Lion in the Valley by Elizabeth Peters Read Free Book Online

since for obvious
reasons the others preferred the lighted sides.
    "I
can't tell who they are, Emerson, nor can I determine—"
    But
I addressed empty air. Emerson had flung himself over the edge and was bounding
down the giant staircase like a man possessed. I immediately hastened to follow
him, though at a more discreet pace.
    By
the time I reached the bottom and found myself ankle-deep in sand, Emerson was
nowhere to be seen. I consoled myself by the fact that his body was nowhere to
be seen either, so I could assume he had reached the bottom unharmed.
    It
may seem to the reader that I was more concerned for my spouse than for my son
and heir. This was indeed the case. I had long since given up worrying about
Ramses, not because of lack of affection (my feelings for the boy were those of
any mother of an eight-year-old son), but because I had worn out my stock of
worry on that subject. By the time he was five, Ramses had been in more scrapes
than most people encounter over a long lifetime, and I had expended more
nervous energy over him than most mothers expend on a family of twelve. I had
no more to give. Furthermore—though I would be ashamed to confess such
irrational thoughts except in the pages of my private journal—I had developed
an almost superstitious confidence in Ramses' ability not only to
survive disasters of truly horrendous proportions, but to emerge from them
undamaged and undaunted.
    Not
knowing what direction Emerson had taken, I set off toward the northeast corner
of the pyramid. There was no one about; tourists and guides alike preferred the
lighted areas. I had almost reached the corner when a cry, faint but pervasive,
echoed through the night: "Ra-a-a-mses!"
    "Curse
it," I thought. "He has gone the other way." Instead of turning,
I continued on the same path, for we would inevitably meet in the course of
time, and in the process we would have circled (if such a word can be used of a
structure whose base forms a perfect square) the pyramid.
    The
Giza pyramids are only the most conspicuous of the ancient tombs that honeycomb
the surface of the plateau. The sand around me was dimpled and scarred by
traces of the underlying structures. It was necessary to pick one's way
carefully for fear of tumbling into an open tomb chamber or tripping over a
fallen block of stone, so my progress was somewhat deliberate. As I was running
over in my mind the things I would say to Ramses when I found him—and I had no
doubt I would eventually—I heard the sounds of an altercation. At first I could
not make out whence came the thumps and grunts and muffled cries, for such
noises carry quite a distance in the clear desert air. Not until I looked back
did I see a telltale flutter of draperies. The wearers seemed to be in rapid
retreat, and they soon disappeared behind one of the small subsidiary
pyramids—appurtenances of the Great Pyramid near which they are situated.
    I
set out in pursuit, my parasol at the ready, though I feared I had slight
chance of catching up with the guides, if indeed that was who they were.
Nor was it at all certain that Ramses was with them. However, the most logical
theory was that, for reasons known only unto himself, he had persuaded the men
to take him back down the pyramid in pursuit of heaven only knew what
objective. Ramses always had reasons for his actions, but they were seldom
readily perceptible to rational persons.
    My
progress was impeded by frequent falls, for I was still in the shadow and could
not make out the outlines of objects scattered about. Picking myself up after
one such tumble, I beheld a sight both alarming and astonishing, and yet one
that was not without a degree of reassurance. The white-robed form some little
distance ahead looked spectral in that eerie ambiance, but I knew it must be
one of the guides. In its arms, held close to its breast, was a small, darker
form. The limbs of this latter being were in