Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (18 page)

‘Let him go, Walter,’ I said. ‘You know he is too stubborn to listen to reason. What we need now is a council of war; we must consult Abdullah, and also Michael, who is an astute man. I can think of several things we might do, but we may as well wait until after your brother has fainted, then he won’t be in our way, arguing and shouting. I think we can drag him back to camp from here. If not, Abdullah and Michael can come for him.’

Emerson was still on his feet when we reached the camp. Walter took him into their tomb for restorative action; then we met for the suggested council of war.

This was the first time Michael had heard of what was happening. He spent his nights on the dahabeeyah, considering the three mile walk trivial; as a Christian and a stranger he was not welcome in the village. Squatting on the rug at my side he listened without comment; but his fingers strayed to the gold crucifix around his neck, and he kept touching it throughout the remainder of the discussion. I asked him for his suggestions.

‘Leave this place,’ he said promptly. ‘I am protected from demons’ – and his fingers closed over the crucifix – ‘but in this place are also evil men. The boat waits; we all go, the gentlemen too.’

‘Surely you don’t believe in demons, Michael,’ Evelyn said in her gentle voice.

‘But, lady, it is in the Holy Book. God lets demons and afreets exist; how can we say the Holy Book is a lie? I do not fear demons, no, I am a true believer. But this is not a good place.’

Abdullah nodded vigorously. His faith was not Michael’s, but beneath both Christianity and Islam lie the dark superstitions of the pagan religion.

‘Michael has made one of the proposals I intended to make,’ I said, nodding at Michael, who beamed with gratified pride. ‘You must face the fact, gentlemen, that you can do no more here at this time. I suggest you withdraw and recruit workers from some other part of Egypt. They will not be subject to the influence Mohammed can bear; and when the local villagers see that the work is proceeding without incident, they will realize that the idea of a curse is nonsense.’

Walter was clearly impressed with the argument, and with the additional point I had not made – his brother’s health. He looked at Emerson, who said nothing; but his chin jutted out so far that I had to repress an urgent desire to strike it.

‘There are other sites in Egypt that need work,’ Evelyn added. ‘Many of them, from what you tell me. Why not try another place until the resentment has died down here?’

‘An interesting suggestion,’ Emerson said. His voice was very quiet; it grated like a grinding stone. ‘What do you say, Abdullah?’

‘Very good, very good. We go. Work at Sakkarah, Luxor. I know tombs in the Valley of the Kings,’ he added, with a sly glance at Emerson. ‘Royal tombs, many not found yet. I find you good king’s tomb and we go to Thebes, where is my home, where I have friends who work gladly.’

‘Hmm,’ said Emerson. ‘There certainly are undiscovered tombs in the Valley of the Kings. It is a tempting suggestion, Abdullah. You seem to forget, however, that one cannot excavate in Egypt without permission from the Antiquities Department. I had a difficult enough time wringing this concession out of Maspero; he certainly will not allow me to dig in any spot where he hopes to find interesting objects. There is also a minor matter of money to be considered. Walter – what is your opinion?’

Walter had been looking at Evelyn. He started when his brother addressed him, and faint colour stained his tanned cheeks.

‘Why, Radcliffe, you know I will do whatever you wish. But I urge one thing most strongly. Whether you and I go or stay, the ladies must leave. Not that our situation holds any danger; but it is unpleasant, and the ladies have already given too much time to us. They must depart; today, if possible.’

A tear glimmered in my eye as I gazed at the gallant young fellow. He was a true Briton, ordering the girl he loved out of danger and remaining loyal to his billy goat of a brother. Evelyn clasped her hands and gazed at me beseechingly. She felt the same loyalty to me, and would not oppose my decision. There was no need for her appeal. I had no intention of being removed, like a bundle of laundry, to a safe spot behind the lines of battle.

‘The suggestion is well meant, but I cannot accept it,’ I said briskly. ‘Either we all go, or all of us remain.’

Emerson now turned his full attention to me. He drew a deep breath; the buttons of his shirt strained across his broad chest. They were all loose, and I reminded myself to fetch my sewing kit as soon as the argument was over.

‘Ah, Miss Peabody,’ he said, in a low growl. ‘My dear Miss Peabody. May I take the liberty of enquiring how the devil – ’ His voice rose to a roar, a gesture from Walter stopped him, and he continued in a moderated voice that shook with the strain of control. ‘How on earth did you come to be mixed up in my affairs? I am a patient man; I seldom complain. But my life was calm and peaceful until you came into it. Now you behave as if you were the leader of the expedition! I quite agree with Walter, the women must go. Now don’t argue with me, Peabody! Do you realize that I could have you bundled up and carried off to your boat? Michael and Abdullah would be delighted to do the job.’

I glanced down at Michael, who was listening in open mouthed interest.

‘No, Michael would not obey you. He would prefer to see me out of here, I’m sure, but he would not disregard my wishes. Now, Emerson, don’t waste time arguing. I can see that you intend to remain here, and I must admit that I am reluctant to abandon the work – to see the British lion skulk away with its tail between its legs …’

‘Oh, God,’ said Emerson. He rolled his eyes until the whites showed. I felt that the remark was not intended as a prayer, but decided not to make an issue of it. I continued.

‘Having decided to remain, we must consider the next step. You cannot obtain workmen here. Unless my crew…’

I glanced at Michael, who shook his head, and went on, ‘No, I thought they would not. And I fear any workers you might import might be subject to the same harassment. I suggest, then, that today we all work at finishing up the pavement. Evelyn must complete her sketch; I will apply the rest of the tapioca. Tonight we will proceed to the obvious course of action. We must catch the mummy, and unmask him!’

Walter sat upright and clapped his hands.

‘Miss Amelia, you are a wonder. Of course! With four of us on guard – ’

‘Six of us,’ I said. ‘I think that is sufficient; there is no need to bring the boat crew into this. I suggest that one of us watch the village. Mohammed must slip out in his disguise if he wants to haunt us, and since he is determined to get rid of us, he will probably pay us a visit tonight. The rest of us will lie in wait for him. Have you firearms?’

Evelyn let out a little cry of alarm.

Emerson’s face underwent a series of silent convulsions. He said in a muffled voice, ‘I do not have firearms. They are dangerous and unnecessary.’

‘Then we will have to use clubs,’ I said.

Emerson’s lips writhed. ‘I can’t stand this,’ he muttered, and sprang to his feet. As he walked away, I saw that his shoulders were shaking uncontrollably, and I realized he must be weaker than I had thought.

‘Have a good rest,’ I called out after his retreating form. ‘We should all sleep this afternoon, in order to be alert tonight.’

Emerson’s only response was a sort of muted roar. He disappeared into his tomb, and I turned to Walter, who was staring after his brother.

‘He is weak with exhaustion, Walter. You had better – ’

‘No,’ said Walter. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘What is wrong with him, then?’

Walter shook his head dazedly. ‘It is impossible … But if I did not know better, I would swear he was laughing.’

The rest of the day proceeded according to plan –
my
plan. Evelyn finished her sketch of the pavement. It was a lovely thing; she had caught perfectly the muted pastel shades of the original. I then sent her back to rest while I finished applying the protective coating. It was early evening before I was done, and when I returned to camp I found dinner underway. Thanks to my efforts, there was a new spirit about the place. We were a small, reduced force, but we were united. Even Michael and Abdullah seemed cheerful and alert. Over dinner we made the rest of our plans.

Walter and Abdullah were to watch the village, with special attention to the mayor’s house. Like all primitive groups, the village retired as soon as the sun went down. We did not expect any activity much before midnight, but the watchers were to take their places as soon as it was completely dark. Should Mohammed emerge, they were to follow him. He probably did not keep his mummy disguise in the house; Emerson felt sure that his father was not one of the plotters. The old man’s fear had seemed genuine. Mohammed, then, would go to the spot – of which there were many in the crumbling cliffs – where he had concealed his costume, and assume it there. The watchers were not to interfere with him until they saw him actually in his disguise. They would then apprehend him; one would hold him captive while the other ran to give us the news. In a body bag we would haul the miscreant back to the village and expose his trickery.

On the remote chance that Mohammed was able to elude our gallant watchers, the rest of us prepared a second line of defence. Evelyn, with Michael to guard her, would retire to her chamber, though not to her bed, of course. From the doorway Michael would keep watch. Meanwhile, Emerson and I would take up our positions in his tomb chamber, which was some distance down the ledge from the one we ladies occupied. Any visitor would have to pass this door in order to reach Evelyn, who would thus be doubly protected. I must confess I felt a trifle uneasy on Evelyn’s behalf. Mohammed’s vile remark fitted only too neatly with the mute evidence of the crumbled wrappings outside the door of the chamber where Evelyn slept.

As soon as it was dark, Walter and Abdullah slipped away. I settled Evelyn, with Michael standing by; he was holding a long cudgel, and although he began to show signs of uneasiness as the mysterious dusk gathered, I felt sure he would use the club if anything threatened Evelyn. I did not expect such a necessity would arise. If the mummy eluded the watchers at the village, Emerson and I would take care of him.

After assuming a suitable costume, I crept along the ledge to Emerson’s tomb. He was seated at the packing case that served as a desk, writing by the light of a lamp. When I slid stealthily into the chamber, he dropped his pen and stared.

‘Is this a masquerade party, Peabody? The mummy will win first prize in any case; your old gypsy lady will not compete.’

‘Obviously dark clothing is necessary if I wish to be unseen,’ I replied, in some annoyance. ‘The black head scarf keeps my hair from flying about, and the dirt is necessary to darken the comparative pallor of my face and hands. I was about to suggest the same precautions for you. And put out the lamp, if you please.’

‘I will put out the lamp at the usual time,’ Emerson said coldly. ‘If someone is watching, we do not wish to alarm him by any deviation from our routine. I suggest you squat there in the corner, Peabody, where you will not be visible from the doorway. No one would ever believe, seeing you as you look just now, that I had invited you here, for – er – amorous purposes.’

I did not think it worthwhile to dignify this remark with a reply. Giving him a haughty look, I went to my corner.

The ensuing hours dragged tediously. At first I amused myself by watching Emerson, who continued to write as if I had not been there. He needed a haircut. Despite his illness his hair was healthy-looking – thick and black and a little wavy where it curled over his collar. The movement of the muscles of his back, under his thin shirt, was interesting to a student of anatomy.

After a time this occupation palled. I crawled across to the packing-case table, this manoeuvre winning an irritable growl from Emerson, and took one of the books that was scattered on its surface. It was a volume on the pyramids of Gizeh, by a certain Mr Petrie. I remembered hearing Emerson mention this young scholar, if not with approval – for Emerson did not speak of anyone with approval – at least without the invective he directed toward most other archaeologists, so I began to read with considerable interest. I could see why Emerson approved of Mr Petrie. The meticulous care with which his measurements were carried out, checked, and re-checked was most impressive. He had totally disproved the mystical theories of the people who think the Great Pyramid to be a great prophecy in stone; and his description of the methods used by the ancients in cutting and shaping stones with the most primitive tools was convincing and interesting. So I read on, in the dim light, the silence broken only by the whisper as I turned a page, and by the scratch of Emerson’s pen. I suppose I must have presented a curious figure as I squatted there in my dusty black skirt and cloak, with my dirty face bent over the tome.

Finally Emerson laid down his pen and rose. He yawned and stretched ostentatiously. Then, without so much as a glance in my direction, he blew out the lamp. Darkness obliterated every object. As my eyes gradually adjusted, I made out the open entrance, a square of sky glittering with stars.

Placing the book carefully on the table, I crawled to the doorway. A whisper from Emerson told me of his position; I took up my post on the other side of the door.

An even more boring period of time followed. I had no book with which to beguile my time, and Emerson did not seem inclined for conversation. I believed it was safe to whisper; we could see some distance, and would have seen an intruder long before he could have heard low voices. Nor did I really believe Mohammed would get this far. He had no reason to expect an ambush, and would be trapped by Abdullah and Walter as soon as he betrayed himself by assuming his mummy attire.

But Emerson squelched my first attempt to discuss the theories of Mr Petrie, so I did not try again.

The beauty of the night was unbelievable. I have never seen stars so thickly clustered as those that bestrew the night sky of Egypt; they blazed like a pharaoh’s treasure against the dark. The cool, sweet air was as refreshing as water after a long thirst, and the silence was infinitely soothing. Even the distant howls of the jackals seemed fitting, a lonely cry that mourned the loss of past splendour.