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By Root 1249 0

almost half an hour, on horseback, to reach the West Valley. Cut off from the main valley by towering cliffs, it was a natural amphitheater of austere beauty, “uncontaminated by bloody tourists.” There were good reasons why it was ignored by visitors and largely unexplored by Egyptologists. Compared with the plethora of royal tombs in the East Valley, this was barren ground in archaeological terms, and difficult of access. There were no cleared roads, and the closest of the tombs, that of Amenhotep III, Akhenaton’s father, was some distance from the entrance to the gorge. Only one other decorated royal tomb had been found, attributed to one of Akhenaton’s successors, the Father of the God Ay. It was even more isolated, at the far end of the valley. As they came nearer they saw the cloud of dust that indicated activity, and heard the sounds of voices. Emerson nodded approval.

“He took my advice, I see.”

Advice was hardly the word; he had all but ordered Cyrus. Risha stepped daintily around a boulder in the middle of the track, and Ramses said, “So he did. Why the tomb of Ay, Father? There’s room in those cliffs for Lord knows how many other tombs, and nobody’s ever done a complete survey.”

“Process of elimination, my boy. Ay was a high official under Akhenaton before he took the throne for himself, and although he returned to the old religion, he may have had enough affection for his king to retain a memento of him.”

“So that’s it. You’re still fixed on finding the original location of the statue.”

“When I set my mind on something I don’t give it up,” retorted Emerson—an understatement if ever there was one. “Ay’s successor, Harmhab, was the first to begin the damnatio memoriae of Akhenaton, and the Ramesside rulers were equally hostile to him. They’d have melted the statuette down.”

“Mother will be glad to hear you don’t mean to investigate that huge tomb of Harmhab.”

Emerson smiled and then scowled. “I like to stir her up now and then. D’you know she finished that article of mine?”

“Did she really?”

“It was overdue,” Nefret said sweetly. “Wasn’t it?”

“Hmph,” said Emerson.

A hail from one of the workmen announced their arrival, and Cyrus came to meet them. “Checking up on me, are you?” he asked.

“Not at all, not at all.” Emerson dismounted. “Just dropped by to see if there is anything we can do.”

“Nothing to do, nothing to see. We’ve just begun. How about you?”

“The same,” said Emerson. He ran a critical eye over the scene. Jumana waved and Emerson waved back. “Where’s that fellow Lidman?”

“Resting,” Cyrus said.

“What? It’s not even midday.”

“He said he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Bah,” said Emerson.

“Not everyone has your stamina, Father,” Nefret said. “I’d better have a look at him.”

She headed toward the spot where a lonely figure sat hunched under a sunshade. Ramses followed, leaving his father and Cyrus arguing about foundation deposits.

Lidman certainly looked sickly. He raised a face slick with sweat, round and pale as a winter moon, and started to stand. Nefret put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get up. Cyrus says you aren’t well. What seems to be the trouble?”

“You are a physician?” Lidman asked. “So at least I have heard. It is nothing, Frau Doktor Emerson, it will soon pass. The usual trouble…” He hesitated, and then put his hand on his conspicuous stomach.

“A common affliction,” Nefret said, with a reassuring smile. She felt his forehead. “I don’t think you have a fever, though it’s hard to tell, the sun is so hot.”

“I am very warm,” Lidman said, drooping. “And my heart is pounding.”

He extended a limp wrist. Emerson came charging up while she was taking Lidman’s pulse. “Nothing wrong with him, is there?” he demanded.

“His pulse is a little fast, but not dangerously so. Just to be on the safe side, I think I had better take him to the house and examine him.”

“The Castle’s closer,” Cyrus said.

“I can do a more complete examination at the clinic,” Nefret said, in her physician’s firm voice. “Are you able to ride, Mr. Lidman?”

“Yes, oh, yes. It is most kind. I am so sorry, Mr. Vandergelt,