Elizabeth Peters - A River in the Sky

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New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Peters brings back beloved Egyptologist and amateur sleuth Amelia Peabody in an exciting tale set amid the ancient temples and simmering religious tensions of Palestine on the eve of World War I…
August 1910. Banned from the Valley of the Kings by the Antiquities Service, Amelia Peabody and her husband, Emerson, are relaxing at home in Kent, enjoying the tranquil beauty of summer. But adventure soon beckons when they are persuaded to follow would-be archaeologist Major George Morley on an expedition to Palestine, a province of the crumbling, corrupt Ottoman Empire and the Holy Land of three religions. Searching for the vanished treasures of the Temple in Jerusalem, Morley is determined to unearth the legendary Ark of the Covenant.
The skeptical Emerson wants no part of the scheme until a request from the War Office and Buckingham Palace persuades him to reconsider. The Germans are increasing their influence in Palestine and British intelligence insists that Morley is an agent of the Kaiser, sent to stir up trouble in this politically volatile land. Emerson can't believe that the seemingly inept Morley is a German spy, but could he be mistaken?
Determined to prevent a catastrophically unprofessional excavation that could destroy priceless historical finds as well as cause an armed protest by infuriated Christians, Jews, and Muslims who view the Temple Mount, also known as the Dome of the Rock, as sacred, Amelia, Emerson, and company head to Palestine. Though it is not to her beloved Egypt, the trip to Jerusalem will also reunite her with her handsome and headstrong son, Ramses, working on a dig at Samaria, north of the holy city.
Before Ramses can meet his parents, however, he is distracted by an unusual party of travelers who have arrived in Samaria, including a German woman archaeologist and a mysterious man of unknown nationality and past. Unfortunately, Ramses's insatiable curiosity and his knack for trouble lead him to a startling discovery: information he must pass on to his parents in Jerusalem – if he can get there alive.
Once again the Peabody-Emerson clan must use all their skills and wiles to find the truth, prevent a bloody holy war, and save their son from the clutches of a nefarious enemy in this wonderfully engaging tale chock-full of thrills, mystery, and daring from the inimitable Elizabeth Peters.

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“No. I did not expect my reasonable arguments to prevail, but I felt obliged to make them. Good day, Frau von Eine.”

“Give my regards to your son. Making his acquaintance has been an interesting experience.”

I did not linger. As I made my way to the lift I pondered her last speech and the faint enigmatic smile that had accompanied it. Was it possible that Ramses…No, I told myself. I decided, however, that I would not pass on her regards.

EMERSON AND I WERE first at the breakfast table next morning. In fact, Emerson had been first, which was unusual enough to get me out of bed and dressed when I discovered he was absent. He greeted me with a nod and then retired behind a book. I was accustomed to that version of rudeness; taking a few papers from my coat pocket, I spread them out on the table.

Emerson’s eyes appeared over the top of the book. “One of your little lists, Peabody?”

I did not like the look of those blue eyes. They had a sparkle that seldom appeared at that hour of the morning.

“Yes,” I said.

“Surely,” said Emerson, still behind the book except for his eyes, “you have by now ticked off all the items on that particular list. You have been even more efficient than usual, my dear.”

I had already begun to suspect he was up to something. His present behavior confirmed the suspicion. “As you know perfectly well, Emerson, there is one major item that has not been dealt with: the reason we came to Palestine in the first place. Major Morley is still working.”

Emerson chuckled. “Very good, my dear. Major item indeed.”

Now I knew he was up to something. “We must make one more attempt to confront him, Emerson.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Emerson, continuing to chuckle in a particularly annoying manner. “Major Morley has been dealt with.”

I snatched the book from his hands. His smug smile showed almost all his teeth.

“By you,” I said.

“By me.” Emerson reached for the coffee jug and poured into both our cups. “Now don’t be a dog in the manger, Peabody. You have taken care of everything and everybody else. Allow me one small triumph.”

“Well…” He was quite right, and I did not even blame him for teasing me a little. “Tell me about it, Emerson.”

“It was rather clever, if I do say it as shouldn’t. More along your line than mine, Peabody. It occurred to me, you see, that Morley must be getting rather frantic. His pits and tunnels have been flooded, he hasn’t found a cursed thing. He would, I reasoned, be susceptible to any idea, no matter how chancy or illegal, if it gave him one final chance of success. So Ali Bey and I put our heads together. To make a long story short, Ali Bey got word to Morley that with the proper bribe he could gain admittance to the Noble Sanctuary itself and excavate under the floor.”

“Good Gad,” I exclaimed. “That is outrageous, Emerson.”

“That’s where every archaeologist who comes here wants to dig, Peabody. The majority, I daresay, would have better sense or better principles than to respond to such a proposition, but not Morley. He was getting desperate and he believes money will buy anything.”

Emerson paused and took out his pipe.

“Go on,” I urged. “You have me on pins and needles.”

“Really?” Emerson beamed. “Well, up to the Mount he went last night, after midnight, with one companion. The custodian was not there. Believing that the fellow had been bribed to stay away, Morley began work. Before he had struck more than a single blow, a horrible cry burst out, and there was the custodian, wringing his hands and screaming. He picked up a mattock Morley had brought, and went after Morley, leaving the latter in no doubt that his plan had misfired. He fled, leaving his tools-all the evidence any court would need as to his intentions. By the time he reached the foot of the Mount, a small mob was on his heels. It soon became a huge mob. Ali Bey, who had been watching the entire performance from hiding, distracted the infuriated worshippers long enough for Morley to get away. He didn’t want a mob tearing a foreigner to bits, whatever the offense. A splendid fellow, Ali Bey.”

“Yes, indeed. Where is Morley now?”

Emerson gestured. “In hiding, in Kamir’s donkey shed. I met him, as planned, and took him there. Kamir has agreed to smuggle him out of Jerusalem and set him on his way to Jaffa in exchange for most of Morley’s remaining funds. He will reach England impoverished-and, as soon as word of this affair reaches the English press, disgraced.”

“Emerson,” I said sincerely, “I did not think it possible, but you have excelled yourself. How did you persuade Kamir to overcome his religious scruples to assist a heretic?”

Emerson snorted. “Kamir has no scruples, religious or otherwise. How is Ramses this morning?”

“Sleeping soundly. He seems fully recovered. However-”

“I know, I know.” The incessant drumbeat of rain on the roof never stopped. Emerson sighed. “You are going to tell me he should not be working in this weather.”

“No one can work under these conditions, Emerson. Everyone shuts down his excavation during the rainy season. I know what a blow it is to you, my dear, to admit defeat, but it is already too late to salvage anything. What the rain has not swept away the local thieves have found. Let us go home.”

“Back to England?” His heavy black brows drew together. “Now?”

“No, my dear. Home. To Egypt.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once again I am indebted to Dennis Forbes, editor of KMT: A Modern Journal of Ancient Egypt, for reading the entire manuscript and catching several errors. Thanks as well to Dr. Donald P. Ryan for the material on Samaria, a subject on which I was less well informed than he. (And still am, despite his best endeavors.) As always I owe effusive thanks to my friend and assistant Kristen Whitbread, who made me work when I didn’t want to and encouraged me with snacks and cups of coffee.

About the Author

ELIZABETH PETERS earned her PhD in Egyptology from the University of Chicago - фото 2

ELIZABETH PETERS earned her Ph.D. in Egyptology from the University of Chicago ’s famed Oriental Institute. She was named Grand Master at the inaugural Anthony Awards in 1986 and Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America in 1998. In 2003, she received the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Malice Domestic Convention. She lives in a historic farmhouse in western Maryland.

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