Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [36]
“Oh, bah.” Emerson threw up his hands. “Have it your own way, Peabody. You always do. But,” he added, frowning fiercely, “I insist upon the right to make the final decisions. I will go to Cairo myself.”
I had known he would. There was nothing to be done with his—Howard’s, I should say—precious tomb until Lord Carnarvon arrived, and Emerson could think of little else. He was a perfect nuisance on the dig, emerging from periods of frowning abstraction to shout contradictory orders at everyone. Furthermore, the mere fact of his interviewing the pair meant that he had agreed in principle to the enlargement of our staff. I had already arranged with Cyrus that they should be housed at the Castle.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
Insofar as Ramses was concerned, it was a relief to have his father out of the way for a few days. It wasn’t easy to get on with one’s own work even when Emerson was in a cooperative frame of mind, and for the past few days he had been hard to deal with. The French Institute staff would be arriving shortly to take over at the workmen’s village of Deir el Medina, and Ramses wanted to finish the translation of the papyri they had found the year before. Cyrus amiably agreed that he wasn’t needed in the West Valley. Ramses had already made copies of the texts in Ay’s tomb. They would have to be collated with the photographs Nefret and Selim had taken, but that job could wait.
He was alone in the house that day, except for the servants, so it ought to have been easy to concentrate, but his mind wandered—from memories of the man who had been his amiable and murderous assistant, to the voices of his children playing in the garden, to the Great Cat of Re, who was determined to recline on the delicate papyrus scraps laid out on the table.
“Go and bully the dog,” Ramses said, carrying the cat to the window.
Once there he lingered, enjoying the fresh air and the vivdly colored blossoms along the path that led from the main house to the one his family occupied. His mother had proceeded with the construction of the latter without bothering to consult them in advance, but he had to admit it suited their requirements and was far enough away so that they weren’t often bothered by unannounced visits. The children had their own quarters, and a set of rooms had been set aside for Nefret’s clinic. From where he stood he could see its entrance, shaded by tamarisk trees with a bench under them for waiting patients. He was about to force himself back to work when someone moved along the path. It was Fatima, wearing her self-decreed uniform of black robe and head veil; but she was acting oddly, moving at an undignified trot and glancing frequently over her shoulder. She reached the door of the clinic, cast a final comprehensive glance around, and went in.
Nefret was in the West Valley with Cyrus. Fatima knew that. If she was in need of medical attention, why hadn’t she mentioned it to Nefret at breakfast? Nefret always kept the clinic door locked, but Fatima, as head housekeeper, had a full set of keys. Surely she had better sense than to dose herself.
More curious than concerned, Ramses decided he had better ascertain the reason for her extraordinary behavior. He walked along the edge of the path, stepping lightly. His mother’s favorite roses, pink and white and crimson, had sprinkled the ground with a rain of petals. The tall spires of hollyhocks had been partially denuded by Charla, who made dollies out of the blossoms. The unopened bud, inserted into the base of an inverted blossom, did bear a faint resemblance to a turbaned lady in a full skirt. A long row of wilting ladies, pink, rose, yellow, and crimson, lay along the path.
The door of the clinic was closed. He opened it.
Fatima spun round with a little shriek, clutching something to her breast. She was standing in front of the open medicine cabinet.
“What’s going on?” Ramses asked. “Are you ill?”
Fatima shook her head dumbly. Her round, plain face was the picture of guilt, mouth ajar and eyes staring.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” Ramses said gently. “What are