“I just hiked out of the desert in blue jeans and sneakers. You really think we can pass for upper class?”
“Perhaps we should aim for a lower class. However, somewhere above slaves would be good.”
“Yeah. That sounds more reasonable, but these guys are all wearing tunics or no shirts at all. We stand out right now either way.”
As we reach dwellings along the road, a group of curious children discovers us. They have none of their elders’ discretion and mill around us babbling in a tongue I can’t begin to decipher.
“Do you speak ancient Egyptian, Viznir?” I wave at the children and smile.
“No, but I may be able to translate a bit if we need to.” He’s cradling his tablet in the crook of his arm, keeping it well out of reach of the children. I pat one of the littlest kids on the head before Viznir scolds me. “Don’t encourage them or we’ll never be rid of them.”
The gaggle of kids has drawn the attention of more adults as well. Both men and women slow their activities to watch our passing, not sure what to make of our clothing and belongings. The road gets gradually more populated as we get closer to the city, and we attract more and more attention. Nearing an intersection, I spot a man with an open air shop selling woven goods from under a canopy attached to his house. Among the mats and blankets, there are also a number of tunics in varying styles. I grab Viznir’s elbow and steer him that direction.
“We should see if we can blend in better.”
The weaver seems very unsure about us as we approach, but as it becomes clear that we are coming to his establishment, he begins bowing to us, keeping his eyes averted and bobbing up and down behind his table of goods. He’s short and seems like he could use a few extra meals.
“Hi there.” I wave and smile, my greeting utterly useless as he isn’t looking and can’t understand me. I realize I have nothing else I can say so I just continue to smile, hoping he will pay attention and stop staring at the ground. After a few moments, he finally raises his eyes. My continued grinning seems to have an effect and he finally stops bowing.
I point toward the tunics he has neatly hanging from a rope and he follows my gesture but doesn’t move.
“Viznir, do we have any money?”
“I have some, but nothing from this era.”
The weaver has used his new ability to look up to survey us and our belongings, seeming unsure how to proceed. I swing my pack off my shoulders, trying to think if there is anything I’d be willing to part with for the purposes of bartering. Finally my eyes fall on the silver box I received my map in that I’ve been carrying attached to my pack. I unhook it and cradle it in my hands.
“Any reason why we’d still need this?”
Viznir shakes his head. “But these people won’t be able to open and close it without electronic arm bands.”
“Yeah, but it’s super lightweight metal, like maybe some kind of aluminum. They probably don’t have anything like this yet. He ought to be able to sell it to somebody for something.”
“It’s worth a shot, I guess.”
I stand up and hold the box out to the man, thrusting it forward a few times to indicate he should take it. The man doesn’t move. He simply stares at me and stays near his doorway.
“He’s scared of us,” Viznir says.
I set the box on the inside edge of the table, next to a pile of woven bags.
“Hey man, I’m just gonna leave this here for you.” I make my way around the table and begin unhooking two tunics from the rope. I watch the weaver out of the corner of my eye, wondering if he’s going to start yelling or grabbing at me, but he just stands there watching. When I’ve got the tunics unhooked, I hand one to Viznir, and we slip them on over our clothes. I pick up my pack and turn back to the weaver. He still says nothing but seems to be somewhat more relaxed now that we’re leaving. I give him a bow and he gives a short bow and smile in return.
“Okay. Ancient Egyptian shopping, check.” I smile at Viznir. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
We still draw plenty of attention as we continue down the road because of the children, and what I guess to be our hairstyles the way people keep staring at my head, but the clothing does help somewhat. We continue to be a source of surreptitious stares and comments until the locals’ attention is distracted by the sound of hooves on the road. Viznir and I join the adults who are clearing out of the way amid shouts from behind us as two riders gallop up the road. Ariella and her guide streak by, leaned forward and egging their horses toward the city. Ariella spots us and smiles as she hurls past, her hair flowing behind her in the wind.
The crowd of pedestrians rapidly loses interest in Viznir and me as they convene to discuss this latest spectacle of two women on horseback, dressed in men’s clothing. The instantaneous chatter consumes the street, and many of the children who had been tagging along with us race ahead to try to follow the horses.
The roadway gets more and more congested as we get closer to the city walls, and now everyone is paying attention in the wake of Ariella’s passing. Her strategy of blazing through the streets before anyone can realize she’s coming seems to have worked out for her but has definitely drawn attention to the road. Ahead, a quartet of bare-chested men with spears and shields are working their way through the crowd and yelling. Citizens point and gesture toward the walls and the men break into pairs. One set stays on the road while the other two break into a jog toward the city.
“We’d better hurry if we’re going to get through,” Viznir says. We duck off the road behind some houses and jog past the soldiers’ position. We cut through a few alleys full of garbage before coming back onto the road.
“This place we’re going is some kind of temple, right? The symbol has a guy with an alligator head.”
Viznir nods and considers his tablet. “The symbols are for a Nile river god named Sobek. He’s the crocodile god. Also a fertility god associated with impregnating people, and with semen.”
“That’s gross, dude. Why would they make a crocodile-man a god of fertility?”
“Beats me, but that’s where our temple will be, or the shrine at least. This says the main temple was in Kom Ombo in the south, but there is a sect here in Cairo that keeps a shrine, too.”
“I’m guessing a crocodile shrine would be along the waterfront. Let’s head that way.” I point downhill, toward the bustling streets near the river.
The shrine is not difficult to find. It dominates the other buildings with tall columns and a raised stone stairway that elevates the building from the street level. Viznir and I pause in the neighboring gardens to consider the building. The steps on one side of the shrine run all the way into the river where people are dabbling in the water. Among them are a group of men wearing elaborate wigs and eye make-up. They are gesturing and speaking loudly toward the water. Two boats in the river are rowing upstream and seem to be making for the group. A few dozen commoners are watching them, casting frequent glances toward the river and standing back a respectful distance from the guards around the men in wigs.
“Those men are part of the priestly class,” Viznir explains.
“Well let’s hope whatever ceremony they’re performing is going to take a while, because they did a nice job of leaving the door open.” I point to the top of the stairs. Viznir’s eyes follow my hand to the entrance of the shrine. The crowd and guards have all joined the priests at the water’s edge, leaving the gate to the shrine wide open.
“Come on, we need to hurry!” I crouch low behind a hedge of jasmine and sprint through the garden, keeping one hand on my canteen and trying not to let my belongings clatter too much.
The garden directly borders the broad steps that wrap around the shrine, but the gate lies in the middle of a wall at the top of the steps. I pause at the extreme edge of the garden, realizing that no matter what we do, we will have to be in the open the rest of the way. The crowd still seems fixated on the activities of the priests. I hear splashing and a few shouts of approva
l about whatever they’re doing.
Viznir assesses the situation. “We’re almost there. We just need to appear like we fit in.”
“How do we do that?”
“I don’t know. Just walk casual.”
“Walk . . . like an Egyptian?” I smile broadly.
Viznir stares at me, perplexed. “Yeah, I suppose. Why are you laughing?”
“Oh come on, seriously? You don’t get that joke? What did they teach you in that guide school?” I leave Viznir frowning at me in confusion and step into the open, climbing the dozen steps one by one to the outer wall. Viznir hurries to catch up. We reach the top and slowly make our way toward the center gate. I point one of my palms in front of me and one behind, slowly alternating them as I creep along the wall.
“What are you doing?” Viznir whispers, agitation in his voice. “You’re going to attract more attention!”
I keep my eyes on the backs of the crowd around the priests and go back to walking normally, but can’t resist smiling. “Hey, Viznir. What did all the kids in the marketplace say?”
“How should I know? They said all kinds of things.”
“Nope. They said, ‘Way-oh-way-ohh!’” I grin uncontrollably as I slip around the inside of the gate and out of sight from the river.
“Glad to see you’re taking this all seriously.” Viznir scowls, but he looks relieved to be inside.
The shrine’s massive bronze doors are closed, but I spy some other options along the edges. “Come on, Vizzy. Let’s find our vase!” I run through the small courtyard and duck into an open side door at the corner of the building. The hallway I find myself in is cool and dim after the direct sunlight. My eyes slowly adjust to the change. We’re in a long corridor of alcoves lit by torches and a little ambient sunlight from somewhere above us. The wall to the right is broken up with curtained doorways. As I pass one, I glimpse the open space in the middle of the shrine through a gap in the curtains and note the glimmering reflection of water.
“The most important relics are usually kept in the back, but keep an eye out anyway,” Viznir says. “We don’t know what this vase was used for.”
We scan the alcoves we pass and check each statuary for an item that resembles our drawing. The alcoves seem to be dedicated to the various sexual exploits of Sobek, the half man, half crocodile. Drawings along the walls show him conquering mortals and being generally adored by women. He is frequently sporting a headdress that features what look like a pair of squared off ears of corn. I don’t get long to puzzle over them because we’re forced to duck out of sight when a pair of guards rounds the corner. Viznir and I scramble to opposite sides of the hallway. He ensconces himself behind an altar in the alcove, while I’m left with my pack squeezed against the wall in a curtained doorway, feeling terribly exposed. As the footsteps of the guards grow nearer, I take a cautious peek beyond the curtain. Seeing no one, I duck behind it.
I’m now in the central room of the shrine. Square columns around the perimeter of the room block much of my view, but at the center of the room, about fifty feet away in a patch of direct sunlight, a table is standing with a variety of ceramic items on it. One of the items is a vase. I reach into my pocket and quietly retrieve my map, checking the markings. It’s too difficult to tell from a distance if the markings match exactly, but the shape is definitely right.
When the footsteps of the guards have passed, I pull the curtain aside and gesture to Viznir, who is poking his head up behind the altar. “I think I found it,” I whisper. Viznir scans the hallway and dashes across to join me. I point to the patch of sunlight. “Look!”
Viznir gets out his tablet and checks the expanded image on his screen before nodding. “We need to figure out how to get to it.”
I step through the doorway and move left, trying to locate a way around the pool. Viznir and I scurry from column to column till I see the bridge. The center of the room is completely surrounded by water with the exception of a narrow walkway that runs longitudinally from the front entrance to the back of the building. It’s divided by the stone island in the center of the pool. I peer around the corner of the last column toward the backside of the bridge and eye the table with the vase. It stands just past a massive stone slab that has been erected in the center of the island.
“It’s right there. I’m just going to run up and grab it.”
Viznir checks the perimeter of the room for any sign of the guards and nods. I step from the safety of the column and walk briskly across the stone walkway, trying not to think about getting diced by blades in the floor or poison darted, or any other grisly end I remember from a childhood of watching Indiana Jones movies.
I reach the island without incident and step up to the table. There are a variety of bowls and utensils, including one particularly elaborate looking knife, but nothing under the vase seems to resemble a pressure switch that could bring the temple down around my ears. I confirm that the markings are the same as the ones on my map, then tuck my map away and grasp the vase with both hands. It’s heavy, and something sloshes inside as I lift it. I turn slowly to show it to Viznir but then almost lose my grip in shock when I see what’s behind me.
“Holy sh—” I bobble the vase.
Tied to the front side of the stone slab is a young girl. Her hands are attached with silken ropes to metal rings. She’s wearing a dress of pure white cotton and has some kind of ceremonial makeup on her face. She’s been gagged with the same material as her dress and she stares at me with wide eyes. Even with the makeup, I can tell she can’t be older than fifteen.
“You scared the crap out of me.”
The girl’s wide eyes watch me with fear and confusion.
Viznir has only made it halfway over the bridge and appears confused about my reaction to the stone. A massive creaking comes from the front of the shrine. I watch in horror as the great doors are thrust open by a quartet of muscled guards. I’m frozen in place still holding the vase as a procession led by a priest with a reptilian headdress makes its way through the doors. The men behind the head priest are heaving on ropes, half guiding, half dragging an enormous, still-dripping crocodile.
The procession makes it half a dozen steps inside before the head priest looks up and sees me. His sudden stop brings the whole group to a halt and more eyes find Viznir and me staring back at them. No one moves. The expression on the head priest’s face slowly changes from shock to anger.
“Ben! We need to run!” Viznir whispers through his teeth.
“Viznir, I need you to come grab this! RIGHT NOW!” I dump the contents of the vase onto the floor. Red fluid and chunks of something soft splatter the stone. I pause long enough to recognize the foot of a chicken in the mix, but don’t have time to be disgusted. I spin and toss the vase to Viznir. His eyes go wide and he goes to one knee as he cradle-catches it. I pull my Swiss Army knife from my pants pocket and open the blade. He stares at me with irritation, still not able to see what’s on my side of the stone slab.
I start cutting through the silken rope at the girl’s right wrist and cast a quick glance to the front of the shrine. The priest has recovered his wits and shouts orders at the guards who pushed open the doors. The two who had been roaming the corridor also appear near the hallway where Viznir and I entered. A sudden commotion behind the priest distracts them, as the crocodile, perhaps sensing a moment of weakness, whips its tail and sends a half dozen of its captors sprawling to the floor. The men at the front blanch as the animal propels itself forward, creating more slack in the ropes and scattering the men around its head. It thrashes back and forth, loosening the ropes around its snout, and lets out a tremendous hiss.
I work my way to the girl’s second wrist. Realizing that I’m helping her and not planning to cut her, the girl’s eyes flit from the crowd back to my knife and she uses her free hand to keep tension on the rope so I can cut through it faster. As my blade severs the last strand around her wrist, I drop to her left ankle and she works the knot at her right ankle wit
h her fingers.
“What the hell?” Viznir appears at the front of the stone, still carrying the vase and a frightened expression on his face. He takes a hasty look at the girl and yells at me. “What are you doing? We need to go! Now!”
“Distract them!” I yell back. “Just a few more seconds!”
The guards from the corridor are the only ones who have heeded the head priest’s frantic gesturing and have now set foot on the front of the bridge, drawing their swords and advancing toward us. Viznir draws the pistol from his hip and manages to flip off the safety with a finger from his hand that’s cradling the vase. He holds it up and fires two shots into the ceiling. The crowd and the guards freeze in position, except for the few still trying to dodge the crocodile. The crocodile makes a final bid for freedom and plunges forward through its remaining captors and into the pool, dragging two men into the water with it.
The girl gets her foot free at the same time I finish cutting the ties on my side. She wastes no time in pulling herself around the stone slab and sprinting away across the bridge. Viznir and I scramble to follow her. When I reach the pillars at the end of the bridge, I glance back and see that the priests have ordered guards around the sides to cut us off, but we have a good head start. I dash as fast as I can to keep up with the girl who is dodging between columns and making toward the opposite corner of the building from where we entered. We streak past a pair of guards who have arrived from the back, but not having been in the room for our discovery, they merely stare at us in shock as we race by. We escape into an open courtyard followed by shouts from behind us in the shrine. A few moments later, the guards realize their mistake and pursue us.
The girl vaults lightly over a low, stone wall and Viznir and I throw ourselves forcefully over it to follow her. She leads us along a narrow path between two tall buildings before we suddenly emerge into a public street. Commoners are busy trading or haggling in the open-air marketplace, but stop what they’re doing when they see the barefoot girl in her snow-white dress apparently fleeing from two men in unusual shoes. We don’t slow down to wait for their next reaction. Instead we follow the girl between buildings again as she plunges through alleyways that seem to twist and turn in all directions. Finally, after switching back on what must be the tenth filth-littered alley, she pauses and waits for us to catch up. She stands near the intersection of two pathways, eyeing us cautiously as we pant our way closer. I lean over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
In Times Like These Boxed Set Page 64
