Tomb of the Golden Bird (13 page)

because he was squeezing me so tightly. The others gathered round, and Fatima came trotting out of the house, uttering squeaks of distress. Touched by their concern, I managed to loosen Emerson's grip and gave him a reassuring smile. "A whiskey and soda will set me right." "Put her on the settee, Father," Ramses said, removing the Great Cat of Re from that object of furniture. Emerson lowered me onto the settee. I began to feel a trifle guilty for causing the dear fellow such distress, so I sat up and took the glass Ramses handed me. "Thank you, my boy. I suffered a momentary faintness, nothing more." Sethos spoke for the first time. "Am I correct in assuming Margaret has something to do with your—er—momentary faintness?" The moment of truth could not be delayed. Nefret was about to drag me off to the clinic for another needless examination, and Emerson was still pale with alarm. I took a refreshing sip of whiskey and squared my shoulders. "Margaret has got away. She knocked me unconscious, stole my clothes, and slipped out of the house. By the time Kadija found me, Margaret had disappeared. Daoud searched for her, but in vain." "Good Gad," said Emerson. "Good Gad! She hit you?" "Not very hard," I said. "I have a little bump . . . Ouch." Nefret's skilled hands ran over my head. "Just here. The skin isn't broken. How many fingers am I holding up?" "Four," I said. "I do not have concussion. Don't fuss over me. We must without delay consider what steps to take to find her. We will discuss it at dinner. All this excitement has given me quite an appetite." Once reassured as to my state of health, Emerson was inclined to be critical. "Really, Peabody, I am surprised at you. How could you be so careless?" He stabbed viciously at the inoffensive fish on his plate. Flakes flew. "Let us not waste time in recriminations," said Ramses, with an amused glance at me. He was of course concerned about Margaret, but as he had pointed out earlier, she had only herself to blame if she ran into trouble. We had done our best to protect her. Sethos, eating with good appetite, appeared even less concerned. I had described my encounter and our subsequent search in some detail. "Where could she go?" Nefret asked, her brow furrowed. "She must have concealed her—Mother's—distinctive clothing under the woman's robe, which would have enabled her to leave Gurneh undetected. But after that? She can't maintain her disguise as an Egyptian woman for long, and she has no acquaintances on the West Bank. Perhaps she'll come here." "No," Sethos said. Fatima removed his fish—or rather, the bones thereof—and replaced it with a platter of sliced beef. Sethos picked up his knife and fork. "There's only one place she could go. Only one place she would go." Ramses's heavy black eyebrows tilted. "Straight into the thick of things. The Winter Palace." "Or one of the other hotels," said Sethos. "She wouldn't be so foolish," Nefret exclaimed. "Oh, yes, she would." "You are right," I said, remembering some of Margaret's other escapades. "But this is the height of the season. She won't be able to get a room." "Dressed like the Sitt Hakim and bearing a strong resemblance to that famous lady?" Sethos popped a bit of meat into his mouth and left us to think it over while he chewed and swallowed. "Then what are we waiting for?" I cried, pushing my plate away. "We must go after her at once." Emerson's eyes narrowed to slits of sapphirine blue and his lips drew back, baring his large white teeth. "Not you, Peabody. I am not letting you out of my sight." "Not she," Sethos agreed coolly. "It is time I assumed my responsibilities as a husband. I may be able to talk some sense into her." Acknowledging the truth of his assertion, I said, "You aren't planning to go alone, I hope." "Any volunteers?" Sethos looked round the table. "No, not you, Nefret, you're too soft-hearted. Nor you, Emerson, you would lose your temper." After a moment, "That leaves me, then," Ramses said. "So it would seem," said Sethos. From Manuscript H They took two of the horses. Ramses had resigned himself to the job of mounting guard over his uncle—rather he than any of theothers—but he intended to minimize the risks as much as possible. They were less vulnerable on horseback. "You will bring Margaret here with you, of course," said his mother. "Perhaps you had better take another horse." Sethos looked even more dashing on horseback. "I'll just toss her across the saddle," he said. "She loved it the last time." He was an excellent rider, and he set so rapid a pace there was no opportunity for Ramses to question him. The fields were still and dark under a canopy of stars; no lighted windows showed in the sleeping villages, and the steady pound of the horses' hooves was the only sound that broke the silence. It was late for the West Bank, but the lights of Luxor blazed bright across the dark river. A yawning boatman, ever hopeful for passengers despite the time, roused himself and put out the gangplank. "No one would dare touch them," Ramses said, in response to his uncle's question about leaving the horses. "And they'll wait until we come back." "You're armed, I hope," Sethos said. "Just my knife. Why me?" "I beg your pardon?" said Sethos politely. "You meant me to come along. Why me?" He didn't expect a direct answer; when he got one, surprise almost made him fall off the bench. "You're as good in a fight as your father, and not as hotheaded." "It isn't likely that we'll have to fight anyone except Margaret," Ramses said. "I am not likely to have much influence with her. She doesn't like me." "And you don't care much for her. That's all to the good. You mustn't let her off lightly." "No fear of that," Ramses said, remembering his mother's sore head. "If we find her." "I could be wrong," Sethos admitted. "She may have contacts in Luxor about whom I know nothing." "You don't confide in each other, do you?" "No." Sethos's mouth clamped shut. When they reached the opposite shore the boatman promised to wait for them, and settled down for another nap. They climbed the steps to the top of the embankment. "We may as well try the Winter Palace first," Sethos said, indicating the lighted facade of the hotel. "She's arrogant enough to have gone to the most obvious place." Ramses doubted this, but as it turned out, Sethos knew his wife well. The concierge informed them that although she had been late in arriving, and without luggage, he had been able to accommodate Mrs. Emerson's cousin. It was not one of the most desirable rooms, but the hotel was full and— "My mother is indebted to you," Ramses said, cutting him short. "What is her room number?" Their knock on the door went unanswered. "Maybe she's gone out again," Ramses said. "She's there." Sethos knocked again. "Open up, Margaret," he called. "Or we'll get the key from the manager." The response was slow in coming. "Who is with you?" "Only me," Ramses said. "Ramses." "Not your father?" "No. But I assure you, the manager will give me the key if I ask for it." "Damn," said Margaret loudly and clearly. The key turned in the lock and the door opened. She retreated at once to the far end of the room and stood at bay, her hands clenched. Except for the boots, which she had removed, she was still wearing the stolen garments. Not that she had any choice; she had had to leave her own clothing behind. There was room for only a few toilet articles, and her notebook, in the handbag that rested on the table. Her hair hung loose, below her shoulders. She does look like Mother, Ramses thought. Even to the set of her jaw. "Don't try anything," she warned. "I'll scream my head off if either of you lays a hand on me." "Now why would we do a thing like that?" Sethos asked. She glared at him. Some women might have felt at a disadvantage wearing ill-fitting clothes and with bare feet. But not Margaret. The sight of her, defiant and unrepentant, did nothing to calm Ramses's temper. "We brought your suitcase," he said, dropping it on the floor. "I see Mother's boots have raised blisters. I hope they hurt." He sat down, without waiting to be invited, and Sethos followed suit. Margaret relaxed a little, but she kept her distance. "How did you find me so quickly?" "Ratiocination," Sethos drawled. "Sit down, why don't you?" "I prefer to stand. What do you want?" "An apology, to begin with," Ramses said. "She's all right, isn't she? I didn't hit her very hard." For sheer effrontery, Sethos had nothing on his wife. Trying to match her coolness, Ramses said, "That was a filthy trick. You took advantage of her goodwill and trust." "All's fair in love, war, and journalism—isn't that one of her favorite sayings?" "Damn you," Sethos said with sudden violence. "Do you ever think of anything except your bloody career?" "Unlike you," she shot back with matching passion. "You're the one who is responsible for putting your beloved Amelia in danger. You're responsible for this whole mess! And what are you doing about it? Hiding out in the bosom of the family, putting them at risk, letting me walk into trouble without so much as a word of warning!" She had some justice on her side. Ramses was tempted to say so, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. It was between the two of them now. Neither so much as looked at him. Sethos had risen to his feet. He returned her glare with interest. "I am doing something about it. I had matters well under way when you pulled this idiotic stunt. Change your clothes. You're coming back with us." "Like hell I am!" He took a step toward her. Eyes widening, she retreated till her backwas against the wall. "Ramses," she exclaimed. "You won't let him strike me?" "Er—well, no," Ramses said feebly. Sethos gave Ramses an astonished look, as if he had forgotten he was there. "For God's sake," he stammered. "I've never raised my hand to her. Though heaven knows I've been sorely tried." "Maybe I'd better go," Ramses said. Her appeal had been pure playacting; Sethos wasn't a wife-beater, and Margaret wouldn't have put up with physical abuse for a single second. The emotional temperature was so high he wanted to crawl away. Sethos threw up his hands. "Have it your way," he said. "I'm not going to drag you out of here kicking and screaming. You'd love that, wouldn't you? Just try . . ." He hesitated, and when he went on his voice was several decibels softer. "Try to stay out of trouble. You know what to do, and what not to do." "How touching." Margaret rolled her eyes heavenward. "I'm better at taking care of myself than you are." Breathing hard, Sethos flung the door open and stalked out without another word. "Good night," Ramses said. "Lock the door." "But of course," said Margaret. Her smile was infuriatingly smug. Ramses caught his uncle up at the foot of the stairs. Sethos didn't stop or speak until they were seated in the boat. Ramses was absorbed in his own thoughts. He had seen a new and fascinating side of his imperturbable uncle. He had no doubts as to the meaning of the encounter between Margaret and Sethos; he had seen a number of such confrontations, and been in the thick of a few himself. He wondered how this one would have ended if he hadn't been present. Something told him the subject was not one he could safely raise. "You said you had taken steps to clear up the—er—mess," he ventured. "Was that true, or were you only trying to keep Margaret quiet?" Still brooding, Sethos continued to stare at his clasped hands. Then he said, "What about him?" and gestured at the boatman. "He doesn't understand much English, and wouldn't know what we were talking about if he did. Are you going to come clean, or must I drag Father into this?" "Good God, no. That's the last thing I want. The truth is that I have entered into negotiations." "With them? How? When?" Sethos turned to face him. "I had intended to tell you, sooner or later." "I'm flattered by your confidence." "My dear fellow, it's a question of common sense. One doesn't deal with such people without someone to back one up. You are the logical candidate, for the reasons I have mentioned." And because I'm more expendable, Ramses thought wryly. His parents, the children, Nefret meant more to Sethos than he did. He had no quarrel with that. "I received a communication a few days ago," Sethos said. "Delivered directly to me by the gatekeeper, as he had been instructed to do." "Not another invitation to a secret meeting, I trust." "They know I'm not that stupid. I was directed to reply to what you might call a poste restante. My correspondent was refreshingly candid. As he pointed out, it wouldn't do them any good to murder me; they have concluded that I wouldn't carry the document on my person. He proposed an exchange. If I return the document, he and his lot will leave us alone." "That's ridiculous," Ramses exclaimed. "How do they know we haven't made copies?" "Which you have done?" "Yes. I've been working from one of them, since the original is somewhat fragile." "The offer was disingenuous," Sethos agreed. "One may draw certain reasonable conclusions from it, however. They know we haven't deciphered the message, for the simple reason that we haven't acted upon it. One may also hypothesize that there is a time element involved. After a certain date the message loses its importance." "That's obvious," Ramses said impatiently. "It will become irrelevantbecause the event referred to has occurred, or the information has been disclosed." "If it was so damned obvious, why didn't you mention it earlier?" "Nobody asked me," Ramses said, and grinned in the darkness as he heard Sethos's teeth grind together. He really oughtn't be baiting his uncle when the situation was so serious, but it was a rare pleasure to see Sethos lose his temper. "So what did you tell them?" Ramses asked. "I agreed to their terms." "Ah. But you don't intend to return it just yet, do you?" Sethos pushed his windblown hair back from his face. "You've thought of that too?" he asked sourly. "I don't know why I bother explaining when you know everything already." "It didn't occur to me until just now," Ramses said. "If they're so keen on having the original back, is there something about it that would not be present in a copy, however accurate?" "Is there?" "I didn't see anything. But you may be sure I'll have another look." Ramses and Sethos returned earlier than I had expected, without Margaret. In answer to our questions Sethos snapped, "She refused to come," and went off, declaring his intention of going straight to bed. Ramses announced that he had work to do, and would have followed Sethos, but of course I had no intention of allowing that. "So our deductions were correct," I said. "She was at the hotel. Which one?" Ramses sat down, resigned to answering our questions. Even his father was listening interestedly. "The Winter Palace. She managed to get a room by invoking you." "I hope she didn't claim to be my younger sister."
This was a dig at Emerson, who had once asked if I was sure Papa had not misbehaved in his later years. Emerson's sense of humor is not always that of a gentleman. "Cousin," said Ramses. Unable to repress a smile, he added, "She was barefoot." "A petty-enough revenge," I muttered. "Go on. She refused your invitation to return with you? I suppose that is not surprising." "Not considering the way the 'invitation' was couched." Ramses drew his chair closer to mine. "They had a flaming row," he said in a low voice. "He ordered her to change clothes and come with him, and she refused, flat-out, and a loud exchange followed, in which they accused each other of callousness, selfishness, and so on. She implied he was about to strike her." "What nonsense," I said. "Margaret would have hit him back and sued for divorce next day. What else did they say?" Nefret had also pulled her chair closer. Seeing our absorbed faces, Ramses looked a trifle self-conscious. "I shouldn't have told you. It's no more than meaningless and impertinent gossip." "Not at all," I assured him. "One never knows what seemingly meaningless bit of gossip may prove relevant. Did he express concern for her safety?" "I suppose one could say that," Ramses said, a self-conscious smile replacing his self-conscious frown. "She knows how to get past his defenses, all right. If a furious quarrel is an indication of caring ..." Nefret laughed softly and took his hand. "Hmmm," said Emerson. I was painfully reminded of Margaret's perfidy when I brushed my hair. According to Ramses, she hadn't even had the decency to apologize. I was tempted to go to the hotel next morning and have it out with her, but reason (and Emerson) prevailed. "Let her take her chances, if she is determined to play the fool," he said, removing the brush from my hand. "Come to bed, my love. And—er—leave your hair loose, eh?" I allowed him to persuade me. I had a number of other matters to deal with. Our dear ones were due to arrive in Cairo on the Thursday. Fatima was in a frenzy of cleaning, preparing Sennia's little suite of rooms for her and Gargery. Davidwould occupy his old room, from which I intended to evict Sethos. He could stay with Cyrus, or in the servants' quarters, or find his own accommodations. The Amelia was at Qena, with Reis Hassan. Emerson had recently proposed we sell her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it; there were too many memories attached to the dear old boat, and one never knew when we might want to go sailing again. So that was settled. The only question was whether one or more of us should go to Cairo to meet them. I announced my decision at breakfast the following morning. "David must be warned to stay away from the revolutionaries," I said. "If you are referring to the Wafdists, they are a legitimate political party," Ramses said mildly. "I don't care what they call themselves. He is too innocent to become involved in politics." The word might have struck some people as unapplicable to a man of David's age and experience. Heaven knew he had seen enough of the world to make a cynic of him—war, prejudice, betrayal, cruelty—but somehow he had come through it all with his shining idealism intact. Idealists are admirable persons, but their trust in the goodwill of others may put them and those around them in peril. Fatima had taken away the toast rack and refilled it. "He must come straight on to Luxor," she said firmly. "And the Little Bird too." "We all agree on that," I said, reaching for the marmalade. "Well, Emerson?" "You mean to go, don't you?" "I believe I ought." "Then I am going with you." He had his own reasons for wishing to go, of course. Howard Carter was in Cairo. I had my reasons too. We had received no communication from Mr. Smith. I found his lack of curiosity highly suspicious. "Back to work," said Emerson, emptying his cup of coffee. "If you don't need me today, Father, I would like to get on with my translations," Ramses said. "What? Oh. Er—well, yes, that's all right. God knows we haven'tfound anything in the West Valley that requires your expertise," he added gloomily. "I will join you later," I said, indicating to Fatima that she might clear away the breakfast things. "You aren't going to see that woman, are you?" Emerson demanded. "No, my dear. With guests coming and our trip to Cairo, I must make a few lists." Sethos was still in an evil mood. Even Fatima's blandishments aroused only a few forced smiles and automatic compliments. He went off with Ramses, thus confirming certain suspicions of mine. I gave them time to settle down, and then went to the workroom. Both rose hastily to their feet and Sethos reached for an object on the table in front of them. "Don't bother trying to hide it," I said, taking one of the vacated chairs. "I thought you had given up on the mystery message. What prompted you to return to it now?" Ramses and his uncle exchanged glances. "I told you we hadn't a prayer of keeping it from her," the former said. "You did." Sethos took the other chair, leaving Ramses standing. Then they both spoke at once. By interrupting from time to time to get them back on track, I got a coherent statement. In my opinion the latest development cast no light whatsoever upon the matter, and I said so. "This business becomes more illogical every day. You have, I presume, tested the document to see if there is a hidden message?" "I've tried most of the common reagents," Ramses said, delicately lifting the document. "Heat, lemon juice, several other chemicals. Nothing." "We mustn't return it until we are absolutely sure." Sethos leaned back. "See here, Amelia, I'm fed up with the whole affair. Let them have their precious document back. It has nothing to do with us." "I'm inclined to agree," Ramses said. Sethos put on a look of mock astonishment. "Despite the fact that it may mean danger to a party or parties unknown?" I asked. "We don't know that," Ramses argued. "Diplomats get the wind up over the most idiotic things. If a government falls, or a top official is disgraced, why should we care? We've done everything we can and taken risks in the process. If this will end the matter—" "We don't know that either," I retorted. "Their demand for its return may be a trick." I directed a stern look at my brother-in-law. "Were you planning to go round to the address they gave you and watch to see who picked up your response?" "Not on your life," Sethos said promptly. "It isn't in a very nice neighborhood." "Well, then, I suggest we wait a day or two. I expect to see Mr. Smith when I am in Cairo. Can you stall them that long?" Sethos stroked his mustache. "I can but try." "Tell them we are considering their offer and are inclined to accept it, but we need a few more days." "You needn't dictate my response, Amelia," said Sethos, with a flash of temper. "I will leave it to you, then." I rose and straightened my skirt. "Continue your research, Ramses. I will have a look at the cursed thing myself later." Ramses's eyebrows drew together. "With all respect, Mother, what do you expect to learn that I cannot?" I gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "One never knows, my dear. One never knows." After collecting my parasol and my belt of tools, I ordered Jamad to saddle my gentle little mare. It was a pleasant day for a canter, with a bright sun and a hint of freshness in the air, but my thoughts kept wandering to the news Sethos had given me. Peculiar indeed, I thought, as Eva gave way to a cart loaded with sugarcane. The whole business was inexplicable. I could make no sense of it. When I reached the West Valley, Emerson was talking with Daoud, who had arrived just before me. He at once addressed me, wishing to be the one to deliver his news. "The dahabeeyah of the Breasted professor and his family is at Luxor." "How nice," I said, glancing at Emerson's scowling countenance. "I will send a little note inviting them to tea this afternoon." "You do so against my wishes," said Emerson, sticking out his chin. "Yes, yes, my dear, I understand. Run along now and look for tombs." The objects I carry on my belt include pen and paper. I seated myself on a nice flat rock and inscribed a brief message, which I handed to Daoud. "Have that delivered at once, if you please. One more thing, Daoud. Did you make inquiries about Miss Minton?" "As you ordered me, Sitt Hakim." Reminded of what he considered his failure, Daoud frowned. "Sabir said she left the hotel early this morning and went across the river. He offered to take her, but she said (a bad word), 'No, not you.' She has hired Rashid ibn Ibrahim as her dragoman." "He is an honest man," I said, relieved. "And very strong, I understand." "Not so strong." Daoud's countenance remained dour. "I can take her again, Sitt, if you say so." "The idea has its appeal," I said musingly. "It would serve her right, after what she did to me. But no. She wouldn't let you within arm's length, not again. I suppose she has gone to the East Valley. Yes, I feel certain she has. Did Sabir observe anyone following her?" Daoud looked puzzled, so I elaborated. "Anyone suspicious?" "He did not say so." Well, it had been a foolish question. To ask Sabir to note suspicious behavior, when I might not have been able to do so myself, was unreasonable. The boat landing was always crowded in the morning. I thanked Daoud and sent him off to work. His massive strength was particularly useful when there was a great deal of rubble to be carried away, and that was all Emerson had found. As the morning wore on, I wished I had worn a soft straw hat instead of my pith helmet. I didn't want to go about in the sun without it, but it pressed painfully on my sore head. The work was boring in the extreme. Cyrus had finished with Ay's tomb, finding very little of interest in the hardened mud of the burial chamber, except for the lid of the sarcophagus. As soon as Bertie finished the final plan, the entrance would be filled in. Not that there was anything valuable left, but the tomb robbers of Luxor were always on the lookout for something they could sell, including pieces of painted relief from tomb walls. The two unfinished tombs had yielded very little. As a rule Emerson would have taken meticulous notes on these scraps; however, he had left that job to Selim and Nefret and was ranging around the cliffs, digging here and digging there. Poor dear, he wanted a tomb—any tomb, finished or unfinished, robbed or not—that could be added to the list of tomb numbers. It was not treasure Emerson sought, but knowledge. I wished I could give it to him, but I could not. And the work was not interesting enough to keep my thoughts from wandering. To be sure, Margaret had behaved badly to me, but that did not relieve me of my responsibility toward her. By offering the olive branch of forgiveness I might be able to win her confidence again, and offer useful advice. I therefore sought a shady spot (which was not easy to come by, in that desolate cliff-enclosed valley) and wrote a few more little notes. I persuaded Emerson to stop work early, which he was not unwilling to do because of the frustration of his search. When he joined me on the veranda after we had both bathed and changed, he studied my arrangements suspiciously. Fatima was trotting to and fro with platters of sandwiches and tea cakes, and she had put little crocheted doilies on the tables. "What is this?" Emerson demanded. "Are you giving a party? You didn't tell me." I was tempted to whisk the doilies away, but that would have hurt Fatima's feelings. She considered them the ultimate in elegance and had spent hours starching and ironing them. "I invited a number of people, but I doubt some of them will come." I showed him a note that had been waiting for me when I got back from the West Valley. "Mrs. Breasted sends her regrets. They are engaged elsewhere." "Thank God," said Emerson sincerely. "She always sends regrets, doesn't she? Why did you bother asking her?" "As a matter of common courtesy, my dear. I don't know why she insists on accompanying her husband to Egypt. She has no interest in Egyptology and spends most of the time complaining about the inconveniences." "Unlike you, my love," said Emerson, giving me a quick kiss. "Whom else are you expecting?" "Cyrus and his group, of course; I invited them before we left today. I asked Miss Minton as well. And . . . But there he is now. Early, as I expected." Emerson let out a resounding oath. "It's that blackguard O'Connell! Why—why—WHY—" "Because I want to know what he has been up to," I replied. "He has stayed away from us, as I requested, and has published nothing scurrilous about us. That is highly suspicious." Emerson's flush of wrath subsided. "And you want to see him and Miss Minton in mortal combat. Not a bad idea, Peabody." "Oh, I doubt she will come, Emerson. That is another reason why I asked Kevin. I want to know what she has been up to." I went to the door. Kevin was approaching slowly, in little fits and starts. When he saw me he came on more quickly, whipping off his hat. "Ah, Mrs. E. Is it safe to come in?" "Unless you've done something I don't know about." I held the door open. Catching sight of Emerson, Kevin gave him an ingratiating smile and smoothed his windblown red locks. "I am innocent as a newborn babe, ma'am. I haven't had a chance to be anything else," he added despondently. "Hmph," said Emerson. "Well, you may as well sit down, I suppose." Kevin knew Emerson well enough to recognize this as a fairly genial welcome. "Thank you, sir. I kept at a distance, as Mrs. Emerson asked. May I inquire as to why she has changed her mind?" I had given up any hope of worming my way back into Carnarvon's favor; Mr. Callender had not called on us, nor had the Metropolitanpeople after that initial visit. Mrs. Breasted had never accepted my invitations, but Breasted himself had been our guest on a number of occasions. Carnarvon or Howard must have got at him too. Nothing I could do would make matters worse, and if truth be told, I had come round to Emerson's viewpoint. I would not pander to persons I despised. The devil with them! I did not express myself so forcibly to Kevin. Instead I contented myself with a vague reference to friendship, which brought a twinkle to Kevin's keen blue eyes. Next to arrive were Cyrus and his crew. I was delighted to see that Katherine was among them. I took her hands and squeezed them. "You are looking much better, Katherine. I was worried about you." "I believe Egypt revives me," Katherine declared. "Egypt and you, Amelia. You never change. Whereas I"—she smiled, her cheeks rounding—"I have become too stout and lazy. I want to consult Nefret about proper diet and exercise. But don't offer me any of Fatima's tea cakes, because my willpower is still low!" Nefret came in, with Ramses in tow. "I had to drag him away from his scraps," she announced. "She wouldn't give me time to change,"