Free He Shall Thunder in the Sky by Elizabeth Peters Page B

do.”
         I didn’t, though. After Kadija had taken her departure I tried to get my thoughts in order. Not for a moment did I doubt Kadija’s word, or her assessment of Percy. He had been a sly, unprincipled child and he had become a cunning, unprincipled man. He had proposed marriage to Nefret several times in the past. Perhaps he had not given up hope of winning her — her fortune, rather, since in my opinion he was incapable of honorable affection. She would have to meet him on the sly, since he would not dare come openly to the house. . . .
         Oh, no, I thought, my imagination is running away with me. It is not possible. Nefret was passionate, hot-tempered and in some ways extremely innocent; it would not be the first time she had fallen in love with the wrong man, but surely she knew Percy’s character too well to succumb to his advances. The callous abandonment of the child he had fathered was only one of his many despicable acts. Nefret knew of that. She knew Percy had done his best to encourage the false assumption that Ramses was responsible. Kadija must have been mistaken. Perhaps the man had been a tourist, asking directions.
         I could not confront Nefret directly, but I knew I would never be at peace until I was certain. I would have to watch her and find out for myself.
         Spy on her, you mean, my conscience corrected me. I winced at the word, but did not flinch from the duty. If spying was necessary, spy I would. The worst of it was I could not count on anyone else, not even my dear Emerson, for help. Emerson has a forthright manner of dealing with annoyances, and Percy annoyed him a great deal. Punching Percy’s face and pitching him into the Nile would not improve matters. As for Ramses . . . I shuddered at the thought of his finding out. Neither of them must know. It was up to me, as usual.
         However, as I guided my amiable steed along the road to the pyramids, a strange foreboding came over me. It was not so strange, in fact, for I often have them. I knew what had caused this one. I had been thinking about it ever since the night we saw Wardani.
         Was Sethos in Cairo, up to his old tricks? I did not — could not — believe he would turn traitor, but the situation was ideal for the kind of skulduggery at which he excelled. Excavations had been cancelled, many archaeological sites were inadequately guarded or not guarded at all, the Services des Antiquités was in disorder with Maspero gone and his successor still in France engaged in war work, the police occupied with civil unrest. What an opportunity for a master thief! And with Sethos’s skill in the art of disguise he could assume any identity he chose. A series of wild surmises passed through my mind: Wardani? General Maxwell?
         Percy?
         As Emerson might have said, that idea was too bizarre even for my excellent imagination. I burst out laughing, and turned to happier thoughts. I never approached the pyramids without a thrill passing through me.
         To excavate in the cemeteries of Giza was the culmination of a lifetime’s dream, but sadness shadowed my pleasure, for we would not have been given permission to do so had not the stroke of a pen transformed friends into enemies and made former colleagues personae non gratae in the country where they had labored so long and effectively. Mr. Reisner, who held the concession for a large part of the Giza necropolis, was an American and would soon begin his winter season, but the German group under Herr Professor Junker would not return until the war was over.
         It had been Junker himself who asked Emerson to deputize for him.
They say the war will be over by Christmas, [he had written]. But they are wrong. God alone knows when this horror will end, and how. Some might condemn me for being concerned about antiquities when so many lives are at hazard, but you, old friend, will understand; and you are one of the few