The Falcon at the Portal (Amelia Peabody Series #11)

The Falcon at the Portal (Amelia Peabody Series #11)

by Elizabeth Peters


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New York Times Bestseller

From New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Peters comes another riveting mystery in her phenomenally popular Amelia Peabody series.

The Land of the Pharaohs harbors more secrets than any tomb can hide.

In Egypt for the 1911 archaeological season, Amelia Peabody and her family are not anticipating trouble, but it finds them nonetheless. Their young friend David is accused of selling ancient artifacts, and it's up to the Emersons to expose the real culprit. But the body of an American discovered at the bottom of their excavation shaft and a child of mysterious antecedents are sparking twin crises that threaten to tear the family apart. Amelia brings her estimable powers of deduction to bear, but she might not survive long enough to unravel more than one perplexing puzzle—because suddenly someone is shooting bullets in her direction...and coming too close for comfort!

“Amelia is rather like Indiana Jones, Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple all rolled into one.”—Washington Post Book World




Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780062686848
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date: 06/27/2017
Series: Amelia Peabody Series , #11
Pages: 464
Sales rank: 1,126,650
Product dimensions: 5.30(w) x 7.90(h) x 1.30(d)

About the Author

Elizabeth Peters earned her Ph.D. in Egyptology from the University of Chicago’s famed Oriental Institute. During her fifty-year career, she wrote more than seventy novels and three nonfiction books on Egypt. She received numerous writing awards and, in 2012, was given the first Amelia Peabody Award, created in her honor. She died in 2013, leaving a partially completed manuscript of The Painted Queen.


A farm in rural Maryland

Date of Birth:

September 29, 1927

Place of Birth:

Canton, Illinois


M.A., Ph.D. in Egyptology, Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1952

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

They attacked at dawn. I woke instantly at the sound of pounding hooves, for I knew what it meant. The Beduin were on the warpath!

"What is it you find so amusing, my dear?" I inquired. Nefret looked up from her book. "I am sorry if I disturbed you, Aunt Amelia, but I couldn't help laughing. Did you know that Beduins go on the warpath? Wearing feathered headdresses and waving tomahawks, no doubt!"

The library of our house in Kent is supposed to be my husband's private sanctum, but it is such a pleasant room that all the members of the family tend to congregate there, especially in fine weather. Except for my son Ramses we were all there that lovely autumn morning; a cool breeze wafted through the wide windows that opened onto the rose garden, and sunlight brightened Nefret's gold-red hair.

Reclining comfortably upon the sofa, Nefret wore a sensible divided skirt and shirtwaist instead of a proper frock. She had become as dear as a daughter to us since we rescued her from the remote oasis in the Nubian Desert where she had spent the first thirteen years of her life, but despite my best efforts I had been unable to eradicate all the peculiar notions she had acquired there. Emerson claims some of those peculiar notions have been acquired from me. I do not consider a dislike of corsets and a firm belief in the equality of the female sex peculiar, but I must admit that Nefret's habit of sleeping with a long knife under her pillow might strike some as unusual. I could not complain of this, however, since our family does seem to have a habit of encountering dangerous individuals.

Hunched over his desk, Emerson let out a grunt, like a sleepybear that has been prodded by a stick. My distinguished husband, the greatest Egyptologist of all time, rather resembled a bear at that moment: his broad shoulders were covered by a hideous ill-fitting coat of prickly brown tweed (purchased one day when I was not with him) and his abundant sable locks were wildly disheveled. He was working on his report of our previous season's excavations and was in a surly mood for, as usual, he ad put the job off until the last possible moment and was behind schedule.

"Is that Percy's cursed book you are reading?" he demanded. "I thought I threw the damned thing onto the fire."

"You did." Nefret gave him a cheeky smile. Emerson is known as the Father of Curses by his admiring Egyptian workmen; his fiery temper and Herculean frame have made him feared throughout the length and breadth of Egypt. (Mostly the former, since as all educated persons know, Egypt is a very long narrow country.) However, none of those who know him well are at all intimidated by his growls, and Nefret had always been able to wind him round her slim fingers. I ordered another copy from London," she said calmly. "Aren't you at all curious about what he writes? He is your own nephew, after all."

"He is not my nephew." Emerson leaned back in his chair. "His father is your Aunt Amelia's brother, not mine. James is a hypocritical, sanctimonious, mendacious moron and his son is even worse."

Nefret chuckled. "What a string of epithets! I don't see how Percy could be worse."

"Ha!" said Emerson.

Emerson's eyes are the brilliant blue of a sapphire, and they become even more brilliant when he is in a temper. Any mention of a member of my family generally does put him in a temper, but on this occasion I could tell he was not averse to being interrupted. He stroked his prominent chin, which is adorned with a particularly handsome dent, or dimple, and looked at me.

Or, as a writer more given to clichés might say, our eyes locked. They often do, for my dear Emerson and I have shared one another's thoughts ever since that halcyon day when we agreed to join hearts, hands and lives in the pursuit of Egyptology. I seemed to see myself reflected in those sapphirine orbs, not (thank Heaven) as I really appear, but as Emerson sees me: my coarse black hair and steely gray eyes and rather too-rounded form transfigured by love into his ideal of female beauty. In addition to the affectionate admiration mirrored in his gaze, I saw as well a kind of appeal. He wanted me to be the one to sanction the interruption of his work.

I was not averse to being interrupted either. I had been busily scribbling for several hours, making lists of Things to Be Done and writing little messages to tradesmen. There were more things than usual to be done that particular year—not only the ordinary arrangements for our annual season of excavation in Egypt, but preparations for houseguests and for the forthcoming nuptials of two individuals near and dear to all of us. My fingers were cramped with writing, and if I must be entirely honest I will admit I had been somewhat annoyed with Emerson for burning Percy's book before I could have a look at it.

The only other one of the family present was David. Strictly speaking, he was not a member of the family, but he soon would be, for his marriage to my niece Lia would take place in a few weeks. That arrangement had caused quite a scandal when the announcement was first made. David was a purebred Egyptian, the grandson of our late, greatly lamented reis Abdullah; Lia was the daughter of Emerson's brother Walter, one of England's finest Egyptological scholars, and of my dear friend Evelyn, granddaughter of the Earl of Chalfont. The fact that David was a talented artist and a trained Egyptologist carried weight with people who considered all members of . . .

Table of Contents

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Falcon at the Portal 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 51 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Falcon at theportals is the same book incorrectly named as the falcon at the portal. Be careful you do not buy both... not sure whythis.was.done. a pirated.copy?
Guest More than 1 year ago
My god! What a novel, but why so much heartbreak?! I repeat this to myself, over and over and over, as I walked dazedly around the house wondering how I am going to wait six months for the next installment. Elizabeth, why are you doing this to us?
cc9 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This book marked the end of my interest in the Amelia Peabody mysteries, Ramses angst in this and later books became incredibly annoying, and I felt that Nefret acted absurdly out of character in this book. Also, Amelia's character changed after the first book in the series Crocodile on the Sandbank, and she was never quite as much fun.
bookwoman247 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
There was great character developement in this installment of the Amelia Peabody series. There were more surprises and twists regarding Amelia's family than there were involving mysteries.All of the surprises made this one of my favorites in the series!
picardyrose on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This is my favorite of all her novels about Amelia Peabody Emerson. Most of the others are more fun, but none of them is more affecting.
NewsieQ on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
A wonderfully complex, beautifully written book with an interesting plot and, as usual, colorful characters.
jennyo on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
::sigh:: Sometimes you just need a good romance. And this is one of Peters' best. I think I'm a bit in love with Ramses myself.I usually try to space these out a bit, but I think I'm going to have to go directly to He Shall Thunder in the Sky. . .
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I love all of Elizabeth Peter's books about the adventures of Amelia Peabody. This one did not disappoint me. Ms. Peters writing puts the reader right in the middle of the story. Wonderful characters and absorbing plot.
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Bobana23 More than 1 year ago
I love the Amelia Peabody series. I've been to Egypt and now long to go back to experience many of the places she talks about. I love Peabody's relationship with Emerson and can't wait to see if Ramses gets the love of his life. Starting book #12 now...
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tuggytoot More than 1 year ago
There are 18 books in the series. I am now reading #10 for the third time.
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