The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (10 page)

"I agree, sir," Ramses said.

"Oh, you do, do you? May I ask why? And," Emerson added, "I beg you will not repeat your mother's fatuous and inaccurate assessment of that swine's character."

"No, sir. A man who can imitate an elderly American lady and a foppish young English nobleman would never have assumed such a clumsy disguise as this one. He would have appeared as Howard Carter or Wallis Budge—or you."

Drawing my sword, I ran the fellow through the arm. He ran off squealing and dripping blood. The girl knelt at my feet. "Allah bless you, Effendi," she whispered, pressing her lips to my dusty boots. Gently I raised her . . .

W
e arrived at Alexandria before sunrise, but owing to the inevitable procrastination that prevails in the East, it was after luncheon before passengers and baggage were disembarked. The quay was aswarm with local merchants, all of them pushing and shoving and shouting at the top of their lungs. Even the most importunate gave way before Emerson, who strode along like a pharaoh. I will not be accused of boasting, I believe, if I say that by now we were known to most Egyptians, and those who did not know us were soon apprised of our identities by the hails of greeting: Marhaba, Sitt Hakim! Salaam aleikhum, O Father of Curses! It is Nur Misur, the Light of Egypt, who has returned! Welcome, Brother of Demons ...

That, I regret to say, is my son's Egyptian soubriquet. He was greeted thus familiarly by beggars, cutpurses, and procurers, and he appeared to know all of them by
their
names.

I had raised my parasol, since the sun's rays were strong, so I did not observe an approaching individual until a soft expletive from Ramses made me look up. Though the individual was only of medium height, the resplendent uniform of an officer of the Egyptian Army (which has been compared by unkind persons to that of a Viennese bandmaster) and his arrogant stride made him seem taller. His features, which I had once thought bore a certain resemblance to my own, were partially obscured by a particularly oversized example of a military mustache. Mustache, hair and eyebrows had been bleached to a sickly brown, and his face was red with sunburn.

He was almost upon us before Emerson saw him. Astonishment stifled my husband's speech for a strategic moment.

"Why, Percy," I said. "What the devil are you doing here?" My least favorite nephew whipped off his fez and bowed. With an engaging smile he indicated the gold braid, the epaulets, the sword, the sash, and the rows of gilded buttons. "As you see, my dear Aunt Amelia, I have joined the Egyptian Army. I hoped you would not have heard of it; I wanted to surprise you."

The express train from Alexandria to Cairo takes over three hours, but Emerson was still swearing when it pulled into the Central Station. Percy had not detained us long; he had explained that he had been seconded to "Alex" on a special mission of great importance and that he had been unable to resist the temptation to be among the first to welcome us. He was obviously aching to be asked about the nature of his mission, so he could look mysterious and important. None of us obliged him.

"I wonder if he's been temporarily assigned to the Alexandria police or the CID," Ramses mused. "Russell has been ordered to stop the import of hashish and cannabis, and he will need additional personnel if he's to have any hope of success."

"Damn and blast!" said Emerson. Ramses's suggestion succeeded in catching his attention, however, and he gave over general swearing for specific comment. "Hmmm. Additional manpower won't do Russell any good, there are too many miles of coastline to cover. What he needs is an informant who is working for one of the big men like Abd el-Quadir el-Gailani, and who can give him advance warning of a delivery."

"Obviously," said Ramses.

His father shot him a critical look. "I strictly forbid it, Ramses. I need you on the dig."

"I hadn't intended—" Ramses began.

"I should hope not!" Nefret exclaimed. "Our primary aim is to find that damned forger. Let Percy play spy and make a fool of himself. I wonder if he swaggers when he's asleep?"

"Enough about Percy," I said firmly. "I do not intend to associate with him and I am heartily sick of discussing him. We have arrived; Emerson, kindly assume your coat and your cravat and your hat. You too, Ramses. Nefret, put Horus on his lead."

Since it was necessary for Nefret to sit between Ramses and the cat, like a mama separating quarrelsome children, Ramses had the corner seat, with Nefret next to him and Horus sprawled insolently across the remaining space. Horus put up a fuss about the lead; he was as spoiled as a fat pasha and had no intention of walking if he could bully someone into carrying him. No one offered, however, not even Emerson.

Waiting to greet us were a number of our loyal men, members of Abdullah's extended family, who had worked for us for many years. Some resided in Luxor, some in the village of Atiyah, south of Cairo. Their cries of welcome were directed at us all, but the returning wanderers were the center of attention this time. I could see that Selim and Daoud were anxious to get home, where the whole village would be waiting to hear the tales of their adventures, so we bade them a temporary farewell and got ourselves and our baggage into cabs.

Traffic worsened every year; now motorcars disputed the right of way with carts and horse-drawn cabs and camels and donkeys, not to mention the pedestrians who had to risk life and limb crossing the major thoroughfares. It took almost half an hour to drive from the railroad station to the dock, but not even my impatient spouse complained of the delay. It was so good to be back—to breathe the hot dry air, to see roses and bougainvillea blooming in December, to hear again the familiar din of Cairo— the mournful chorus of "La lahu ilia-Allah" that heralded a funeral procession, the shouts of sellers of licorice water and lemonade. And to see, when the brief journey ended, the familiar shape of my beloved dahabeeyah on which I had spent so many blissful hours.

Emerson had purchased the boat and named it after me. I could not bear to give it up, though it had become inconveniently small for our extended family and our ever increasing library (not to mention Nefret's ever increasing wardrobe).

Now back on her native heath, properly veiled and attired and ready to resume her duties as housekeeper, Fatima had worked herself into a state of anxious self-reproach. She should not have gone to England. She should have stayed in Cairo to make certain the dahabeeyah was in readiness for our arrival. No one knew how to do it but she. Her niece Karima had no sense. Her nephew, Karima's husband, was lazy and worthless and—worst of all—a man. The floors would be dirty, the beds unmade, the food inedible ...

In my opinion Karima had performed a good deal better than dear old Abdullah had done when he was in charge of the housekeeping arrangements, but as we passed from room to room, Fatima subjected her to a running commentary of criticism. Announcing that she would have to do it all over again, Fatima fluttered off to her room to change from her good clothing and I dismissed Karima with thanks and compliments. She was very glad to go.

We become spoiled and jaded as we mature, I suppose. The bathing arrangements, which had so impressed me on my first inspection of the
Philae
(as she was called then), now seemed infuriatingly inadequate. I was the last to avail myself of them, and thus the last to join the others in the saloon. Located in the bow of the ship, this large chamber had long windows, with a wide divan under them. Ramses and Emerson had begun unpacking the boxes of books we had brought with us, but had stopped midway as men always do, leaving books on the floor, on the chairs, and on the tables. Nefret reclined on the divan with Horus across her feet; he was growling and rending papers that appeared to be the remains of letters and envelopes. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Ramses was perusing a ponderous tome in German and Emerson was rummaging in the cupboards under the cushioned divan.

"Don't start scolding, Peabody," he remarked, observing my expression. "We cannot put the books away, the shelves are already full. We need more space, curse it."

"On that we are agreed, Emerson. I suppose you expect me to find a house and get it ready—repairs, furnishings, servants—"

"Who said anything about a house?" Emerson demanded. "All we need do is clear out a few tables and chairs—"

"And beds? We could sleep on the floor as well as sit on it, I suppose. Emerson, we have had this conversation a dozen times. You know we promised Lia and David we would let them have the
Amelia
when they join us; young married persons will want their privacy. You are only objecting because you resent giving up a few hours of your precious excavation time in order to assist me in a project which can only be of benefit to us all. And furthermore—"

"Sit down and have your whiskey, Mother," said Ramses.

"Sit down where? No, thank you, Nefret, I prefer not to hobnob with Horus, he appears to be in a particularly evil mood this evening."

Horus bared his fangs at me. Ramses cleared the most comfortable overstuffed chair, removing the books to the floor. "Here you are, Mother. I'll get you your whiskey and your messages."

The genial beverage had its usual soothing effect. Accepting the pile of envelopes he handed me, I said, "All for me? I presume you have perused yours. Was there anything interesting in them?"

Ramses said, "No."

Since that was the answer I had expected, I turned to my own messages. A nice plump letter from Evelyn I put aside, to be enjoyed at my leisure. The others were notes of welcome. What a pleasure it was to see the familiar names, to anticipate meeting soon again with such dear friends as Katherine and Cyrus, Howard Carter, Mr. and Mrs. Quibell, and all the rest. One message was from an unexpected source; perusing it, I let out a little exclamation of surprise.

"Well, fancy that! Here is an invitation to luncheon from Miss Reynolds. You remember her and her brother, Emerson; we met them last year."

"I remember them, but I see no reason why we should improve our acquaintance with them," said Emerson. "We have too many cursed friends as it is. They interfere with one's work."

"Not our professional colleagues, Emerson. Mr. Reisner speaks very highly of young Mr. Reynolds, and his sister is quite pleasant for an American. She says she has heard we are looking for a suitable house—"

"And where did she hear that?" Emerson demanded.

"Not from me, Emerson, I assure you."

Nefret cleared her throat. "I told you Ramses and I met them in London. I may have mentioned, in the course of conversation, that we were thinking of taking a house."

"Ah, I see. That explains it. Are you and she such good friends, Nefret?"

"No," said Nefret. After a moment, she went on, "Maude's kindly gesture was not prompted by her interest in
me."

"What? Oh! Ramses, did you—"

"Yes, Mother," said my son, in the exaggerated drawl he adopted when he was trying to annoy me. "I held her hand, looked deep into her eyes, and murmured passionate phrases into her ear while her brother wasn't listening. She was putty in my hands. Later I lured her away and demanded she find us a house."

"Ramses!" I exclaimed.

Nefret shook her head. "Really, Ramses, it's no fun teasing you anymore."

"Was that what you were doing?" my son inquired.

"Enough," I said severely. "You are too old to be poking fun at the poor young lady. I shall accept her invitation, and I expect both of you to behave yourselves."

"What the devil, Amelia," my husband exclaimed. "I did not come to Egypt to lunch with young ladies. I came here to excavate, and that is what I intend to do, first thing tomorrow morning. Naturally I expect you and the children to accompany me."

"Accompany you where? You have not condescended to tell us where we will be excavating this year. Really, Emerson, you have carried your habit of reticence to an extreme no person of character could possibly accept. Do you expect us to trail meekly at your heels through the sandy wastes of all the Memphite cemeteries? I will not stir one step until you tell me where we are going."

Emerson gave me a particularly maddening grin and reached for his pipe. "Guess," he said.

We had spent a fairly peripatetic life the past years, since Emerson had got into a quarrel with M. Maspero, and a falling-out with Mr. Theodore Davis, who had the concession for the Valley of the Kings at Thebes, where we were working at the time. Maspero had offered Emerson any other site in Thebes except the Valley of the Kings; Emerson, cursing royally, had declared he would have the Valley of the Kings or nothing.