Tomb of the Golden Bird Read Online Free

his burial by a thief whose confession had miraculously survived among the papyri found (by us) at the workmen's village of Deir el Medina. Tutankhamon's tomb was one of the few that had never been located, and Ramses's translation of the papyrus had led Emerson to believe it yet lay hidden in the royal valley. He was not the only one to think so, as Sir Malcolm's offer proved. "Do you suppose Sir Malcolm really has that much influence?" I asked. Ramses said thoughtfully, "It's possible. But of course any collaboration with a man like that is out of the question. It would ruin your reputation, Father." "I am not such a fool as to be unaware of that," Emerson retorted. "Besides," I added, "you said last spring that you would leave the matter in the hands of Fate. Fate appears to have made up her mind. It would be dishonorable to do anything more." "I am not such a fool as to be unaware of that, either," said Emerson somewhat reproachfully. "As for taking on a staff member recommended by him, I would as soon hire a—a damned journalist. Where did he get the notion that we need more people?" I was about to tell him when Nefret jumped up. "I'm ravenous! Shall we go down to dinner now?" Emerson had had a trying day, what with one thing and another, so I attempted to keep the dinner conversation light and cheerful. (It is a well-known fact that acrimony at mealtime adversely affects the digestion.) Finding a neutral topic was not easy; any mention of archaeology would remind Emerson of his failure to obtain the concession for the Valley, and a discussion of family matters might start him complaining about David's absence. After we retired to our room I assumed my most becoming dressing gown and settled myself at the toilet table to give my hair its usual one hundred strokes. Emerson likes to see my hair down, but even this did not rouse him from his melancholy mood. Instead of preparing for bed, he sat down in an armchair and took out his pipe. "I wish you wouldn't smoke in our bedroom," I said. "The smell permeates my hair." "What's wrong with that?" Emerson demanded. "I like the smell of pipe smoke." But he laid the pipe aside without lighting it. I put down my brush and turned to face him. "I am sorry, my dear, that Lord Carnarvon refused to yield to you." "Don't rub it in," Emerson grumbled. The matter was more serious than I had supposed. More drastic methods were required. I went to him and sat down on his lap, my arms round his neck. "Hmmm," said Emerson, his dour expression lightening. "That is very pleasant. What are you up to now, Peabody?" "Must I always have an ulterior motive when I invite my husband's attentions? In fact I was about to thank you again for keeping your vow. You said last year, when I was so ill—" "That I would give up every damned tomb in Egypt if you were spared to me." Emerson's strong arms enclosed me. "You are right to remind me, Peabody. I have been behaving badly. I shall not err in that fashion again." I felt quite certain that he would, but I gave him credit for good intentions, and gave him a little something else besides. From Manuscript H Insofar as Ramses was concerned, the sooner they left for Luxor, the better. Despite his claim of disinterest, Emerson was obviously up to no good. He spent more time than usual at the Museum and the office ofthe Directorate of Antiquities, and he cultivated Howard Carter in a highly suspicious manner. The city itself had an uneasy feel. The official declaration of independence in February had satisfied no one. The high commissioner, Lord Allenby, was vilified by the imperialists in the British government for giving too much power to Egypt; the Egyptian nationalists were furious with Britain for exiling their revered leader Saad Zaghlul; the king, Fuad, wanted to be an absolute monarch instead of being bound by the limits allowed him by the proposed constitution. Ramses was glad his friend David had not come out that year. David had been involved with one