He Shall Thunder in the Sky taps-12 Read online

  “I do not claim to be an authority, Peabody , but it seems to me that prayer should take the form of a humble request, not a direct order.”

  My prayers that Sunday morning may have had a somewhat peremptory tone. Emerson was dressing when I rose from my knees.

  “Finished?” he inquired.

  “I believe I covered all the necessary points.”

  “It was a comprehensive lecture,” Emerson agreed. He finished lacing his boots and stood up. “I was under the impression that you believed that God helps those who help themselves.”

  “I am doing all I can.”

  My voice was somewhat muffled by the folds of my nightdress, which I had started to remove. Emerson put his arms round me and pressed me close. “My darling, I know you are. Don’t cry, my love, it will be all right.”

  “I am not crying, I have several layers of cloth over my nose and mouth.”

  “Ah. That’s easily dealt with.”

  After a time Emerson said, “Am I hurting you?”

  “Yes. I have no objection to what you are doing, but perhaps you could do it a little less vigorously. All those buttons and buckles—”

  “They are also easily dealt with.”

  “I presume you’ve got some tomfool costume for me to wear this evening,” Emerson said. He finished lacing his boots and stood up.

  “I have a costume for you, yes, but I shan’t show it to you until it is time to put it on. You always complain and protest and bellow and—”

  “Not this time. Peabody , is there any way you can conceal my absence as well as that of Ramses? This is the first time they have left the weapons to be picked up later instead of delivering them directly. I want to be there.”

  “Do you think it’s a trick—an ambush?”

  “No,” Emerson said, a little too quickly. “Only I—er—”

  “Want to be there. Are you going to ask Ramses if you may go with him?”

  “Ask him if I may…” Emerson’s indignation subsided as quickly as it had arisen. “I can’t do that. The boy is a trifle touchy about accepting my assistance, though I don’t see why he should be.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No! I have the greatest respect for his abilities.”

  “And you have, of course, told him so.”

  Emerson looked uncomfortable. “Not in so many words. Oh, curse it, Peabody , don’t practice your bloody psychology on me. Make a practical suggestion.”

  “Very well, my dear. Let me think about it.”

  I did so, at intervals during the day. We had got the second chapel cleared down to floor level; the walls had all been painted and there was a delightful little false door, with a rock-cut half-length (from the waist up) statue of the owner, looking as if he were emerging from the afterworld with hands extended to seize the foodstuffs placed on the offering table before him. Ramses rambled about the room reading bits and pieces of the inscriptions and commenting on them: “ ‘An offering which the King gives of bread and beer, oxen and fowl, alabaster and clothing… a thousand of every good and pure thing… ’ They had such practical minds, didn’t they? An all-inclusive ‘every thing,’ in case some desirable item had been overlooked. ‘One honored before Osiris, Lord of Busiris… ’ Nothing new, just the usual formulas.”

  “Then stop mumbling over them and help Nefret with the photography,” Emerson ordered.

  This was a more complex process than it might appear, for photographs were the first step of the method Ramses had devised for copying reliefs and inscriptions. They had to be taken from a carefully measured distance in order to allow for overlap without distortion. A tracing was then made and compared with the wall itself. The final version incorporated not only the reliefs but every scratch and abrasion on the surface. Ramses did not suffer from false modesty regarding his talents as a linguist, but he would have been the first to admit that some future scholar might find something he had missed in those seemingly unreadable scratches. It was an extremely accurate method, but it took a long time.

  Ramses began setting up his measuring rods. I went out to watch Emerson, who was directing the men who were clearing the section south of the mastaba. The intervening space between ours and the one next to it had been filled in, by extensions and/or later tombs. There were bits of wall everywhere, looking like an ill-organized maze. Emerson’s scowl would have told me, had I not already realized, that he had a hard task ahead trying to sort them out.

  “Come here!” he shouted, waving at me.

  So I went there, and began taking notes as he crawled about measuring spaces and calling out numbers and brief descriptions.

  My mind wandered a bit. I had managed to draw Ramses aside long enough to squeeze a little information out of him. He would not tell me where he had to go that night, but he did give me a rough estimate of how much time he would need. Not less than two hours, probably not more than three.

  “Probably,” I repeated.

  “To be on the safe side, we had better allow for more. What I propose…”

  What he proposed was that I plead fatigue or indisposition and ask Emerson to take me home during the supper break. Cyrus and Katherine would be happy to look after Nefret, and when Ramses failed to turn up, the others would assume he had gone with us. Given the crowds and the confusion and a certain amount of alcoholic intake, there was a good chance it would work.

  The only remaining difficulty was how to conceal from Ramses the fact that his father meant to follow him that night—for that was what Emerson must do if he wanted to avoid an argument or even a flat refusal from his son. Emerson may sneer at psychology all he likes, but it was not difficult for me to understand why Ramses was reluctant to accept his father’s help. According to the best authorities, all boys go through such a stage when they approach manhood, and trying to live up to a father like Emerson would put a strain on any individual.

  It was difficult to concentrate with Emerson demanding I repeat back the numbers he kept calling out, so I gave it up for the time being. No doubt something will occur to me, I thought; it usually does.

  We stopped work a little earlier than usual, since Katherine and Cyrus were dining with us. Something had occurred to me. I knew Emerson would not like it at all. I had certain reservations of my own, but I put these aside. Emerson’s objections would also have to be put aside, since I did not intend to give him time to argue.

  The Vandergelts arrived in time for tea. After they had extricated themselves from the muffling garments motoring requires, we women retired to the roof, leaving Cyrus to admire our latest discoveries, while Emerson told him all about them and Ramses hung about trying to get a word in. Nefret would have liked to stay with them, I think, but Anna did not bother to conceal her disinterest, and my daughter had been too well brought up (by me) to abandon a guest.

  Anna was more than happy to talk about her nursing duties. A single courteous question from me produced a spate of information, some of which I could have done without. It was her mother who cut her short.

  “Don’t talk about wounds and—and infections,” Katherine exclaimed. “Especially at teatime.”

  Anna’s lips set. Her physical appearance had improved greatly these past weeks; Nefret had been giving her gentle hints about clothes and hairstyles, but the greatest change was in her expression. Even a plain woman may look attractive when she is happy and proud of herself. Watching the old sullen look dim the girl’s face, I thought I just might drop a little hint to Katherine not to be so hard on Anna. Bertie had always been her favorite, and at the present time she was desperately worried about the boy.

  I asked whether she had heard from him, and she nodded. “Not much of a letter, Amelia. It was full of holes, where the censor had cut out various phrases. It is so stupidly unfair! What could he possibly tell me that would give aid and comfort to anyone except me?”

  “Some of the censors are overly conscientious, I believe,” I agreed. “Evelyn says the same of Johnny’s letters. Willy�
��s seem to come through relatively intact, but he has always been more discreet than his brother.”

  “It is Johnny’s sense of humor that leads him into indiscretions,” Nefret said with a fond smile. “I can easily imagine him making rude personal remarks about one of his officers, or giving a vulgar description of the food they are served.”

  “That would be destructive of civilian morale,” said Anna, whose sense of humor left a great deal to be desired.

  The men finally joined us, followed by Seshat, who, I was pleased to observe, had decided not to contribute to the canapйs. She settled down next to Ramses. Cyrus was still talking about the royal statue, which he had the expertise and experience to appreciate fully.

  “It just doesn’t seem fair,” he declared, shaking his head. “Not to take away from you folks, but I sure would like to find some little treasure myself.”

  “Such as an unrobbed royal tomb or a cache of mummies decked out in jewels?” Nefret inquired. She and Cyrus were good friends, and he enjoyed her teasing him. His dour face broadened into a grin.

  “Something like that. Doesn’t it seem to you folks that I’m overdue for a little luck? All those years in Luxor without a single find!”

  “Excuse me, sir, but that is a slight exaggeration,” Ramses said. “The tomb you found at Dra Abu’l Naga was unique. The plan cast new light on our knowledge of Second Intermediate Period architecture.”

  “But there wasn’t anything in it!” Cyrus protested. “Except a few pots and a broken-up mummy.”

  “How are you doing at Abusir?” Emerson inquired, taking out his pipe.

  “Well, now, there’s another thing. I thought sure there’d be private tombs next to that miserable excuse for a pyramid, but what we’ve come across seems to be a temple.”

  “What?” Emerson shouted. “The mortuary temple of the unfinished pyramid of Abusir?”

  “Goodness gracious, Emerson, you make it sound like the lost city of Atlantis !” I said. “There are a number of unfinished pyramids—too many, in my opinion. This one has not even a substructure.”

  “And that is the only part of a pyramid that interests you,” said Emerson. “Dark, dusty, cramped underground passages! The existence of a mortuary temple suggests that there was a burial after all. What is more important is the temple plan itself. Only a few have been excavated, and—”

  “Spare us the lecture, Emerson,” I said with a smile. “We all know you prefer temples to pyramids or even tombs.”

  “I dropped you a hint Christmas Day,” Cyrus said. “Been expecting you would drop by to have a look.”

  “Hmph.” Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. “I have been busy, Vandergelt.”

  “I reckon you have. What with one thing and another.” Cyrus’s keen blue eyes moved from Emerson to me. After a moment he went on, with seeming irrelevance, “I called on MacMahon the other day. I’m supposed to be neutral in this war; I’ve got friends and sons of friends in both armies. But I figure a fellow has to take a stand, and I’ve made up my mind what side I’m on. Told him I was offering my services, such as they are.”

  He was offering his services to us as well. He did not have to say so; coming from Cyrus, who knew us so well, the hint was enough. If it had been up to me I would have confided fully in these loyal friends, on whose assistance and advice I had so often depended. I had not the right. I too was under orders.

  * * *

  We had an early dinner and then separated in order to assume our costumes. The Vandergelts had brought several pieces of luggage, since I had invited them to spend that night and the next with us. Emerson was gracious enough to approve the ensemble I had selected for him—that of a Crusader. I was his lady, in flowing robes and a pointed headdress. Emerson liked his sword and beard very much, but he objected to my pointed hat, on the grounds that it wobbled a bit and would probably poke someone’s eye out. Brushing this complaint aside, I took his arm and we proceeded into the drawing room, where we found Katherine and Cyrus waiting, dressed as a lady and gentleman of Louis the Fourteenth’s court, complete with powdered wigs.

  Before long Ramses joined us. I was relieved to see that he had not assumed one of his more disgusting disguises—a verminous beggar or odorous camel driver. He had better sense than that, of course; it would have been folly to advertise his ability to assume such roles. He hadn’t gone to much trouble; a broad-brimmed “ten-gallon hat” borrowed from Cyrus, a neckerchief tied round his bared throat, and a pair of six-shooters strapped round his waist made him into a dashing and fairly unconvincing model of an American cowboy. I doubted very much that American cowboys wore white shirts and riding breeches.

  “For pity’s sake, Ramses,” I exclaimed, as he swept off his hat and bowed. “Are you carrying those weapons into Shepheards?”

  “They are not loaded, Mother.”

  “What happened to the spurs?” Cyrus inquired, his eyes twinkling.

  “I feared they might constitute a hazard on the dance floor.”

  “You were right about that,” I said.

  Nefret had taken Anna to her room; they came in together. Anna looked quite nice in a bright-skirted gypsy costume and large gold earrings; but the sight of my daughter, in the full trousers and low-cut shirt of an Egyptian lady, wrung a cry of distress from my lips. The shirt was of very fine fabric and reached only just below the waist.

  “Nefret! You are not going to wear that in public, I hope?”

  “Why not?” She spun round, so that the legs of her voluminous trousers flared out. At least they were opaque, being made of heavy corded silk. “It covers more of me than an ordinary evening dress.”

  “But your—er—your shirt is… Are you wearing anything under it? My dear girl, when a gentleman’s arm encircles your waist in the dance…”

  “He will enjoy it very much,” said Nefret.

  “I may have to shoot someone after all,” Ramses drawled.

  Nefret gave him a bright smile. “The Professor is wearing a sword; he can challenge the offender. That would be much more romantic. Now, Aunt Amelia, don’t fuss; this is only the underneath part. I’ll wear a yelek and a girdle over it.”

  Chuckling over the little joke they had played on us, Fatima duly appeared with the garments in question and helped Nefret into them. The yelek was of silk in a delicate shade of pearly white; it was practically transparent, but at least it covered her. Emerson closed his mouth, which had been hanging open since he set astonished eyes on his daughter, breathed a gusty sigh of relief, and offered me his arm to lead me to the motorcar.

  I will not describe the ball; it was like others we had attended, except for the uniforms. The patches of khaki were like muddy stains upon the sparkle and brilliance of the costumes. I lost sight of Ramses after he had performed his duty dances with me and Katherine; he might have been avoiding Percy, who made rather a point of putting himself in our way without having the temerity actually to address us. Whenever he was in our vicinity Emerson made grumbling noises and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. I had to remind him that, first, dueling was against the law; second, his weapon was only for show; and third, Percy had done nothing to provoke a challenge.

  “Not yet,” said Emerson hopefully. “They are playing a waltz, Peabody . Will you dance?”

  “You promised me that if I let you leave off the strapping you would not use that arm.”

  “Oh, bah,” said Emerson, and demonstrated his fitness by sweeping me onto the floor. Emerson’s terpsichorean talents are limited to the waltz, which he performs with such enthusiasm that my feet were only on the floor part of the time. After one particularly vigorous spin I looked round and saw that Percy was dancing with Anna. Her cheeks were flushed, and she gazed sentimentally into his smiling face.

  “Look there,” I said to Emerson, and then wished I had kept silent when Emerson came to a dead stop in the middle of the dance floor. It required some argument to get him started again.

  “Doesn’t she know about
the bastard?” he demanded.

  “Perhaps not. Katherine and Cyrus are aware of his Machiavellian machinations with regard to Sennia, but Katherine would not have passed the information on to Anna without my permission. The time for discretion has passed, in my opinion; he cannot be courting her good opinion because he admires her.”

  “That isn’t very kind to the girl,” Emerson murmured.

  “It is true, however. She is not handsome enough or rich enough or—er—accommodating enough to interest him. He is using her to insinuate a wedge! She must be told of his true nature.”

  “I will leave that to you,” said Emerson. “I can’t see that it matters.”

  “You would not take that attitude if it were Nefret dancing with him instead of Anna.”

  “Damned right.”

  When the music ended Percy led Anna off the floor and left her. I lost sight of him after that; sometime later I realized I had also lost sight of Nefret.

  I felt obliged to go in search of her. The Moorish Hall was the first place I looked. I disturbed several couples who were enjoying the intimacy of the shadowy alcoves, but Nefret was not among them. After I had finished searching the other public areas I went to the Long Bar. Women were not supposed to be there except at certain times, but Nefret often went where she was not supposed to be. It did not take me long to find her, seated at a table toward the back of the room. When I recognized her companion my heart sank down into my slippers. Kadija had been right after all. How Nefret had managed to elude my supervision I did not know, but it was clear that this was not her first meeting with Percy. Their heads were close together, and she was smiling as she listened.