I looked helplessly at Emerson. His face was so tanned that it was difficult to distinguish the blush spreading across his cheeks. Neither of us was able to offer a glib explanation. I exhaled only after Nefret had left the room. “She is not an innocent young girl,” I said. “She has been married and experienced intimacy.”

Emerson gazed at me. “As have we, Peabody. I can only hope she finds herself in a relationship such as ours.”

Fourteen

Emerson and I walked through the cultivation, hand in hand, cheerfully theorizing about what we might unearth in Thutmose’s studio. Before his departure for Cairo, Herr Morgenstern had uncovered partial plaster casts of faces and heads, the ivory horse blinkers, and pieces of shattered vases. The most valuable item thus far, the bust of Nefertiti, was lost to us at the present time. We agreed that it was unproductive to speculate about what Ramses and David had accomplished in Cairo. The morning train was notoriously unreliable, stopping at every village (and camel crossing), but might appear late in the day. If not, the night train would arrive before dawn and they could enlighten us over breakfast.

At Emerson’s request, Selim had taken charge of the excavation. He had assigned some of our crew to continue at the Workmen’s Village, and brought others with him. Herr Morgenstern’s reis, Abdul, pouted in the shade of a rock wall. The fellahin loitered nearby, as well as the usual suspects; if Sethos was among them, he was indistinguishable. It all seemed serenely quotidian. Emerson refrained from giving Selim a vigorous handshake, perhaps because of the previous day’s offensive display of camaraderie. Nefret joined them, and the three were soon engrossed in a spirited quarrel concerning the optimal camera angles to delineate the interior of the studio.

Mr. Buddle stood nearby, notebook in hand. As I approached him, he glanced up briefly and then resumed recording data, presumably for his patron. I opted to interpret his failure to exhibit overt hostility as an invitation to join him. He might not have seen it in that precise manner.

“Good morning, Mr. Buddle,” I said with a smile. “What do you find worthy of notation?”

“Everything that happens, even if it turns out to lack consequence. Mr. Ridgemont requested meticulous documentation of the excavation.”

I allowed my smile to diminish. “How difficult this has been for you, what with Herr von Raubritter’s murder and Herr Morgenstern’s inexplicable behavior. Had you met either one of them prior to your arrival in Amarna?”