He quickened his steps, reaching the mosque as the call to morning prayer ended. After removing his shoes and hat, he went inside, pausing by the fountain to bathe face, hands, and arms. There were few worshipers, since most people preferred to pray at home; and as Ramses went through the prescribed positions, kneeling at last close to the left wall, he hoped what he was doing would not be regarded as profanation. He slipped his hand into the opening in the wall, and paper crackled under his fingers.

The train left him off at Giza Station. Since it was now broad daylight, he was as likely to be seen climbing up the trellis as walking in the front door, so he did the latter. The smell of frying bacon floated toward his appreciative nostrils and he followed it toward the breakfast room.

The Vandergelts weren’t down yet, but Nefret had joined his parents at the table. They all turned to stare when he sauntered in.

“Enjoy your walk?” his father inquired, giving him a cue he didn’t need.

Nefret yawned prettily, covering her mouth with her hand. “Such energy! Early to bed and early to rise… I hope you are feeling wealthy and wise, because you don’t look especially healthy.”

“Kind of you to say so.”

“You’ve got those dark smudges under your eyes,” Nefret explained. “Very romantic-looking, but indicative, in my experience, of too little sleep. I thought you came home early last night.”

“I also woke early. Couldn’t get back to sleep, so I went for a long walk.” Fatima put a plate of eggs in front of him. He thanked her and told himself to shut up. He was explaining too much.

“You should have hoarded your strength,” said his father, with a wolfish smile. “I mean to get in a full day’s work, so hurry and finish breakfast.”

Ramses nodded obediently. His mother had not spoken, but he hadn’t missed the signs of silent relief when he walked into the room. She always carried herself like a soldier, even when she was sitting down; it made him feel like a swine to see those straight shoulders sag and that controlled face lose a little of its color. What he was doing was unfair to David and Nefret, but it was brutal to his parents. Perhaps the news he brought would cheer them up.

He had to wait until they were on their way to Giza before he had a chance to speak with his mother alone. His father had gone on ahead with Nefret, and Ramses held Risha to the plodding pace of his mother’s mare.

“I know where he’s hidden them,” he said without preamble.

“It was the man you suspected?”

“Yes. He was only trying to be helpful! A feeble excuse, but he wasn’t in a state to think clearly.”

His mother was. She was blind as a mole about some things, but every now and then she hit the nail square on the head. “The Turks are communicating directly with him. They must be, or he wouldn’t have known where the cache was located. You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No. You’re right, of course. They know where he lives, too. The message was pushed under his door.”

“They’re having doubts of you—of Wardani.”

“They always have had. Now that they’ve lost their agent, they are trying to undermine my control another way. I doubt it means anything more than that. Time is running out for them. I collected another little missive this morning.”

She held out her hand. Ramses couldn’t help smiling. “I destroyed it. It said, ‘Be ready. Within two days.’ ”

“Then you can confiscate the weapons and put an end to this. Now, today.” She yanked on the reins.

Ramses halted Risha and reached for her hand, loosening her clenched fingers. In her present mood she was quite capable of galloping straight to Russell’s office and yelling orders at him across the desk.

“Leave it to me, Mother. Russell is waiting for word; as soon as he gets it, he’ll act. It’s all been worked out. The worst is over; don’t lose your head now.”

“I have your promise?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” They started forward. After a moment he heard a loud sniff and a muffled, “I apologize.”

“It’s all right, Mother. Oh, damnation, are you crying? What did I say?”

There were only two tears, after all. She wiped them away with her fingers and squared her shoulders. “Hurry on, your father will be waxing impatient.”

Ramses gave his father the same information shortly afterwards, while they were measuring the outer dimensions of the second burial shaft. He didn’t get off quite as easily this time. Emerson wanted to know where Rashad had put the guns, and how Ramses meant to inform Russell, and a number of other things that he was probably entitled to know. Just in case.

Having been gracious enough to approve the arrangements, Emerson turned his attention to excavation. Ramses didn’t doubt his father fully intended to round up a few revolutionaries himself, and was looking forward to it, but he had a scholar’s ability to concentrate on the task at hand.

“We may as well see what’s there,” he announced, indicating the opening of the shaft. “Get back to work on your walls, my boy, I will start the men here.”

“Selim is down there helping Nefret take photographs. They don’t need me.”

“Oh?” Emerson gave him an odd look. “As you like.”

He didn’t want to go near Nefret. It would be like showing a hungry child a table loaded with sweets and telling him he must wait until after supper. In a few days, perhaps a few hours, he could confess, beg her forgiveness, and ask her again to marry him. And if she said no he would follow his mother’s advice. The idea was so alluring it dizzied him.

They didn’t put in a full day’s work after all. His mother dragged them back to the house for an early luncheon, pointing out that it would be rude to ignore their guests. Emerson had to agree, though he hated to tear himself away; as the shaft deepened, they began to find scraps of broken pottery and, finally, a collection of small model offering vessels.

The Vandergelts had planned to spend that day and night with them, to enjoy what his mother called “the too-long-delayed pleasures of social intercourse with our dearest friends.” She’d enjoy it, at any rate, and Lord knew she deserved a respite. Katherine Vandergelt wasn’t looking her usual self either. War was hell, all right, not only for the men who fought but for the women who stayed at home waiting for news.

Ramses knew his father had every intention of working that afternoon, no matter what anyone else did. His description of what they had found that morning made the discovery sound a good deal more interesting than it actually was, and Cyrus declared his intention of joining them.

“I doubt we’ll find an untouched burial,” Ramses warned him. “Those pottery sherds look like bits of the funerary equipment.”

“There may be something interesting left,” Cyrus said hopefully. “Katherine?”

“I suppose I may as well come too,” said his wife resignedly. “No, Amelia, I know you are aching to see what’s down there, and if I stay here you will feel obliged to stay with me. What about you, Anna?”

“I’m going to the hospital.” She looked challengingly at Nefret.

“You needn’t overdo it, Anna. I rang Sophia earlier; things are quiet just now and she promised to let me know if anything arose that required my presence—or yours.”

“You aren’t going in today?”

“No. I have other plans. You can spare me for a few hours, can’t you, Professor?”

“Where—” Emerson stopped himself and looked at his wife, who said, “Will you be back for dinner?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Anna said. “I shall go to the hospital. There is always something to be done.”

Nefret shrugged, excused herself, and left the room. She and Anna must have quarreled; their stiff smiles and sharp voices were the female equivalents of an exchange that would have ended in a brawl if they had been men.