“Hell and damnation,” Emerson remarked, in a voice that echoed between the cliffs. “Did you leave him alone up there?”
“It’s all right,” Bertie called. “Look out below.”
The canvas-wrapped bundle swung as he lowered it, and kept banging against the rock face in a grisly fashion. The stench was really quite horrid, but not even Cyrus backed away. He was watching Bertie, who stood with feet braced, paying out the rope. Ramses’s assessment had been correct; he had strength enough for this. The bundle was not very large.
It settled onto the rock-strewn ground with a flexibility I prefer not to describe, and Bertie immediately began to descend. Drawing his knife, Ramses cut the rope and would have lifted the body out of Bertie’s way had not Selim intervened. Hassan hastened to help him lift it onto a rough litter and carry it away.
“Well!” I said, drawing the first deep breath I had taken for several minutes. “Thank goodness that is safely accomplished. Now let us… Nefret? Nefret, where are you going?”
She had followed after Selim and Hassan and stopped them, far enough away so that the horrible smell did not reach us.
“Hell and damnation,” Emerson ejaculated. “She isn’t… She surely won’t…”
The men lowered the litter to the ground. Emerson emitted an even more blistering oath and started toward them.
“No, Father,” Ramses said.
“But – did she tell you she – aren’t you going to stop her?”
Ramses shook his head. “She didn’t tell me, but I suspected she would, and no, I am not going to stop her. I played the masterful husband before. I ought not have done so. It is her decision and her right. Please don’t interfere.”
He went to join Nefret and stood watching, his hands in his pockets. She looked up at him and spoke, briefly, before returning to her grisly task. “What is he doing?” Emerson demanded.
“Just being with her,” I said. “Sharing the unpleasantness in the only way he can. It is really very sweet, Emerson.”
“A sweet experience to share,” Emerson growled. “Well, curse it, I can do no less. I will just go and -”
“No, Emerson. What about a spot of lunch while we are waiting? Bertie, I neglected to commend you on a task well done. Would you care for a cheese sandwich?”
Bertie had removed the cloth that had covered his mouth and nose. “Good Lord, Mrs. Emerson, I… Well, yes, thank you, if it isn’t too much trouble, but she – Nefret – it is quite a horrible object, you know, and the sight of food -”
“Don’t worry about her,” I said.
Cyrus only shook his head. He had known Nefret longer than Bertie had.
Though I am accustomed to corpses in all stages, from newly slain to long mummified, I was not particularly anxious to examine this one, or even to watch from a distance. I kept my eyes averted until Selim and Hassan rewrapped the bundle and replaced it on the litter. When Nefret and Ramses came back I observed that her hands and forearms were red, not with blood, but from the gritty sand with which she had cleaned them. She was perfectly composed – more so than Ramses, whose features were not so controlled as they usually were. At my suggestion he got out the bottle of alcohol and poured it over her hands. She then seated herself and asked for a sandwich.
The others watched her with varying degrees of admiration and consternation. Jumana’s eyes were enormous in a face that had lost its healthy color. “How could you?” she quavered.
“It’s my profession,” Nefret said calmly. “Not an enjoyable profession at times like this one, but I’m used to it. I knew the family wouldn’t allow a proper autopsy, so this was my only chance to determine how the poor man died.”
“Well?” Emerson demanded. “Did you?”
Nefret drank deeply from the water bottle before replying. “Fractured skull. The back of his head was… I won’t go into detail.”
“Thank you,” Cyrus muttered, eyeing his sandwich with distaste.
“There were a number of broken bones,” Nefret went on. “I looked for a bullet or knife wound, but it wasn’t easy to… Well, I won’t go into that either. The head injury was enough to have killed him.”
“Fall or blunt instrument?” I inquired.
Nefret shrugged. “Impossible to determine. I did the best I could, but without the proper instruments -”
“Yes, quite,” said Emerson.
Selim returned to announce that Hassan had gone on with the cart and its burden, and we continued with our lunch. Daoud soon joined us. He had come round the long way, since he was not fond of climbing ropes, up or down.
“Are there more tombs in these cliffs?” Bertie asked, accepting another sandwich.
“Unquestionably,” Ramses replied. “If this area was used for the burials of royal females during the Eighteenth Dynasty, which seems likely, there are a number of known queens whose mummies have never been found, and Heaven knows how many unknown princesses and kings’ lesser wives.”
“Not to mention princes,” Nefret added, her eyes shining with archaeological fervor. “And royal mothers and sisters and -”
“Cousins and aunts,” I said, with a chuckle, reminded of one of my favorite Gilbert and Sullivan arias.
The others acknowledged my little joke with smiles and nods, except for Emerson, who sat like a boulder, staring off into space, and Selim, who was growing restless.
“The horses will not run away,” he said. “Not our horses. But we should not leave them there too long.”
Emerson jumped up. “Quite right, quite right. I will – er – this will only take a minute.”
I had expected Emerson would want to get into the cursed tomb. I was not the only one who attempted to make him see reason, but he waved all objections aside. “I only want to have a look.”
“Put on your pith helmet, Emerson,” I called after him.
“Yes, yes,” said Emerson, not doing so.
He started to climb the rope, moving with an agility remarkable in so heavy a man. He had not got very far when the quiet air was rent by a prolonged, high-pitched scream. It was not an animal. No creature in Egypt made a sound like that. Emerson lost his grip on the rope and dropped down, staggering a bit before he got his balance.
“What the devil -” he began.
“He’s up there.” Ramses handed his father the binoculars he had snatched up. I saw the figure now, atop the cliff. It was too far away for me to make out details, but it was capering and prancing, waving its arms and kicking up its heels, as if in a grotesque dance. Small bits of rock rattled down the sheer face.
I took the binoculars from Emerson and when I raised them to my eyes the bizarre figure took on form and substance. Its only garment was a short skirt or kilt. The body was human. The head was not. Pricked ears and protruding muzzle were covered with coarse brown hair, and fanged teeth fringed the jaws.
Ramses ran toward the cliff. I knew what he intended, and I felt reasonably certain that Emerson would follow after him. Handing Nefret the binoculars, I drew my little pistol from its holster, aimed, and fired.
I did not expect I would hit the creature. Obviously I did not, for a long mocking laugh, almost as unpleasant as the animal scream, followed, and the monstrous figure vanished from sight.
“Come back here this instant, Ramses,” I shouted. “Emerson, if you attempt to climb that rope I will – I will shoot you in the leg.”
“Don’t fire that damned pistol again,” Emerson exclaimed, hurrying toward me. “Give it to me.”
“I wouldn’t really have shot you,” I said, as he carefully removed the weapon from my hand. “But really, Emerson, haven’t you better sense than to climb a cliff when there is someone up above who could knock you off the rope with a few well-placed rocks?”
“That’s reasonable,” Emerson conceded.
“Right,” said Ramses, who had obviously had second thoughts. “We’ll go up and around. No, not you, Bertie, you’ve done your bit for today.”