“A very large snake?” Emerson inquired.
“No larger than this,” said Fatima, measuring approximately five inches with finger and thumb. “But it was still alive, Father of Curses, and I do not know whether there will be any dinner tonight, because it is still somewhere in the kitchen and Maaman says -”
“It has probably escaped long ago,” Emerson said comfortably.
“Then you tell Maaman,” said Fatima, thumping the teapot down on the table. “He says he will not cook.”
“Oh, curse it,” said Emerson. “I suppose I’ll have to do something or we won’t get any dinner.”
“Take the Great Cat of Re,” Sennia suggested.
“Not a bad idea,” said Emerson, scooping the cat up. Sennia crammed two biscuits into her mouth and went with them.
“Let’s go and watch,” Nefret suggested. “Jumana, have you ever seen the Father of Curses perform an exorcism? It will be even more entertaining if he works the cat into it.”
Jumana shuddered. “I am afraid of snakes. I hope it does not go into my room.”
I also declined the treat. I am not afraid of snakes, but I see no point in cultivating them.
One of the men had gone to the post office that morning, so there was quite a stack of letters and messages and newspapers. By the time the others came back I had had a nice leisurely time, sorting the mail and reading the more interesting missives.
“Did you find it?” I inquired.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Emerson said. He deposited the cat on the floor, where it resumed its interrupted bath. “I hadn’t supposed we would, and was preparing an exorcism specifically designed for serpents, but the cat fished it out almost at once from behind one of the water jars. A perfectly harmless Clifford’s snake. Ramses took it outside and let it loose.”
“I told you I have been training the Great Cat of Re,” Sennia said triumphantly. “Someday it will catch an even bigger snake and save Ramses’s life at the last second.”
“Pure chance,” said Emerson – but he said it under his breath. “Anything in the post, Peabody?”
“A nice long letter from Evelyn, and one for Nefret from Lia, and one for Ramses from David…” I distributed the missives as I spoke.
“What about me?” Sennia demanded.
“Three for you.” They were from the family. They knew she loved getting mail.
“Nothing else?”
I handed Emerson the rest of his letters. “Two telegrams from Cairo. I took the liberty -”
“Yes, of course you did,” Emerson muttered. “Well, what do you think of that? Wingate and General Murray request my presence at my earliest convenience.”
“I presume it will not be convenient early or late,” I said.
Emerson emitted a wicked chuckle. “Why do you suppose I made a quick departure from Cairo? We reported to General Chetwode, handed over our prisoner, and assured him and his intelligence staff that they’d seen the last of Ismail Pasha – which is true, since Sethos won’t use that disguise again. If they have any further questions they can come to us, but they will get damned few answers. Nothing from Carter or – er -”
I shook my head. “Here is an interesting invitation, however. The Albions are giving a dinner party and dance on Friday. The honor of our presence is requested. There is a little note penned by Mrs. Albion herself, hoping that Jumana will also honor her.”
“Me?” Jumana’s eyes opened very wide.
“Her?” Emerson exclaimed. “What the devil for?”
“She is one of the family,” Nefret said. “I expect they are trying to make up for… for any inadvertent rudeness in the past.”
“They have not been rude,” Jumana said. “They sent me flowers, when I was sick.”
“They did? You didn’t tell me.”
“Many people sent me presents,” Jumana said proudly. “Bertie, and Mr. Vandergelt, and Daoud, and an American gentleman I met at Mr. Vandergelt’s party. Will we go? There will be dancing. I like to dance.”
“I believe not,” I said.
“Why not?” Emerson inquired. “It should be a – er – enjoyable outing.”
“Emerson!” I exclaimed. “What are you up to now?”
Emerson’s sapphirine-blue eyes met my own with a wholly unconvincing look of candor. “I only wish to give you pleasure, my dear. You like such things. It is the least a fellow can do.”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
Ramses knew perfectly well what his father was “up to.” Deny it as he might, he was as obsessed as Cyrus with Jamil’s tomb. In a way, Ramses couldn’t blame him. The words ran through his own head like a litany: The hand of the god. What god? Where? It was beginning to interfere with his personal life. Nefret shook him awake that night, complaining that he had been muttering the words in his sleep. “If you must talk in your sleep, you might at least mumble about me!”
After he had apologized by reciting the epithets of Hathor – “Golden One, Lady of Fragrance, Mistress of All the Gods” – and acted upon them – she settled down with her head on his shoulder and admitted she couldn’t get that enigmatic clue out of her head either.
“I’ve been wondering whether we ought not question Jumana again,” she said. “She has a fantastic memory and almost total recall, even for accents. Wasn’t it enchanting to hear her imitate Cyrus?”
“It was rather uncanny hearing her imitate Jamil the day we found Mother and Father,” Ramses said. “Are you suggesting that if we asked the right questions she might remember something Jamil said about the tomb?”
“That’s how her memory seems to operate.”
“It’s worth a try, I suppose. We might even be able to talk Father out of breaking into the Albions’ suite.”
“You’re joking. No, damn it, you aren’t!”
He had told her of his conversation with Emerson. She had scoffed at the time, but now…
“That’s why he agreed to go to their party!” she groaned. “What are we going to do?”
“Make sure they don’t catch him in the act. He’s dead set on this, Nefret. I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t believe it will do any harm.”
She relaxed against him and let out a breath of laughter. “Well, maybe not. Even if the worst happened – if someone found him in their rooms – he’d talk his way out of it.”
“Shout, not talk,” Ramses corrected. “What could they do to him, after all? There isn’t a man in Luxor who would dare interfere with him.”
All the same, he was a little on edge the night of the party. His father had readily admitted he meant to search the Albions’ rooms; he had raised the subject himself, overruling Ramses’s half-hearted protests and requesting his assistance.
“I will signal you when I’m ready to act. Keep an eye on the Albions. If one of them starts to leave the ballroom – well, you will know what to do.”
“Start a fight with Sebastian, for example? All right, Father, I’ll think of something. I hope. You will be in disguise, I suppose.”
His father grinned happily. “Just the usual, my boy, just the usual. Er – might I borrow a beard? Your mother must have done something with mine, I can’t find it. Oh, and if she asks where I am, put her off somehow.”
It wouldn’t be easy, keeping tabs on three people and fending his mother off, but Ramses thought he could manage it with Nefret’s assistance. He only hoped his mother didn’t have ideas of her own. She looked very handsome that evening, in a gown of her favorite crimson, the diamonds in her ears sparkling. Nefret was radiant in amber satin, and Jumana looked like any young girl on her way to a dance – eyes shining, cheeks flushed.
The Albions had hired the entire hotel, or at least the public rooms, including the dining saloon. That presented no problem to the management, since the convalescent officers who occupied part of the hotel had all been invited. Everyone in Luxor seemed to be there, including the Vandergelts. Mr. Albion’s money and his wife’s good taste made it quite a splendid affair; the wine flowed freely and the food was excellent. After dinner, when the dancing was about to begin, Ramses edged up to his father.