“If I see Jamil wearing the Double Crown and blowing kisses I assure you I will not follow him.”

Ramses was not amused or convinced. “Where are you going?”

“Only to the cemetery. I have not seen Abdullah’s tomb.”

“Oh. I haven’t seen it either. May I come with you?”

Recognizing the uselessness of a refusal, I agreed. In point of fact, he was the only person to whose company I had no objection. He had been with me the day after Abdullah’s funeral, and had helped me to bury over the grave the little amulets of Horus and Sekhmet, Anubis and Sobek – symbols of the ancient gods who guard the soul on the road to the West – in flagrant defiance of Abdullah’s faith and my own. However, I had always suspected Abdullah had a secret, half-shamed belief in the old gods. Ramses’s silent understanding had given me comfort, which I needed badly that day.

We went on foot, over the rocky ridges and across the stony expanse of the desert plain, Ramses slowing his long strides to match mine. The cemetery was on the north side of the village, not far from the mosque. It was all desert here, all baked earth and stony ground; neither tree nor flowering plant softened the starkness of the lonely graves. The tombs themselves were underground, their location indicated by low rectangular monuments of stone or brick, with upright stones at head and foot. The grave of a saint or sheikh of eminence might be marked by a simple structure crowned with a small cupola. There were only a few of such monuments in this humble cemetery; Abdullah’s was conspicuous not only by the freshness of the stones that had been used in its construction but by the somewhat unusual design. It was the conventional four-sided building, but there was a subtle grace in its proportions, and the dome seemed to float, light as a bubble.

The sun was about to set. The rosy light warmed the white limestone of the walls, and from a mosque in a neighboring village came the first musical notes of the evening call to prayer.

“It will be dark shortly.” Ramses spoke for the first time since we had left the house. “We mustn’t stay long.”

“No. I only want -”

I broke off with a catch of breath. It was somewhat uncanny to see any movement in that deserted place, and this figure, emerging from the dimness under the cupola, was human. We were still some distance away; I could not make out details, only the long galabeeyah and white turban, before it scuttled into concealment behind the walls of the mosque.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Did you bring a torch?”

“Certainly. I have all my accoutrements. Shall we follow him?”

“That wasn’t Jamil. I don’t see any point in chasing after the fellow. Let’s just make certain he hasn’t done any damage.”

The disturbance of the sandy dust was the only sign that anyone other than we had come there. “There are a number of footprints,” Ramses muttered, shining the torch around. “Overlapping. That’s odd.”

“Perhaps members of the family have come to pay their respects, or to pray,” I suggested.

“Perhaps. Are you ready to go?”

I had intended to say a few words – think them, rather – but he was obviously uneasy, and really, what more was there to say when I had just had a long conversation with Abdullah? I acquiesced and let Ramses take my arm, since the dusk had thickened.

“I like the design,” Ramses said as, with the aid of the torch, we picked a path around the standing monuments. “I hope Abdullah is pleased with it.”

“Oh, yes. He was only annoyed because he had to ask. He implied that I ought to have thought of it myself.”

“Ah,” said Ramses noncommittally.

On the Thursday we were in the midst of our preparations for departure – complicated these days by Sennia and the Great Cat of Re – when a messenger arrived. Jumana had left for Deir el Medina, Ramses was explaining to the cat that he would prefer it did not accompany him, I was dealing with the customary delaying tactics from Sennia, and Emerson was stamping up and down demanding that we hurry. He took the note from Fatima.

“Well, what do you think of this?” he inquired. “Yusuf wants to see us.”

“Us?” I echoed. “Who? Sennia, get your books together and go.”

“You and me. He says it’s urgent. I wonder who wrote it for him?”

Ramses finished his conversation with the cat and put it down. “A public letter writer, perhaps. Shall Nefret and I come?”

Emerson stroked the cleft in his chin. “No, he said for us to come alone. Run along, we’ll join you shortly.”

“Unless something interesting develops,” I amended.

“Something about Jamil, perhaps,” Nefret said. “Do you suppose Yusuf knows where he’s been hiding?”

“Let us hope so. It would be a relief to have that business over and done with. I ought to have made more of an effort to question Yusuf,” I admitted.

“Don’t be unkind to the poor old fellow,” Nefret said. “He must have been suffering horribly, torn between his love for his son and his loyalty to you.”

“It could be another trick,” said Ramses. “Remember your warning, Father, not to go after the boy alone, even if he is wearing -”

“I won’t be alone,” Emerson said. “Your mother will be with me.”

Ramses’s heavy dark eyebrows tilted. “Don’t forget your parasol, Mother.”

“Certainly not. However, I expect Yusuf only wants sympathy and some medicine. It is the least I can do, and I ought to have done it before this.”

I put together a little parcel for Yusuf, some of his favorite tobacco and a freshly baked assortment of Fatima ’s honey cakes, of which he was fond. I also took my medical kit. The others had gone by the time I had collected everything I needed. Emerson and I were soon on our way; but as we turned the horses onto the path that led by the tombs on the lower part of the hill of Sheikh Abd el Gurneh, I saw something that made me bring my little mare to a rude halt.

“Emerson! Look there!”

Where she had come from I could not tell – one of the tombs, perhaps – but the outlines of that trim figure were unmistakable. Only a few women in Luxor wore boots and divided skirts and only one other woman wore a belt jangling with objects.

Emerson, who had also stopped, let out an oath. “After her!” he exclaimed.

“Not so fast, my dear. We must follow at a distance and ascertain where she is going – and why. She has been in the village; if Yusuf admitted his intention of turning Jamil in, she may be on her way to warn him.”

“Damnation,” said Emerson. “How could she… Well, we will soon find out.”

He had dismounted as he spoke. Hailing one of the villagers, he said, “Give me your galabeeyah.”

“But, Father of Curses,” the fellow began.

“Hand it over, I say.” Emerson dispensed baksheesh with so lavish a hand that he was instantly obeyed. The jingle of coins attracted several other men. One of them was willing to part with his outer garment too. (I had selected the shortest and cleanest of them.)

Jumana was almost out of sight by then, trotting along with the agility I knew so well, but the delay had been necessary; she would have spotted us instantly if we had been in our usual clothing and on horseback. We got into our impromptu disguises, left the horses with one of the men, and hastened after the girl.

“She’s heading back toward our house,” Emerson said, looking uneasy. “Perhaps we are wrong, Peabody. She may have been paying a duty call on her father.”

“Don’t be such a sentimentalist, Emerson. She admitted she hadn’t spoken to him for months – and why would she not tell us of her intentions, if they were innocent? She has deliberately deceived me, the treacherous little creature.”

The truth of this soon became apparent. Shoulders hunched and bent, as if to make herself less conspicuous, Jumana cut off onto a rough track that wound around houses and hills toward the western cliffs south of Deir el Bahri. Once or twice she glanced over her shoulder. She must have seen us, but evidently our clumsy disguises were good enough to deceive, for she went on without pausing, scrambling nimbly up the rising slope at the base of the cliffs. I could see the temple, below and to our right, as we climbed; the colonnades and tumbled stones shone in the morning light.