Guardian of the Horizon (5 page)

and make arrangements. What else?" "You will announce your intentions to the Department of Antiquities-- Yes, Emerson, you must. It might be a good idea for you to write to Mr. Breasted--he is back in Chicago, I suppose-- and ask him about his survey in Nubia last winter. It must all be open and aboveboard. I propose that we announce we are going directly to Meroe. It is three hundred miles south of Napata, where we were working in '97, and from which we disappeared into the desert, as the journalists so poetically put it. That should put people off the track." "It will put us off the track, too, by a long distance," Emerson protested. "We needn't actually go to Meroe," I said impatiently. "So long as people believe we are not going to Napata." Merasen was rather pleased than otherwise to leave us. We were not very entertaining company for a lively lad whose ideas ofamusement were quite different from ours. (I had not seen fit to mention to Emerson that one of the reasons why I wanted him out of the way had to do with the housemaids.) After all, what was there for him to do? We had forbidden him to leave the grounds, and the library was of no interest to him. The men of the Holy Mountain were noted archers, but he had haughtily refused to display his skill, claiming we had no bow worthy of his strength. From time to time Ramses resignedly consented to wrestle with him, but those sessions did not last long, since Ramses was uncommonly rough with him. After one such encounter, which ended (after approximately thirty seconds) with Merasen doubled up like a worm, whooping for breath, Nefret remonstrated. Ramses's only response was a curt "He asked for it." This did not improve relations between Ramses and Nefret, but even she did not object when Emerson took the boy up to London in order to put him on a boat to Port Said. His necessarily extended journey from the Sudan to Cairo, and thence to England, had familiarized him with the country and the language, and he assured us that he had made friends along the way. (I suspected, from his complacent smile, that most of the friends were female.) "He appears to be taking this delay rather lightly," said Ramses, after we had said farewell to the travelers. "One would have expected him to urge us to press on." "Why do you constantly find fault with him?" Nefret demanded. "We promised we would follow as soon as is humanly possible, and he knew we would keep our word." Ramses shrugged and looked particularly enigmatic. Seeing that Nefret was about to pursue the matter, I said, "He has the fatalism of his people--a quality we might be well advised to emulate at this time. What has happened, has happened. We cannot change the past. Nefret, have you any idea what this mysterious illness might be?" It was Nefret's turn to shrug. "Merasen wasn't much help when it came to describing precise symptoms. It could be something as simple as malaria, or something as deadly as an unknown tropical disease." "What did you two talk about then?" I asked, for I had wondered before. "All sorts of things." Her eyes shifted, avoiding mine. "He is immensely curious about England." "And I," said Ramses, "have been immensely curious about the Holy Mountain. Things must have changed a good deal in ten years, but I wasn't able to get much practical information out of him. Did you have better luck?" "There haven't been that many changes," Nefret said somewhat defensively. "I find that hard to believe," said Ramses, raising his expressive eyebrows. "When we took our hasty departure, Tarek had not yet overcome all those who opposed him. His brother Nastasen was dead, but Forthright, your renegade cousin, was still on the loose, and so was the old High Priest of Amon, who had supported Nastasen." "I also questioned Merasen about them," I said. "He claimed he had never heard of Reggie Forthright." "What's so surprising about that?" Nefret demanded. "Merasen was only seven or eight years old at the time. Reggie must have been caught by Tarek and executed, as he well deserved. The High Priest of Amon too; he was the ringleader of the rebels." "There was also a social revolution," Ramses persisted. "Tarek wanted to improve the living conditions of the rekkit, who were no better than slaves. I drew a dead blank when I asked Merasen about that." "He doesn't strike me as interested in social reform," I remarked. "And it is possible that the changes Tarek hoped to make were frustrated by the dead hand of tradition. If Emerson is correct in believing the rekkit were the original inhabitants of the Holy Mountain, they have been enslaved since the first Egyptians arrived there. What a sad commentary on human nature that the strong do not succor and assist the weak, but rather--" "How well you put it, Mother," said Ramses. I took the hint. "Ah, well, we will learn the truth when we get there." Ramses said under his breath, "If we get there." Emerson returned from London to announce he had sent Merasen on his way, and that the boy appeared to be looking forward to the journey. "He doesn't lack self-confidence, I'll say that for him" was Emerson's comment. "Before I got him on board I took him to the Museum and he--" "For pity's sake, Emerson, why did you do that?" I demanded. "I was under the impression that we wanted to keep him away from people who might suspect his origins." "Oh," said Emerson self-consciously. "Well, but it's all right, Peabody. The only person we ran into was Budge, and he wouldn't know a Bishari tribesman from a Bedouin." "That is pure nonsense, Emerson, and you know it. Budge may have attained his position as keeper of Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities because of his underhanded methods of acquiring artifacts for the Museum, but he has been often in Egypt and the Sudan. Didn't he ask you about Merasen? What the devil did you go there for?" "I only wanted to show the boy a few objects and get his opinion," Emerson said defensively. "Budge was his usual self, supercilious and insulting. He completely ignored the boy." "Oh, really? What precisely did Mr. Budge say?" "Er. You see, as it happened, we were in the section devoted to Meroitic material, and Budge . . . er." "Asked where you meant to work this year." Emerson can only be pushed so far. My accusatory tone brought a wicked sparkle to his sapphirine orbs. "Curse it, Peabody, you told me to be open and aboveboard about our plans." "Well," I said. "David is due tomorrow, and we are overdue for a conference. Shall we meet in the library in half an hour?" When Emerson got there, now divested of his traveling attire and wearing comfortable rumpled garments, we were waiting for him. Emerson looked at me, settled at his desk with my papers spread outin front of me, and went at once to the table where the decanters were kept. "Whiskey and soda, Peabody?" he inquired. "It is too early, Emerson." "No, it isn't, Peabody. Here. I admit," Emerson went on, settling into a comfortable overstuffed chair near the bust of Socrates, "that perhaps I acted a bit rashly by taking Merasen to the British Museum. I allowed professional curiosity to overcome me." "I wonder," said Ramses, "if we have fully considered the implications of this venture." "No doubt you will enlighten us," I remarked. "Let the boy speak, Peabody," said Emerson, taking out his pipe. "Without, if you please, interrupting him!" "Thank you, Father. I've been thinking it over, and I have reached the conclusion that this expedition must mark the end of the Holy Mountain's isolation--or at least the beginning of the end. It was bound to happen sooner rather than later. The lure of the lost oases of the Western Desert has never faded, and lately there seems to have been a resurgence of interest. The Journal of the Royal Geographical Society had an article only last month about 'The Zerzura Problem.'" "But the lost city of Zerzura is a legend," I exclaimed. "I remember reading about it in the Book of Hidden Pearls, which is nothing more than a medieval collection of fairy tales." "It is a little more than a legend, Mother, as you are well aware. The fellows of the Royal Geographical Society are too hardheaded to give credence to legends, but many of them believe there are undiscovered oases in the Libyan Desert. In another few years, if the technology continues to improve as it has done, someone will develop a motorcar that is capable of desert travel, and that will extend the possible range of exploration. As for our trip--I would take certain risks for Tarek, but I will be damned if I will take the risk of mounting any but a large-scale expedition. It is to our advantage to keep our purpose secret beforehand, since we don't want a pack of curiosity seekers and treasure hunters following us, but if we do get there and return, the men who accompany us will spread the word. We can hardly imprison or intimidate all of them." He straightened, hands still in his pockets, and looked challengingly from me to Nefret, who was biting her lip, to his father, who was placidly smoking his pipe. "It's the truth, isn't it?" "Yes," I admitted. "But that would be a catastrophe," Nefret exclaimed. "Once the Holy Mountain is known to the world, it will be exploited by treasure hunters and adventurers." "And archaeologists," said Emerson, scowling. "Men like Budge, who will tear the place apart collecting artifacts for his cursed museum. No doubt you have anticipated this little difficulty, Peabody, and have considered methods of preventing it?" "I have a few ideas. However," I went on, before Emerson could express his skepticism, "I see no point in discussing them in vacuo, so to speak. At present we have no idea what sort of reception we will receive or what conditions we are likely to encounter. We are agreed, are we not, that until we reach the point of no return--" "I don't like the sound of that," Emerson muttered. "The point at which we set out on the final journey--" "That's not much better, Peabody." "Oh, Emerson, do be quiet. You know what I mean. Until our expedition is ready to go into the desert, we should be able to keep people in the dark as to our real goal. We have discussed this in general, but we must work out the details--what we must do, what we must say--and to whom it must be said--in order to add verisimilitude to an otherwise--" "All right, Peabody, all right. Have another whiskey and don't quote Gilbert and Sullivan at me." By the time David arrived the following afternoon, we had put together a convincing fiction, though it did not really cover all the contingencies and I had an uneasy feeling (I would have called it a premonition if Emerson did not object to my using that word) that we had not anticipated everything. At first David could talk of nothing but Lia--her grace, hersweetness, her beauty, the interminable years that must pass before he could call her his. She was not yet eighteen, and, as he admitted, he was in no position to support a wife. Not until after dinner, when we retired to the sitting room for coffee, did he ask about our strange visitor, concerning whom he had heard from Gargery. "Yes, a most interesting young fellow," Emerson said, fussing with his pipe. "His grandfather is an old acquaintance of mine-- sheikh of a village in the Sudan, who sent the boy to England to-- er--broaden him, and, incidentally, to tell me about some interesting ruins west of Meroe that have never been investigated. I have therefore decided to spend the autumn in a survey of Upper Nubian archaeological sites. I won't be needing you, David, so you may as well accept that offer from Constable." David looked bewildered, as well he might. Emerson's open, candid nature is not suited to deception. Instead of working up to his conclusion with a wealth of confirmatory detail, he had simply thrown it at David. "But, sir," he stammered. "That is ... how did you ... I don't understand." "It's very simple," said Emerson, to whom it was; when he makes a decision, he expects everyone will accept it. "I don't need you, Constable does." David turned in silent appeal to Ramses, who said easily, "I told Father about the offer from Constable, David. He agreed that it was an opportunity you shouldn't miss." "But your plans--" David began. "Have nothing to do with yours," Ramses cut in. "Father means to leave almost at once, and we will finish the most important part of the survey within a few months. I'll go to Germany in January." Nefret took David's hand and squeezed it. "Lia will be so happy. She was in tears when she spoke of your leaving." "She was?" The idea of Lia in tears brought moisture to David's soft brown eyes. "Oh, she'd have sent you off with a brave smile, but," said Nefret, "her heart would be breaking." I thought she was carrying the pathos a little too far, so I saidbriskly, "So that is settled. Why don't you ask Gargery to see if he can place a telephone call to Yorkshire, so you can tell Lia the good news?" "I had better find out whether Constable are still interested," David said slowly. "They are," I said. David turned to stare at me. Having put my foot in my mouth, I attempted to extract it. "I took the liberty of ringing them up yesterday," I explained. "Mr. Constable was delighted. I--er--wanted to be certain the position was still open before I--we--discussed it with you." "I see," David said. "I hope you don't mind, dear." "Not at all, Aunt Amelia. It was good of you." His eyes moved from me to Ramses. "Come up for a talk?" I saw Ramses brace himself. He hated to lie to his friend, but I knew he would do it if he had to. And he would have to. David was still hesitating, and no wonder. The story we had concocted was the best we could come up with, but trained copyists would be at a premium on such an expedition and here we were proposing to do without one of the best. "Do you think we convinced him?" Nefret asked, after the two boys had left the room together. "Convince be damned," said Emerson. "He will do as he is told. What the devil, one would suppose a young lover would leap at the chance to be with his betrothed, eh, Peabody?" "What a romantic you are, Emerson." Whatever Ramses's arguments, they achieved the desired end. David demurred no longer. He went up to London to confer with the publisher and returned bursting with excitement about his assignment--a series of portraits of Egyptian kings and queens, based on statues and, in some cases, actual mummies, but of course "prettified," as David put it, for modern tastes. He and Ramses and Nefret pored over volumes of photographs and engravings, selecting the representations David meant to use. They all appeared to enjoy this; a good deal of laughter and a few rude comments issued from David's room when they were there together. Perhaps it was the imminence of separation that made them so fond with one another. Even Ramses was less aloof, submitting to Nefret's impulsive sisterly embraces with a smiling grace he had not exhibited