A River in the Sky

“Archaeological sources,” I replied smartly. “Museums and professional organizations. And police records.”

“Excellent idea,” Emerson exclaimed.

“You will see to that, Emerson?”

“What? Oh. Yes, certainly.”

“I will spend this evening and all day tomorrow hiring servants, acquiring the necessary household supplies, and so on. Thus we will be able to set out for Samaria the following morning-assuming, of course, that we have received no word from the boys. Have we all finished eating? Shall we go now?”

A gentle cough stopped me in the act of rising. Turning, I saw a person standing at my elbow. He was young, he had fair hair and a feeble little blond mustache, and that was about all one could say about him, for his form and features were strikingly unremarkable. In his hands he held a cloth Alpine-style hat, which he was twisting nervously.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I waited until I believed you had finished your dinner, but if I am mistaken I will leave and return another time.”

“And interrupt us a second time?” said Emerson. “Speak up, young man. Who are you and what do you want?”

“Camden-Courtney Camden. I was told by Mr. Page of the British Society that you might be looking for additional staff for your excavation.”

“I distinctly told him we were not. Good day, sir.” Emerson pushed his chair back and rose.

“Just a moment,” I said. “What do you know about pottery, Mr. Camden?”

Mr. Camden was less intimidated than I had supposed. Though he continued to mangle his hat, he spoke up stoutly.

“It is my specialty, Mrs. Emerson.”

“What experience have you had?”

“I worked at Tel el-Hesi with Mr. Petrie and Mr. Bliss.”

“Nonsense,” Emerson grunted. “That was twenty years ago. How old were you at the time, twelve?”

“Twenty years of age, sir. I am older than I look.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson, stroking his chin. “Well, Peabody, you seem to have decided we need a pottery person, so I will leave it to you.”

What Emerson knew, but refused to acknowledge, was that Mr. Petrie had been among the first to study Palestinian pottery and construct a relative chronology of types. Anyone who had worked with him was bound to be knowledgeable, for he was not an easy taskmaster. I studied Mr. Camden critically. He certainly did not look his age. Something about the set of his features struck me as familiar.

“Have we met before?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. I would certainly remember if we had.”

“Very well,” I said. “If you will meet us here tomorrow morning, Mr. Camden, we will give you a try.”

“Six A.M.,” said Emerson.

“Eight,” I corrected.

The young man backed away, bowing to everyone, including Selim and Daoud.

“He has excellent manners,” I said, beckoning the waiter. “Would anyone else care for a sweet?”

Daoud indicated that he would. Emerson sat in brooding silence until the waiter had come and gone. Then he said, “I trust you know what you are doing, Peabody. Is it not something of a coincidence that a pottery expert should turn up just when he is wanted?”

“All the more reason for keeping him under observation, Emerson. If he is what he claims to be, he will be extremely useful, for none of us is familiar with the pottery of this region and you are certain to encounter-”

“Yes, yes, Peabody. And if he is not what he claims to be?”

“We will determine his true motive and turn it to our advantage!”

Nefret burst out laughing. “Of course, Aunt Amelia.”

I was pleased to see she was in a more congenial frame of mind. My agreement that we should go in search of the boys had satisfied her for the moment-and I must confess, in the pages of this private (for the time being) journal, that I myself had become increasingly uneasy about them. However, stern mental discipline had taught me to concentrate on the task at hand. My first task that afternoon was to shop, and I persuaded Nefret to accompany me. Emerson declined the offer, explaining that he had a few more questions to put to-er-that fellow and that he wanted Selim to be present at the interrogation. With a significant glance at me, he added that he had certain investigations to pursue as well. So Nefret and I set out, with Daoud as our escort.

There were modern shops in that part of the city, so I was able to procure cleaning materials and insect repellent. I ordered a number of other items, including a nice tin bathtub, directing that they be sent to the hotel at once. We were longer than I had meant to be, since I also stopped at the souk to purchase rugs, woven mats, and bolts of fabric for curtains, so when we arrived the others were at dinner. Plato had a rather hangdog look, but it had not affected his appetite. I deduced that Emerson had appointed Selim as Plato’s escort, for when we parted after dinner Selim went with him.

“I hope you are not planning to lock Mr. Plato in his room,” I said, as Emerson poured a postprandial libation.

“I was tempted. But it might be dangerous, if not actually illegal. No, Selim and I and Daoud will take it in turn to watch his door tonight.”