The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (21 page)

He caught me round the waist and helped me out onto the plank that crossed the shaft.

There was not much to see in the emptiness overhead even when Emerson held his candle up at arm's length. Then I made out a rough ladder leaning against the wall. "Have you been up there?" I demanded.

"Selim held the ladder for me," replied Emerson calmly. "I don't recommend the ascent, however. There is an entrance to another passage approximately ten feet above; it appears never to have been finished. What concerns me—"

He broke off with a grunt of disgust. Looking back up the passage, I beheld the twinkle of several candles. Others had followed us.

I muttered a subdued "Curse it!" for in my opinion exploring a new pyramid should not be regarded as a social event. Emerson emitted a much louder expletive. "Ramses!" he bellowed. "Keep everyone back, I don't want people jostling one another on the edge of a deep drop."

He then handed me his candle and helped me back onto the rock floor of the passage.

"I want to go over there, Emerson," I said, indicating the opening to the left.

"I'm sure you do, Peabody. Just hang on a minute."

"And down there into the shaft."

"You cannot and may not." Emerson rubbed his chin. "As I was saying ... Confound it, Reynolds, get hold of your sister and keep hold of her. Ramses, why did you let her come down here?"

"It was not his fault," Nefret said.

"Yes, it was. He is in charge when I am not on the spot. If I failed to make that clear to you, Reynolds, I am doing so now."

"It wasn't Ramses's fault," Maude insisted. "Or Jack's. He spoils me terribly. Brothers do, don't they, Nefret? Good gracious, Professor, it isn't the first time I have done this sort of thing, you know. I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

Her attempt at bravado did not quite come off. There had been a decided quaver in the voice that pronounced those brave words. Of all the faces whose relative pallor shone in the shadows, hers was the palest.

Hands on hips, lightly balanced on the edge of the abyss from which he had warned the rest of us, Emerson studied the girl. "Indeed? Come and have a look, then."

Taking her by the arm, he pulled her forward till she stood beside him. One look into that seemingly bottomless chasm put an end to her bravado. She let out a breathless little squeak and clutched at Emerson. His one-handed, seemingly casual grip could have held a much heavier weight than hers; steady as a rock, he passed her back to her brother, who had sprung forward with a cry of alarm as she swayed.

"That is just the sort of thing I mean," said Emerson in tones of mild vexation. "Too many people milling about in a confined space. A stumble or slip, a dizzy spell, and over you'd go, taking, as it well might be, others with you. The bridge isn't fixed, a careless step could easily dislodge it. Escort your sister back to the surface, Mr. Reynolds. She is not fit for this sort of thing."

"Indeed I am!" Now secure in her brother's grasp, Maude had recovered. "It has never happened before. Truly!"

Emerson had held on to his temper longer than I would have expected. He now lost it. His roar of "Damnation!" was sufficient to express his feelings; the Reynoldses beat a hasty retreat, and Ramses—who had, astonishingly, not spoken a word—joined his father on the edge of the shaft.

"Poor girl," I said to Nefret. "One can only admire her courage. She was trying to overcome a fear of deep dark places, one must suppose."

"She was trying to impress a certain person," said Nefret. "Or perhaps she planned to swoon gracefully into his arms."

"How uncharitable, my dear."

"I have spent more time with Miss Maude than you," said Nefret grimly. "More time than I would have liked. I assure you, Aunt Amelia, she has not the least interest in archaeology or in pyramids."

Emerson and I passed the remainder of the morning inside the pyramid. It was quite delightful. A detailed description would be out of place here, but readers of superior intellectual capacity will no doubt wish to refer to Emerson's and my book published by the Oxford University Press. The substructure was fairly extensive and in a delightful state of dilapidation, for the ceiling had given way in several places, so that we had to crawl through narrow spaces that scored our bodies—particularly that of Emerson, whose frame is considerably larger than mine. The horizontal gallery into which the opening in the side of the shaft led continued for some distance and descended another shorter flight of stairs before emerging into a small room which might have been the burial chamber. The candles we carried had only a limited beam. One walked in a small bubble of light enclosed by blackness. The constriction of vision constricts the mind as well; one sees not the whole but a series of small separate segments. The air was hot and stifling. The brain does not function well under those conditions.

According to the plan Signor Barsanti had published, a second passageway led to a long corridor paralleling the north side of the pyramid. He had indicated there were niches cut into the wall of this passage. The very regularity of his plan aroused suspicion; had he really measured each niche so accurately? Were they really so regular in size? What was their function?

To determine the answers to those questions was one of our missions that morning. Selim preceded me, holding the light, and Emerson followed, paying out a steel measuring tape. Notebook in hand, I jotted down the numbers Emerson called out to me. We followed the intersecting corridor to its end and then retraced our steps and followed it to its other end, making notes all the while.

"The niches are surely storage spaces," I said, my enthusiasm not one whit dimmed by the fact that I could hardly draw a deep breath. "Look there. Isn't that—"

Emerson caught hold of my belt and pulled me back. "Come out of it, Peabody, we've been down here over two hours. You are wheezing."

Selim, who had accompanied us, was the first to step onto the plank, and although I could have managed quite well unassisted, he and Emerson insisted on holding my hands as I crossed. Hot and sticky though he was, Emerson paused for a moment to look down into the lower part of the shaft.

"Clumsy arrangement," he remarked disapprovingly, indicating a rope that had been tied round the plank. "That's how we've been removing the rubble, hauling up filled baskets from below. We'll have to rig up something more solid if we are to go on with this."

"It was good of you to oblige me, Emerson," I said. "It is a very nice pyramid after all. I apologize for my disparaging remarks about it."

Nefret was waiting for us when we emerged. "Goodness, how hot and sticky you both are! Come into the shade and have a drink. You were gone such a long time I had begun to be worried."

"Obviously Ramses was not," I said, as he came sauntering toward us, hands in his pockets and hat on the back of his head.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Mother?" he inquired.

"Very much. I am surprised you didn't join us."

"When oxygen is limited, the fewer people who breathe it the better. I assume there is nothing down there for me?"

"No inscriptions, if that is what you mean," his father said hoarsely. "There is plenty to do, however."

"The most exciting thing," I said, wiping mud from my face, "is that the shaft is deeper than Barsanti indicated. He did not finish clearing it! The floor is not cut stone but rubble and sand!"

Emerson gave me a companionable grin, his teeth gleaming in the muddy mask of his face. "I suppose you want me to dig the rest of the cursed stuff out."

"How can you doubt it?" I took the cup of tea Nefret handed me, and went on with mounting enthusiasm. "There may be other passages opening off it farther down, leading to the
real
burial chamber. Even you must find that prospect exciting, Ramses."

"Enormously," said Ramses.

"Don't let archaeological fever get the better of you, Peabody," my husband warned. "It is deuced unlikely there is anything down there except rubble. I don't mind sparing two or three of our fellows to finish clearing it, but there are more important projects."

"Such as the surrounding cemeteries," said Ramses. "I had a look from the top of the pyramid while you were down below. The area to the north looks promising. I believe there is at least one large mastaba Mr. Reisner didn't find."

"Oh?" Emerson jumped up. "Show me."

I caught hold of his sleeve. It was soaking wet, like the rest of his shirt, partly from perspiration and partly from the water he had poured over his hot face. "Emerson, sit down and rest a bit first."

"Later, my dear, later."

Smiling, I watched him stride off, in animated conversation with Ramses. At least Emerson was animated. Ramses seldom was. I did hope he could find something to interest him. Over the past years he had been something of a scholarly vagabond, studying in one city and working in another, never spending more than a few months a year with us. Emerson missed him a great deal. He had never told Ramses so, for fear it might sound like a reproach and a demand. He must go his own way and follow his own path, said Emerson nobly.

Ramses was a skilled excavator—no man trained by Emerson
could be anything else—but his primary interest lay in the various forms of the Egyptian language, and it was most unlikely we would find inscriptions here; none of the earliest pyramids had them, and this was clearly a very early pyramid.

"A nice mastaba," I murmured. "Full of potsherds with graffiti all over them."

From Manuscript H

"I did knock," Nefret said virtuously.

Ramses looked up from his book. "I didn't say 'Come in.' "

"When you
really
don't want me to come in you lock the door." She was looking extremely pleased with herself, eyes sparkling, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Her hair had come loose from its knot and her face was streaked with dust. "I have a surprise for you. Come and see!"

He put his book aside and rose. "You haven't adopted another animal, have you? Mother has barely become resigned to that mangy dog. A camel or a family of orphaned mice would be the last straw."

"Narmer is going to be a perfectly splendid watchdog," Nefret insisted. "As soon as I teach him to stop barking at scorpions and spiders. Stop trying to be sarcastic, Ramses, and come."

She led him into the opposite wing and flung open a door.

"What's this?" he asked. The room was sparsely furnished in true Egyptian style. Along one wall ran a wide, low divan covered with printed cotton; the wall above it was filled with shelves containing books and prints. A few European-style chairs had been provided for those who preferred them. Oriental rugs in glowing shades of crimson and burgundy covered the floors.

"Our sitting room. I told you I was going to ask Aunt Amelia if we couldn't have our own quarters. My room is on one side, and yours is on the other. There are connecting doors."

He hoped his face didn't betray his feelings. It was bad enough having her in the same house. Connecting doors ... I can always lock myself in and throw the key out the window, he thought wryly.

This part of the house had been the harem. Exquisitely carved wooden screens covered the windows, admitting light and air through pierced holes that formed part of the decoration. Ramses
inserted several fingers into the holes and shook the screen. It was firmly fixed on both sides. "This won't do," he said.

"Curse it, I hadn't thought of that. You're right; we may want to get out the window."

"Ibrahim can probably fit the screens with hinges and handles. It would be a pity to remove them altogether; they're quite handsome." He moved away from the window. "Very nice, my girl. How did you manage it?"

"I nobly offered to move us over here and give our nice clean furnished rooms to the Vandergelts. Then I enlisted Kadija and her daughters to do a whirlwind overnight cleaning. I washed the floor myself. On hands and knees!"

"It's very clean."

"What an effusive compliment!"

"What more can one say about a floor? Did you also paint the walls?"

"I thought I'd got all the paint off my hands." She inspected them critically.

"Under your nails. It doesn't show very much."

"But you saw it, Sherlock." She gave him an amused smile. "I didn't do it all. Geoff helped me."

"Geoff."

"Yes, he's been sweet. Now come and see your room." She opened the next door. "Doesn't it look nice? I helped paint your walls too. I hope you like the color. I bought new furniture for both of us—your old mattress is as lumpy as a sack of coal, you ought to have asked for a replacement years ago—so all you need do is move your books and clothes and things."

The walls were pale blue. The curtains and the matching coverlet were printed with improbable flowers ranging in color from magenta to pink.

"Cheerful," said Ramses.

Her face fell. "You hate it."

"No, dear, really. The flowers are—er—cheerful."

"Men have such dull tastes," said Nefret. "If you really can't stand the pattern I'll get something else. Plain or stripes. Come on, I'll help you move your things."

"Now?"