The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery by Elizabeth Peters
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Historical, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Excavations (Archaeology), Crime & mystery, Traditional British, Egypt, Archaeology, Mystery & Detective - Series, Archaeologists, Women archaeologists, Adventure fiction, Egyptologists, Peabody, Amelia (Fictitious character), Peabody; Amelia (Fictitious character), Mystery & Detective - Historical
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Kings; Emerson, cursing royally, had declared he would have the Valley of the Kings or nothing.
Nothing was what he got, and in a typical fit of temper he determined to—as he put it in his extravagant fashion—shake the dust of Thebes from his feet forever. Four hundred miles to the north, across the river from the modern city of Cairo, lie the ruins of the ancient capital of Memphis and the cemeteries that had served it for thousands of years, and it was this region to which Emerson proposed we should transfer our activities.
I was a trifle put out, since we had built a comfortable house in Luxor and I had finally got it arranged just the way I liked. However, there were compensations. I refer, of course, to pyramids. To claim that I have a passion for pyramids is one of Emerson's little jokes, but I would be the first to admit that they are my favorite monuments.
"Which one would you like, Peabody?" Emerson had inquired, when we first discussed the matter. "The Great Pyramid, or one of the others at Giza?"
I had endeavored, more or less successfully, to conceal my exasperation. "Don't offer me any pyramid I would like in that offhand manner. You know perfectly well that the concession for Giza has been divided between the Americans, the Germans, and the Italians. M. Maspero is not likely to remove any of them as a favor to you."
"Hmph," said Emerson. "Very well, Peabody, if you are going to take that attitude—"
"What attitude? All I said was—"
It would serve no useful purpose to report the remainder of that conversation. I was, of course, correct; we had not been allowed to work at Giza, nor did I have any reason to suppose that we would be able to do so this season.
"Guess?" I repeated. "What nonsense! I refuse to engage in these childish, irresponsible—"
"I will, then," Nefret said quickly. "Is it Abusir, Professor?"
Emerson shook his head. "Abu Roash?" Ramses suggested.
"Even better," said Emerson smugly.
I am by nature an optimistic individual. Hope rose from the ashes of resentment. "Dahshur, Emerson?" I cried eagerly. "Don't tell me you have got Dahshur?"
Emerson's superior smile faded, and his eyes fell. Rather than admit he was ashamed and regretful, he began to swear. "Hell and damnation, Peabody! I know how much you want to go back to Dahshur; do you suppose I do not? Those pyramids are far more interesting than the ones at Giza and the cemeteries around them have never been properly investigated. I would give ten years of my life—"
"Don't talk like a fool, Emerson," I said.
Emerson's face darkened. "She means," said Nefret, "that we wouldn't exchange ten years of your company for all the pyramids in Egypt. Isn't that right, Aunt Amelia?"
"Certainly. What did you suppose I meant?"
"Hmph," said Emerson. "Well. Maspero is holding on to Dahshur for himself, curse him."
"Everyone wants Dahshur," Ramses said. "Petrie and Reisner have also applied for it, without success. So, if not Dahshur, where? Lisht?"
Emerson shook his head. "I suppose I may as well tell you. It is really excellent news. I know you will be as pleased as I. Zawaiet el 'Aryan is the place. Pyramids. Two of them."
"Damnation!" I exclaimed.
"I am shocked to hear you use such language, Peabody. You told me once you were aching to excavate at Zawaiet el 'Aryan."
"Didn't Signor Barsanti investigate those pyramids in 1905?" Ramses asked, as I struggled to regain my composure and Emerson, avoiding my eyes, began to speak very loudly and very quickly.
"Barsanti is an architect and restorer, not an excavator, and the reports he published were shamefully inadequate. The pyramids at Zawaiet el 'Aryan may not look like much—"
"Ha!" I said.
"—but they have a number of interesting features. Remember the sealed, empty sarcophagus, and the—"
I cut Emerson short. "Have you got permission from M. Maspero?" I asked.
Emerson turned a cold blue eye on me. "I am deeply hurt that you should ask, Peabody. Have you ever known me to make a
Nothing was what he got, and in a typical fit of temper he determined to—as he put it in his extravagant fashion—shake the dust of Thebes from his feet forever. Four hundred miles to the north, across the river from the modern city of Cairo, lie the ruins of the ancient capital of Memphis and the cemeteries that had served it for thousands of years, and it was this region to which Emerson proposed we should transfer our activities.
I was a trifle put out, since we had built a comfortable house in Luxor and I had finally got it arranged just the way I liked. However, there were compensations. I refer, of course, to pyramids. To claim that I have a passion for pyramids is one of Emerson's little jokes, but I would be the first to admit that they are my favorite monuments.
"Which one would you like, Peabody?" Emerson had inquired, when we first discussed the matter. "The Great Pyramid, or one of the others at Giza?"
I had endeavored, more or less successfully, to conceal my exasperation. "Don't offer me any pyramid I would like in that offhand manner. You know perfectly well that the concession for Giza has been divided between the Americans, the Germans, and the Italians. M. Maspero is not likely to remove any of them as a favor to you."
"Hmph," said Emerson. "Very well, Peabody, if you are going to take that attitude—"
"What attitude? All I said was—"
It would serve no useful purpose to report the remainder of that conversation. I was, of course, correct; we had not been allowed to work at Giza, nor did I have any reason to suppose that we would be able to do so this season.
"Guess?" I repeated. "What nonsense! I refuse to engage in these childish, irresponsible—"
"I will, then," Nefret said quickly. "Is it Abusir, Professor?"
Emerson shook his head. "Abu Roash?" Ramses suggested.
"Even better," said Emerson smugly.
I am by nature an optimistic individual. Hope rose from the ashes of resentment. "Dahshur, Emerson?" I cried eagerly. "Don't tell me you have got Dahshur?"
Emerson's superior smile faded, and his eyes fell. Rather than admit he was ashamed and regretful, he began to swear. "Hell and damnation, Peabody! I know how much you want to go back to Dahshur; do you suppose I do not? Those pyramids are far more interesting than the ones at Giza and the cemeteries around them have never been properly investigated. I would give ten years of my life—"
"Don't talk like a fool, Emerson," I said.
Emerson's face darkened. "She means," said Nefret, "that we wouldn't exchange ten years of your company for all the pyramids in Egypt. Isn't that right, Aunt Amelia?"
"Certainly. What did you suppose I meant?"
"Hmph," said Emerson. "Well. Maspero is holding on to Dahshur for himself, curse him."
"Everyone wants Dahshur," Ramses said. "Petrie and Reisner have also applied for it, without success. So, if not Dahshur, where? Lisht?"
Emerson shook his head. "I suppose I may as well tell you. It is really excellent news. I know you will be as pleased as I. Zawaiet el 'Aryan is the place. Pyramids. Two of them."
"Damnation!" I exclaimed.
"I am shocked to hear you use such language, Peabody. You told me once you were aching to excavate at Zawaiet el 'Aryan."
"Didn't Signor Barsanti investigate those pyramids in 1905?" Ramses asked, as I struggled to regain my composure and Emerson, avoiding my eyes, began to speak very loudly and very quickly.
"Barsanti is an architect and restorer, not an excavator, and the reports he published were shamefully inadequate. The pyramids at Zawaiet el 'Aryan may not look like much—"
"Ha!" I said.
"—but they have a number of interesting features. Remember the sealed, empty sarcophagus, and the—"
I cut Emerson short. "Have you got permission from M. Maspero?" I asked.
Emerson turned a cold blue eye on me. "I am deeply hurt that you should ask, Peabody. Have you ever known me to make a
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