Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [61]
“Language, language, Mrs. E.,” said Kevin, his brogue firmly back in place. Emerson had stopped shaking him and he was himself again. “Where else would a journalist be but at the scene of what may be the greatest story of the year, or the decade, or—”
Emerson gave his throat a final squeeze and dropped him. Kevin subsided onto the ground, and wisely decided to stay there. The ibn Simsah brothers rolled over to make room for him, staring wide-eyed. Emerson drew a deep breath; but before he could express his ire, Ramses’s voice rang out. I turned. He was no longer behind me.
“Father. Here’s another one.”
“Another bloody journalist?” Emerson demanded.
“Better than that.” Ramses rose into sight from behind the low retaining wall above the tomb, pulling another individual to his feet. Recognition was immediate. Starlight silvered a mane of white hair.
“Good Gad,” I cried. “It is Sir Malcolm. What are you—”
“Don’t ask,” said Emerson in a strangled voice. “That question is becoming unbearably repetitive. How many others are lurking about? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
His tone of voice turned this into an unmistakable threat. It got immediate results, in the form of an apologetic cough in one voice and a bad word in another. Two forms emerged from the shadows near Tomb 55, across the way.
“Jumana,” I exclaimed, having recognized that young person’s voice. “And Bertie?”
“He followed me,” Jumana said, giving Bertie a furious look.
“What,” said Emerson, enunciating each word slowly, “Brought…You…Here?”
Bertie cringed. “I tried to stop her.”
“Do be quiet,” Jumana said impatiently. She threw her slim shoulders back and smiled at Emerson. “The same thing that brought you, Professor, I expect. Archaeological fever.”
“You,” said Emerson in the same ominous voice, “meant to creep into the tomb tonight?”
“I thought someone would,” said Jumana, unabashed. “Tonight, while it lies open. I felt sure I could persuade one of the guards to let me in.”
She brushed her dark hair away from her brow in an exaggerated gesture of coquetry. I didn’t doubt her assurance. Bertie wasn’t the only man in Luxor who was infatuated by her dainty form and pretty face.
“I didn’t expect there would be no guards at all,” Jumana went on. “That was a piece of luck. Or would have been, if Bertie hadn’t held me back.”
Goaded into speech, Bertie burst out, “And if I hadn’t, you would have walked into the arms of the ibn Simsahs.”
Sir Malcolm tried to free himself from Ramses’s grasp. “Good evening, Miss…Jumana, is it? I have not had the pleasure of meeting you, but I hope to improve our—”
“Stop it,” said Emerson, waving his fists. “Stop it at once. This is not a social occasion.”
“Here’s another one,” said Sethos, appearing in his turn. He addressed the cringing figure next to him in his fluent Arabic. “Fear us not, my friend, you were here only because your master ordered it. We mean you no harm.”
The unfortunate servant fell to his knees and tried to kiss Sethos’s hand. Sethos snatched it away. “Kneel only to God. Certainly not to that piece of scum,” he added in English, for Sir Malcolm’s benefit.
Emerson was obviously in a quandary, trying to decide which intruder to curse first. Sir Malcolm saved him the trouble, pulling away from Ramses and straightening his rumpled garments. “I will overlook this gratuitous attack from your son,” he began.
“Damned decent of you,” said Emerson in the same well-bred drawl. “I trust you do not expect me to overlook your gratuitous act of trespass.”
Kevin, who had been listening with interest, finished smoothing his hair and reached into the breast pocket of his coat.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I said to him.
Kevin grinned unrepentantly, but he put the little notebook back in his pocket.
“If I am trespassing, so are you,” said Sir Malcolm. “I overheard what Lord Carnarvon said earlier. We are in the same boat now, Professor, and it would be to your advantage as well as mine to reach an agreement.”
Emerson looked at me. In a conversational tone he asked, “Is the fellow determined to drive me to