Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [171]
“As a matter of fact, he is,” I said, attempting to conceal my astonishment.
“I have been instructed—I have decided—to allow him to make a drawing of one of the artifacts.”
Taking it for granted that (or not giving a curse whether) he had been included in Howard’s gesture, Emerson had followed after me. “Which one?” he instantly demanded.
Howard glanced at the paper he was twisting between his fingers. It appeared to be a telegram.
“Whichever he likes.” With a flash of temper, he added, “But not in the tomb!”
“Of course not,” I said. “You are busy there. The storage tomb.”
Like Emerson, I realized we must seize time by the fetlock before Howard could change his mind.
“Yes,” he said grudgingly. Taking a pencil from his pocket, he scribbled on the back of the telegram. “Give this to Lucas. And tell Todros I will hold him accountable for any damage!”
I gave Emerson a little poke to prevent him from expressing his indignation, and took the note from Howard’s reluctant hand.
“Hurry,” I exclaimed, as we retreated in haste. “Where is David?”
We had to battle our way through a horde of journalists; they were so hungry for news that they pounced on anyone who had spoken with Howard. Emerson told them to go to the devil and I told them Howard was about to give a press conference, whereupon they squatted like a pack of hungry jackals round the mouth of a rabbit hole. I led my group away. When we were at a safe distance I broke the news to David. The look in the dear boy’s eyes would have brought tears to my own, had I been a sentimenal person.
“You have your drawing materials with you, I believe?” I asked.
“Yes. Yes, but—”
“What else do you need?” Nefret asked. “I’ll go to the house and fetch it.”
“Paints and brushes…”
“I understand. Will you come with me, Margaret?”
Margaret at once agreed. She appeared as pleased and excited as everyone else.
The rest of us went at once to the tomb of Seti II. The open area in front of the entrance was a scene of what appeared to be utter chaos; objects being treated lay on tables and trestles, boards for constructing packing cases leaned against the walls, paper and packing materials were strewn about. Inside the tomb, whose gate stood open, one could see half a dozen wooden cases and several working areas. Even from the outside the smell of acetone, collodion, and other chemicals was strong.
Lucas was not surprised to see us. He shook hands all round and read the note from Carter. “I wondered when Carter would get over his pique,” he said. “As you can see, we are in something of a turmoil here, but I am happy to oblige. Are you interested in any particular item, Mr. Todros?”
David’s eyes were fixed on it—the painted chest. It rested on a table several yards down the corridor. Lucas frowned. “The exterior only, I presume? The contents are in terrible condition and Mace hasn’t started on them yet. I would rather not move it.”
“I quite agree. I observe you have employed paraffin wax on the exterior,” I said, craning my neck to see better.
“The wood had begun to shrink and the painted gesso to come loose,” Lucas said. “We had to take immediate steps.”
“There is nothing like paraffin wax,” I said.
“It has done the job, and even enhanced the colors.”
“We will leave you to get on with your work, then,” I said, adding that someone would be coming by later with David’s painting materials. David did not acknowledge our farewells. Seated on a campstool, he had already begun to sketch, and was lost in his own world.
“I hope he can finish today,” I said to Emerson. “There is something decidedly odd about this. Howard’s pique is still firmly in place. He received orders from someone to let David work.”
“Lacau, perhaps?” Ramses suggested.
Emerson snorted. “Carter snubs and ignores the Antiquities Department. There is only one person from whom he takes orders.”
“Lord Carnarvon,” I agreed. “However, his compliance is equally inexplicable.”
We reached the end of the wadi and turned into the main path, where whom should we behold but Sethos, sitting