Maria Hudgins - Lacy Glass 01 - Scorpion House (12 page)

“It’s not really their fault.” Lanier lowered his voice. “I realize that. They’re working with limited resources and they like to proceed conservatively. That’s good, because when you act too quickly, you make mistakes. Sometimes you make mistakes that can’t be corrected. But in this case, quick action is what we
do
need!” He made two tight fists to emphasize his point.

“What happens if the Supreme Council finds out you have this thing?”

Lanier drew his forefinger across his throat. “I don’t know if they’d arrest me or deport me or what. But for damn sure, I’d never work in Egypt again.”

Lacy turned back to the age-darkened papyrus. “Tell me about this.”

“We have three rows of drawings and labels. About twenty plants on each row or about sixty altogether. Sixty of the most commonly used plants in ancient times. Some of these, you see, show the leaves, stems, flowers, and also the roots.” He pointed to a drawing of a plant stem with leaves and flowers. On its lower end, a hairy root. “This is unheard of. Check out the plants on the tomb walls tomorrow. They’re very stylized. The only reason we know what most of them are is because they’re always drawn the same way. It’s easy to recognize lotus, for instance. Looks like a droopy bell. Papyrus always looks like one of those art deco lamps.

“But these! I have no idea why the artist who drew these threw out the book on how to draw plants and went realistic. It may have something to do with the fact that artistic styles in the Amarna Period, which is about when this was done, underwent a revolution. Maybe the artist was working in an environment where breaking rules was the norm.

“Let me show you why this is so important. Look at this.” Lanier pointed to the drawing of a leafy plant with five-petalled flowers and a knobby taproot. “This is marshmallow. Obviously.
Althaea
. All parts of the plant are used for asthma, coughs, and gastritis. We’ve found dried marshmallow, plenty of times, in garlands left in tombs. We know they used it, grew it, considered it important. But we
don’t
know what they
called
it. We know the modern Arabic, we know the Coptic, and we know the Greek. But what did the ancient Egyptians call it? Here’s your answer.”

Lanier tapped the hieratic symbols beside the drawing. “When we know the hieratic, we can also write it in hieroglyphics. Now, wherever I see the hieroglyphic version of this on a temple wall, I know it means marshmallow.”

“I see.” Lacy noted that the drawings were done in black ink but filled in with brown, red, yellow, and blue. Like a child’s coloring book.

“Look at this one.” Lanier pointed to a brown spike sprinkled with yellow flowers. “Wormwood. Good for getting rid of intestinal worms. We already know the ancient Egyptian name, and this is it.” He pointed to the hieratic symbols next to the drawing. “That tells me this document is accurate. I’ve checked the hieratic names of twenty-five of these and in every case they agree with what Egyptologists already knew.

“The other thirty-five? Most of them are new identities. So this one document tells us what most of the plants called for in the recipes really were.” Lanier’s voice drifted off as he searched along the middle row of drawings. “Here. Look at this one. This is chicory. Full of vitamins, good for fevers. People use it as a coffee substitute and put it in salads. You can use the leaves to make a blue dye.”

The word “dye” got Lacy’s attention.

“There has been a lot of confusion about the Egyptian name for chicory. But no more.” Lanier straightened up and looked at Lacy, pride written all over his face.

“What did they use for colors on this thing?” Lacy bent over and looked at the drawings more closely. “I assume they used lamp black for the black, but what about the other colors?”

“That’s what I want you to tell me.”

“I’m guessing that the brown-red is ochre, but there’s also a more yellowish brown. That could be yellow ochre. It should be easy enough to find out. The new spectrometer will tell us if it contains iron.” Lacy let her eyes scan the whole document, ignoring the actual images and concentrating only on the tints and shades of color. “I think we’ll find that most of the colors have changed. Faded out, you know. Fortunately, this has been in the dark for the past … how old did you say this is?”

“About thirty-five hundred years.” Lanier stood back, letting Lacy take the central position in front of the papyrus. He moved around behind her back and pointed to the right margin of the document. “This is the end that was on the outside of the roll. It’s in worse shape than the rest. Maybe because it was more exposed to air, I don’t know. But I think there’s some writing along here that’s too faint to make out.”

Lacy looked at that end more closely. Lanier handed her a magnifying glass, and she pressed her left hand against the table to make certain she didn’t topple over onto the papyrus. A nose-print would do it no good. She searched along the top and bottom edges with the magnifying glass. “I think there may be more symbols and writing along here as well.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but my old eyes do have their limits. I’ve already done the best I can photographing it, but you can’t expect a camera to show you more than the original does.”

“Have you tried infrared light?”

“Pardon?”

“Infrared. It’s great for illuminating ink that’s invisible in white light.”

Lanier’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding! Where can we get an infrared light? Could we find one in Luxor?” He was almost dancing with excitement. “I’d hate to have to order it from the scientific supply house because it would take weeks.”

“I can get you one in less than a minute. There’s a brand-new one in my lab. All I have to do is find the right lamp to put it in.”

Lanier dashed toward the door, then back to the bench. “I can’t leave this out,” he said, referring to the papyrus. “You go and get the light. I’ll wait.”

They heard Roxanne calling Lacy. Selim and the Jeep had arrived to take her to the airport and pick up the new widow.

L
acy spotted Joan Friedman in the duty-free shop, her grey head drifting like a rising moon beyond a row of vodka bottles. Dressed now in black, Joan raised her dark glasses when Lacy called her name.

They hugged and Lacy felt the older woman’s bony frame shake as they embraced. “I thought I might buy a little something for the house before I leave the airport.” Joan pulled her purse strap back onto her shoulder, handed Lacy two bottles of vodka, and carried two more bottles toward the check-out counter. “Wait a minute. Where did I leave my suitcase?”

In a rush, Lacy remembered Joan’s little problem with alcohol and Joel’s long battle to keep her sober. As long as he was at home it was all right, but when he was out of town Joan drank. She would promise him she wouldn’t, but she always would. Joel would appoint someone to check on her periodically and Lacy supposed he had recruited one of their friends back home to do so while he was in Egypt. Now that Joel was gone, would Joan become a hopeless alcoholic?

She resolved to prevent it. Joel would expect no less of her. Starting now, she’d watch her and do whatever she could. “Joan, I don’t think four bottles is necessary. One or two will be plenty.”

“You’re allowed four liters. Might as well get four liters.” She set her purse on the counter. Her hands trembled as she opened her wallet. “Oh dear. This Egyptian money. Lacy, would you count it out for me? I have no idea how much the man wants.”

Lacy pulled out a couple of one-hundred-Egyptian-pound notes and handed them to the cashier. Grabbing Joan’s luggage and one bag of liquor, she steered her toward the exit. “They need to see you at the hospital, Joan. There’s papers for you to sign. It’s near here, but if you’re not up to it, we can come back tomorrow.”

Joan stopped. “Oh dear. Do I have to identify the body?”

“No, I’ve taken care of that. But you’re the responsible party now, and arrangements have to be made for taking Joel home.”

Joan met Selim, settled herself in the front seat of the Jeep, and then whispered to Lacy, “I think we should go to the hospital now. I might as well get it over with.”

* * *

As the Jeep sped past the Colossi of Memnon, Lacy was surprised to see Paul and Shelley walking together, engrossed in conversation. They were more than a mile from the house. Selim pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and Lacy asked them if they’d like a lift. They said they’d rather walk.

* * *

Lacy met Paul on the roof that evening while Joan and Lanier, now drinking vodka and orange juice, reminisced on the porch and while Roxanne, Kathleen, and the Clarks listened silently. The dreary and delicate business of arranging for the transport of Joel’s body home, of signing papers, of deciding this and that had dragged on through the dinner hour but Joan hadn’t been interested in grabbing a bite in Luxor. She preferred going straight to Whiz Bang. She hadn’t touched the food Bay left for them in the kitchen.

The night air on the west bank was energizing. A light breeze drifted across the roof, softly playing with Lacy’s hair. Absent the humidity the air always held along the shores of the Chesapeake Bay, she felt ten pounds lighter. Paul had brought her a cup of coffee, cream and no sugar, when he came up. She was surprised he’d noticed how she liked it.

“Shelley and I took a long walk today. She told me all about Wythe University,” Paul said. He tested the spin time of a brushed aluminum yo-yo, dangling it over the edge of the roof. “She talks about her husband a lot, doesn’t she?”

“I haven’t talked to her that much. We don’t work in the same building.”

“She’s scared.” Paul jerked the yo-yo back into his palm and pocketed it.

“Funny you should say that,” Lacy said. “I was thinking the same thing just yesterday. What’s she afraid of?”

“Losing Graham.”

“Why?”

“Insecurity, I guess. I don’t know. You’re a woman, you should know better than I.”

“If she didn’t want competition she shouldn’t have married such a hunk.”

“She can’t help comparing herself to you and Susan. I mean, Susan’s not that attractive, but you …” Paul ducked his head and left the sentence unfinished. “Plus, you and Graham work in the same building. She’s stuck across campus in the social studies building and she can’t keep an eye on him.”

“That’s stupid.” Lacy paused a moment and studied the planes of Paul’s face in reflected temple light. “Graham doesn’t fool around. He has his hands full with his research. If he wanted to stray he’d only have to stretch out a hand and grab one of the sophomores hanging around his office, begging for help they probably don’t even need.”

Lanier’s head popped up from the stairwell. “Psst. Lacy. Come here.”

She turned and headed for the middle of the roof where the stairs from the ground floor emerged.

“Joan Friedman is three sheets to the wind, running off at the mouth something fierce. I don’t know whether Joel told her about the …” he paused, lowered his voice to a whisper, “the papyrus, but if he did, she’s liable to tell everyone on the porch.”

“You want me to come and get her?”

“Yes.”

* * *

Lacy managed to get Joan ensconced in her husband’s former bedroom and explained the water system to her — a useless exercise, since Joan had already passed out. She had intended to ask her about the enigmatic name Joel wrote on his manila folder then realized Joan wouldn’t have been able to give her an articulate answer, anyway. Lacy pulled off Joan’s shoes for her and lifted her legs onto the bed.

* * *

By Thursday, Christmas Day, arrangements for shipping Joel’s casket to America had been finalized and Lacy accompanied Joan back to the Luxor airport. She tried to talk to her about dealing with her grief and had gingerly touched on the drinking problem, but it had been awkward. She also called Virginia Swain and asked her to keep an eye on Joan.

Joan and her luggage were in the Jeep when Lacy came out with Joel’s manila folder. “This was Joel’s. I don’t know if you want it or not. There’s only flight information and so on in it.”

Joan took the folder and opened it. “I don’t need anything in here.”

“What about this name he wrote on the back? Jody Myers. Mean anything to you?”

Joan paused for a long moment. “No. I don’t believe it does.”

F
or the next few days the researchers, absorbed in their work, withdrew into their own little worlds. Susan drawing and recording in the tomb, Kathleen dabbing the coffin in the burial chamber with bits of cotton and a sticky fixative, Lacy shuttling back and forth from the tomb to the lab with chips and flakes from the floor and from the tailings pile. Graham launched an ambitious round of organic analysis to determine the composition of the residue in unguent jars from the burial chamber. He filled his side of the lab with glass chromatography columns, coils, porcelain test plates and rubber tubes.

Graham asked Lanier to take over the task of pollen analysis that was to have been Joel’s job. Much to Susan’s chagrin, he also promised Lanier Joel’s portion of the grant money and that his name would appear as a contributor in the publications that would follow. Susan and Graham had a heated argument in Susan’s room that was heard throughout the house.

Lacy was seduced by her work on the walls and on the cloth. Constantly reminding herself that this was all done a millennium-and-a-half before Christ, she felt humbled to have the honor of helping to shine light on what Kheti’s tomb could tell them. The more she learned, the more questions she had.

In a corner of the antika room, Roxanne toiled over pottery shards, twisting, turning, and occasionally fitting two pieces together. Gluing them into their correct alignment, she would nestle them to dry in a box of sand and, with a little clap of her hands, flash a crooked smile. Horace Lanier, when he wasn’t secluded behind his own lab door, often sat near her, his hands laced over his pot belly, prattling on and on about herbal medicines. Roxanne’s response was rarely more than an occasional, “Yes, I see,” or, “Indeed.”