There are dark storm clouds gathering above a land of mystery and antiquity. And no one will escape the fury of the tempest to come.

He Shall Thunder In The Sky

Egypt and her hoary secrets are no match for New York Times-bestselling Grandmaster Elizabeth Peters and her indomitable archaeologist sleuth Amelia Peabody. The sand-and-wind blown ambience of this strange and colorful world, the ancient enchantments and delicious menace are more vibrantly realized than ever in this thrilling new adventure that places the intrepid Amelia and her equally remarkable family in the dangerous path of an onrushing World War.

The pursuit of knowledge must never be deterred by Man’s folly. So the close of 1914 finds Amelia Peabody and her husband Radcliffe Emerson back in Egypt for another season of archaeological excavation–despite the increasing danger of an attack on the Suez Canal and on Egypt itself. Trouble is brewing in Cairo and the defiantly pacifist stance of Amelia and Emerson’s headstrong son Ramses is earning the young man the derision, and much worse, of the British expatriate community. Meanwhile, the charismatic nationalist el Wardani is said to be fomenting insurrection in the ancient city. And since there is no way to stand outside the political hurricane that is suddenly threatening their lives, Amelia plunges directly into it.

When el Wardani escapes a police dragnet, thanks to the direct intervention of Amelia and Emerson, the family’s stake in a perilous game is raised considerably. But it’s Ramses’ strange secret role in it that could truly bring ruin down upon all their heads. However, there is more than intrigue and espionage, plots and counterplots, at work here. For an artifact uncovered at a Giza dig–an exquisite sculpture found where it ought not to be confirms Amelia’s most unsettling suspicion: that the chaos consuming Cairo has masked the nefarious re-emergence of Amelia’s villainous archnemesis, Sethos, the Master Criminal.

The extraordinary Elizabeth Peters raises exotic intrigue to a new level with He Shall Thunder in the Sky. If you have never before experienced Amelia and her singular clan, prepare to be enthralled by the droll wit, the richly evoked locale, and a story that twists sensuously and mysteriously like an asp writhing beneath the desert sun. And longtime devotees will relish the return of dear friends–and await the resolution of a love affair that may change the Emersons’ destiny forever.

He Shall Thunder in the Sky

By Elizabeth Peters

William Morrow & Company

Copyright ©2000 Elizabeth Peters
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780380976591

Chapter One

I found it lying on the floor of the corridor that led to our sleeping chambers. I was standing there, holding it between my fingertips, when Ramses came out of his room. When he saw what I had in my hand his heavy dark eyebrows lifted, but he waited for me to speak first.

“Another white feather,” I said. “Yours, I presume?”

“Yes, thank you.” He plucked it from my fingers. “It must have fallen from my pocket when I took out my handkerchief. I will put it with the others.”

Except for his impeccably accented English and a certain indefinable air about his bearing (I always say no one slouches quite as elegantly as an Englishman), an observer might have taken my son for one of the Egyptians among whom he had spent most of his life. He had the same wavy black hair and thick lashes, the same bronzed skin. In other ways he bore a strong resemblance to his father, who had emerged from our room in time to hear the foregoing exchange. Like Ramses, he had changed to his working costume of wrinkled flannels and collarless shirt, and as they stood side by side they looked more like elder and younger brother than father and son. Emerson’s tall, broad-shouldered frame was as trim as that of Ramses, and the streak of white hair at each temple emphasized the gleam of his raven locks.

At the moment the resemblance between them was obscured by the difference in their expressions. Emerson’s sapphire-blue orbs blazed; his son’s black eyes were half-veiled by lowered lids. Emerson’s brows were drawn together, Ramses’s were raised; Ramses’s lips were tightly compressed, while Emerson’s had drawn back to display his large square teeth.

“Curse it,” he shouted. “Who had the confounded audacity to accuse you of cowardice? I hope you punched him on the jaw!”

“I could hardly have done that, since the kind donor was a lady,” Ramses replied, tucking the white feather carefully into his shirt pocket.

“Who?” I demanded.

“What does it matter? It is not the first I have received, nor will it be the last.”

Since the outbreak of war in August, a good many fowl had been denuded of their plumage by patriotic ladies who presented these symbols of cowardice to young men not in uniform. Patriotism is not a quality I despise, but in my humble opinion it is despicable to shame someone into facing dangers from which one is exempt by reason of gender, age, or physical disability. Two of my nephews and the sons of many of our friends were on their way to France. I would not have held them back, but neither would I have had it on my conscience that I had urged them to go.

I had not been obliged to face that painful choice with my son.

We had sailed for Egypt in October, since my dear Emerson (the greatest Egyptologist of this or any other age) would not have allowed anyone, much less the Kaiser, to interfere with his annual excavations. It was not a retreat from peril; in fact, we might soon be in greater danger than those who remained in England. That the Ottoman Empire would eventually enter the war on the side of Germany and Austro-Hungary no one of intelligence doubted. For years the Kaiser had courted the Sultan, lending him vast amounts of money and building railroads and bridges through Syria and Palestine. Even the German-financed archaeological expeditions in the area were believed to have an ulterior motive. Archaeology offers excellent cover for spying and subversion, and moralists were fond of pointing out that the flag of imperial Germany flew over the site of Megiddo, the biblical Armageddon.

Turkey’s entry into the war came on November 5, and it was followed by the formal annexation of Egypt by Britain; the Veiled Protectorate had become a protectorate in reality. The Turks controlled Palestine, and between Palestine and Egypt lay the Sinai and the Suez Canal, Britain’s lifeline to the east. The capture of the Canal would deal Britain a mortal blow. An invasion of Egypt would surely follow, for the Ottoman Empire had never forgiven or forgotten the loss of its former province. And to the west of Egypt the warlike Senussi tribesmen, armed and trained by Turkey, presented a growing threat to British-occupied Egypt.

By December Cairo was under martial law, the press censored, public assemblages (of Egyptians) forbidden, the Khedive deposed in favor of his more compliant uncle, the nascent nationalist movement suppressed and its leaders sent into exile or prison. These regrettable measures were justified, at least in the eyes of those who enforced them, by the increasing probability of an attack on the Canal. I could understand why nerves in Cairo were somewhat strained, but that was no excuse, in my opinion, for rude behavior to my son.

“It is not fair,” I exclaimed. “I have not seen the young English officials in Cairo rushing off to volunteer. Why has public opinion concentrated on you?”

Ramses shrugged. His foster sister had once compared his countenance to that of a pharaonic statue because of the regularity of his features and their habitual impassivity. At this moment they looked even stonier than usual.

“I have been rather too prone to express in public what I feel about this senseless, wasteful war. It’s probably because I was not properly brought up,” he added seriously. “You never taught me that the young should defer to their elders.”

“I tried,” I assured him.

Emerson fingered the dimple (or cleft, as he prefers to call it) in his chin, as was his habit when deep in thought or somewhat perturbed. “I understand your reluctance to shoot at poor fellows whose only crime is that they have been conscripted by their leaders; but-er-is it true that you refused to join the staff of the new Military Intelligence Department?”

“Ah,” said Ramses thoughtfully. “So that bit of information is now public property? No wonder so many charming ladies have recently added to my collection of feathers. Yes, sir, I did refuse. Would you like me to justify my decision?”

“No,” Emerson muttered.

“Mother?”

“Er-no, it is not necessary.”

“I am greatly obliged to you,” said Ramses…

Continues…
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