Ramses and Nefret decided they did not want to miss it either. I went along to make certain Emerson behaved himself. Jumana went along because I insisted. Nefret’s diagnosis might be correct – it was in keeping with the principles of psychology I favored – but she had confessed herself uncertain as to the appropriate treatment. I had my own ideas on that subject. If my methods were not effective, at least they could do no harm.
Jumana ate very little at breakfast, but I had checked the larder before retiring and again when I arose, and was not surprised to find that half a loaf of bread and a chicken breast had disappeared overnight. It was no wonder Fatima had not noticed anything amiss. The larder was open to everyone in the house, and Sennia had an appetite quite out of proportion to her little frame.
Cyrus and Bertie had been looking out for us and joined us at the end of the track that led up to the Castle. It was a bright, beautiful morning with clear skies; after the fog of Cairo and the rainy weather of Palestine, I appreciated Luxor even more.
“How well you look, Bertie,” I said. “The foot is completely healed?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you. I need not ask if you are in good health; you are blooming, as usual. We had heard that Ramses -”
“The reports were exaggerated,” Ramses said with a smile. “As you can see.”
“And your arm, Professor?” Bertie asked.
“A confounded nuisance,” said Emerson. “Can we get on now? I want to finish this little job, so I can start work.”
Bertie was not given the opportunity to ask after the person who interested him most. Jumana had not spoken to him or to Cyrus. She sat slumped in the saddle, her head bowed and her pretty mouth twisted. The taste of the medicine I had insisted she take lingered on the tongue.
We left the horses in the donkey park and proceeded on foot, along paths long familiar to us. I should explain that the Valley of the Kings is not a single long canyon. From above it resembles a lobed leaf, like that of an oak or maple, with side wadis branching off to left and right. The tomb of Hatshepsut was at the far end of one of these branches. We had worked in that area before and knew it well.
The tourists had come early to the Valley in order to avoid the heat of midday. We were not so early as Emerson would have liked, but in part it was his own fault; he had wasted some time playing with the Great Cat of Re, who had come to breakfast with Ramses and Nefret. It had grown quite fat, through overfeeding (by Sennia – she claimed to have been training it, to do what I could not imagine). She had also combed and brushed it every day, so that its fur had become long and silky. Emerson was highly entertained by its antics. As it leaped at the bit of chicken he dangled above it, it looked like a bouncing ball of fluff. (Horus’s look of contempt as he watched this degrading performance was equally entertaining.) However, when we left the house it declined to ride on his shoulder and climbed onto that of Ramses.
“Must we take it?” he asked. “You rather overdid the grooming, Sennia, its fur is all over my face.”
“His,” said Sennia. “Yes, you must take him. What if you were attacked by a snake? I am coming too.”
So that caused another delay. I did not want her to see – or hear – Emerson evicting the Albions. He was bound to lose his temper and employ bad language. We pacified her by promising to stop back at the house and take her to Deir el Medina, and distracted her by asking her to help Fatima prepare a very elaborate picnic basket.
Draped over Ramses’s shoulder, with his tail hanging down behind, the Great Cat of Re resembled a luxuriant fur piece. Several ladies wanted to stroke him; several gentlemen stared and laughed. Among the latter was Mr. Lubancic, whom I had met at Cyrus’s soiree. “Still here, are you?” I called, as we passed.
“Yes, ma’am. What on earth -”
“Another time.” I waved. Emerson had not slowed his pace.
The signs of energetic activity were visible some distance off; a cloud of dust blurred the brilliant blue of the sky, and voices rose in one of the chants with which Egyptians lighten their work. The sight we beheld when we reached the spot was unusual enough to bring us all to a halt.
In the background a group of men were digging and hauling away debris. In the foreground, some distance from the dust and racket, was a little kiosk, a sturdy wooden frame with a roof and sides of canvas. Two of the canvas side pieces had been rolled up, and under the canopy, comfortably seated in armchairs, were the three Albions. Oriental rugs covered the ground; a table was spread with various articles of food and drink, over which a turbaned servant stood guard with a fly whisk. Another servant waved a fan over Mrs. Albion. She wore a frock that would have been suitable for tea at Buckingham Palace, and a hat wreathed with chiffon veiling. Mr. Albion had adopted what he believed to be proper archaeologist’s attire: riding breeches and boots, a tweed coat, and a very large solar topee. His son was similarly attired, but since he was a good deal taller than Mr. Albion, he did not so closely resemble a mushroom.
One of the workmen came trotting up to Mr. Albion with a bit of stone in his hand. Albion took it, glanced at it, and tossed it away. He then condescended to notice us.
“Morning, folks. Out bright and early, are you?”
“Not so early as you,” said Emerson, advancing with shoulders squared and brows thunderous. “You have been told, I believe, that you are in violation of Lord Carnarvon’s firman. Close down your excavation at once.”
“Who’s gonna make us?” Mr. Albion inquired. He looked even more cherubic, his eyes twinkling and his lips pursed. “You?”
“Yes,” said Emerson. “Oh, yes.”
“Father, if I may?” Sebastian Albion had got to his feet. “Not everyone appreciates your sense of humor. Won’t you sit down, ladies and gentlemen, and discuss the situation? Mrs. Emerson, please take my chair. I’m afraid the rest of you will have to – er -”
“Squat,” said Nefret, doing so. “Let’s hear what they have to say, Father. It won’t cause much of a delay and it might be amusing.”
“I agree,” said Ramses, subsiding with boneless ease onto the rug beside Nefret and crossing his legs.
“Amusing,” Mr. Albion repeated. “Yes, sirree, that’s our aim in life, to amuse people and be polite. Here, young lady, take my chair. We heard you’ve been ailing.”
Jumana started, and so, I believe, did we all. Such gallantry was not only unexpected but was, in my opinion, highly suspicious.
“No, thank you,” she stammered. “Sir.”
“I insist.” He was on his feet, his face wreathed in smiles. “Sebastian, you persuade her.”
“With pleasure.” The young man offered his hand. Jumana blushed and ducked her head.
“Sit down, Jumana,” I ordered. “Since Mr. Albion is kind enough to offer.”
Mrs. Albion ignored this little byplay. She was leaning forward with the first sign of amiable interest I had seen her display. “What a beautiful cat. What is its name?”
“The Great Cat of Re,” I replied. “You would call it Fluffy, I suppose.”
Mr. Albion chuckled. “No, she gives her cats names like Grand Duchess Olga of Albion. Fond of the creatures. I put up with ‘em because she’s fond of ’em.”
“Now see here,” Emerson exclaimed. “I will be cursed if I will spend the morning talking about cats. What do you people think you are doing?”
Sebastian Albion removed his eyeglasses, wiped them on a handkerchief, and replaced them. “As you have no doubt observed, sir, we are clearing the tomb of Prince Mentuherkhepshef. It was found by Belzoni and reexamined in 1905 by -”
“Don’t tell me facts I know better than you,” Emerson interrupted. Curiosity had weakened his wrath, however; the Albions were so blandly outrageous, it was difficult to remain angry with them. And Sebastian had pronounced the prince’s name correctly. He knew more about Egyptology than we had supposed.