The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [109]
We were climbing down the bank toward the gangplank before Cyrus recovered his voice. “Dead or alive? A reward is a bully idea, Amelia, but did you have to say—”
“That was just Arabic rhetoric,” I assured him. “It sounded more emphatic.”
“It sure did. ‘His head in a basket’ carries a lot of punch.”
“I made it clear I preferred him alive. But I will take what I can get.”
Shaking his head, Cyrus went off to his quarters and I looked in on Emerson. He was sleeping soundly, which I had expected, because I had slipped a soupçon of laudanum into his water bottle. With my mind at ease on that point I proceeded to my room, not to rest, as I had promised Cyrus, but to consider my next move.
I had my strategy worked out by the time the weary workers returned from the dig. The most difficult part was to decide whom to take into my confidence, and to what extent. I did not count on any cooperation whatever from Emerson, but I hoped by one means or another to induce him to discuss his intentions with regard to the excavation. Cyrus, I feared, had not entirely abandoned his charming but absurd idea of protecting me, so I would have to find means of eluding his attentions when it did not suit me to accept them. Men are frightful nuisances at times; how much simpler life would be if we women did not have to make allowances for their little peculiarities.
Simpler, but not nearly so interesting. The sight of my now-beardless spouse, scowling at me across the dinner table, caused a thrill to run through my limbs and reminded me that no effort was too great to preserve him from peril. To my regret I had been forced to cover up the dimple in Emerson’s chin, which he detests and which I cherish; strips of sticking plaster also disfigured the bridge of his nose and his upper lip. But the strong jaw was at last exposed; the magnificent modeling of one cheek at least was visible to my fond gaze.
I was about to compliment him on the improvement in his appearance when Cyrus entered, apologizing for his tardiness and looking rather sheepish. I dropped my napkin.
“Cyrus! You have shaved off your goatee!”
“A gesture of sympathy,” said the American, glancing at Emerson.
“Wasted,” said Emerson. “You ought to have stuck to your guns, Vandergelt, as you Americans say. You look ridiculous.”
“Not at all,” I said, considering the effect. “I approve, Cyrus. You have a fine, well-shaped chin. Indeed, you look ten years younger.”
Emerson immediately changed the subject, demanding of René an account of the afternoon’s work.
“You were right, Professor,” René said. “The second structure appears to be exactly the same size as the one adjoining it, five meters wide by ten deep. The plans are identical— four rooms in all. Into one room, where we found a hearth with a patch of smoke-blackened plaster above it, a part of the ceiling had fallen. It was of matting covered with mud plaster—”
“The roof, not the ceiling,” snapped Emerson. “The houses had only one story. Stairs led to the roof, which was open but used for additional living and storage space. Charles—what about the other house?”
Again Emerson’s surmise had been accurate. The structure was larger and more complex in plan than the smaller houses; the enclosure wall formed its south and east sides. After further discussion Emerson announced, “There can be no question about it. The larger house is that of an overseer or official. What we have is a workman’s village surrounded by an outer wall and laid out with a regularity that indicates it was designed and built as a unit instead of growing haphazardly like ordinary towns. Pétrie found a similar arrangement at Lahun; as I told him, it must have been occupied by the men who constructed and maintained the pyramid near it.” Attempting to curl his lip at Cyrus—a gesture whose effect was somewhat