Free Tomb of the Golden Bird by Elizabeth Peters Page B

reason for wanting to consult him, and his remarks were, for the most part, enigmatic. Sometimes he reassured me when I was worried, sometimes he dropped vague hints that only made sense when it was too late to act on them; often he scolded me for behaving foolishly. It would have been nice to receive more practical advice; after all, when one has a close acquaintance on the Other Side, where all is known and understood, one has a right, in my opinion, to expect a helpful suggestion or two. However, it was enough just to see and hear him, to know that, in some way and in some dimension, he continued to exist. He was waiting for me at the usual place and time, the cliffs above Deir el Bahri at Luxor, at sunrise. He seemed to be in an affable mood, for he greeted me with a smile instead of a scowl; and for a few moments we stood side by side looking out over the valley, watching the light flow across river and fields and desert until it brightened the colonnades of Hatshepsut's temple below us. "So," I said. "No dead bodies this year, Abdullah." It was an old joke between us. Abdullah grinned. "Not yet," he said. "Whose?" I did not expect an answer, nor did I receive one. "There is always a dead body." There was the faintest show of emotion, a suggestion of moisture in his dark eyes, when he added, "Last time it was almost yours, Sitt." "Oh, that was months ago," I said dismissively. "Have you any news for me?" Abdullah stroked his beard. "Hmmm. You will soon have a visitor whom you expect and do not wish to see. And Emerson will be proved right when he hoped he would be wrong." It was a more informative answer than I usually got, even though it did sound as if Abdullah had been prompted by a spiritualist medium. I took it for granted that the unwanted visitor must be Sethos. The second tidbit could only refer to ... "Aha," I exclaimed. "So there is a new royal tomb in the Valley of the Kings?" "I told you there was." "You told me there were two." "I did," said Abdullah agreeably. "Where . . . Never mind, you won't tell me, will you? What about the attack on Ramses and Emerson? Are they still in danger from those people?" "They were never in danger. It was a foolish gesture, made by foolish men." "What men?" "Their names would mean nothing to you. They have gone back whence they came." "Who sent them? Will there be others like them?" "I have told you," said Abdullah, with exaggerated patience, "that the future is not set in stone. Your actions affect events. The actions of others also do so." "Ah," I said interestedly, "so we do have free will. That subject has been debated by philosophers down the ages." "I will not debate it, Sitt." "As I expected." I turned to face him. "Is all well with you, my dear old friend?" "How could it be otherwise?" His broad chest rose as he drew a deepbreath of the fresh morning air. "May it be well with you and those we love till we next meet, Sitt." Without farewell he walked away, along the path that led to the Valley. It was always so. Emerson was at the station when the train pulled into Luxor next morning. I did not see him at first, since he was sitting cross-legged on the platform engaged in animated conversation with several of the porters. Seeing me at the window, he hurried to help me down the steps. "I came on the chance that you might be on this train," he explained. "Chance indeed. I told you I would be. Dust off your trousers, Emerson. Where is your hat?" Emerson brushed vaguely at the oily stains on his trousers and ignored the question, to which he probably did not know the answer. I had sometimes wondered whether it was his habit of going about bareheaded in the noonday sun that had kept his handsome black hair so thick and untouched by gray, except for two picturesque white streaks at the temples. I knew he didn't employ any variety of hair coloring, since I would have found it—and I kept my own little bottle well hidden. Taking my arm, he said, "What luck?" "Luck had nothing