Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [63]
I will confess to my Readers that I did not finish recording the events I have described until several days later. I stick to the accuracy of the account, however; it was a night to remember, one of the most unforgettable of my life. Earlier excavations of the royal tombs had turned up only broken bits and pieces of the funerary equipment, tantalizing hints of the exquisite originals. Tetisheri’s tomb, which we had found, was a reburial. This was the first tomb that still contained the vast majority of the king’s original equipment, more or less in situ. Imagination had conjured up glittering images of what once had been; this was the reality.
The only one of us who slept through the entire night was Nefret, and when she and Ramses joined us at the breakfast table her blue eyes were blazing with indignation. From his sheepish expression I deduced that Ramses had borne the initial brunt of her reproaches, but there were plenty left for me and Emerson. Instead of returning Kevin’s cheery greeting, she fixed him with an inimical scowl.
“Why is that man still here?” she demanded. “Why haven’t you sent him packing?”
Kevin attempted to look hurt. His carrot-red hair was sprinkled with gray and fine lines framed his blue eyes, but his freckles were as exuberant as ever. “I haven’t done anything,” he protested. “Our old friendship—”
“He will be sent packing as soon as he has repeated to the rest of you what he told me last night,” I said. “It is of some importance, as I believe you will agree. How much has Ramses told you, Nefret?”
“Some of it.” She transferred her frown from Kevin to the plate of eggs Fatima had placed before her. “I only woke half an hour ago.”
“And half that time was spent calling me names,” said Ramses. “As I told her, we did not know when we left the house what we might run into. There was no time to—”
“Let us not waste breath in futile recrimination and apology,” I broke in. “We agree, I believe, on the following story: first, that we will mention Carter and Carnarvon’s illicit entry into the tomb to no one. We went there because we feared an attempt at robbery, and discovered the ibn Simsah brothers. Emerson and Ramses remained on guard in order to prevent additional attempts until Reis Girigar arrived this morning.”
“Lie, you mean?” Nefret demanded.
“I never prevaricate unless it is absolutely necessary, Nefret. In this case it is simply a matter of omitting certain details. Carter and Carnarvon had no right to enter that tomb, but Scripture tells us not to judge our fellowmen. Their own consciences must determine whether or not to confess.”
“I hate it when you quote the cursed Bible,” Emerson growled. “I don’t intend to give Carter away, but what about him?” He gestured at Kevin with the fork on which he had impaled a piece of egg.
“He won’t print anything,” Ramses said. “He wants to stay in Carnarvon’s good graces.”
“Quite right,” Kevin agreed, wiping egg yolk off his crumpled cravat. “Anyhow, I’d be risking a suit for libel if you lot refuse to back me up. They can’t charge me with anything except being in the Valley after hours. I never got into the tomb.”
“The same holds for Sir Malcolm, I fear,” I said regretfully. “Whatever his intentions, he committed no act that could be considered trespass. Let us return to the point. Kevin has admitted that rumors of a great find have been circulating among his archaeological and journalistic connections for some weeks. Apparently Lord Carnarvon told various friends about Howard’s telegram as soon as it arrived, and of course they told others. When Kevin learned that Arthur Merton of the Times had booked passage to Egypt, he took the next boat. You see what that means, don’t you?”
“Other journalists will follow, if they are not already on the way,” Nefret exclaimed.
“Including Margaret Minton,” said Kevin, his pleasant countenance taking on quite a threatening aspect. “She’s sharp as they come, and she’ll stop at nothing to steal a march on me.”
I was not the only one