The Hippopotamus Pool (35 page)

We did not linger over breakfast next morning. Upon our arrival at the tomb I hastened at once to mount the stairs; when I entered the antechamber I saw Emerson sitting on the floor, his head bowed and Abdullah bending over him.

"Now what?" I inquired, with admirable calm.

Emerson raised his head, displaying a countenance sicklier in hue than was its wont. "Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well."

"Are you ill? Are you hurt?"

He pushed away my hands and those of Abdullah, and rose with all his old energy. "A passing queasiness, nothing more. I have just finished fixing the lid back over that mummy, and the stench was unpleasant."

"Did you have to do that?" I demanded.

"I should have waited for you to do it, I suppose," Emerson said mildly. The others filed into the room and he gave them an absentminded wave of greeting as he continued, "All right, Abdullah, let's get the gruesome thing out of here. Send Daoud or Ali up to give me a hand. I could carry it myself, but I don't want to joggle it."

Abdullah folded his arms and did not budge. "I will be your hands, Emerson."

Emerson stroked his chin and studied his reis thoughtfully. Then he smiled and gave the old man a clap on the shoulder. "Is it so? You and I then, Abdullah, as so often before. Peabody, just trot down, will you, and disperse the locals? One glimpse of a coffin being carried out of here and they will spread the word. The rest of you clear out, you will only be in the way."

"Just a moment," I said. "At least protect your breathing apparatus. You ought to have done it before. Where is your handkerchief, Emerson?"

It was a foolish question. He never has one. While he was fumbling in his pockets Walter produced his, and Emerson bound it over his mouth. Abdullah wound his scarf over the lower part of his face, and then they started down the steps. Both had to stoop; they were tall men and the roof was low.

With the assistance of my trusty and magical parasol I dispersed the locals as requested. I had to chase them some distance, and when I returned I saw Emerson on the stairs. He had the front end of the coffin on his shoulder; Abdullah kept it level, his hands supporting the other end.

Once they reached the ground they moved quickly and without hesitation to the place Emerson must have selected in advance. It was hardly more than a pit, the entrance to a tomb half-choked with rubble. There was just enough room for the coffin.

The watching men moved rather too alertly out of its path. Nefret, standing next to me, said softly, "Is that what the Professor meant, Aunt Amelia, when he said 'Is it so?' And why Abdullah insisted on helping him?"

"In part it was Abdullah's pride that was at stake, Nefret. He hates admitting he is getting old. But I fear you are right; some of the men might have objected, or even refused to touch the thing. Oh dear, I hope we are not going to have another problem with curses, it is such a nuisance."

"It would give Radcliffe a chance to perform one of his famous exorcisms," said Walter. A night's rest had done him good; reminiscent amusement wanned his face. "Excuse me, ladies, I will just go and help them cover the pit. Better to do the job oneself than risk a flat refusal from the men."

Ramses was already with his father, helping him and Abdullah pour sand over the coffin. After a while Selim joined them, swaggering and smiling contemptuously at the other men. They could not be outdone; when they were all at work, Emerson and Walter returned to us. Apparently they had been arguing, for Walter's face was flushed and I heard him say, "Under no circumstances will I allow it, Radcliffe."

"Allow?" Emerson repeated. "I don't know how you've kept her under control all these years, Walter—I have never been able to do it—but I fear your domestic tyranny is ended. We could put it to the test. I will tell her what I want done and you will forbid her to do it, and then we will see what happens, eh?"

"What is the disagreement, gentlemen?" I inquired.

"I need a detailed drawing of the area before we demolish the doorway," was the answer I had expected. "Even with reflectors there may not be sufficient light for a photograph and .. . where the devil is Sir Edward? He should have been here by now."

"See here, Radcliffe," Walter began.

"Curse it, Walter, will you leave off badgering me? After all," Emerson added in an injured voice, "I was considerate enough to refrain from asking her to do the sketch while the repulsive thing was still in situ, although that would have been the proper procedure."

He strode off without giving Walter time to reply. I patted him on the arm. "Your concern is unnecessary, Walter."

"Hmph," said Walter, sounding astonishingly like his brother.

Evelyn promptly agreed to Emerson's request, of course; in fact she appeared delighted to be asked. She had been sitting with David, watching him as he worked on the sculptured head. I lingered long enough to commend him, for it really was quite a lovely thing. He did not reply except with a long steady look, and I felt his eyes upon me as I walked away.

The others were already at work when I descended the steps. The removal of the coffin had exposed a number of objects scattered randomly on the floor behind it. Evelyn was making a quick sketch of their relative positions while Nefret wrote down the numbers and descriptions Emerson dictated.

"Food offerings," said Ramses, before I could ask. "Jars of oil and wine, most of them broken, a mummified haunch of meat."

"For our mummy?"

"They wouldn't have been much use to him," Emerson said, without looking up. "Four and a half centimeters, Nefret. A nameless spirit could not partake of offerings. And five centimeters across."

Hearing footsteps on the outer staircase, I returned to the antechamber. The newcomer was Sir Edward, camera in hand. "I overslept—mea culpa, Mrs. Emerson, I confess it. I was up rather late developing the plates. And then the ferry grounded on a sandbar."

"That is always the way when one is in a hurry," I said. "Never mind, Sir Edward, Emerson is making drawings."

"I really am very sorry," the young man began, and then broke off, looking past me down the steps. "Is the coffin out already? You have been hard at work."

I had thought Emerson would be too preoccupied to notice my absence, but I was in error. "Peabody!" he shouted. "Fetch some of those baskets, and be quick about it."

Sir Edward politely took them from me. "Charming," he said with a smile. "His use of your maiden name, I mean."

"It is employed as a term of approbation," I explained. "A sign of professional equality and respect."

"So I assumed. Please allow me to precede you; the steps are very uneven."

Emerson took the baskets from Sir Edward without looking up. "That will have to do, Evelyn," he grunted. "Curse it! I will never forgive myself for this! Ramses, have you finished numbering the objects?"

"It is the only thing to do, Emerson," I said consolingly.

"Hmph." Quickly, but with the delicacy of touch that marked all his actions, he began lifting the objects into the baskets.

Then came the moment for which we had all been waiting. In silence Abdullah handed the chisel and hammer to Emerson. In silence Emerson gestured us to move back.

The ancient mud plaster crumbled and fell trickling to the floor under his precise, steady blows. At last he gave the implements to Abdullah, who placed a lever in Emerson's outthrust hand. Emerson inserted it into the crack and bore down. Under his sweat-soaked shirt the muscles of his back bunched and tightened.

An eerie grating groan, like the protest of an animal in pain, was the first indication of success. Until I saw a shadow along the edge of the block, I could not tell it had moved. Slowly the shadow lengthened. Emerson shifted his grip and spoke for the first time. "Twelve inches. Be ready, Abdullah."

The reis's hands were already under the front edge of the block. Sir Edward put me gently out of his way. He did not speak as he slipped past me; his eyes had a wild glitter. Dropping to his knees, he put both hands under the stone.

"Damn fool," said Emerson distinctly. "Don't try to hold it, let the back slide down and then get your fingers out from underneath. When I give the word ... Now!"

The stone fell. Abdullah was slower than the younger man, but he knew exactly what he was doing. It was his skill that allowed the back edge of the block to hit the floor first, so that there was time for Sir Edward to pull his hands back. The block settled onto the floor with a thud.

"Bloody stupid business," Emerson grumbled, adding fairly, "My fault as well. If I were not in such a bloody damned hurry ... I beg your pardon, Peabody; just hand me that candle, will you?"

I had hardly taken notice of his bad language. This was the moment. For the first time in heaven knew how many centuries, light would enter the eternal darkness of the tomb and the eyes of the profane would violate the rest of the royal dead. Or would they? Would we see the glitter of golden ornaments, the massive shape of an untouched sarcophagus—or only scattered wrappings and broken bits of bone? The flame wavered as I handed him the candle, and a tear blurred my vision. He had summoned me, of all those who stood nearby, so that I might be the first to share that moment with him.

He thrust his arm within. The flame flickered and burned blue and then went out. But before it died I saw what I had never dared hope to see— a chaotic tumble of decayed wood and fallen stone, yes; but the brief light had set off a hundred golden sparks, and looming high above the litter was a solid rectangle of stone—a sarcophagus, with its massive lid still in place.

It was a sober group that gathered round the picnic baskets. One would have supposed, seeing our gloomy faces, that we had found a looted, empty chamber instead of a discovery that would reverberate down the corridors of Egyptological history. The magnitude of the find and the enormous responsibility of it weighed on us all—most of all on Emerson, who sat with his face in his hands and his head bowed. After I had dispensed tea and sandwiches to the others, I touched his shoulder. "Cheese or cucumber, Emerson?"

He lowered his hands. His face was haggard. "I can't do it, Peabody."

"I know, my dear," I said sympathetically. "I did not suppose you could."

"It is taking a risk." He grasped my hands and squeezed them. Had the moment been less fraught with emotion I would have screamed. "The longer we delay in removing the objects, especially the mummy, the greater the chance of attack. If you came to harm through my fanatical attachment to professional standards .. ."

His voice broke and he gazed intently into my eyes.

We might have been alone, "no one hearing, no one seeing," to quote an ancient Egyptian source. My heart swelled. The danger to others was equally great, but it was
my
danger that made him hesitate, / who came foremost in his thoughts. There had been many touching moments in our marriage, but none as poignant as this. I chose my words with care.

"Good Gad, Emerson, what a fuss you are making about nothing! If you had violated
our
professional standards I would have been forced to speak severely to you. Now go and tell Abdullah of the change in plan."

Emerson threw back his shoulders and drew a long breath. His eyes blazed, his firm lips curved; his face was that of the ardent young scholar who had first won my heart, and my wholehearted allegiance, in the necropolis of Amarna. Giving my hands a final, excruciating squeeze, he released them and jumped to his feet.

"Right you are, Peabody. Save me a few sandwiches, will you?"

I rubbed my numbed fingers and looked at my companions. The interest with which they had followed the conversation was evident from their expressions. For the most part, approbation and understanding marked those faces, but a shadow darkened Walter's brow, and Sir Edward was frankly staring.

The latter was the first to speak. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Emerson, but I fear I missed the point of that exchange. Unless it dealt with personal matters which you would rather not discuss ..."

"My husband and I are not in the habit of discussing personal matters in public, Sir Edward." I softened the seeming reproof with a friendly smile and an explanation. "We had determined to clear the tomb as quickly as possible, before robbers could get at it. It would have been a relatively simple job if this tomb had been like most of the others, empty of all save miscellaneous small objects. But now ... The rubble you saw, Sir Edward, is the remains of the queen's original grave goods. Some were of wood, which has rotted and fallen apart, spilling the contents into a tangle. Part of the ceiling appears to have collapsed, crushing other objects. If we shovel the lot into baskets, any hope of restoring the original designs will be lost. And this discovery is unique—the first, perhaps the only, royal tomb to contain at least some of its original equipment. It would be a crime against Egyptological scholarship to overlook the slightest clue. The proper procedures will require not days but months, perhaps years."

"Yes, I see. I have heard of the Professor's meticulous standards." But his brow was still furrowed.