Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (15 page)

rubbed," Ramses muttered, rolling over. Nefret burst out laughing. He turned his head to look at her in surprise, and then laughed too. "That wasn't what I meant." "No? Well, we'll see." She pulled his shirt up and slid her hands slowly along his ribs, pressing lightly. "What did Mother have to say?" he asked. "Close your eyes and relax." "I'm practically comatose already. At least I was until you started doing that ... Did she say something rude about me, is that why you don't want to tell me?" "Goodness, but you have a one-track mind. I was just trying to remember. Let me see ... Sennia is enjoying school; Mother has settled the controversy between Gargery and Fatima-they're taking turns-and she is annoyed because the Professor won't let her investigate the queens' pyramids. She had just received the letter I posted the day we arrived, but they are anxious to know what we found here. We really ought to write them." "May I see it?" "See what? Mothers letter? If you can find it. You've got papers and books spread over every surface, as usual. Oh, I almost forgot- the Vandergelts are coming out. Bertie has had pneumonia and the doctors have recommended a winter in Egypt. They should be arriving any day now. There was a letter from Lia, too. Mother forwarded it. The baby had a cold, nothing serious, but she told me about every sniffle and sneeze! David's leg is better; the doctors think he will regain full use of it eventually." She paused to take a deep breath. "That's good. So long as he doesn't think he's well enough to come out. Have you written Lia lately?" "I owe her a letter," Nefret admitted. "You should write Father; he'll be impatient to know what progress we've made in our investigations." She stretched the word out, pronouncing each syllable with portentous emphasis. Ramses laughed. "Not even Father could expect results within two days. He will want to know that Tetisheri is safe, though. I'll write him tonight, unless you would rather." "I'll end up having to do it," Nefret grumbled. "I always do." "Poor girl. What a miserable life you lead." "Do you really want to write letters tonight?" He turned onto his side and pulled her into his arms. FROM MANUSCRIPT H (CONTINUED) 8

The war had drastically curtailed excavation, but Legrain was still at Karnak and Ramses decided to visit him first, since he had already suffered a loss of statues from his storage magazines. One of the men took them across the river in their small boat, and landed them near the temple. From a distance it was still an impressive sight, though much of it was in ruins and the oldest structures had vanished, quarried by later kings for their own monuments. Vandalism had taken its toll, and so had time and natural disasters. Ramses well remembered the year several of the mammoth columns of the Hypostyle Hall had collapsed, with a crash that could be heard all over Luxor. They found the Frenchman in the Hypostyle Hall directing a crew who were moving a stone drum from one of the fallen columns. After he had shaken Ramses's hand and kissed Nefret's, they walked back between the masses of tumbled sandstone blocks that had once been twin pylons, into the sunlight of the forecourt. Ramses congratulated him on all he had accomplished since they were last there. "It will be a lifetime's work," Legrain said. His gesture took in the fallen pylons, the uneven bramble-strewn surface of the court, the ruined columns that flanked it on the north and south. "And this is only one small part of the whole. So where will you be working? I had thought you were at Giza." Ramses explained their ostensible mission, and Legrain shrugged. "I fear it is a hopeless cause. To guard everything, it is impossible, and the thieves have grown bold. You heard of the theft from my magazines?" "Yes. Have the police found any clues?" "Ah, the police!" Legrain's cynical smile showed his opinion of the local gendarmerie-an opinion Ramses shared. "No, there were no clues-although if Madame Emerson had been here she would have found some, n'est-ce pas? Whoever the thieves were, they knew their antiquities. They took four of the best-a charming little alabaster statue of Thutmose III, virtually intact, and three larger statues from the late Eighteenth Dynasty." "No sign of them on the antiquities market?" Ramses asked. Legrain shrugged again, and fondled his impressive mustache. "I notified the authorities in Cairo, of course, but I do not expect results. What is difficult to understand is how the villains moved such heavy objects. Mais, c'est la vie!" He chuckled and smiled at Nefret. "I think I will hope not to find anything more for a while. My work, it is primarily that of restoring and rebuilding. The discovery of the statue cache was an accident, as you know." "Not much help," Nefret said, as they walked toward the river. "Are we going back to the west bank now?" "I thought we might have lunch at one of the hotels." "It's still early. I'm not hungry yet." "Whatever you say." "It seems logical to talk to the other Egyptologists who are working in Luxor, doesn't it? There aren't that many of them, and they are all working on the west bank except for M. Legrain, and they might be able to give us a lead." "All right." "You're so damned agreeable I could kick you," Nefret muttered. She was stamping along beside him, her head bowed, her face hidden under the broad brim of her hat. "And don't say you're sorry!" "All right." Nefret stopped dead in her tracks. He turned to her in surprise. Her face was flushed, and her eyes fell before his puzzled gaze. "What's wrong, darling?" he asked. "Nothing." She bit her lip. "I'm being beastly. But-but if you'd only yell at me when I behave like this, or shake me, or-" "Beat you? Anything to oblige. I hope you won't object if I put it off until we're alone, I do dislike providing entertainment for tourists." There were several parties heading toward the temple, and a few people had stopped to stare at them-probably, Ramses thought, because they took him for a jumped-up Egyptian in Western clothing being too familiar with an English girl. Nefret glared at a rather large woman in a very large-brimmed hat and quantities of veiling, and made a vulgar gesture. The woman turned red and went on her way, muttering indignantly. Having relieved her feelings by this bit of rudeness, Nefret began to chuckle. "You're impossibly even-tempered," she murmured. "Kiss me?" "In front of all these people? Not on your life. Anyhow, you don't deserve to be kissed. Where did you learn that gesture? Not from me!" "From Father," Nefret said calmly. She slipped her arm through his and they walked on. "So where shall we go first?" "The Valley, I suppose. MacKay is one of the few people who's still working, and he ought to be there today." Ernest MacKay, who had replaced Weigall as head of the Theban Tombs Conservation Project, was an Englishman in his mid-thirties. They found him in the tomb of Thutmose III, where he was inspecting the paintings. He greeted them courteously but with a conspicuous absence of warmth. "I'd heard you were in Luxor." "The word does spread, doesn't it?" Nefret gave him a dazzling smile. "Yes." The smile had no effect this time; MacKay's face remained glum. "To the best of my knowledge, Tetisheri hasn't been touched. I'd have notified Professor Emerson at once had I had reason to suppose that." "Yes, quite," Ramses said, thinking he understood the change in MacKay's manner. He'd been friendly enough the last time they encountered him. "No one could possibly expect you to watch over all the tombs on the west bank, and carry out your other duties. It must be horribly frustrating." "There are no longer any inspectors between Cairo and Assuan," MacKay said. "I felt obliged to do what I can. I don't think I can stick it much longer, though. One feels a bit of a slacker, doesn't one, when one's friends are on the fighting lines." It wasn't a question, so Ramses did not answer. MacKay's replies to his tactful inquiries about theft and vandalism were curt and unhelpful. He might be resentful of anything that smacked of criticism, but that comment about slackers had suggested another reason for his hostile attitude. Nefret had said very little. When they left the Valley, Ramses could tell she was seething. "You can't blame him, you know," he said. "I can if I like! What business has he sitting in judgment over you? I wish you couldn't read my mind as easily as you do a-a line of hieroglyphs." "Your face is a good deal more expressive." At the moment it bore a scowl that almost matched Emerson's for pure temper. He took her hand in his. "Nefret, all he knows about me is the story we were at such pains to cultivate last year. We can hardly complain if it succeeded in convincing people I was-well, what I pretended to be." "Coward, slacker, pacifist." She spat the words out. "It's not fair!" "If refusing to engage in the indiscriminate slaughter of people who've never done me any harm is being a pacifist, that's what I am." Her fingers curled into a fist, and he said quickly, "Darling, it's not important. Forget it. I think we can eliminate the East Valley from our inquiries. MacKay said there'd been no signs of illicit digging or intrusion." "That's what he would say," Nefret muttered. She wasn't easy to distract once she had got her mind fixed on a grievance. He tried again. "Shall we go to the Asasif tomorrow? Winlock is in the States, but Lansing is holding the fort for the Metropolitan Museum people." "Whatever you like." "I'll send word to Yusuf. And we might have your little protegee along." Even that concession failed to win a smile from her. The Valley was almost deserted. The more energetic tourists had followed the path over the gebel to Deir el Bahri, where they would lunch at Cook's Rest House, and the others had returned to the donkeys and carriages that would take them to the river and their hotels. They passed the entrance to the tomb of the sons of Ramses II-the last excavation they had carried out in the Valley, before Emerson's explosive temper had caused Maspero to ban them from the area. "It's a pity we never got a chance to finish in Number Five," Ramses said. "We'd still be at it," Nefret said. She stopped and turned to look up at him. "Ramses ..." "Yes?" "I didn't lose my temper with him." She sounded like a little girl who is afraid she has behaved badly. "I wanted to, but I didn't. It's just that I love you so much." "You were wonderful." "Yes, I was, wasn't I?" She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned toward him. Her lips were parted and her eyes were blue as cornflowers. A pair of belated tourists hurried past; they were complaining in shrill voices about the heat and the dust. "Come on," Ramses said, taking her hand. "Where are we going?" "Back to the Amelia. I promised you a beating, remember?" And that took care of the remainder of the day. Jamil was early next morning and pouting like Sennia in one of her moods. The reason for his ill humor was with him. She was riding astride, her skirts hitched up to show nicely turned ankles and small feet. The only incongruous note was her headgear. By some means or other she had got her hands on a pith helmet. It was an old one, which had been made for a larger head, and it came clear down to her eyebrows, but it had been carefully cleaned and painstakingly patched with bits of cloth. "Good morning!" she shouted. "How are you? It is a beautiful day. We should have a pleasant time. I have brought my notebook and a pencil." She was showing off her English and showing up her brother, who gave her a sour look. Nefret grinned. Jamil had only a few words of the language, and she doubted he could read and write. If he had had those skills, he and/or his father would have mentioned them. It wasn't for want of opportunity; most of the members of the family were keen on education-for boys-and Selim and David were always on the lookout for promising youngsters. Promising boys. It would be a comeuppance for them if this girlchild turned out to have the qualities that would make an archaeologist. Men were all blind, even the best of them; Ramses's benevolent expression suggested he was about to pat the girl on the head and give her a sweet. Nefret had a feeling Jumana was going to show him up too, and she was prepared to cooperate to the fullest. The three of them rode side by side, with Jamil trailing after them with the basket of food and water bottles. Jumana chattered, giving them her opinions of her father, her brother, various cousins, the school and its faculty, and she would have gone on to the wider environs of Luxor if Nefret had not stopped her. "The first thing you must learn," she said, "is to be quiet except when you ask a question. This is your chance to learn from a man who knows more about Egyptology than any teacher you could have." Ramses, who had been listening indulgently to the girl's chatter, gave Nefret a sidelong grin. Nefret gave him a frown. He could be authoritative, even brusque, with his professional associates and the men who worked for him, but like his father he was too damned polite to women. The morning air was cool and crisp. They followed the road through the fields into the desert beyond. The group from the Metropolitan Museum of New York was working in an area between the cultivation and the great temple of Hatshepsut at Deir el Bahri, where the cliffs of the high desert enclosed the plain in a series of bays. In the largest and most spectacular of them the female pharaoh Hatshepsut had constructed her mortuary temple, next to the earlier Eleventh Dynasty temple. The ruined monuments of other kings stretched along the edge of the cultivation. Few of them had been properly excavated. Then there were the tombs. They were everywhere, dug into the hills of Gurneh and Drah Abu'l Naga and Deir el Medina. In the broken terrain behind the cliffs lay the Kings' Valleys, east and west, and the Valley of the Queens, and dozens of smaller wadis, any one of which might contain undiscovered tombs. It was an embarras de richesses, a long lifetime's treasure hunt, with no map and few clues. The Asasif itself was a rich site, from an archaeological point of view. Ramses envied the Met people their concession, but even his father admitted they were doing an excellent job. Ambrose Lansing, a slender dark man with a neat little mustache, was directing a crew of workmen in an area near the foot of the Asasif. When one of his men drew his attention to them he jumped up and came to greet them. "We heard you were in town. It's good to see you." He looked curiously at Jamil and Jumana, who had remained at a discreet distance, and grinned. "I see Yusuf has foisted his best-beloved son off onto you. Who's the girl?" Nefret explained. "I take it you don't think highly of Jamil?" she asked. "He's worked for practically every Egyptologist in Luxor at one time or another," Lansing replied. "To use the word 'work' loosely ... Hey, George, come here and meet the Emersons." The man he addressed had been waiting for his summons; he was obviously a subordinate, and, as Lansing explained, a new member of the staff. He was several inches taller than his superior, with features that suggested words like "craggy" and "rugged," but as he approached at a shambling trot Ramses realized he was even younger than Lansing. Barton gaped admiringly at Nefret and tried to find words in which to express how honored he was to meet Ramses, whose book on Egyptian grammar ... "Good of you to say so," Ramses said, feeling approximately a hundred years old. "Are you enjoying Egypt?" "Yes, sir!" Barton brushed sweat-soaked sandy hair out of his eyes. "I've been all over the west bank and Karnak and Luxor temples-when I'm allowed time off, that is." "Everyone knows what a slave driver I am," Lansing said amiably. "Come and have a look around. I think you'll find this interesting ..." Not until Nefret started showing signs of impatience did Ramses realize they had been there for over an hour and he had not yet raised the question of thefts. As she had predicted, Lansing was unable to offer any useful information. "We've found very little that would interest thieves. MacKay's the one you ought to talk to; the poor guy's supposed to be looking after all the Theban tombs, more or less single-handed." "We spoke with him yesterday," Ramses said. "Or Alain Kuentz." "German?" Ramses asked in surprise. "Swiss," Lansing corrected. "You don't know him? He started working at Deir el Medina a couple of years ago. It was after you folks left, so maybe you never met him. Reason I mentioned him is that he actually caught one of the Gurnawis in the act of digging out a tomb up behind the Ptolemaic temple." "Who was it?" Lansing shrugged. "You'll have to ask Kuentz. He knew there was no point calling in the police, so he gave the fellow a good hiding and kicked him down the hill." "That's the method the Professor favors," Nefret said. "We'll have a little chat with Alain. I didn't know he was back in Luxor. It was good to see you, Mr. Lansing, and to meet you, Mr. Barton. We didn't mean to take up so much