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Summary
Summary
Once again the incomparable New York Times bestselling master of suspense, Elizabeth Peters, brings an exotic world of adventure, intrigue, and danger to vivid life, in a tale as exciting, mysterious, and powerful as ancient Egypt.
A unique treasure obtained by unscrupulous means, the small gold statuette of an unidentified Egyptian king is a priceless relic from a bygone era. But more than history surrounds the remarkable artifact -- for it is said that early death will come to anyone who possesses it.
Enjoying a world finally at peace, the Emersons have returned to the Valley of the Kings in 1922. With the lengthy ban on their archaeological activities lifted, Amelia Peabody and her family look forward to delving once more into the age-old mysteries buried in Egypt's ever-shifting sands. But a widow's strange story -- and even stranger request -- is about to plunge them into a storm of secrets, treachery, superstition ... and murder.
The woman, a well-known author, has come bearing an ill-gotten treasure -- a golden likeness of a forgotten king -- which she claims is cursed. Already, she insists, it has taken the life of her husband, and unless it is returned to the tomb from which it was stolen, more people will die.
Intrigued by the mystery, Amelia and her clan resolve to uncover the secrets of the statue's origins, setting off on a trail that twists and turns in directions they never anticipated -- and, perhaps, toward an old nemesis with unscrupulous new designs. But each step toward the truth seems to reveal another peril, suggesting to the intrepid Amelia that the curse is more than mere superstition. And its next victim might well be her irascible husband, Radcliffe, their beloved son, Ramses, his lovely wife, Nefret ... or Amelia Peabody herself.
A novel filled with riveting suspense, pulse-pounding action, and the vibrant life of a fascinating place and time, The Serpent on the Crown is the jewel in the crown of a grand master, the remarkable Elizabeth Peters.
Author Notes
Barbara Mertz was born on September 29, 1927 in Astoria, Illinois. She received a bachelor's degree in 1947, a master's degree in 1950 and doctorate in Egyptology in 1952 from the University of Chicago. She wrote a few books using her real name including Temples, Tombs and Hieroglyphs (1964), Red Land, Black Land (1966), and Two Thousand Years in Rome (1968). She also wrote under the pen names Barbara Michaels and Elizabeth Peters.
She made her fiction debut, The Master of Blacktower, under the name Barbara Michaels in 1966. She wrote over two dozen novels using this pen name including Sons of the Wolf, Someone in the House, Vanish with the Rose, Dancing Floor, and Other Worlds.
Her debut novel under the pen name Elizabeth Peters was The Jackal's Head in 1968. She also wrote the Amelia Peabody series and Vicky Bliss Mystery series using this name. She died on August 8, 2013 at the age of 85.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
MWA Grand Master Peters delivers another winner that you can't put down and yet don't want to see end, the 17th entry in her bestselling series to feature Egyptologist Amelia Peabody Emerson and her extended family (after 2004's Guardian of the Horizon). Early in 1922, novelist Magda Petherick, the widow of noted collector Pringle Petherick, interrupts the tea that the Emerson clan are enjoying on the veranda of their house by the Nile. Mrs. Petherick wants Emerson, Amelia's eminent archeologist husband, to dispose of a beautiful golden statuette that Pringle acquired shortly before his death because she believes it carries a curse. All are intrigued. News travels fast, and such a magnificent artifact soon attracts all manner of collectors, museum authorities, journalists and evildoers. Emerson's illegitimate half-brother, Sethos, formerly a dealer in illegal antiquities, arrives in disguise, but unfortunately he's followed by the gentleman he's impersonating. Tomb excavations, mountain treks, brutal attacks, an abduction, an exorcism and murder keep the plot hopping. The author's droll sense of humor and picture of a leisurely and less complicated age add to the appeal. Agent, Dominick Abel. (On sale Mar. 29) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
The year is 1922, and Amelia Peabody, Emerson, Ramses, and their familiar company have returned to Egypt for another season of excavation. Before they have a chance to begin, however, they receive an unexpected visitor, flamboyant writer Magda Petherick, who spins an outrageous story about a cursed artifact and implores Emerson to exorcise its demon. Of course, no one falls for Petherick's elaborate yarn, but the beautiful statuette piques Egyptologist Emerson's interest enough to convince him an investigation of its history is in order. In the meantime, Petherick turns up dead, someone attempts to liberate the artifact, and two attempts are made on Ramses' life. It's a delicious setup for Peabody to exercise her special talents. The espionage complications of previous books evaporated with the end of World War I, leaving this a more routine adventure. But, as usual, Peters injects plenty of humorous banter, lots of bluster from Emerson, and enough coy swipes at Victorian propriety to keep the story lively. There's even a little surprise at the close. A pleasant addition to the long-running series. --Stephanie Zvirin Copyright 2005 Booklist
Kirkus Review
More murder and mayhem for the indefatigable Amelia Peabody and her friends and relations. It's 1922. Peabody and Emerson, her handsome, clever, duplicitous Egyptologist husband, are excavating at Deir el Medina along with their son Ramses, his wife Nefret and the usual supporting cast when well-known collector Pringle Petherick's widow Magda arrives and presents Emerson with a solid-gold figure of a king she claims is cursed. The valuable statue soon attracts a rush of other aspiring owners: Magda's stepchildren, the resourceful Harriet and her brother Adrian, who suffers from war-related mental problems; Emerson's rich American friend Cyrus Vandergelt; the repellent Sir Malcolm, and a host of other thieves, one of them successful. When Magda disappears, Peabody assumes she's trying to publicize her authorial career, but not to the extent of leaving her corpse under a bush in the hotel garden. Emerson, who's determined to solve the murder and return the statue to its rightful owner, is joined by his mysterious brother Sethos and Ramses' friend David. The police think Adrian is the killer, but there are many other possibilities, and Peabody is lucky to escape the thicket of interrelated problems with her life before the dÉnouement. Peabody's Victorian rhetoric can go over the top, but her likable family's fans will find much to enjoy in an adventure less convoluted than usual (The Falcon at the Portal, 1999, etc.), salted with the obligatory tidbits of Egyptology. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
The year is 1922, World War I is finally over and a troubled peace has returned to Egypt. Amelia Peabody Emerson and her husband, eminent archaeologist Radcliffe, hope to get some serious excavation work done without the interruptions of murders, tomb robbery, and mayhem that usually hamper their efforts. It is a faint hope, however, when a mysterious lady in black suddenly shows up on their veranda. She brings with her a wild story and an ancient, extremely valuable golden statuette. She tells the Emersons that the statuette has a curse on it that has already claimed the life of her husband. Fearing for her own safety, she gives the valuable artifact to Radcliffe, insisting that he perform an exorcism and remove the curse. The widow disappears from her hotel and is later found dead, several family members are attacked, and the Emerson house is repeatedly burgled. Listeners are in for a grand old time. Narrator Barbara Rosenblat takes the eccentric and expanding cast in her stride, giving each a distinct vocal personality and mastering accents without breaking a sweat. Sure to be popular in most public libraries.--Barbara Rhodes, Northeast Texas Lib. Syst., Garland (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted. All rights reserved.
Excerpts
Excerpts
The Serpent on the Crown Chapter One He woke from a feverish sleep to see something bending over him. It was a shape of black ice, a tall featureless outline that exuded freezing cold. He tried to move, to cry out. Every muscle was frozen. Cold air touched his face, sucking out breath, warmth, life. We had gathered for tea on the veranda. It is a commodious apartment, stretching clear across the front of the house, and the screens covering the wide window apertures and outer door do not interfere with the splendid view. Looking out at the brilliant sunlight and golden sand, with the water of the Nile tinted by the sunset, it was hard to believe that elsewhere in the world snow covered the ground and icy winds blew. My state of mind was as benevolent as the gentle breeze. The delightful but exhausting Christmas festivities were over and a new year had begun--1922, which, I did not doubt, would bring additional success to our excavations and additional laurels to the brow of my distinguished spouse, the greatest Egyptologist of this or any age. Affectionately I contemplated his impressive form--the sapphire-blue eyes and ebon hair, the admirable musculature of chest and arms, half bared by his casual costume. Our son, Ramses, who had acquired that nickname because he had the coloring of an Egyptian and, in his youth, the dogmatism of a pharaoh, sat comfortably sprawled on the settee, next to his beautiful wife, our adopted daughter, Nefret. Faint cries of protest and distress drifted to our ears from the house the dear little children and their parents occupied; but even Nefret, the most devoted of mothers, paid them no heed. We were well accustomed to the complaints; such sounds always accompanied the efforts of Fatima and her assistants (it took several of them) to wash and change the children. It would be some time before the little dears joined us, and when a carriage drew up in front of the house I could not repress a mild murmur of protest at the disturbance of our peace. Emerson protested more emphatically. "Damnation! Who the devil is that?" "Now, Emerson, don't swear," I said, watching a woman descend from the carriage. Asking Emerson not to use bad language is tantamount to King Canute's ordering the tide not to surge in. His Egyptian sobriquet of "Father of Curses" is well deserved. "Do you know her?" Emerson demanded. "No." "Then tell her to go away." "She appears to be in some distress," Nefret said. Her physician's gaze had noted the uncertain movements and hesitant steps. "Ramses, perhaps you had better see if she requires assistance." "Assist her back into her carriage," Emerson said loudly. Ramses looked from his wife to his father to me, his heavy black eyebrows tilting in inquiry. "Use your own judgment," I said, knowing what the result would be. Ramses was too well brought up (by me) to be rude to a woman, and this one appeared determined to proceed. As soon as he reached her she caught hold of his arm with both hands, swayed, and leaned against him. In a breathy, accented voice she said, "You are Dr. Emerson, I believe? I must see you and your parents at once." Somewhat taken aback by the title, which he had earned but never used, Ramses looked down at the face she had raised in entreaty. I could not make out her features, since she was heavily veiled. The veils were unrelieved black, as was her frock. It fit (in my opinion) rather too tightly to a voluptuously rounded figure. Short of prying her hands off his arm, Ramses had no choice but to lead her to the veranda. As soon as she was inside she adjusted the black chiffon veils, exposing a countenance whose semblance of youth owed more to art than to nature. Her eyes were framed with kohl and her full lips were skillfully tinted. Catching my eye, she lifted her chin in a practiced gesture that smoothed out the slight sagging of her throat. "I apologize for the intrusion. The matter is of some urgency. My name is Magda Petherick. I am the widow of Pringle Petherick. My life is threatened and only you can save me." It was certainly the sort of introduction that captured one's attention. I invited Mrs. Petherick to take a chair and offered her a cup of tea. "Take your time," I said, for she was breathing quickly and her face was flushed. She carried a heavy reticule, which she placed at her feet before she accepted the cup from Ramses. Leaning against the wall, his arms folded, Emerson studied her interestedly. Like myself, he had recognized the name. "Your husband was Pringle Petherick, the well-known collector?" he inquired. "I believe he passed away recently." "November of last year," she said. "A date that is engraved on my heart." She pressed her hand over that region of her person and launched, without further preamble, into the description I have already recorded. "He woke that morning from a feverish sleep ... "This is what killed him," she finished. Reaching into the bag, she withdrew a rectangular box painted with crude Egyptian sym-bols. "He had purchased it only a few weeks earlier, unaware that the curse of the long-dead owner yet clung to it." A long pause ensued, while we all tried to think of an appropriate response. It had occurred to me, as I feel sure it has occurred to the Reader, that there was a certain literary air about her narrative, but even Emerson was not rude enough to inform a recently bereaved widow that she was either lying or demented . . . The Serpent on the Crown . Copyright © by Elizabeth Peters. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from The Serpent on the Crown by Elizabeth Peters All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.