Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [69]
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they had,” Sethos said, cheering up. “I could be anybody, even a tourist.”
“Until Margaret turns up,” Ramses said. “I can’t imagine what’s been keeping her.”
“She may not have been in England when the rumors about the tomb began,” Nefret said.
“She’ll certainly have heard the news by now,” Emerson said. “Merton’s article was in the Times on the thirtieth. If she left right away she could be here any day now.”
“Hmmm,” said his wife.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emerson demanded.
“It means that we will deal with Margaret when the time comes. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
The day wasn’t over. Daoud and Selim were waiting on the veranda. The former’s face was grave.
“Now what?” Emerson demanded. It took a great deal to wipe the smile from Daoud’s face.
“Bad news, Father of Curses.”
“We know about the attack on Nadji. We’ve just come from there,” Ramses said. “He isn’t much hurt.”
Daoud shook his head. “Not that, Ramses. It is worse, much worse.”
“You make it worse,” Selim said emphatically. “It was an accident, meaningless—”
“For God’s sake,” Emerson shouted. “What has happened?”
“The golden bird,” Daoud intoned. “It has been eaten by a cobra, the defender of the pharaoh. It means death to those who invade his tomb.”
CHAPTER FIVE
FROM MANUSCRIPT H (CONTINUED)
LORD CARNARVON AND HIS DAUGHTER LEFT FOR CAIRO AND ENGLAND on the fourth of December. Ramses happened to be in Luxor that day on business of his own, so he was privileged to see their procession sweep through town with all the fanfare of a royal progress, surrounded by admirers and followed by the press. Carnarvon passed him without a glance. Perhaps he didn’t see me, Ramses thought charitably. Carter did see him. He raised one hand in a half-hearted salute before hurrying on.
Carter followed his patron to Cairo two days later. According to Daoud, he was saddened by the loss of his bird, but refused to understand the dire implications, which were evident to every sensible individual.
“Bah,” said Emerson. “It was only a bird, and cobras are not uncommon.”
“But the omen of the golden bird was true,” Daoud replied. “The golden tomb was found. And is not the cobra the symbol of the pharaoh?”
“He has you there, Father,” said Ramses.
“So you should be grateful to God that you are not the one who found the tomb,” Daoud said earnestly. He bade them a ceremonial farewell and went off in something of a hurry. It was almost time for sunset prayers. Ramses didn’t doubt the entire Emerson family would be featured in those prayers.
“We had better not tell him we’ve been inside the cursed—excuse me—place,” he said.
“Not only the tomb, but the burial chamber itself,” his mother remarked. “Don’t underestimate Daoud. I’ll wager he knows. He’s hoping we weren’t there long enough to arouse the royal wrath.”
“If he knows, why didn’t he say so?” Nefret asked. “It isn’t like Daoud to keep secrets to himself.”
“Don’t underestimate him,” her mother-in-law said again. “Daoud can keep a secret when he is persuaded it is necessary.”
That afternoon they had a visit from Herbert Winlock and George Barton. Their friends were always welcome for tea, but it had been some time since any of the Metropolitan Museum crew had stopped by. Winlock was one of what Emerson called “the younger generation of Egyptologists,” being approximately the same age as Ramses, though his rapidly receding hairline made him look older. He was a brilliant excavator and a genial host when the Americans entertained at their Luxor headquarters. He greeted them without self-consciousness, but Ramses thought Barton looked somewhat uncomfortable. A gawky, exuberant man, he had developed what Ramses’s mother called a “crush” on Nefret, and had a tendency to stare admiringly and unnervingly at her.
After his mother had served the tea and Winlock had asked about their work in the West Valley, he got to the point.
“I understand you’ve fallen out with Carter and Carnarvon.