Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [137]
“I know. It would be cruel and improper to take back a gift. What I propose is that you retain possession of the objects and allow her to use them only under your supervision.”
“Me?” Emerson demanded, neglecting grammar in his consternation. “I don’t know a cursed thing about archery. Nefret’s the one. She was once very good at it.”
“Then why don’t you ask her?”
Grumbling but admitting his responsibility, Emerson went in search of Nefret. The dear girl at once agreed to the scheme (which I had discussed with her earlier), and we all went into the desert behind the house to set up the butts (bales of hay from the stable with targets painted by David). Charla was so pleased at being the object of our attention that she obeyed her mother’s instructions faithfully and even agreed to let David John have his turn. It gave her no little satisfaction, I believe, when he proved to be less adept.
In the afternoon we distributed the Christmas boxes, most of which contained money. A few of the villagers dropped in, on the chance that they might be included. We handed out sweets to the children among them, and I caught Emerson dispensing baksheesh to young Azmi. I was on the veranda at the time, waiting for tea.
“For what services are you rewarding him?” I demanded. “I told you, Emerson, that you must not encourage a child to spy and sneak.”
“The lad is learning a useful lesson,” said Sethos, who had been an amused listener. “That he can earn more from sneaking and spying than from carrying water jars.”
Since I could not in honesty deny this, I sniffed and picked up the newspaper I had laid aside.
“Reading a newspaper?” Sethos inquired. “Good Lord, Amelia. What has come over you?”
“Bloody waste of time,” Emerson said, seating himself and taking out his pipe. “Isn’t tea ready?”
“Shortly. I was just having a glance at the social column. I expect most of the honorables and sirs and lords will be descending upon Luxor before long.”
“Is there any other news?” Sethos asked.
“Rioting in the Delta and the attempted assassination of the Minister of Public Works,” I said, forgetting that I had “just” glanced at the social column.
Waxing impatient for his tea, Emerson got up and went into the house to encourage Fatima. Leaning forward, Sethos said softly, “You are still expecting some dramatic action from…them, aren’t you? Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, my dear. We’ve been left in peace, as they promised.”
I flung the newspaper aside. “Something is bound to happen to someone, otherwise there would be no point to the business. I feel as if I were waiting for a bomb to go off.”
“If it does, you won’t learn about it from a day-old newspaper,” said Sethos.
He was right about that. I learned of it next morning, from, of all people, Kevin O’Connell.
We had gone back to work in the West Valley. Emerson was fired up about a new theory, that the undecorated tomb number 25 had been meant for Akhenaton. He told us all about it at breakfast.
“Akhenaton did not transfer his residence to Amarna until year five of his reign. He would have started to excavate his tomb by then, in Thebes. Where else but in the West Valley, where his father was buried? It was never finished because he began, and completed, another tomb at Amarna.”
“It makes sense, Father,” said Ramses politely. “But there is no evidence.”
“I am going to find it,” Emerson declared, tossing his napkin onto the table. “I gave number 25 a cursory examination last year; this time I intend to examine every wall surface and every scrap with a magnifying glass.”
“Good luck,” said Sethos, accepting another cup of coffee from Fatima.
“Aren’t you coming?” Emerson demanded.
“Oh, I suppose I may as well. As soon as I’ve finished this excellent coffee.”
David had promised Cyrus he would continue copying the reliefs in the tomb of Ay, so after Sethos had dawdled over his coffee we all set out on horseback. An extremely unfortunate incident then occurred. An increasingly loud roar and a series of hoots made the horses