The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [41]
“So what’s the latest? I hear the lady has disappeared. Hope she didn’t take the statuette with her.”
His superior, Winlock, shook his head disapprovingly and offered Ramses his hand. “Good to have you folks back. Pay no attention to George, his manners leave a lot to be desired.”
“Admit it, the rest of us are just as curious,” Lansing said with a grin. “George’s description of the statuette made our mouths water. Any idea as to where it came from originally?”
“I was hoping you’d have some theories about that,” Ramses said. “We are, as the saying goes, baffled.”
“We’ll take a break,” Winlock decreed. He called out instructions to his reis, and led the way to a patch of shadow under the cliff, where he offered Ramses a camp stool. “Anything we can do to help, of course. Oh—” He glanced over his shoulder at a man who was slowly approaching them. “Do you know Mikhail Katchenovsky? He’s offered to translate some of the graffiti we found last year. Mikhail, this is Ramses Emerson.”
The Russian’s shabby clothes hung loosely on him, and his face was a study in downward curves—a long untrimmed mustache, a hooked nose, and a drooping mouth. The mouth twitched in a tentative smile.
“I am of course familiar with Mr. Emerson’s work in the field of linguistics. I am pleased to meet you, sir.”
Ramses offered his hand. “Didn’t you publish several articles on the demotic ostraca and papyri in the Turin Museum?”
The long, sad face lit up. “I am honored that you remember. It was some years ago. Before the War.”
“I was impressed by your translations,” Ramses said pleasantly. The poor devil seemed to be in need of encouragement. “Especially the one from the fellow complaining about his neighbor’s wife.”
“Ah, but my understanding of the verb forms was mistaken,” Katchenovsky exclaimed. “Your most recent publication pointed out—”
“Here now,” Lansing interrupted with a laugh. “Don’t you two go off into demotic. We want to hear about gold and treasure.”
They passed an entertaining quarter of an hour discussing theories, most of which the Emersons had already considered. Ramses noticed that the usual noise had diminished considerably; he didn’t doubt that every one of the workmen was straining his ears to overhear. He waited until the reis had edged up to them, ostensibly to ask Winlock for further orders, before he remarked, in a carrying voice, “Father has the statuette tucked away in a safe place. I’m the only other one who knows where he hid it. He wouldn’t even tell Mother.”
The others exchanged meaningful glances and Barton tried not to smile. “I hope he wasn’t annoyed with her for showing it to us the other day.”
“Not at all. He just doesn’t want unauthorized persons seeing it. We had another attempted break-in the other night.”
They had learned of it, naturally. “No idea who it might have been?” Lansing asked.
Ramses shook his head, and Winlock glanced at his watch. “Best get back to work. Come and have a look, Ramses. We’re clearing the southern half of the courtyard. No tombs yet, but the changes in plan are interesting.”
Ramses declined the invitation, explaining that he had promised to be home early. “I’d like to come round another day, after things have settled down. At the moment we’re surrounded by journalists and curiosity seekers.”
“The Professor will take care of them,” Lansing said, looking hopeful. Emerson’s rages were a source of entertainment to the whole region.
Ramses had almost arrived at the house when he saw another rider approaching. It took a moment for him to recognize her. She was dressed like a man, in breeches and boots and coat, and she rode like one, straight-backed and at ease in the saddle. Realizing she could cut him off before he reached the stables, he stopped and waited for her.
Her greeting was characteristically unconventional. “What a magnificent horse. Arabian?”
“Yes. I assume this meeting is not fortuitous?”
“I’ve been watching the stables all afternoon in the hope that one of you would venture forth” was the cool response. “I took it for granted you were no more