The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [71]
It was almost two in the morning before we had finished bringing him up-to-date, and he had been shown the statuette. His artist’s soul responded to its beauty, and his trained mind to the mystery of its origin.
“At least the journalists did not exaggerate this,” he declared, his long fingers gently caressing the golden curves. “You think it may have been taken from KV55?”
Sethos had said very little. Slumped in his chair, legs stretched out and eyes half closed, he appeared to be dozing. He wasn’t asleep, though. “I didn’t do it,” he murmured.
Fatima was hovering, pressing various kinds of food on him and David, so out of consideration for her I proposed that we all retire.
“Breakfast at five A.M.,” said Emerson.
“Nonsense,” I replied. “David needs a good night’s rest.”
“Oh, very well,” said Emerson. “Six A.M.”
In fact, we did not set off for the Valley until midmorning. The children had not had an opportunity to greet David, who was a great favorite of theirs. He was also kin to half the village of Gurneh through his grandfather Abdullah. His uncle Selim and his cousin Daoud came by to welcome him, and then he had to be introduced to the dog.
“An excellent idea,” David said, scratching the great jaw. “But he—she?—doesn’t strike me as much of a watchdog.”
“She hasn’t sounded the alarm as yet,” Ramses admitted.
“Evildoers have heard of her presence,” said Daoud. “They do not come near.”
“I expect you are right, Daoud,” I said. I didn’t really believe it, for anyone who spent five seconds with Amira knew she was harmless, but Daoud was very proud of his contribution. “Things have been rather quiet of late.”
“Except for the near drowning of that fellow Lidman,” David said.
“It was an accident,” I declared, for we had decided that was to be our official story.
“Only God knows,” said Daoud. “His breath left his body, did it not?”
“Is that what they are saying in Luxor?” Sethos inquired.
“Some of them. They want the Father of Curses to perform an exorcism.”
“An excellent idea,” Sethos said seriously. “What about it, Emerson?”
“I may have to,” said Emerson, trying to pretend the idea was not enticing, “if our fellows get it into their heads that the black afrit is still on the loose.”
Selim, who did not believe in afrits or curses, smiled and caressed his splendid beard. “It can do no harm, Emerson. They say that the black afrit was seen last night in Luxor, walking by the river.”
“Who says?” Ramses asked.
“The usual ‘they,’” Emerson retorted. “Someone heard it from his cousin, who had heard it from his friend, who was drunk or under the influence of hashish. Ah well, I will give the matter some thought. Who knows, it might lure Mrs. Petherick out of hiding.”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
In his own way, Daoud was invaluable. It was he who brought them the news next morning that Lidman had been declared out of danger by Dr. Westin and that Cyrus had invited him to the Castle to convalesce.
“That was sweet of Cyrus,” Nefret said.
Not so much sweet as precautionary, Ramses thought. Cyrus hadn’t been convinced of Lidman’s innocence. His palatial house near the Valley of the Kings was as secure as any prison. High walls surrounded the estate, and the gates were always locked and guarded. Lidman couldn’t creep out without being seen, and if another “event” involving the black afrit occurred while he was there, he would have a cast-iron alibi.
“Sweet, bah,” said Emerson. “Vandergelt wants to keep an eye on the fellow. Excellent idea. Peabody, I sent word this morning to Winlock and his staff inviting them to dinner this evening. I told Fatima.”
“You didn’t tell me, Emerson.”
“I just did, Peabody. Now let’s get to work.”
Sethos had condescended to join them that morning, now that the dirtiest part of the clearance had been completed and there were prospects of new finds. He was dressed appropriately for the role of a dedicated archaeological amateur, in worn tweeds and a pith helmet that had