Death in Luxor

by Graham Warren

  A small fold up table was erected onto which a cover bearing the Governor’s seal was placed. Two folders with padded plastic covers, which looked rather like menus, were placed onto the table. Whatever was in them was signed, swopped, and then signed again by Quentin and the Governor. There were the obligatory handshakes, photos and video by an official photographer as well as Babs, who was trying to take a video with one hand and photos with the other. To be fair to her, she was doing a good job of both.

  Rose quickly told Kate that she had to go back with the Governor, but that she would see them all soon.

  There was a final shake of hands with Quentin before the Governor stepped back into his car and was gone. This allowed for an outburst of hellos, cheers, congratulations, hugs and general good feeling, which had been previously suppressed.

  “You did it, my lad,” said Quentin who was overcome with emotion as he hugged Alex. Tears freely ran down his cheeks. “You do know what this means, don’t you?”

  Alex had really no idea what this meant, though he would have had to be incredibly stupid not to realise that it was going to change his life forever.

  “That Rose, she is an absolute wonder. She knows everybody, and everybody loves her. I love her! She has achieved in just a few hours what I have been trying to achieve for years,” and with that Quentin opened the ‘menu’.

  Alex and Kate saw a very official form which was written half in English and half in Arabic. Cairo just saw squiggles on a piece of paper, though he thought that they were very pretty, as well as very colourful squiggles. Kate read it out loud, and afterwards they were all literally jumping up and down with joy.

  Quentin, not his university, but Quentin, had the exclusive rights to this dig up to and including the thirty-first of December this year. He also had the right to extend this for a further year, depending on his success. “I will resign from my university, Alex. Then I, we as a family, will be free to stay here. No more cold days, no more rain, and thank God, no more London.”

  “And no more Aggie,” thought Kate as she smiled. It was not just a smile for the moment, but a smile which she would carry with her for the rest of her life.

  Chapter 20

  -

  Dust and Disillusionment

  It had to be seen to be believed, as a small town of tents had appeared almost instantly by the tomb of Ay. Quentin had spent the night at the dig along with most of the workers as well as several officials. Kate, Alex and Cairo had, more sensibly in their opinion, returned to the Winter Palace for the night, along with Babs.

  The following morning the three youngsters enjoyed a specially prepared very early breakfast at what they all now considered to be their table within the bar. Well before most guests, including Babs, had given any thought to waking, let alone going down for breakfast, the three of them were approaching the far end of the valley in their taxi. They were amazed to see just how many cars were parked in the lower parking area.

  It was, however, the large armoured truck that blocked the short though steep slope up to the tomb of Ay, which drew their attention. Painted in desert colours, it had failed to be obvious to their taxi driver, yet they could not miss it. This may have had something to do with its large-barrel turret gun, which was pointing directly towards them. Not only did it point at them, but it swung to the left and then to the right, as it targeted the taxi through the twists and turns of its approach. It failed to occur to any of the youngsters to ask the taxi driver to slow down.

  The driver, having now noticed the armoured truck, slammed on the brakes before demanding they all get out. They stood under the already blistering sun as they watched their taxi driver reverse extremely quickly, as well as extremely erratically, back down the valley.

  Once their hurriedly made security passes were checked, they were able to reach the narrower section of the valley, where the sun failed to penetrate until much later in the day. They entered a modern-day workers village. There were many white tents, each with its own purpose. One medical, one food, six where they would sort the excavated rock and hopefully artefacts, two for sleeping and finally a very large one filled with cardboard boxes, each of which contained twelve bottles of water. It was not just bottled water, it was really cold bottled water. The generator worked overtime to keep three fully loaded chest freezers just slightly colder than an average fridge.

  It was the large dining table outside, under the largest of parasols, which held their attention. Not least of all because of the jug of ice cold tamar-hindi upon it, along with three equally cold glasses. They did not have to touch either the glasses or the jug to know that they were ice cold, as there was a layer of frost upon each. They could, however, see nobody around.

  “I suppose your dad and the workers are all up by the waterfall,” said Kate pointing past the tomb of Ay to the end of the valley.

  “I seriously doubt that dad left the dig at all last night. He is so incredibly excited. I just hope that I’m correct and there is something to find,” said Alex, experiencing a moment of doubt. “Oh, Kate, I forgot to tell you. Dad heard back from Dr Margretti and he thinks that you are on to something with the gold chamber of Ay. Neither of them can understand why this hasn’t been noticed before. Now let me get this right.” Alex paused for a moment. “Yes, that’s it. The name of Ay means ‘Father of the god’, though Margretti joked that it should have meant ‘The Godfather’, as he extorted so much from the people. This makes him think that there must be a very large gold chamber just waiting to be discovered.” Alex went over to pour out three glasses of tamar-hindi, though Kate went to stop him. “Don’t worry, Kate, this is not poisoned. Bast is guarding this area.”

  Kate’s and Cairo’s eyes darted everywhere, only to eventually make out what Alex had obviously seen. Two ears of a cat, clearly reflected on the rock face.

  “I always forget just how quickly the sun moves around the valley.” The quiet voice with a purr in it came from only just behind them. They were transfixed as they watched the shadow change from a cat to a lady. Eventually turning around, they greeted Bast. She was wearing a different cloak to before, though still full of cat images. This time it had a very oriental look about it.

  They sat, chatted, and enjoyed the cold tamar-hindi. There was no panic, no worry, just four friends enjoying a drink. It was the first time in such a long time that Kate had felt this happy, though happy was not exactly how she felt. Kate really did not know how she felt. So much had happened to her in such a short time.

  None of them knew how long they had been there, when Quentin appeared at the table. He was covered in dirty white dust. After an overlong welcome to Mademoiselle Bast, he greeted Kate, Alex and Cairo.

  “Is there a nice cold glass of tamar-hindi for me?

  “Yes, Quentin, it is in front of you,” said Bast.

  “How did she do that?” whispered Kate to Alex.

  Quentin was just about to ask how Bast did what, when his eyes were drawn to a crow flying up the valley at great speed, only to impact with the steep valley walls and fall to the ground. “Look, there is a dead crow!” he said as if nobody else had noticed. “How strange, as I have just been looking at crows painted in bas-relief on the walls below the waterfall.”

  They all stared at the lifeless crow, all except Cairo.

  “You are not really looking for it the sky, are you Cairo? It’s a dead crow. Dead crows are on the ground, they do not fly!” As Kate said this, she looked up; they all did, only to see that Cairo had been watching several other crows, along with several owls, apparently fighting each other. From nowhere two large eagles dived into the melee, causing them to disperse.

  “How strange,” said Quentin, “as there are also bas-reliefs of owls down there. Not good ones mind you. The crows are far better.” He was deliberately distracted by Bast, as she took the conversation away from birds of any kind.

  Quentin eventually made his excuses as he needed to get back to the dig. Just as soon as he had left, Kate asked B
ast why she had changed the subject on seeing the crows and owls.

  “What crows?”

  “Well, there is a dead one over there!” Kate pointed in the direction of the fallen bird, only to realise upon looking that she was pointing to nothing.

  “It was magic, nothing was real. A sign from the warlock. He wants us to know that he knows we are here.”

  “Well, aren’t you worried that he knows? I am!” Alex looked somewhat lighter in colour as he asked this.

  “I was far more concerned before his little show. Obviously, he must know we are here. His spies will have told him.”

  “Well, shouldn’t that be a cause of worry to us all?”

  “Why should it be, Kate? You are all well aware that we cannot get in through the walls of his tomb because of his magic, but this means that he cannot get out either. We have his only two exits blocked by our magic, and that has held for thousands of years. So, I have no worries there and neither should any of you. The warlock has always been able to seep a little magic out, but he cannot get the ingredients into his tomb to create really powerful spells. If the worst he can do is magic up some crows and owls, then I am not worried at all.”

  “What about the eagles?” asked Cairo. “They were big.”

  “They were our magic, and they broke his spell.”

  It was not lost on any of them that Bast had said ‘our magic’, so they now knew that there was more than just Bast protecting them.

  Shouts of “Hello” and “Could you give me a hand?” reached them from some way off. It was Babs arriving with the largest picnic hamper any of them had ever seen.

  “Hi, Mum,” shouted Alex as he ran to help her.

  “This is ours. The other six are down there. They are for the workers.”

  Slightly less than ten minutes had passed when Kate choked on her sandwich. She coughed and spluttered as she gesticulated. Everyone stopped eating to watch three people as they approached. They were Ramses II, Nakhtifi and another person, obviously military by his walk, though none of the youngsters had never seen him before. Each wore a loose white cover over their uniforms.

  Alex’s jaw dropped, only to return to normal, when he saw Bast motioning for him to close his mouth.

  Cairo had taken his sandwiches under the table. He felt safer there.

  “Good afternoon,” said Ramses as he approached. “We are filming in the next valley, hence our costumes. We are a little overdressed for this heat.” He smiled at them all before continuing with what had obviously been a rehearsed speech. A speech which had been prepared by Thoth, thought Kate. “Our catering has yet to arrive, so we wondered if we could borrow a few bottles of your water?”

  “Why not sit and join us?” asked Bast as she pointed to the three seats beside her.

  Kate was almost at screaming point. She knew that ancients could not sit on anything modern. It was then that the reason for their white covers became self-evident. As they sat these draped to the ground, hiding the fact that they were not actually sitting on the chairs. As she relaxed, she struggled to hold back uncontrolled laughter, possibly even hysterical laughter.

  “How exciting, real actors,” exclaimed Babs. “What is the film going to be called?”

  “Oh, it is just some wildly inaccurate historical rubbish, but one does have to make a living.”

  On hearing this from Ramses, Kate did actually fall off her chair, only to be confronted by the face of Cairo. He looked more like a hamster than an Egyptian, as his cheeks were full of sandwich. That was it, she lost it big time. Though Kate was not aware of it at the time, this was the final release that she needed after all her recent traumas. She returned to the table sometime later, with Babs’ arm draped around her shoulders. Her eyes were puffy and somewhat bloodshot, but after just a short while everyone was chatting away as if nothing had ever happened.

  Ramses was dominating the conversation, yet she could not take her eyes off the man she did not know. He had to be an ancient, as he had arrived with Ramses and Nakhtifi. He also had to be military from the way he held himself, perhaps a noble with a military background. There did appear to be something very familiar about him, yet he was much darker skinned than anyone else at the table. In the next break in conversation, she decided that she would have to ask, and she did not have to wait long. “Who are you?”

  The man looked at her, and for a while Kate thought that her question was going to go unanswered. He spoke quietly, yet with authority. “In the movie, I play two characters. One is Nastasen opposite Alexander, and the other Aryamani opposite Cleopatra.”

  “Yes, I can see that, as they were both Nubian,” said Quentin, who had joined them for lunch. He saw this as an opportunity to impress Mademoiselle Bast. “Though my dates are somewhat rusty, I can see that Nastasen, a king of the North African Nubian civilisation of Kush, from around three hundred and thirty-five to three hundred and fifteen, or perhaps three hundred and ten, BC, fits with Alexander the Great.” Quentin stopped just briefly as he considered the timeline. “As Alexander lived between three hundred and fifty-six and three hundred and twenty-three BC they fit together well, yet surely, if my memory serves me, Aryamani was long before the time of Cleopatra?”

  Ramses cut in to point out that they were only actors who were following a script, though, being Ramses, he added that they did take their roles seriously.

  The dark-skinned man intervened. “As I am Nubian, I do know something of my heritage. Nastasen was the king of Kush around the dates you mention, yet he lived for much longer. If you do not mind me saying so, you are applying the Egyptian way to the Nubian way. This you cannot do. Here, in Egypt, pharaohs were kings for life, so the date they stopped being king was also the date they died. This was not the case with Nubian kings. Nastasen lived long after he stopped being king. Our legends say that he spent his final years here, in Waset.”

  “He means Luxor,” added Ramses rather abruptly.

  “Yes, I do, though we refer to Luxor by its ancient name in the film,” added the Nubian, recovering from his mistake rather well.

  Alex now knew that he had the answer to any future row between his mum and dad. Dad would call it Thebes, its ancient Greek name. Mum would call it Luxor because that was its modern name, and he, from now on, would call it Waset, its truly ancient name. A broad smile of satisfaction came to his lips.

  “Yes, I can see that, but what of Aryamani?” asked Quentin.

  “You are aware of Aryamani’s burial place, aren’t you?”

  “Of course, we archaeologists who study ancient Egypt all know of this,” said Quentin rather defensively, “and we also know that it states there that he ruled Nubia for at least twenty-three years.”

  “Yes, exactly, you all state that he ruled Nubia for at least twenty-three years. That is undisputed. Though not one of you knows when Aryamani ruled. Not the actual dates. The so-called experts all argue about these. They have fitted him into different periods along the timeline, any period in fact, where the Nubian ruler is unknown.”

  “Yes, but if you do not mind me saying, by even suggesting that Aryamani was alive in the time of Cleopatra, it goes against all the experts. I would defy anybody to disagree with them all.”

  “Well, my history defies them all! I defy them all! Am I not wearing a Greek general’s tunic as given to Aryamani by Cleopatra herself?” In his anger, his pretence of being an actor failed. Despite Ramses and Nakhtifi trying to calm him, he had stood as he said this before ripping off the loose white cover which protected his uniform. He was indeed wearing a tunic from the time of Cleopatra, as her head appeared on every button. Or rather, every button which remained, as the one second from the bottom was missing. Something that was not lost on Quentin, yet before he could say anything, Ramses accidently-on-purpose tipped over his red wine. The situation was obviously in danger of spiralling completely out of control as losing red wine was a real sacrifice for him. He made such a fuss about it, as he ushered the ‘actors’ back to the set,
in order that no more questions could be either asked or answered.

  “Did you see that, his buttons were just like the one I discovered?”

  “Yes dear,” said Babs. “The films art department probably copied them from pictures of the button that you found.”

  “Of course, of course, yes, you are probably right. Though he did seem to know rather a lot about ancient Egypt for an actor!”

  “He is a Nubian actor, and Nubians are known for being extremely proud of their history.”

  “Is that so, Mademoiselle Bast. I can’t say that I have ever met a Nubian before, so I wouldn’t know. Now, I must get back to the dig. Please excuse me for leaving you like this, but I must go. It is awfully quiet over there and we have so much to do.”

  A short time later the three youngsters huddled together in one of the tents, so that they could talk about what had just occurred. They agreed that the man they did not know was either Nastasen or Aryamani. As he was wearing the tunic that had been given to him by Cleopatra, the vote went slightly in favour of him being Aryamani.

  “If he is Aryamani,” asked Kate, “then how does he fit into this dig, as we know this to be the site of Alexander the Great’s plunder?”

  Cairo had completely lost the plot as to what was going on. Kate was somewhat confused, yet Alex appeared to be happy, actually rather too happy.

  Had they been sitting on chairs they would have fallen off as Alex said, “We must get into this gold chamber before my dad does, and we need to get in tonight!”

  Chapter 21

  -

  My Kingdom for a Horse

  It was well after midnight when Kate, Alex and Cairo watched the last of the digging teams return from beneath the ancient waterfall. Quentin came back with them, covered in even more dirty white dust than before. Unlike earlier, he now looked somewhat dejected. Not tired, just dejected.