Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [28]
He could not be considered unfamiliar, since I had seen him often before. The same applied to the child who came up the road sometime later. I kept an eye on him, since some of the lads tried to sneak into the stableyard to admire the motorcar (and remove bits of it), but he squatted down some distance away and stayed there.
I had asked Fatima to serve tea early. My intuition was correct. Ramses and Nefret were the first to arrive, with the rest close behind them: Cyrus, Bertie, Jumana, Selim and Daoud, and, after a brief interval, Emerson himself. I plunged at once into my report, since I knew I would not be able to make myself heard once the children joined us.
“I have seen Mlle. Malraux’s portfolio, which was first-rate. Both she and Mr. Farid impressed me with their qualifications.”
“So you hired them?” Cyrus inquired.
“Gracious no, I would never do that without your approval and that of Emerson.”
“If they suit you, Amelia, they’re fine with me,” Cyrus declared.
“Emerson?”
Emerson started and spilled his tea. “What? Oh, yes, certainly, my dear.”
I was pleased to hear this, since I had informed both young Egyptologists that we would take them on.
“M. Lacau has been most accommodating,” I continued. “He offered us several sites: the royal mortuary temples along the cultivation, with the exception of Medinet Habu—”
“There’s nothing left of them,” Cyrus protested. “Just heaps of rubble.”
“Kindly allow me to finish, Cyrus. The far western valleys, where the tombs of Hatshepsut and the three princesses were found, and the site of Tod, south of here.”
“Too far away,” Cyrus said promptly.
“There will be time to consider these possibilities,” I concluded. “M. Lacau wishes us to finish this season in the West Valley.”
From the gleam in Cyrus’s eyes when I mentioned tombs, I knew what his choice would be. Emerson said vaguely, “Yes, yes, Peabody, well done. We will—er—consider the possibilities.”
The appearance of the dear little children put an end to the discussion. They went straight for their grandfather, both talking at once. Under cover of their sweet but penetrating voices, Ramses said softly, “Did you see Smith?”
“He sent his assistant, Mr. Wetherby, to meet with me, instead of coming himself.”
“Wetherby?” Ramses frowned slightly.
“Do you know him?”
“No. He must be new since my time. Did he explain why Smith snubbed you?”
“In the intellligence business, a snub is not a snub but excessive caution. According to Wetherby, his superior did not feel it advisable for us to be seen together. The Department still has not heard from Sethos.”
Ramses’s raised eyebrows indicated a strong degree of skepticism. “I believe he was telling the truth about that,” I said. “He did say that Sethos was in Syria when last heard from, but that is about all I got out of him. Except that he promised he—Smith, rather—would take steps to draw any possible watchers away from us. ‘Laying a few false trails’ was how he put it.”
“Not very satisfactory,” Ramses muttered.
“Oh, and he also said he would inform us if and when he heard from Sethos, providing we do the same. I agreed, of course.”
“Of course,” said Ramses.
He turned away to greet his son, who offered him a somewhat battered biscuit. “I brought you this, Father, since Charla is about to eat the rest of them.”
“That was good of you,” Ramses said. He sat down. The little boy leaned against his knee, and Ramses ate the biscuit, with appropriate murmurs of appreciation. Then David John said, “Remind me, if you will be so good, Father: Who was Tutankhamon?”
I smiled to myself. David John did not like to admit ignorance of archaeological matters. This was his oblique method of obtaining information on a subject he knew little or nothing about. His ignorance was not surprising, since he was