this year?” Emerson inquired politely.
“I was thinking,” Howard said, “of finishing up that small section near Ramses the Sixth, under the workmen’s huts. We left it, you know, because there were so many visitors that year.”
“Same problem this year,” Emerson said. “It took us longer than I had expected to finish in KV55 because of the cursed tourists.”
Mellowed by Emerson’s affability and the whiskey, Howard became confidential. “It doesn’t seem fair, does it?” he demanded. “I mean to say, look at Theodore Davis—one royal tomb after another for that old reprobate, and not a confounded thing for his lordship. I mean to say, it almost makes a fellow believe in—in curses, and luck, and that. Why should Davis have that kind of success?” He took another sip.
“Carnarvon deserves better,” said Emerson.
Howard shook his head and leaned forward. “He’s showing signs of losing interest,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “This could be my last season here, Emerson, old chap.”
“Then I hope it will be successful,” Emerson said. “I have a few ideas.”
Carter brushed his hand across his eyes. “You’re a fine chap, Emerson, old chap. I knew I could count on you. What would be your advice?”
Emerson leaned toward him. Their foreheads almost touched. “I told you the ibn Simsahs had been digging in that debris near Siptah’s tomb. One of them went so far as to fire a pistol at me while I was investigating the area.”
“That’s right, you did! Significant, isn’t it?”
“Quite,” said Emerson. “You never finished there, did you?”
“No. No, we didn’t. Time ran out…So you think we ought to go back to that area?”
“Why not?” Emerson inquired.
Emerson,” I said, while we prepared for bed, “that tomb is not where you told Howard to look.”
“I didn’t tell him to look there,” said Emerson virtuously.
“No,” I admitted. “But you think it’s somewhere else, don’t you?”
“My dear Peabody, I do not know where Tutankhamon’s tomb is located. Anyhow, it’s probably been looted, like all the others.”
I seated myself at my dressing table and began brushing my hair. “Very well, Emerson, keep your own counsel.”
“It’s only a guess, Peabody.” He came up behind me and gathered my loosened hair into his hands. “And a distant possibility.”
“That Lord Carnarvon will abandon the concession, you mean.”
“I left it in the hand of Fate,” said Emerson. “You see, I promised—that is—”
I twisted round to face him. “You promised? Who?”
“Er,” said Emerson.
“You are pulling my hair, Emerson.”
“Oh. Sorry. Turn round again, why don’t you?”
“Emerson, did you pray? You?”
Color stained his cheeks, but he met my eyes squarely. “I don’t know to whom or what, Peabody. It may have been more along the lines of a threat than a request…”
“Knowing you, I expect it did sound like a threat,” I agreed. “What did you promise?”
He knelt beside my chair and put his arms round me. Face hidden against my breast, he said in a muffled voice, “That I would give up every bloody damned tomb in Egypt if you were spared to me.”
“Oh, my dear,” I said softly.
“I couldn’t get on without you, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
Emerson raised his head. His lashes were a little damp, but he was smiling. “You might return the compliment.”
“I couldn’t get on without you either, my love.”
“That’s all right, then.” Emerson sat back on his heels. “Er—I meant it. Every word.”
“All the same,” I said, stroking his tumbled hair, “it is not always necessary to complete the sacrifice. You recall the case of Abraham and Isaac. The willingness is all.”
“We will see what Fate has to say about it, Peabody.”
“Next season should be interesting,” I mused.
“Next season be damned,” said Emerson, seizing