Children Of The Storm Part 17

"Yes!" Daoud shouted. "They are here, my saviors! The Father of Curses and the Brother of Demons, who lifted me out of the water, and the others, the brave ones who faced death with smiling faces. They are heroes!"

A great cheer broke out. Hiding his smile behind his hand, Emerson muttered, "What a showman the old fellow is! He picked up his cue as neatly as any actor."

"I wonder how accurate his story was," said Ramses, acknowledging the plaudits of the crowd with a wave of his hand. "Hullo, Selim. Sorry to have interrupted."

"It was time," said Selim, frowning. "My respected uncle is a great liar, but . . . Is it true that the sinking of the boat was deliberate?"

Emerson had dismounted. Politely fending off two admirers-Daoud's sons-who were trying to embrace him, he said, "It is true. Ramses, will you address the crowd, since Daoud has got them in the proper frame of mind?"

"Yes, sir," Ramses said. He raised his hand for silence, and the faces turned expectantly toward him. "My friends! Daoud has told you what happened. It was no accident. We will replace the boat, but we must find out who was guilty of such an evil act. We ask for your help, knowing you will give it as you have always done." He would have stopped there, but the sight of Daoud's hopeful face made him add, "Though he was too modest to say so, Daoud is also a hero. Honor him for his courage."

"Well done, my boy," Nefret murmured.

She hadn't called him that for a long time. He turned quickly to her, but she had already started to dismount. The rest of them followed suit and one of the men led the horses away, to the shelter his mother had rigged up with poles and pieces of canvas.

"Get the men started, Selim," Emerson ordered.

"Not yet," said Selim, looking severely at Emerson. "This is a bad business, Father of Curses. We must discuss our strategy."

"I don't have a strategy," Emerson retorted. "What the devil, Selim-"

His wife poked him with her parasol. "Perhaps Selim has one, Emerson. You might at least pay him the courtesy of listening."

Before Selim could reply, they were joined by Bertie Vandergelt. Ramses hadn't seen him until then, but he had obviously been one of the audience, for his face bore a frown instead of its usual affable smile. Removing his pith helmet, in acknowledgment of the ladies, he exclaimed, "This is frightful, Professor. You might all have been killed! How can you dismiss the incident so casually?"

"If you or Selim has any practical advice, I would be pleased to hear it," said Emerson, folding his arms and scowling.

They didn't. Neither did Daoud, though he informed them that his son, the nominal captain of the sunken craft, had gone across to Luxor early that morning to see if the boat could be raised, and to question the other boatmen.

"We have done all we can for the present," said Emerson firmly. "If anyone knows anything, Selim will hear of it. Now may I be allowed to carry on with my work? Bertie, I want a plan of the house we finished excavating yesterday. David, get the cameras. Walter, there are several graffiti on the facade to be copied."

Selim dared to linger for a moment. "Is it true that Daoud can now swim? He was boasting that David had taught him."

"He may need a few more lessons," David said. His amused smile faded. "Perhaps he'd better have them. You too, Selim."

"I do not think so," said Selim, backing away. "I swim well enough. Now, Father of Curses, I will start the men who are working at the temple."

Emerson was already striding away. "Ramses!" he shouted.

The ruins of the structures north of the Ptolemaic temple presented a few nice little problems in excavation. Not a wall had been left standing, and it wasn't easy to determine precisely where the fallen blocks had fit in. Many were missing, carried off by later builders. Fellahin and archaeologists searching for artifacts had dug holes more or less at random, leaving piles of debris and further confusing the stratigraphy. Emerson let out a particularly ripe string of swear words when one of the men found a page from a German newspaper, dated January 4, 1843, two feet below the surface. They made good progress, though, and later that morning Emerson cheered up when they located a piece of column with the cartouche of Seti I. When they stopped for luncheon he surveyed the collection of objects that had been found with visible satisfaction. They included fragments of statues and stelae.

"Nineteenth Dynasty," he declared. "Dedicated to Hathor."

"She does keep turning up, doesn't she?" David murmured.

For once they had divided into groups by age, the parents sitting off to one side and the younger foursome together. Ramses glanced at his friend and clamped his jaws together to prevent a rude response. He was becoming sensitive to references to that particular G.o.ddess.

David went on, with seeming irrelevance, "Tomorrow is full moon, isn't it?"

"What about it?" Lia asked.

David finished his sandwich and leaned back, supporting himself on his elbows. "It's been a long time since we had a moonlight ramble. Luxor and Karnak temples are magical under a full moon."

Lia shook her head. "The tourists all turn out for that."

"Then how about Medinet Habu or Deir el Bahri? Or the temple here? I've been thinking of painting it."

"Fine with me," Ramses said lazily.

Nefret uncrossed her legs and rose to her knees, fixing David with a hard stare. "You told him, didn't you?"

"Told me what?" Ramses asked.

"Told him what?" David demanded. Then his face cleared, and he laughed. "That's right, he wasn't here the other morning when the boy was babbling about people seeing Hathor manifest herself in her temple on the night of the full moon. Come now, Nefret, you don't believe those wild tales, do you?"

"n.o.body told me," Ramses said. He tried to keep his voice neutral, but apparently he didn't succeed; Nefret's cheeks darkened and she refused to meet his eyes. The other two remained silent, aware of a certain tension in the air. Finally Nefret muttered, "I'm sorry. It's silly and superst.i.tious of me to see a connection between the wild tales and what happened to you in Cairo. But there haven't been such stories about Deir el Medina before, have there?"

"Not so far as I know," Ramses said. "We've all heard of the giant cat who haunts Karnak and turns into a scantily clad female who seduces men and then smothers them. Legends like that are common, so perhaps it isn't surprising that Deir el Medina should acquire one. I don't understand, Nefret. Why didn't you want David to tell me? Did you suppose I'd come here, secretly and alone, to investigate, and . . . And what? Allow myself to be lured away by a feeble-witted female in fancy dress?"

She had tried several times to interrupt him. The last sentence brought her to her feet, flushed and sputtering. "I . . . You . . . That's outrageous, Ramses. I didn't suppose any of that! Why are you so quick to take offense? I was only trying-"

"Calm down, both of you," David said placidly. "You'll have Aunt Amelia over here in a minute, wanting to know what you're yelling about. Maybe you ought to listen to each other instead of firing off accusations. Unless, that is, you are enjoying the argument for its own sake."

Nefret sat down. "I'm not enjoying it."

"Well, there's a switch," Ramses snapped. "You're always accusing me of avoiding confrontations. I was only trying-"

A burst of laughter from David stopped him. "Shake hands," David suggested, "and say you're sorry."

Somewhat sheepishly Ramses took the hand Nefret had offered. "I'm sorry," he said. "Is that how you deal with your obstreperous children, David?"

"It doesn't work with Evvie," David said.

"She's never sorry," Lia added.

"I am," Nefret murmured, bowing her head. "The truth is I can't explain, even to myself, why I've got so worked up about this."

"I think I understand," Lia said. Nefret looked up. Her eyes met those of Lia, who gave her a nod and a confidential smile before continuing. "The inexplicable is always unsettling. And if either of you gentlemen breathe the words 'feminine intuition' . . ."

"Heaven forbid," David said in a shocked voice, and with an irrepressible twinkle in his eyes. "I have a few forebodings of my own. But the situation is inexplicable only because we haven't figured out the motive yet. We will. And I believe it would be a serious error to dismiss the purported epiphanies of Hathor as unrelated. Nefret is right; there've been no such stories before this year. It's worth investigating, at any rate."

It was agreed that they would limit the expedition to their four selves. David had expressed an interest in painting the temple by moonlight; that would be their ostensible motive.

"Though why the devil we are obliged to have a reason for going off by ourselves I don't know," Ramses muttered. "They cling a bit, don't they? Especially-"

"For all you know they may be anxious to be rid of us for a time," David said with perfect good humor.

After luncheon he and Walter left, David to the Castle and Walter back to the house, to work on his translations. Ramses watched them go with unconcealed envy. They had turned up a lot of inscribed material, most of it fragmentary but all of interest and, so far as he was concerned, at least as important as the b.l.o.o.d.y temple ruins. His father didn't really need him on the dig. After years of being shouted at by Emerson, the men knew the techniques of excavation; many of them, including Selim, could read and write and keep accurate records. With Bertie and Lia and Nefret, and his wife, Emerson had a staff more than adequate for his requirements. Ramses decided he would raise the subject again that evening. He had already discussed with his uncle the prospect of jointly publishing some of the more interesting texts. Walter wasn't awfully good at standing up to Emerson-neither was he!-but perhaps if the two of them joined forces they could present a convincing case.

After they returned to the house that afternoon he hastily changed, left Nefret with the children, and went looking for his uncle. One of the rooms in the new wing had been fitted up as storage and work s.p.a.ce. Shelves along one wall contained boxes of potsherds, sorted and labeled. Numbers in India ink on the edge or back of each piece referred to the index that had been kept as they were found. A long table served as desk. Ramses found his uncle bent over it, his nose a scant inch away from the surface of the brown, brittle papyrus in front of him, his eyes shifting back and forth from it to the sheet of paper on which he was copying the hieratic signs.

"Ah, Ramses," he said. "I'm glad you're here. What do you make of this group of signs? It resembles the word for 'mooring post,' but that doesn't make sense in this context."

Ramses had hoped to work on the inscription he had begun translating, but he couldn't refuse his uncle. He took the sheet of paper. In contrast to the faded, sometimes broken, signs on the papyrus, Walter's copy was neat and clear, except where gaps indicated signs he had been unable to make out.

"You've made good progress," Ramses murmured, scanning the lines. " 'It is the day when the dead go about in the necropolis in order to . . . something . . . the enemy . . . of the mooring post'? That's a metaphor for dying, driving in the mooring post. Safely reaching the land of the West?"

"The enemy of the mooring post?" Walter repeated doubtfully. "It's a bit esoteric, even for the Egyptians, isn't it?"

They were still at it, arguing with perfect amiability and happily oblivious to the pa.s.sage of time, when the door opened. Nefret had come looking for them. Ramses was about to apologize for their tardiness when she spoke, in a strained voice.

"Mother wants you to come right away. We have a visitor."

I WAS SITTING ON THE veranda all by myself. Such moments of privacy were rare of late, and I found myself wishing selfishly that I could enjoy them more often. I love every member of my family, but there are times when an individual of reflective temperament wishes, even needs, to be alone. Why didn't they go off and do things by themselves? Not all the time; just now and then.

I particularly enjoy that hour of the evening, when the light lies like a wash of gold across the desert and sparkles on the distant river. My view that evening was spoiled by the confounded motorcar, which Emerson continued to leave standing outside the house instead of putting it in the stable. I did not see the approaching carriage until it stopped and a man got out. I knew him. A hideous foreboding robbed me of breath. Instead of replying to my telegram he had come in person to tell me . . . what?

The honorable Algernon Bracegirdle-Boisdragon, more commonly known as Mr. Smith, advanced toward the barred door, his thin lips stretching into a smile.

"Do forgive my intrusion, Mrs. Emerson. I came by earlier, but your butler informed me you were not at home and refused to allow me to wait for you."

Here was a man whom even Gargery could not stare down. His own eyes were sharp as gimlets; they did not change expression when he smiled, nor did his narrow face broaden.

"What has happened?" I cried. "Is Sethos . . . Is he . . ."

"My dear Mrs. Emerson! Forgive me for alarming you. I a.s.sure you, our friend is alive and in no immediate danger. However, his-er-present situation is somewhat complex, and I thought it better to explain in person. Ah, Professor. How good it is to see you again."

Emerson came to my side. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Is Sethos . . . Is he . . ."

"He is alive, Emerson," I said.

"Oh. Well then, what the devil do you mean by worrying Mrs. Emerson? She is pale and trembling. You had better have a whiskey, my dear."

"I a.s.sure you, Emerson, my nerves are in perfect order. But perhaps you-"

"No, why? There is nothing wrong with my nerves," said Emerson, pa.s.sing his hand over his brow, where the perspiration had popped out in little beads.

"May I come in and explain?" asked Mr. Smith, peering through the bars.

"You may as well," Emerson said. He unfastened the door.

"Dear me," said Mr. Smith pensively. "I seem to have put my foot in it. And I had hoped to spare you! The truth is-" He broke off with a twist of his thin lips as the door to the house opened. Nefret was in the lead, followed by Evelyn and Lia. She stopped dead when she saw Smith.

"You know my daughter-in-law," I said. "This is Mrs. Walter Emerson, and her daughter, Mrs. Todros. Evelyn and Lia, may I present Mr.-er-Smith. He has come to bring us news of our kinsman. Never mind the courtesies, Mr. Smith, tell us. I would not like to accuse you of deliberately prolonging our suspense."

"I a.s.sure you, that was not my intention," said Mr. Smith. "In a nutsh.e.l.l, then, your kinsman is in hospital. His injuries are not life-threatening-"

"Injuries!" I exclaimed. "What's he been up to?"

"I don't know. I didn't know," said Smith, through his teeth, "that he was in Jerusalem. He was not supposed to have been in Jerusalem. I received a written message from him a few days ago, hand-delivered by a turbaned ruffian, informing me that he had run into a spot of difficulty, as he termed it, but would be out of hospital and on his way here before long. That is all the information I have; but knowing you, Mrs. Emerson, I felt certain you would be in Cairo invading my office if you didn't get an immediate reply to your telegram."

"Thank you," I said, pleased by the compliment, even if it had not been intended as such.

"But how dreadful," said Evelyn, her eyes soft with sympathy. "What sort of hospital can there be in Jerusalem?"

"It is run by a French sisterhood," Smith replied. "He is receiving excellent care, I a.s.sure you."

Not at all discomposed at being the focus of several inimical stares, he settled himself comfortably in a chair, prepared, as it seemed, to remain. Aha, I thought. Delivering the news had not been his sole motive for coming.

"Will you stay for tea, Mr. Smith?" I inquired.

"Thank you, Mrs. Emerson, I would enjoy that."

We exchanged equally false smiles. "I will see what is keeping the others," I said, going to the door.

Emerson followed me. "Peabody!" His attempt at a whisper made my ears ring. "Have you lost your mind? The b.a.s.t.a.r.d wouldn't be so agreeable if he did not want something from us. If he thinks he can recruit Ramses for another job-"

"Sssh." I drew him farther into the house. "The war is over, Emerson."

"But Sethos is still meddling, G.o.d knows with what. If my brother," said Emerson, rolling his r's fiercely, "has got himself into another mess from which he expects Ramses to extricate him-"

"He wouldn't do that."

"You always defend the . . . the man!" Emerson shouted. Even in an extremity of temper, he avoided using his favorite epithet to describe his illegitimate brother.

"Mother." Nefret tugged at my sleeve. "Send him away."

"I have my own reasons for wanting Smith to remain," I said. "I will explain them later. Oh, there you are, Fatima. Thank you for waiting; you may bring tea now, if you will be so good. Nefret, will you find Walter and Ramses and David and tell them to come here? And bring the children too. All the children."

Smith's expression, when the rest of the family erupted onto the veranda, gave me a great deal of malicious satisfaction. The three youngest children whizzed round like projectiles, bouncing off one adult after the other, delivering embraces and greetings in their sweet, high, extremely penetrating voices. They ended up standing in a row in front of Smith, who had the wild-eyed look of a man cornered by pariah dogs.

"Who are you?" Evvie asked.

"This is Mr. Smith," I said. "Say h.e.l.lo nicely."

They continued to stare unblinkingly.

"h.e.l.lo there," said Smith. He reached out to pat Evvie on the head.

"I hate people to do that," she announced, pushing his hand away. "So does Davy. And Charla bites."

"All right, children, that's enough." Ramses took hold of his two. "Go to Mama. Leave the gentleman alone."

"What charming children," said Smith, with a forced smile. "Yours?"

"Two of them. Including the one that bites."

"That doesn't surprise me," Smith murmured. "And this must be Mr. Todros. A pleasure to meet you at last."