Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [71]
“There is no curse,” said Emerson, like Jehovah issuing a commandment.
“Mais non, certainement. But it is a good story.” She shivered in pretended alarm, and then laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Cyrus asked, joining the group. “I could use a good laugh.”
“It is only about the curse,” Suzanne explained. “The curse of the golden bird.” She broke into another peal of laughter. Cyrus smiled in sympathy, but shook his head. “Some people are going to take it seriously, my dear.”
“I think the Professor does. He says we may not go near the tomb.” She gave Emerson a sidelong glance, eyes widening even more. Emerson looked at her with the same expression as the Great Cat of Re when Amira makes playful approaches.
Daoud turned up at breakfast the following morning. He often did so, since he appreciated Maaman’s cooking, but I could tell at once that he had a more compelling reason for being there. For one thing, his left cheek was green. I recognized Kadija’s famous ointment, which she applied to injuries.
“Was there trouble?” I asked.
“Only from the lady,” said Daoud, his honest face falling. “But do not fear, Sitt Hakim. I have her safe.”
Margaret was safe, but, to judge from the scratches on Daoud’s face, not in a pleasant frame of mind. Emerson’s frame of mind was not much better. Thumping the table with such force that the crockery rattled, he shouted, “So that’s what you’ve been up to. How dare you suborn my employees and plot against me, Peabody?”
“Someone had to,” I replied, anticipating an enjoyable argument. “None of the rest of you seem to have given a curse about Margaret’s safety.”
Sethos ducked his head, avoiding my accusing look. Emerson looked almost as guilty. Nefret’s eyes widened as enlightenment dawned. “Margaret is here? When? How? What’s this all about?”
“It is very simple, my dear,” I replied. “I knew Margaret would come as soon as she heard about the tomb, and that she would pass through Cairo without stopping. There was not much chance of her being intercepted, by us or anyone else, while she was there. Crediting our adversaries with intelligence approaching my own, I assumed they would be on the watch for her arrival in Luxor. So was Daoud. Following my instructions,” I added, with a provocative glance at Emerson.
He was making bubbling noises, like a kettle on the boil. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he sputtered.
“When one wishes to keep a secret, one confides in as few people as is possible, Emerson.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Oh. Well.”
I invited Daoud to sit down and tell us all about it. Nothing loath, he accepted a plate of eggs and toast from Fatima. “I knew her at once, Sitt Hakim, and she knew me and was pleased to see me. But then she said she would go to the hotel, and when I said no, she must come with me and wear the habara you told me to bring, and she said no, she would come to see you later, after she had got a room at the hotel. And I said there were no rooms, and she said she would find one, and what the—a bad word, Sitt—was I doing? And when I took hold of her, very gently, Sitt, she…” He raised his hand to his cheek.
“That’s outrageous, Daoud,” Nefret exclaimed. “What did you do, bind and gag her and wrap her in a habara and carry her off?”
“The Sitt Hakim said she must not be seen by anyone who might recognize her.” Daoud’s eyes filled with tears, like those of a chidden child. He was not accustomed to hearing harsh words from Nefret.
“Don’t scold him, Nefret, he did exactly as I told him,” I said. “I feared she might not take kindly to being ordered about.”
“She never does,” said Sethos. “Thank you, Daoud. You did right.”
“One can only hope so,” said Ramses grimly. “How many people saw you carrying a bundled-up woman, Daoud?”
“Many. When they asked I said what the Sitt Hakim told me to say. That she was a young cousin who had run away from her father to make a foolish marriage.”
“Not bad,” Sethos admitted. “Where is she?”
Daoud had taken her to his house and delivered her into the kindly but powerful arms of Kadija. So there was no hurry. I finished my breakfast