The Golden One (11 page)

‘I’m sorry, Nefret,’ he began.

‘You apologize too often.’ It was an old joke between them, but when she looked up he saw that her face was grave.

‘It’s not so bad, is it?’ he asked. ‘She meant well, and it is some distance from the main house, and – ’

‘It’s fine,’ Nefret said impatiently. ‘Never mind the house, Ramses. Jumana has something to tell you.’

There were wicker chairs and a table or two. He sat down. ‘Well?’

She had obviously been talking freely with Nefret, but the sight of him froze her tongue. She twisted her hands together.

‘What is it?’ Ramses asked. ‘Something about Bertie? Don’t worry about him, Jumana, you’ll be staying with us from now on. That was the agreement.’

‘Bertie?’ She dismissed him with a shrug. ‘He is not a worry. No. I must tell you, but . . .’ She swallowed, hard. ‘I have seen Jamil.’

‘My God.’ Ramses breathed. ‘Where? When?’

‘Two weeks ago.’ Now that she had got the worst of it out, the words flowed freely. ‘I went to Luxor Temple, while Mrs Vandergelt was shopping at the suk and Mr Vandergelt was
at Mohassib’s. Bertie wanted to go with me, but Mrs Vandergelt said – ’

‘I understand,’ Ramses said. ‘Jamil was at the temple?’

She nodded. ‘He had been waiting for days to find me alone. He wanted money. He said that he had discovered a rich tomb, but the others had cheated him and he cursed them all and said he
would get even, but he needed money . . . I gave him all I had.’

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Nefret said. ‘The best thing for Jamil would be to turn himself in.’

Her mouth drooped like that of a child on the verge of tears. ‘He is my brother. How could I refuse to help him? But he said . . . Oh, I have been so afraid! I didn’t know what to
do. But now you are here, you will tell the Father of Curses, and he will not let Jamil – ’ Her voice broke.

‘It’s all right,’ Ramses said gently. He took her small shaking hands in his. ‘He won’t let Jamil hurt you. Is that what he threatened? That he would harm you if
you told anyone you had seen him?’

‘No, oh, no!’ She clung tightly to his hands and looked up into his face. ‘It is you the Father of Curses must guard. It is you Jamil hates most. He said if I told anyone he
would kill you.’

Chapter Three

‘Bah,’ said Emerson.

We were seated on the veranda drinking tea. The rays of the sun, low in the west, cast golden gleams through the roses that twined around the open arcades. It was like the old days, when we had
so often gathered in that shaded spot; the wicker chairs and settees and tables were not much the worse for wear, and Ramses had taken up his old position, perched on the ledge with his back
against a pillar. Now Nefret sat beside him, and her hand was in his. Fatima had insisted upon serving sandwiches and tea cakes, despite the fact that we were to leave shortly to dine with the
Vandergelts. Rather than disappoint the dear woman, I nibbled on a cucumber sandwich or two.

After learning of the reappearance of Jamil, I had decided a private council of war was imperative. Sennia, who had expected to take tea with us, strongly objected to being sent away and was
only mollified when – before I could stop him – Emerson handed her the entire plate of cakes to take with her. As soon as she was out of earshot Nefret repeated what Jumana had said,
and Emerson responded in characteristic fashion.

‘That is not much help, Emerson,’ I said. ‘A threat cannot be dismissed so cavalierly.’

‘It was an idle threat,’ Emerson declared. ‘How can that miserable little coward constitute a danger to Ramses?’ He gave his tall son an approving look, and Ramses
replied to the implied compliment with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows.

‘Come to that, why Ramses?’ Emerson went on. ‘I take it as an affront that he didn’t threaten
me
. Are you going to eat all the cucumber sandwiches,
Peabody?’

‘I think,’ said Nefret, passing Emerson the plate, ‘that in Jamil’s eyes Ramses was the hero of last year’s affair. Or villain, from Jamil’s viewpoint! Not to
take anything away from you, Father – or you, Mother – ’

‘You are quite right, my dear,’ I said graciously. ‘We did our part, but if it had not been for Ramses – ’

‘You ought to take it as a compliment, Father,’ Ramses said. He does not often interrupt me, but he does not like to hear himself praised. ‘Jamil would consider it below his
dignity to threaten a woman, and he obviously feels I am less dangerous than you. “No man dares threaten the Father of Curses!” ’

‘What an annoying development!’ I mused. ‘I had hoped the wretched boy had taken himself off to distant parts, or that he had met with a fatal accident.’

‘That is rather cold-blooded, Mother,’ my son said.

‘Your mother is a practical woman,’ Emerson declared. ‘I suppose now we’ll have to find him and turn him over to the police, which will be cursed embarrassing for
everyone concerned, especially his father. We’ve left him alone, and instead of taking to his heels he has the effrontery to challenge us! He must be mad.’

‘Or mad for revenge,’ Nefret said, her brows furrowing.

‘No,’ I said judiciously. ‘He’s too much of a coward. However, his true motive is not difficult to discover. One of his most notable traits is greed. He also has an
uncanny instinct for locating lost tombs. Depend on it, that is why he hasn’t left Luxor. He hopes to find another; good Gad, perhaps he has already done so!’

An all-too-familiar glint brightened Emerson’s sapphirine orbs, but after a moment’s thought he shook his head regretfully. ‘Pure conjecture, Peabody, born of your rampageous
imagination. It’s more likely that he hasn’t the courage to leave familiar surroundings and strike out on his own. He made enough from his share of the princesses’ treasure to
live comfortably for a while; I would guess that the money has been squandered, and that he approached Jumana as a last resort. He won’t try it again. As for attacking Ramses – stuff
and nonsense!’

‘Yes, but he might try and get back at Jumana,’ I said. ‘Especially if he learns she told us he is still in Luxor. She probably won’t believe that she could be in danger
from him, so we must make certain she is not allowed to go off alone. Katherine and I had agreed she would come to us; we will bring her back with us tonight. I will ask Fatima to get a room ready
for her. David’s old room, I think; it is next to ours, Emerson, with windows that open only onto the courtyard. It will not be easy for anyone to get at her there – or for her to creep
out unobserved.’

‘Are you going to tell Cyrus and Katherine about Jamil?’ Nefret asked.

‘I am glad you raised that point, Nefret. I will explain the situation to them eventually, but I do not believe it would be advisable to mention it this evening. The walls have ears and
the tongues of Luxor wag at both ends. We certainly don’t want Jamil to find out that his sister has informed on him.’

‘There you go, trying to make a mountain out of a molehill,’ Emerson declared. ‘In my humble opinion, the sooner Jamil learns that we are aware of his pathetic threats, the
better. He won’t dare show his face again.’

‘In your opinion?’ I repeated. ‘Humble? I trust that you agree that Selim and Daoud must be informed. Harmless the wretched boy may be, but he is their cousin – of some
degree – and – ’

‘Here is Cyrus’s carriage, come for us,’ Nefret said quickly. ‘Are we ready? Mother, where is your hat?’

Cyrus’s carriage was a handsome open barouche, drawn by a splendid pair of greys. A brilliant sunset washed the western sky, and across the river the lights of Luxor began to shine. When
the carriage turned into the narrow way that led to the Valley of the Kings, the hills rose up around us, cutting off the last of the sunset light. Few spots on earth are as magical as the Valley;
it is not only the grandeur of the scenery, but the romance of its history. In the grey twilight one could easily imagine that the shadows cast by the carriage lamps were the ghostly forms of the
royal dead, and that the howling in the hills came from the throat of the divine jackal Anubis, god of cemeteries.

‘Now that we are settled here for a long time, we must think seriously of getting our own carriage,’ I remarked. ‘I don’t like depending on Cyrus or on the rattletraps
for hire at the dock.’

Emerson said something under his breath, and I said, ‘I beg your pardon?’ and Emerson said, ‘Motorcar.’

That subject caught everyone’s attention and we had a nice little argument that lasted all the way to the Castle. I pointed out that the utility of such vehicles was limited by the
condition of the roads and Emerson retorted that the military was using them, and that the new Ford cars had proved to perform admirably in desert terrain. Nefret and Ramses contributed very
little. To be fair, they didn’t get a chance to say much.

Cyrus’s Theban residence was called the Castle, and it well deserved the name. From certain angles it reminded me of the Mena House hotel; it was almost as large as that excellent hostelry
and had the same screened balconies attractively arranged at various levels. There was a stout wall around the entire estate; that night the heavy gates stood hospitably open, and flaming torches
lined the drive leading to the house, where Cyrus stood waiting to greet us.

He had, as promised, invited no other guests. I asked after William Amherst, who had worked for Cyrus the previous year, and was told that he had left.

‘Finally wangled his way into the army,’ Cyrus said rather enviously. ‘Some kind of office job. Leaves me confounded shorthanded,’ he added. ‘But Abu is a good
reis, and Bertie’s filling in real well.’

Katherine gave her son a fond look. She had grown a touch stouter, but the additional weight was, in my opinion, quite becoming. She wore a long loose gown in the Egyptian style and an emerald
necklace that matched her eyes. Now that she was freed from worry about her son, who had been severely wounded in action the past year, her face had lost its haggard look and once again she
resembled the pleasant, plump-cheeked tabby cat of which she had reminded me at our first meeting.

Bertie was looking well too. He had taken up the study of Egyptology, partly to please his stepfather, but primarily to win favour with Jumana, and there is nothing like the vigorous pursuit of
archaeology to give an individual healthy colour and a sturdy frame. I did notice, when he advanced to greet me, that one leg still dragged a little. I had hoped that time would bring about a
complete cure. Evidently it had not. Ah well, I thought, it will keep him from going back into the military.

The only other person present was Jumana, who sat as still as a little mouse until Emerson went to her. Everyone was talking and laughing; I believe I was the only one who heard what he said to
her.

‘You did the right thing, child. The matter is in my hands now, and there is nothing to worry about.’

I could only hope he was right.

It wasn’t long before Cyrus turned the conversation to the subject that had obviously become an idée fixe. ‘I want a crack at that treasure,’ he declared.
‘Emerson, you’re gonna have to help me with Mohassib.’

Ramses glanced at me. His dark brows tilted in an expression of amused scepticism, and I intervened before Emerson could answer.

‘Now, Cyrus, you know perfectly well that Emerson is the last person in whom Mohassib would confide. Emerson has told him only too often and only too profanely what he thinks of dealers in
antiquities. I would like to hear more about the business. How was the tomb found, has it been investigated, why hasn’t the Service des Antiquités taken steps?’

That ought to keep Emerson quiet for a while, I thought complacently.

Nothing loath, Cyrus launched into a tale that was even more bizarre than the usual stories of such discoveries – and that, I assure you, Reader, is saying a good deal.

It does not often rain in Luxor, but when it does, the storms are severe. One such storm had struck the previous summer, washing away houses and cutting deep channels through the land. The canny
thieves of Luxor knew that such downpours were more effective than excavation in removing accumulated debris and, perhaps, exposing tomb entrances. Scrambling around the cliffs, they had found a
place where a stream of falling water disappeared into a crevice and then came out again, forty feet away.

What they saw when they squirmed through the choked passageway into the tomb chamber must have left even those hardened thieves speechless. Unrobbed tombs aren’t found every day, and this
one was spectacularly rich. Astonishment did not render them less efficient; within a few hours the treasure had been removed and deposited with Mohassib, who paid them in gold coins. The money was
divided among the miscreants, who immediately began to spend it.

‘That old fool Mohammed Hammad bought himself a young wife,’ Cyrus said. ‘It turned out to be a mistake. The news of the tomb got around, as it always does, and a few weeks
later the local mamur and his lads descended on the village. Mohammed had time to hide the rest of his money in a basket of grain, and sent the girl off with it, but she hung around flirting with
the guards, and one of them knocked the basket off her head. Well, folks, you can imagine what happened after that. There was a free-for-all, villagers and police rolling around the ground fighting
each other for the gold pieces. Mohammed ended up with nothing, not even the girl. She went off with the mamur.’