Free The Golden One by Elizabeth Peters Page B

hand.
    ‘Where is she?’ he demanded.
    ‘Still bathing. I’ll tell her you’re here.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Emerson, belatedly aware of his intrusion on their privacy. ‘Oh. Er – ’
    Ramses opened the door to the bath chamber and announced his father’s presence. Water splashed and Nefret called out, ‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Father.’
    It wasn’t often that Ramses could embarrass his father and he was rather inclined to enjoy those moments. Emerson was blushing. ‘You’ve been the devil of a long time,’ he
complained. ‘We are due to leave in a few hours, you know.’
    ‘It couldn’t be helped.’ Ramses dressed as he told Emerson what had happened. He expected an outburst; Emerson had nothing but contempt for procurers in general and el-Gharbi
in particular. Instead of shouting, Emerson looked thoughtful.
    ‘I wonder if he knows anything about – um – Sethos.’
    ‘I didn’t ask. I don’t want to be in his debt, and I was in a hurry to get away. It’s highly unlikely, Father. The illegal antiquities trade was only a sideline, and
he’s been shut up in Hilmiya for weeks.’
    ‘Hmm, yes.’ Emerson brooded.
    The door of the bath chamber opened and Nefret appeared, wreathed in steam. She was wrapped in a long robe that covered her from chin to bare feet, but Emerson fled, mumbling apologies.

    Getting my family onto the train – any train – is a task that tries even my well-known patience. Emerson had sent Selim and Daoud on to Luxor a few days earlier, to
survey the site and determine what needed to be done. That left seven of us, not counting the cat, who was more trouble than anyone. The railroad station is always a scene of pure pandemonium;
people and luggage and parcels and an occasional goat mill about, voices are raised, and arms wave wildly. What with Horus shrieking and thrashing around in his basket, and Sennia trying to get
away from Gargery and Basima so she could dash up and down the platform looking for acquaintances, and Emerson darting suspicious glances at every man, woman, and child who came anywhere near him,
my attention was fully engaged.
    The train was late, of course. After I had got everyone on board and in the proper compartment, I was more than ready for a refreshing sip of whiskey and soda. Removing the bottle, the gasogene,
and the glasses from the hamper, I invited Emerson to join me.
    As I could have told him – and indeed, did tell him – it had been a waste of time to look for Sethos. He never did the same thing twice, and he had had ample time to communicate with
us had he chosen to do so.
    Emerson said, ‘Bah,’ and poured more whiskey.
    I had dispatched telegrams to the Vandergelts and to Fatima, our housekeeper, informing them of the change in schedule, but being only too familiar with the leisurely habits of the telegraph
office in Luxor, I was not surprised to find that no one was waiting to meet us at the station. No doubt the telegrams would be delivered later that day, after the unofficial telegraph, gossip, had
already announced our arrival. It did not go unremarked. There were always people hanging about the station, meeting arrivals and bidding farewell to departing travellers, or simply wasting time. A
great shout went up when the loungers recognized the unmistakable form of Emerson, who was – I believe I may say this without fear of contradiction – the most famous, feared, and
respected archaeologist in Egypt. Some crowded round and others dashed off, hoping to be the first to spread the news. ‘The Father of Curses has returned! Yes, yes, I saw him with my own
eyes, and the Sitt Hakim his wife, and his son the Brother of Demons, and Nur Misur, the Light of Egypt, and the Little Bird!’
    It took some little time to unload our ‘traps’, as Emerson called them, and get them from the station to the riverbank and onto the boats which would take us across. I managed to
arrange matters so that Sennia was in one boat,