Eden Relics (A Zac Woods novel #1): Author royalties for Cancer Research

by N Williams

  The dust settled, and Farouk peered through the new opening but couldn’t see anything. He stretched his torch arm out to the left and then right and could just about see the dark shapes of a series of recessed shelves dug out of the rock walls. On each of these shelves were a countless number of large clay pots stretching off into the darkness.

  Farouk walked into the chamber. The ceiling was at least twice his height, and the room was as wide as the trench that had been dug above to expose the Sphinx years before.

  He walked to the left wall and peered at the line of brown clay pots. Each was about half his size, shaped like upside-down tear drops, the tops of which were as big as his chest. They were spacious enough for someone his size to hide in, and that would be an option for him if a guard came to investigate.

  The top of each pot was sealed with a clay bung and the rim around each bung was smeared with some black, tar substance.

  Farouk put his arms around one of the pots and tried to lift it. The bottom scraped as it moved slightly but was too heavy for him. It would be impossible to carry one up to the surface without help.

  There were so many pots. Each had markings like those on the slab, lines and spots and shapes. The marks were probably some sort of writing. Farouk couldn’t read or write but knew that this was not the writing of his people.

  *

  Adelina was puzzled. ‘I’m sure I saw someone run in here,’

  ‘Well, I have to say that I’m quite glad that you were mistaken. We wouldn’t want to meet some desperate thief down here,’ said Henry.

  The singer walked to the large inscribed slab between the legs of the Sphinx and noticed a small pile of rubble on the ground near the right-hand side.

  ‘Look!’ she said as she pointed to the stones.

  Holding the lamp near, Henry nodded. ‘It looks like you were right, Madam. Someone has knocked a hole through here.’

  Adelina pulled at the blockage and opened up the cavity. She was relieved that she was still slim, and pushed her upper body through the hole.

  Henry caught hold of her leg.

  ‘Hold on. You’re not seriously going to go in there are you?’

  Smiling broadly, Adelina briefly looked back at Henry. ‘I certainly am. I haven’t felt so excited in years, and it has nothing to do with you touching my leg, good sir.’ She laughed as Henry suddenly realised he was holding the bare flesh of her ankle. He recoiled in embarrassment. ‘You may accompany me if you so wish,’ she continued. ‘Don’t worry, Henry. I’m not in the least offended by your manhandling of me.’

  Henry looked horrified. ‘I honestly don’t think it’s a good idea. God only knows what might be down there. Apart from the thief... it might be unsafe. And apart from that,’ he continued, ‘I was informed that your brief was simply to watch and listen and to report your findings to the PM directly. God knows what will happen should something dreadful befall you in my company.’

  Adelina snatched the lamp from his hand. She had spent the last few years constantly travelling the world, performing to the great and the good. The rewards had been excellent, but it was terribly tiresome. Travel had become a chore, and she missed the carefree adventure of childhood. She suddenly felt young again. ‘Whatever has been found is clearly down here, sir. I need to find out what it is, so if you'd be so kind, either come with me or wait here until I return.’

  It was so cold and quiet below the Sphinx. The steep steps were covered in sand. A fall here could be a significant problem. At least she had her new companion who was still having trouble squeezing through the hole behind her.

  *

  Farouk shuffled along the wall as he made his way around the chamber. The dark shapes of pillars seemed to fill the space to his right, and it seemed like ages before he reached the far wall. This wall was different from the other two; it was devoid of shelves. Instead, in the centre was a recess capacious enough to contain just one pot, a pot nearly twice as large as the others. A flat stone had been cut into the wall above it. Again there were strange lines and dots and marks carved into the plaque. Something else was carved below the marks. Farouk reached up and rubbed at the faint image. Two people could be seen standing together. Both were naked, but there was something strange about the figures, something Farouk couldn’t quite make out.

  He thumped the clay bung with the heel of his hand. The thud echoed around the chamber, and the flame from his torch danced wildly as he thumped the top again, this time at the joint between the bung and the neck. The black seal fractured.

  The bucket handle made a great lever and was forced into the narrow crack. With a loud splitting sound, the top broke off and clattered to the floor amid a cloud of ancient dust. Farouk held the flame over the opening and peered inside. The flickering torch finally gave up its frantic short life just as Farouk realised what he was looking at... and began to scream.

  *

  Nearing the bottom of the steps, Adelina was frozen to the spot. The high-pitched, chilling scream ahead, and the sound of someone running towards her, locked her limbs momentarily. She instinctively wanted to run or hide, but her body wasn’t ready to move yet. The scream was getting louder. It made her hair stand, and a cold chill ran down her spine just as the small figure of a young boy ran straight into her arms – she caught a fleeting glimpse of something held in one of his hands.

  ‘Hold on there,’ she said. ‘It’s okay, I won’t harm you.’

  The boy struggled to shake her hold. The kick to her shin failed to loosen her grip on him, but a swipe from his hand caught her right cheek. Adelina recoiled and let go of his arm. The boy took off out through the doorway and up the steps towards the sound of Henry puffing down behind her.

  Henry shouted, ‘Confound you boy, stop! I say, stop!’

  The oil lamp gave off enough light to illuminate most of the subterranean chamber. Adelina could see lines of pots occupying the whole of the two walls on either side of her, and in the dim distance ahead of her she could see a solitary large pot in the centre of the wall, seemingly taking pride of place. Above it was a carved stone block. Her mouth began to drop as she started to understand the significance of the carvings.

  Walking slowly towards the pot, Adelina felt her body tingle. She could see what looked like a large clay stopper lying on the floor in front of it. The boy must have opened it.

  ‘Would you mind turning the lamp this way please? Bloody thief ducked past me and was out like a scalded cat.'

  Holding the lamp at arm’s length, Adelina waited for Henry to join her.

  His expression was a mixture of shock and concern. ‘What happened to your face?’

  Adelina touched her cheek. There was blood on her fingertips. The blow to her face was worse than she first imagined. The boy had cut a four-inch gash from her ear to her chin.

  Sir Henry handed her his handkerchief, and she gratefully wiped the blood off her fingers.

  They walked slowly over to the large pot. Adelina’s hand began to shake. Shadows retreated behind the pot and danced within the opening of the big container, seemingly reluctant to reveal the objects contained within.

  Standing directly over the pot, Adelina could see the dark shape of something inside, something so strange and beyond her wildest imaginings.

  Port Said, Egypt. July 11th, 1897.

  Captain Hayward Carre closed the lid of the large wooden crate. Three padlocks clicked to secure the heavy slatted oak top to the box. He was relieved to have got this far.

  A short and stocky man handed Hayward a leather-wrapped object. ‘The stick-thing... what would Sir like me to do with it?’

  A cloud of buzzing flies surrounded the little man. He swore they were attracted to the object inside the leather sheath.

  ‘That "stick-thing," as you so quaintly put it, is perhaps one of the most significant finds in archaeological history, Charles.’ Hayward couldn't help but smile at the butler. He had no idea what he held in his hands. It was probably better that way. ‘Place it in
the lead case I've had prepared for it and fasten it shut. It must be covered in shit or something. The box will keep the bloody flies off it.’

  Hayward lifted the dusty white pith helmet off his head and wiped his forehead with a grime-ingrained silk handkerchief. His brother, Henry was sitting on a foldaway canvas chair puffing at an obscenely fat cigar, a desperate attempt at keeping the midges at bay. Henry had never been much fun, not even as a kid. He was always the practical one with unshakeable beliefs and opinions. No wonder he ended up going into politics.

  Pleased at the progress of the operation, he took a cigarette from a silver engraved case and lit it with a flip-top silver engraved lighter, offering one to his brother. ‘Would you like one of mine for later, Henry?’

  A flick of his hand was all Henry could muster. Henry liked the finer things in life, and that was certainly the case when it came to smokes.

  Accustomed to travelling, the brothers had been born in India where their father had served in the Madras Civil Service. But whilst Hayward had become obsessed with travel and exploration, Henry's travelling was largely restricted to official business, and he was far happier travelling first-class.

  Henry blew out another cloud of pungent cigar smoke and nervously twisted his bushy, walrus moustache. ‘I seriously don't like this, you know, old chap,’ he said. ‘All this time and effort for some damned crack-pot nonsense.’

  Hayward's childish attempt to flick the end of his cigarette on to Henry's knee didn't go unnoticed.

  ‘Oh do grow up, Hayward.’

  ‘You may well be Oxford educated, a Knight of the Realm and an esteemed member of Her Majesty's Government, my dear brother, but I sometimes think you lack the brains to piss for yourself. If not for Charles, I have no doubt you'd be stinking of the stuff.’

  Henry frowned.

  Hayward knew his brother was well used to his somewhat coarse manner, but it still gave him pleasure to antagonise him. What could Henry expect from him? Hayward was happiest exploring God-forsaken parts of the world rather than partaking in business and acting like the rest of the so-called gentlemen of British society. He also knew that Henry bitterly regretted telling him about the discovery beneath the Sphinx, but in reality Henry knew he had no other option. After all, there was no one better than Hayward for smuggling antiquities into Britain - he'd had enough practice.

  Now Hayward had become fixated on the damned place. He had tastelessly introduced himself to the opera singer, arriving unannounced and uninvited at the lady's home in Wales within days of receiving the telegram from Henry. To his brother’s surprise Hayward and Adelina had got along like a house on fire.

  As Henry's butler, Charles was the consummate professional. At five foot five and built like a pocket battleship, there seemed to be nothing he couldn't do. He was trusted with everything, and Hayward had grown to respect the man during their time together in Egypt. He had even allowed Charlie to direct the loading of the cargo whilst he sifted through the manifest and Sir Henry busied himself swatting flies. The little buggers were everywhere, millions of the little shits.

  ‘Charlie, old chap,’ pleaded Henry, ‘these infernal flies are a nuisance. Are there any of those incense sticks left?’ Henry smashed his hand down onto another that had landed on his knee.

  Charles White tipped the box upside down to illustrate the lack of contents. ‘Sorry, sir! We’re all out of them. We must have used the last one at dinner.’

  The valet returned to the onerous task of placing the stick-like object into the box prepared for it. The flies actually did look as if they were attracted to it, or something on it, which was invisible to him. White wiped the flies off the object, wrapped it quickly in a large oilcloth, and dropped it into the lead-lined oak box. White was pleased. The flies seemed to lose interest and began moving away.

  Henry took another one of the cigars, ‘Big buggers... confound them,’ he moaned as one of the dislodged critters bit him on the side of his face.

  Hayward smiled, struggling to hide his contempt for his older brother as he bent his head down close to the larger crate and whispered to the contents, ‘At least you won't be bothered by any of the little pests.’

  *

  It had been a couple of months since that night Henry first saw the cursed thing beneath the Sphinx, and now that dreadful object needed to be shifted - urgently.

  Hayward had accompanied Henry to Egypt before, but this expedition had been more of a transportation exercise than a real expedition. He felt the whole trip could have been taken care of by a shipping company rather than have the full attention of a Member of Parliament, but Hayward had insisted the recovery of the cargo to England was in the national interest, and had to be expedited.

  Sir Henry puffed theatrically on his cigar. The monstrosity in the crate could hold no real value for anyone other than a collector of freaks. That was it. It would be at home in a circus of the damned things.

  Hayward leaned over and put his arm around his shoulder, ‘Perhaps after this little adventure you won't be the only prominent member of the Carre family.’

  Shaking his head, Henry wiped his brow, ‘And, may I remind you that you can never be credited for your work here? No one must ever know. Understand?’ He watched his brother’s expression carefully; it had always been difficult to know what went on inside Hayward's head. ‘I'm getting too old for this, Hayward. I'll be happy to see the end of all this nonsense.’

  ‘Nonsense?’ Hayward shook his head theatrically and pointed at the crate. ‘You won't think it nonsense when it takes centre stage at the Museum of Natural History. Or, it might even have its own place in the Tower alongside the Crown jewels, that's how valuable it is.’

  Henry believed he loved his brother, he was family after all, but they had grown apart over the years, although they had never truly been what he would call the best of friends. The fifteen year age difference hadn't helped, and as time passed they just seemed to drift further apart. He saw nothing endearing in Hayward. He was a bore and quite often a cad.

  He fumbled a Cuban cigar from a silver case. His hands were shaking, but he didn’t know why. Many palms had been greased to ensure the shipment passed safely through the ports to Britain, yet he felt strangely faint and sweaty.

  He smiled to himself. He was just spooked, that was all. The thing in the crate was an abomination - anyone having seen it would feel the same way. He lit the fat cigar. No-one made a cigar quite like the Cubans. The thought of those leaves being rolled along the thighs of nubile young girls certainly helped to enhance the quality of the experience, he thought. Lately he had smoked more of the things than the importer could source, and the clouds of smoke seemed to be permanently wafting around his head. The cigar didn't seem to help to keep the flies away though. He swatted another of the little pests and began to relax just a little. The tension in his shoulders had finally begun to ease, and he knew it was because it wouldn't be long now before he could watch the final loading of the crate for the last leg of the journey.

  Thinking back to the last time he had seen the contents of the crate, he couldn't understand the significance of the old pot and the strange contents within. He'd pulled a lot of strings for Adelina and Hayward, and they both owed him - big time. He knew Hayward had little he could give in return for his help, but Hayward's passion for travel and adventure could always be useful. As for the opera singer, her connections with the great and the good were far more impressive than anything he had cultivated during his years in government.

  This trip had been a nightmare; it would all end in tears. He was convinced of that. There was no way that the cargo was anything like that which Hayward had claimed it to be. He had to admit that the strange-looking wooden stick found alongside the monstrosities had been far more intriguing, especially the way it glowed in the dark when touched. That was fascinating. It probably had some sort of value, no doubt the reason why both the British and Russians had been eager to get their hands on it, but Hayward's claims f
or the objects were ridiculous. Yet somehow, he had managed to convince some extremely influential people of the need to acquire the things for Britain. Even the Prime Minister had made a Royal Navy vessel available to provide protection and to help Hayward ship the goods from Egypt to Britain.

  They were all bloody mad.

  The oddly codenamed Nightingale Project was now becoming a hot potato. Since the French, the Russians and the Americans, and a whole multitude of other interested parties, had found out about the cargo, it was seen as imperative that it be moved on to the U.K. at the earliest opportunity, and the responsibility for it all fell once again to good old Henry.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

  Hayward was fussing with the bags and two large personal crates of rifles and equipment he carried everywhere with him for his expeditions.

  Charles was well used to organising the gear and Henry knew he liked to be left alone to get on with it. Henry grinned. Haywood was clearly beginning to test the butler's patience.

  Charlie White handed Hayward a long and narrow wooden box.

  ‘Is that the staff?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Carre. It's packed as instructed.’

  Henry walked over to his sibling. ‘Hayward, old chap. I think we should leave Charlie to get on with what he does so well.’ He winked at his butler who nodded his appreciation. ‘After all, we have a lot to talk about.’

  Reluctantly placing the long thin heavy box on top of the larger crate, Hayward walked along the loading dock with his brother. ‘You know I do genuinely appreciate your support in this matter, Henry.’