Free The Ape Who Guards the Balance by Elizabeth Peters

fresh flowers everywhere, and rosebuds floated in the water that filled the basins in each bedroom. My praise made her eyes shine, but as Fatima led the way to the saloon, Nefret said out of the corner of her mouth, “We are all going to smell like a bordello, Aunt Amelia.”
    “You are not supposed to know that word,” I replied, as softly.
    “I know others even less proper.” With a sudden impulsive movement she threw her arms around Fatima, who had stopped to replace her veil, and gave her a hearty hug.
    When we entered the saloon a muffled hiss of fury and dismay filtered through Fatima’s veil. In less than a quarter of an hour the men had made a mess of the room. The boys were smoking cigarettes and letting the ashes fall onto the floor. Emerson had heaped papers and books on the table; and a vase (which had probably adorned that object of furniture) had been placed on the floor and kicked over, soaking the oriental rug. Emerson’s coat was draped over the back of a chair. Ramses’s coat lay on the floor.
    Fatima darted forward and pushed ash receptacles up against assorted male elbows. Scooping up the battered blossoms she returned them to the vase, collected the discarded garments, and trotted toward the door.
    “Oh, er, hmmm,” said Emerson, watching the small black whirlwind warily. “Thank you, Fatima. Very good of you. Excellent job. The place looks . . . Is she annoyed about something, Peabody?”
    Emerson’s reaction to the rose petals was not quite what I had expected. He has a very poetic nature, though few besides myself are aware of it.
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    Three
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               (iii)      From Manuscript H
    “Y ou look absolutely disgusting,” Nefret said admiringly.
    “Thank you.” Ramses added another boil to his neck.
    “I still don’t see why you won’t take me with you.”
    Ramses turned from the mirror and sat down on a stool in order to slip his feet into his shoes. Like his galabeeyah, they were of expensive workmanship but sadly scuffed and stained—the attire of a man who can afford the best, but whose personal habits leave a great deal to be desired. He stood up and adjusted the belt that held his heavy knife. “Are you ready, David?”
    “Almost.” David was also dirty, but not so afflicted with skin eruptions. An imposing black beard and mustache gave him a piratical air.
    “It’s not fair,” Nefret grumbled.
    She was sitting cross-legged on the bed in Ramses’s room, stroking the cat whose sizable bulk filled her lap.
    The cat in question, Horus by name, was the only one they had brought with them that season. Anubis, the patriarch of their tribe of Egyptian cats, was getting old, and none of the others had formed an attachment to a particular human. Horus was Nefret’s—or, as Horus’s behavior made clear, Nefret was his. Ramses suspected Horus felt the same about Nefret as he did about his harem of female cats; he abandoned her as cavalierly as Don Juan when he had other things on his mind; but when he was with her, no other male was allowed to approach—including Ramses and David.
    Horus was the only cat Ramses had encountered whom he thoroughly disliked. Nefret accused him of being jealous. He was—but not because Horus preferred her. Since the death of his beloved Bastet, he had no desire to acquire another cat. Bastet could not be replaced; there would never be another like her. The reason why he was jealous of Horus was much simpler. Horus enjoyed favors he would have sold his soul to possess, and the furry egotist didn’t even have the grace to appreciate them.
    Years of painful experience had taught Ramses it was best to ignore Nefret’s provocative speeches, but every now and then she got past his defenses, and the smirk on Horus’s face didn’t improve his temper.
    “You are the one who is being unfair,” he snapped. “I tried, Nefret—give me that. You know the result.”
    One night the previous winter he had spent two hours trying to turn