Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [118]
“Then he will be buried today?” I asked. “I wonder if we ought to attend the obsequies.”
Emerson growled, Ramses raised his eyebrows, and even Aziz’s controlled countenance expressed astonishment.
“Perhaps not,” I said.
“Attendance will not be large,” said Aziz, with a touch of irony. “He was greatly disliked, for he brought shame on his family. I myself will be present in case his rascally brothers are there. Thus far I have not been able to lay my hands on them.”
“You think they were involved in his death?” Ramses asked.
“They were always involved with Farhat’s evil deeds. I want to question them. Now if you will excuse me, I must remove my unwanted presence.”
He summoned his men with a brusque command and led them away.
“Dear me,” I said. “Howard does seem to be intent on offending everyone he can. Emerson, why don’t you show Sennia the tomb and tell her what is going on?”
Make no mistake about it, dear Reader; children are fascinated by horrid events and gruesome sights. I have never met a child who did not delight in mummies. However, in my opinion, little Miss Sennia had heard enough of horrors; I had no intention of allowing her to view what might be left of Farhat. Emerson indicated his agreement with my opinion and took Sennia back to the tomb. I proceeded, as had been my intention, toward the scene of the…accident.
After all, there was not much to see. Aziz had done a thorough job of clearing away the mess. Every scrap had been removed, including the broken fragments of glass. Only darkened bloodstains remained.
“The blast was what killed him,” I said to Nefret. “If he had been dead before it went off, there wouldn’t be so much blood.”
“Not if he had died only moments before,” Nefret argued. “Struck down by a mortal wound.”
“I yield to your medical expertise, of course,” I said. “But on logical grounds such a scenario is most unlikely. We would have heard the sound of a shot or a struggle. And if I understand how the infernal device works, it would explode immediately after one sort of acid mixed with the other.”
I looked questioningly at Ramses, who pondered the question and then said, “It would take a few seconds for the nitric acid to penetrate the cotton wool. That would begin as soon as the pipe was laid flat. I doubt that a killer would risk its being dropped.”
“Not to mention the absence of motive for a murderous attack,” I said. “At least I can’t think of one.”
“Do I detect a certain note of regret?” Ramses asked gravely.
It was just one of his little jokes. “I would prefer a nice simple murder to our present state of confusion,” I replied, only half in jest.
I had forgotten about Kevin, who had the trained journalist’s ability to creep up on a victim unobserved. Reminded of his presence by a faint scratching sound, I turned to see him scribbling away in his beastly notebook.
“You may not quote me, Kevin,” I said sternly.
“If you say so, Mrs. E.”
(I should add, in justice to Kevin, that he did not. When his story appeared, it said, “Mrs. Emerson is known to prefer murder to other forms of crime. She is also known to be an expert on ancient Egyptian curses.” My solicitor has informed me that no action can be taken.)
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
“I am becoming bored watching Mr. Carter swanking about,” Nefret declared. “Why do we give him the satisfaction of snubbing us?”
Ramses was in full agreement, though he understood better than most the difficulties Carter faced. It had taken them more than a year to clear the tomb of Tetisheri, and that had been only a single room. Carter had at least four chambers to contend with, each jammed full of irreplaceable, delicate objects—including, perhaps, the mummy of the king. The eyes of the world, not to mention those of Emerson, would be fixed upon him, ready to criticize every move. He would also be harassed by visitors, journalists,