The Hippopotamus Pool (23 page)

"I have told Ramses and David," Nefret was quick to remark. "You said I might."

I had not said she could tell David. However, there was no sensible reason why I should object. At a gesture from Ramses the lad fetched a chair for me and I seated myself.

"Did you make this, David?" I asked.

"No, ma'am."

Ramses and/or Nefret must have been teaching him manners as well as English—and heaven knows what else. On this occasion his English vocabulary was inadequate for the purpose; after a few attempts he gave it up and burst into excited Arabic. "I cannot do such fine work, Sitt—notyet. This was made by Hamed, long ago, before his hands were hurt. He was the master, no one was as skilled. He could not show me, but he could tell me what to do and correct me when I was wrong."

"With a stick, I suppose," I said dryly.

"It is how one learns." After a moment he added in quite a different voice, "I had thought it was how."

"And yet," said Ramses, who had been silent for longer than I had expected, "you found this, if Nefret's account of the event is accurate—"

"I am sure it was," I said quickly.

"Certainly," said Ramses, almost as quickly. "I did not mean to suggest anything beyond the inevitable and unconscious inaccuracies that creep in when a story passes from one narrator to another. As I was saying, you found this hidden away with other antiquities that were genuine. Why do you believe this one is not?"

He was looking at David, not at me. I was about to translate, or at least provide a more intelligible version of Ramses's comment, when Nefret said impatiently, "Ramses, don't be silly. The original is in the British Museum, so this must be a copy."

"Then Hamed made it more than ten years ago," said Ramses. "Mr. Budge bought the other in 1890, if I remember correctly."

David understood the first sentence at least. He nodded eagerly. "Many years, yes. He cannot work for many years. When I came to him his hands were hurt. But he was the master, he taught me."

Hamed's tutelage could not have been so successful, though, if the boy had not had exceptional talent to begin with. The manufacture and sale of forgeries is the most common occupation of the residents of Luxor and the nearby villages; Hamed must have come upon the boy one day when he was trying his hand at producing a fake, and recognized his undeveloped abilities. And who better than Hamed to see it? He
had
been a master, untrained and unscrupulous though he was; to deprive him of the ability to practice his craft was a punishment as cruel as any sadist could have contrived. Only his hands had been injured.

Emerson was back before I expected him. I knew what had prompted this departure from his usual habits, and when he burst into Ramses's room, still in his wrinkled work clothing and dusty boots, he was quick to express his sentiments in characteristic fashion.

"What the devil are you all doing here? Ramses should be resting. This looks like a—an orgy!"

David was the only one to retreat before Emerson's blazing blue glare and lowering brows. Selim gazed at him admiringly and I said, "Come and change, my dear, and then we will all go up for tea. The doctor said Ramses could get out of bed for a while this evening if he is careful."

Somewhat sheepishly Emerson accepted a biscuit from the plate Nefret offered him and allowed me to lead him from the room.

"Well?" I demanded.

"Well what?" Emerson closed our door and advanced upon me.

"You smell terribly of bat, my dear," I said, evading his grasp.

"Do I? Yes, I suppose I do. My apologies, Peabody; one becomes accustomed to the odor, you know." Standing before the basin he began to remedy this difficulty, and as he proceeded with his ablutions I answered his questions about the doctor's visit and told him what David had said about the Tetisheri statue.

"Doesn't add much to what we already know," Emerson grunted. "I would like to ask that young man a few questions. You recall the statue we found yesterday in the antechamber—the hippopotamus goddess?"

"I could hardly forget it. Have you found out how it got there?"

"I have a theory or two, but I have not had the chance to investigate any of them. It has been a deuced unproductive ... Where the devil are my clean shirts?"

They were where they always were, in the top drawer of the bureau. I got one out and as he turned to take it I let out a gasp. "Unproductive, you say? What happened?"

"Very little. As I said .. . Oh, that." He glanced down at the darkening bruise on his chest. "I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear Peabody, but nobody tried to kill me; it was a simple accident, due in large part to my own clumsiness. You see, I was on the rope ladder, pounding at that ledge of rock just below the entrance—"

"Emerson, for pity's sake! Why must you take such unnecessary chances?"

"It was not unnecessary." He pushed my hand away and finished buttoning his shirt. "It's a narrow squeeze just there, as you know; aside from the inconvenience to ourselves, we cannot lower any large-sized object, not even a basket, through that crack. It had to be widened and I was the obvious person to do it. The cursed sledgehammer bounced back at an unexpected angle, that is all."

He was out the door before I could reply. I followed him into Ramses's room.

"Why don't we have tea brought here?" he inquired. "Ramses seems comfortably settled."

"Too comfortably," I replied, studying the scene with dismay. It looked more than ever like an orgy. Nefret was sitting on the side of the bed, Selim had waked up and was looking hungrily at the biscuits, which the laws of Ramadan prevented him from eating, and Bastet's head was in the bowl of chicken soup. Anubis sat in the window watching Bastet and licking his whiskers.

"He will have to get out of that bed for a while," I continued. "It must be remade and various bits of food removed from it. Besides, it would be discourteous to ignore Gertrude."

"Hmph," said Emerson. "If you say so, Peabody. But first..." He turned to David, squatting at the foot of the bed, and addressed him in Arabic. "Hamed told me that the man who came here last night meant no harm to the maiden. He came for you, because Hamed had bought you."

"He lied." But the boy would not meet Emerson's eyes.

"There is no buying and selling of human beings under English law," Emerson agreed. "But there are older laws that some hold higher. Hamed has no claim on you unless you believe he does. Do you?"

The last two words cracked like a slap. The boy flinched—and so did I. Why had I not seen the implications earlier? There is a loyalty based on servitude—resented, hated, but admitted by those who believe in that code. For them it might supersede all other obligations.

"Father," Ramses began.

"Be still, Ramses. David?"

The boy shook his head. "No. No, Father of Curses. I swear by Sitt Miriam, by her Son, by the Saints—"

"It is good," Emerson said. "I accept your word. Did you ever make for Hamed a statue of the hippopotamus goddess?"

He did not know he was being unkind. Emerson is incapable of deliberate cruelty to a child. But the brusque questions fell hard on a boy who was accustomed to blows and curses, and who had yet to learn trust. David's eyes fell, and his mumbled answer was barely audible.

"Aywa. I did not know . .."

"Stop bullying the child, Emerson," I interrupted.

"Bullying?" Emerson swung round to face me, blue eyes bright with indignation. "The devil, Peabody, how can you suppose I would do such a thing?"

David was no more appreciative of my intervention. With a resentful look at me, he straightened his shoulders and spoke up like a man.

"I made it. I made two. Taueret, the lady of childbirth. They were good work."

"Excellent work," I exclaimed. "So that statue we found in the tomb is also a fake?"

"Quite," said Emerson, reaching for his pipe. "I had a close look at it this afternoon. Do you know how it got there, David?"

The boy shook his head, and I said, "How could he? He was here, too ill to move, when the cursed thing was placed there. Emerson, don't smoke that pipe. Take it and Ramses up to the deck. Tea will be ready."

Ramses insisted he could walk—which was true—but since Emerson was determined, he submitted with ill grace to being carried. He had to endure further fussing from Nefret, who would have bundled him in afghans from feet to chin if I had allowed her, and from Gertrude.

However, after the appropriate expressions of interest, Gertrude turned her attention to Nefret. That her concern was genuine I could not doubt; it was also exasperating and unnecessary, and finally I was forced to cut her short before Nefret exploded into rudeness.

"Have another sandwich, Gertrude, while Professor Emerson tells us about the tomb. We have not yet had an opportunity to discuss the day's work."

As Emerson was the first to admit, there was not much progress to report. "I have decided to take Ramses's advice and widen the lower passage," he explained. "The danger of falling rock is too great. We can't use explosives, so it will take some little time."

Ramses expressed his pleasure at hearing this and his intention of being "back on the job," as he put it, by the time work on the tomb actually began. "But," he continued, without giving anyone else time to comment, "it is the statue you mentioned that interests me, Father. Did you mean to imply by your recent questions that it was not in the tomb when you and Mother first—er—dropped in on the thieves? It may be that you failed to observe it, being preoccupied at the time with one another's safety. The alternative, as I hardly need point out—"

"You are talking too much, Ramses," Nefret interrupted. "I am sure it is not good for you in your condition."

"Quite right," I said, while Ramses was trying to think how to respond to this disingenuous remark. "The statue was not there at first. I assure you I could not have missed seeing it. And you hardly need point out the alternative. Though how it could have been brought there, with our men on guard, I do not know. Unless .. ."

"I beg," said Emerson, teeth clenched on the stem of his pipe, "that you will refrain from saying it, Amelia."

"... unless there is another way into the tomb. A secret passage."

"Nonsense, Amelia."

"How can you be sure? We have not cleared the antechamber. The entrance could be hidden under the debris."

"Because ... Oh, but why try to introduce reason into a conversation like this one? The cursed thing came from Hamed's shop, but why it was put there and how it was put there is beyond definition at this time. I refuse to discuss it any further.

What's this, the latest post?" Emerson flung the pipe into the receptacle, scattering ashes over the remaining sandwiches, and reached for the papers and envelopes on a nearby bench. "Anything of interest?"

"Not in my messages, no. Further than that I cannot say, since I do not open letters addressed to other people."

A somewhat uncomfortable silence followed this gentle reproof. Miss Marmaduke began talking about the fine weather and the beauty of the sunset. I responded automatically—the subject was not one that required the full concentration of my intelligence—and watched Emerson as he ripped open the envelope that had caught my attention earlier. It was the only one that promised the possibility of some interesting development, for it had been delivered by hand and the writing was unfamiliar. Would he share it with me? Would he admit me into his confidence?

He had no intention of doing so. His only visible reaction was a quiver of that handsomely indented chin and a movement of the hand holding the paper. He was about to put it into his pocket. I therefore reached out and took it from him.

After reading the message I said to the steward, "Tell the cook the Professor and I will not be here for dinner."

Emerson said, to no one in particular, "Hell and damnation!"

As Daoud pushed off from the shore, Emerson said grumpily, "At least the daily interruption begins earlier than usual. I may be able to get a full night's sleep for once."

"What do you suppose he wants?" I asked, adjusting a lacy scarf over my hair.