The Mummy Case by Elizabeth Peters

charm against the evil eye and the forces of darkness. "I know nothing of it," he said heavily. "I have never seen it before."
    The scrap had been broken off a larger manuscript. It was roughly rectangular and about six inches by four in size. The papyrus was brown with age, but less brittle than such relics usually are, and the writing stood out black and firm.
    "It is not hieratic or demotic," I said. "These are Greek letters."
    "It is as I said," Abd el Atti babbled. "You asked for Egyptian papyri, Sitt; this is not what you desire."
    "I t'ink dat de writing is Coptic," said Ramses, legs crossed,arms folded. "It is Egyptian—de latest form of de language."
    "I believe you are correct," I said, examining the fragment again. "I will take it, Abd el Atti, since you have nothing better. How much?"
    The dealer made an odd, jerky gesture of resignation. "I ask nothing. But I warn you, Sitt—"
    "Are you threatening me, Abd el Atti?"
    "Allah forbid!" For once the dealer sounded wholly sincere. Again he glanced nervously at the cat, at Ramses, who contemplated him in unblinking silence, and at me. And behind me, I knew, he saw the shadow of Emerson, whom the Egyptians called Father of Curses. The combination would have daunted a braver man than poor, fat Abd el Atti. He swallowed. "I do not threaten, I warn. Give it to me. If you do, no harm will follow, I swear it."
    As Emerson might have said, this was the wrong approach to take to me. (In fact, Emerson would have put it more emphatically, using terms like "red flag to a bull.") I tucked the fragment carefully into my bag. "Thank you for your warning, Abd el Atti. Now hear mine. If the possession of this scrap is dangerous to me, it is also dangerous to you. I suspect you are in over your turbaned head, old friend. Do you want help? Tell me the truth. Emerson and I will protect you—word of an Englishman."
    Abd el Atti hesitated. At that moment Bastet rose upon her hind legs and planted her forefeet on Ramses' shoulder, butting her head against his. It was a habit of hers when she was restless and desirous of moving on, and it was sheer coincidence that she should have chosen that precise moment to move; but the sight seemed to strike terror into Abd el Atti's devious soul.
    "It is the will of Allah," he whispered. "Come tonight, with Emerson—when the muezzin calls from the minaret at midnight."
    He would say no more. As we retraced our steps I glanced over my shoulder and saw him squatting on the mastaba, still as a glittering life-sized statue. He was staring straight ahead.
    We pressed against the wall to let a donkey squeeze by. Ramses said, "De old gentleman was lying, wasn't he, Mama?" "What about, my boy?" I inquired absently. "About everyt'ing, Mama." "I rather think you are correct, Ramses."
    I was afire with impatience to tell Emerson we had been given an opportunity to expose the ring of antiquities thieves. When we reached Shepheards I was surprised to find he had not yet returned. He was not so fond of de Morgan that he would have lingered, chatting. However, he had many friends in Cairo, and I supposed he had stopped to see one of them and, as he often did, lost track of the time.
    After looking in on John and finding him sweetly sleeping, I ordered water to be brought. Ramses needed a bath. He needed a bath three or four times a day under normal circumstances, and the dust of the bazaars, not to mention the honey, had had dire effects. Ramses obediently retired behind the plaited screen that concealed the implements of ablution. For a time he splashed and sputtered in silence; then he began to hum, another annoying habit he had picked up while staying with his aunt and uncle. Like his father, Ramses is completely tone-deaf. The flat insistent drone of his voice was extremely trying to sensitive ears like mine, and it seemed now to have acquired a certain oriental quality—a quavering rise and fall, reminiscent of the Cairo street singers. I listened until I