The Serpent on the Crown Read Free

duties and came to lean over my shoulder as Emerson removed the wrappings.
    Sunset light set the small statue aglow, as if a fire burned within. This was no crude ushebti, of common material; it was the golden figure of a crowned king. His face was youthful, rounded and faintly smiling, his half-bared body gently curved. He wore an elaborately pleated kilt, the lines of which had been rendered with exquisite precision. The small sandaled feet and delicate hands were models of graceful beauty.
    Nefret caught her breath and Emerson gave me a triumphant look. Even Ramses’s normally enigmatic countenance betrayed astonishment verging on awe.
    “How beautiful,” I murmured. “There is nothing evil about this face.”
    “The devil with that,” said Emerson, lifting the statuette out of the box. “Where did it come from? Where did he get it? How could such a thing come onto the antiquities market without causing a sensation?”
    “Is it genuine?” Nefret asked breathlessly.
    Emerson weighed the statuette in his hand. “Forgers don’t use this amount of solid gold.”
     
    W e agreed to postpone further discussion until the children had been sent off to bed. Our friends the Vandergelts were dining with us, and as Emerson and I dressed I inquired, “Are you planning to show it to Cyrus?”
    “Hmph,” said Emerson.
    I had learned over the years how to interpret Emerson’s wordless grunts. “You must, Emerson,” I said. “We can’t keep the statue, you know, it is far too valuable. An ordinary accursed ushebti is one thing, but this—”
    “Yes, yes, confound it,” said Emerson. “I intend to pay her for it.”
    “If she had wanted money, she would have asked for it.”
    “Everybody wants money,” said Emerson. He pondered the matter for a moment and then went on, “It is odd, though, that she would hand over something so valuable to complete strangers in order to support a fantastic story which could have been equally well served by a cheap antiquity such as an amulet or ushebti.”
    “Better served,” I admitted. “One of the monster-headed Egyptian gods like Tausert or Sobek would be more likely to appeal to a melodramatic mind like hers. How much is this object worth, do you suppose?”
    “You ought to know better than to ask me, Peabody. I never purchase antiquities and I do not follow the vagaries of the market.”
    “All the more reason to invite Cyrus’s opinion. He too is a collector, as well as a knowledgeable and respected excavator.”
    “Hmph,” said Emerson. This time it was a tacit acknowledgment of the correctness of my statement.
    So Emerson took the little box with him when we went to the drawing room. He had adamantly refused to assume proper evening dress, which he hates, but I had managed to persuade him into a tweed coat and a nice sapphire blue tie, selected by me. Given his own way, he would have gone to dinner in the same open-necked shirt and unpressed trousers he wore on the dig—a costume which, I would be the first to admit, becomes his stalwart form to best advantage. However, certain standards must be maintained.
    We found Nefret and Ramses waiting for us. Ramses was dressed like his father, but Nefret, who enjoyed pretty clothes and had enough money to buy all she liked, wore a clinging frock of Nile green that set off her golden-red hair. The Great Cat of Re had also condescended to join us. He was the only cat in residence that year, Nefret’s unpleasant old pet Horus having passed on to whatever hereafter awaited him (I hoped it was someplace uncomfortable). The Great Cat of Re—who was always referred to by his full name—was more agreeable and a good deal more ornamental than Horus had been: striped gray and white, with a tail as bushy as a Cavalier’s plume. He had arranged himself at the feet of Ramses with the expression of a creature who expects to be admired.
    Ramses’s eagle eye immediately fell on the box his father held.
    “So you mean to let Cyrus in