Tomb of the Golden Bird (Amelia Peabody Mysteries) by Elizabeth Peters

By Elizabeth Peters

Banned eternally from the jap finish of the Valley of the Kings, eminent Egyptologist Radcliffe Emerson's determined try and regain digging rights backfires—and his dream of unearthing the tomb of the little-known king Tutankhamon is dashed. Now Emerson, his archaeologist spouse, Amelia Peabody, and their kin needs to watch from the sidelines as Lord Carnarvon and Howard Carter "discover" the best Egyptian treasure of all time.

But the Emersons' personal much less notable excavations are interrupted while father and son Ramses are lured right into a catch through an odd crew of villains ominously challenging solutions to a question neither guy comprehends. and it'll fall to the ever-intrepid Amelia to guard her endangered family—and maybe her nemesis as well—from a devastating fact hidden uncomfortably just about domestic . . . and from a nefarious plot that threatens the peace of the full region.

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Its beam failed to locate their guide, or anyone else. The buildings on either side were those of small shops, closed for the night. Some had living quarters above, but no lights showed. The windows and doors were barred. But just ahead a shape of blackness indicated an open door. “Ah,” said Emerson and plunged ahead before Ramses could stop him. He caught Emerson up at the door and pointed his torch into the room beyond. At first he saw nothing to cause alarm—a counter, shelves holding tinned and packaged food, boxes of wilting lettuce and dried lentils, open bags of staples such as flour and sugar, a few stools.

Cyrus swept off his fine Panama hat and bowed in response. Winters spent in Egypt’s sunny clime had turned our American friend’s face lined and leathery, and his sandy hair and goatee were sprinkled with silver, but he jumped out of the train with the agility of a young man. Though without formal training in archaeology, unlike other wealthy individuals who sponsored excavations as a form of amusement, Cyrus was no dilettante. He had always worked side by side with his crew and listened respectfully to the advice of my distinguished spouse.

We made certain of that. ” “Oh, not at all,” I said, echoing Nefret. “Emerson, what have you done to your new boots? And the bottoms of your trousers are scorched. ” He took the glass Ramses handed him, nodded his thanks, and launched into his tale. “No one was hurt,” he finished. “And the damage was minimal. ” “You let them get away,” I said. Emerson gave me a reproachful look. “Now, Peabody, don’t be critical. ” “I beg your pardon, Emerson,” I said. “You are quite right. It’s a pity you didn’t recognize any of them.

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