by Kevin Ashman
‘Exactly,’ said Montague. ‘The practice of leaving Ushabti in tombs didn’t even start until the time of Mentuhotep II at the earliest. Even I know that, but more importantly, so did the student. As soon as he pointed it out, I knew he was correct and had to apologize and save whatever respect I could.’
‘Mr Montague, I am so sorry,’ said Becky, ‘I have no idea how this happened.’
‘Nor have I,’ said Montague, ‘I checked those Ushabti myself before they left Cairo and I know they are authentic. There is no question about their provenance, so the mistake must be in the labelling, and that, Miss Ryan, is your department. I don’t know what happened, but I want a report on my desk by the end of the day. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’
Becky didn’t answer, but left the office as quickly as she could to make her way down to the vaults. She had given Amy the job of typing up the inscriptions, but there was no reason Becky could possibly imagine why the girl would deliberately type an incorrect label. Despite making no sense, Becky could see no other possibility, especially as Amy was the only other person with access to the specialist digi-printer in her office.
‘Oh well,’ she thought as she reached the office, ‘there’s only one way to find out.’ She opened the door and walked in to confront her young, but trusted assistant.
----
Samari was pleasantly surprised at the flavour of the black tea that he sipped from his cup. He stood in the window, and looked out over the elegant gardens, enjoying the equally surprising sunlight. Perhaps his visit to England wasn’t going to be so bad after all. He had slept well, breakfasted in his room and was now immaculately dressed in a smart suit, waiting for the knock on the door that he knew would come very soon. Sure enough, as he was pouring a second cup of tea, the door knocked and Samari answered it, relieved that he was about to find out what this was all about.
‘Dr Samari,’ said Leatherman, ‘how are you?’ The arrogant Englishman walked into the room and straight past the doctor without offering his hand.
‘I am well,’ said Samari, closing the door, ‘though keen to find out what this is all about. The last time we met wasn’t the most pleasant experience of my life, and if I recall correctly, there was even a threat of violence.’
‘Yes, an unfortunate circumstance that I now regret,’ said Leatherman. ‘The thing is, the situation has changed and we need your services again. Obviously you will be handsomely rewarded, but again, secrecy is of the utmost importance.’
‘And why should I help you?’ asked Samari, ‘You made it clear last time, that my services were no longer required.’
‘I did and that is regretful, but to answer your question, you don’t have to help us. You can leave whenever you want, with no pressure. However, I don’t think you will do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘The very fact that you are here in the first place, tells me otherwise,’ said Leatherman, ‘You want to be part of this project as much as we do.’
Samari sighed. It was true. The implications of this project were so important, he would do anything to be part of the inner circle of those who knew exactly what was going on.
‘Okay,’ he said eventually. ‘Suppose I agree, what is it you would have me do?’
‘All in good time, Doctor,’ said Leatherman. ‘First of all, I think we should familiarize you with your surroundings. Please, come with me.’
Samari grabbed his jacket and followed Leatherman out of the room.
‘So,’ he said, ‘what exactly is this place?’
‘Home for the elderly,’ said Leatherman. ‘One of many that our sponsor runs, but this one is unique, exclusive to the rich and the famous. Totally secluded and away from prying eyes or unwanted attention. It has beautiful gardens, luxurious rooms and qualified medical staff on hand day and night. We have rock stars, politicians, or simply the stinking rich, all of them seeing out their days side by side in the lap of luxury. No expense is spared, but of course, it all comes at a price.’
‘Is this what funds his other activities?’ asked Samari.
‘This and other interests,’ said Leatherman. ‘Let’s just say our sponsor is not short of a bob or two.’
‘Who exactly is our sponsor?’ asked Samari.
‘Really, Doctor,’ answered Leatherman, ‘you know better than to ask that.’
They continued to the rear of the building until they reached a lift in one of the staff corridors.
‘Old service lift,’ said Leatherman, ‘but we have put it to better use.’ He pulled out a single key connected to a chain and unlocked the door. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘you are about to be shown the inner sanctum.’ They entered the lift and pressed the lower of the only two buttons available. The lift lurched downward for a few seconds before lurching to a halt.
‘This way, Doctor,’ said Leatherman, and they walked down a well-lit corridor, stopping before a closed door. ‘Here we are,’ he said, ‘I suggest you suspend belief, for what you are going to see over the next few minutes, will blow your mind.’
----
Becky sat at her desk in her office, while Amy sat opposite, a look of concern on the young girl’s face.
‘Amy,’ began Becky, ‘I want you to think back a few months to when we documented the Ushabti.’
Amy nodded.
‘Do you remember using the digi-printer to write up the descriptions?’
‘I do, it was a Tuesday night. You were going to do it, but you had a dentist appointment the following day, so I came in early and did it for you.’
‘That’s right,’ said Becky, ‘and don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it, but the thing is, one of those inscriptions is seriously wrong and the only person who had the opportunity to print them on the right background is us. Now, I know I didn’t do it, so I have to ask you. Did you allow anyone else down here?’
Amy looked stunned.
‘No, I didn’t,’ she said, ‘and I am quite hurt you would even think that.’
‘Please don’t take this personally, Amy, I’m not accusing you of anything, it’s just that someone put the wrong information on an exhibit and embarrassed the curator. If nobody else came down here, then it must have been one of us, and I know it wasn’t me.’
‘No, I did the typing, Becky, I grant you that, but I only did what you told me to do.’
‘I didn’t tell you to write anything like that, Amy, I asked you to type the transcripts of each artefact as supplied with each one in its own box. Those documents would have been meticulously researched before packaging and sent over here.’
‘And that’s exactly what I did,’ said Amy. ‘I copied each document religiously and placed it alongside each Ushabti so I wouldn’t get mixed up.’
‘Amy,’ said Becky, ‘you can’t have. Those documents were researched and checked by both Montague and my father back in Cairo. There’s no way they would have made a mistake like that. Look, I’m not angry with you; I just need to get to the bottom of this. Did someone put you up to this as some sort of practical joke?’
Amy glared, tight lipped at Becky, and stood up as if to leave the room. Instead, she walked to the filing cabinet and searched for a few seconds before pulling out a file. As she passed the desk, she threw the file on the surface, tears flowing down her face.
‘I can’t believe you think I would do that, Becky,’ she sobbed. ‘You have trusted me from the day I started and I thought we understood each other. I would never do something like that to you. I respect you too much. All the inscriptions are in there, all I did was copy them.’ With that, Amy turned on her heels and ran out of the office crying.
‘Amy,’ called Becky, but the young girl ignored her and ran through the vaults back up to the main museum.
‘Shit,’ cursed Becky to herself, ‘I could have handled that better.’ She picked up the file and pulled out a handful of documents. It took a few minutes to locate the right ones, but she soon had twelve, A4 sheets of clearly typed notes spread
out on her desk. Each one was the same as the other with several lines of description relating to whatever Ushabti they came with. There were dates, descriptions and backgrounds to where each was found and at the bottom of each sheet, were two typed names and two signatures in black ink; Andrew Montague’s and her father’s, David Ryan. She picked up the one regarding the supposed Khufu Ushabti and read the description again. With a sinking feeling, she realized that Amy had been telling the truth, the description was indeed wrong, and yet both men had signed it.
She stared at the document for a long time, bewildered how this could have gotten past not one, but two Egyptologists. It just didn’t make sense. For an age, she stared at the words, the signatures, and the totally ridiculous claims. Finally, she gave up and got herself a drink of water, before sitting back down at her desk. Suddenly, as if it just jumped off the page, she noticed an obvious mistake in the signature of one of the men. She checked all the other eleven signatures before returning to the disputed document and sure enough, there it was, a missing ‘e’ at the end of Montague’s name. She read it again, ‘Andrew Montagu.’
‘What sort of man misspells his own name?’ she thought.
She retrieved a magnifying glass from a drawer and examined both signatures in more detail. Instantly, she could see that the same hand had written both names and when she compared them to the other documents, it was obvious which one was false, Montague’s. Becky stared down in confusion. The document with the wrong information had been signed by her father, and, if she was correct, he had apparently gone on to forge the other man’s signature. It didn’t make any sense. Why would someone as respected as her father go to so much trouble to sign a document that was not only totally rubbish, but obviously so, to anyone with a hint of knowledge about Egypt?
Becky paused as something started making sense in her mind.
It wouldn’t be obvious to everyone, just to someone who knew about Egypt. Someone like her.
‘Oh, my God,’ said Becky out loud. ‘He meant me to see it. This must be the message he said he would send.’ She grabbed the letter and stared hard at the contents, before picking up the phone and dialling a number.
‘Hello, John?’ she said when someone answered.
‘Hi, Becky,’ came the answer, ‘everything okay?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Becky, ‘I know it’s early but I need to see you, I think I found my father’s message. Can you get over here?’
‘Um, sure. Where shall I meet you?’
‘Come to the customer reception and ask for me. I’ll come up to collect you when you arrive.’
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘Give me an hour.’
‘Thanks, John,’ she said, ‘see you then.’ She hung up the phone and looked again at the letter. The more she thought about it, the more she knew she had to be right. There was no way her father would have signed a dodgy description without a good reason and that reason had to be before her very eyes.
Just over an hour later, she met John in the main hall and took him back toward the staff stairwell.
‘Where are we going?’ He asked.
‘Down to my office, why?’
‘Is that okay?’
‘You are still an Egyptologist, John,’ she said, ‘and as such, a perfectly legitimate visitor. If anyone queries your visit, I will tell them I am seeking another opinion.’
As they walked, Becky explained her findings, and by the time, they reached her office, he was fully aware of the situation. She sat at her own desk while John rolled Amy’s chair from the far side of the room.
‘So,’ he said, ‘where is it?’
Becky slid the document across the table top and John read it several times before putting it back down.
‘What do you think?’ asked Becky.
‘I don’t know,’ said John. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Perhaps he wanted to point us in the direction of the pyramids,’ suggested Becky.
‘No, too blunt,’ said John. ‘There’s something else here, I’m not sure what it is, but I agree, I think he’s done this deliberately to tell you something.’
Becky got up and pulled some books from a bookshelf.
‘What are they?’ asked John.
‘Reports on all the kings of the 14th dynasty,’ said Becky, throwing one of the books toward him, ‘come on, start reading. There must be something in here somewhere.’
For the next hour or so, they each pored over the documents, trying to find anything with the remotest link to Cheops or the great pyramid. Finally, Becky pushed the book away from her in frustration.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she said, ‘this is getting us nowhere. If he wanted to send me some sort of hidden message about the pyramids, why link it to an artefact that was never in them in the first place.’
John looked across at her, his eyes widening.
‘Of course,’ he said, leaning back in his chair, ‘how bloody stupid of us. The answer is there all along, staring us right in the face.’
‘Where?’ asked Becky, ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Becky, this hasn’t anything to do with Cheops, the pyramids or anyone else in the 14th dynasty for that matter. Your father sent you a message that he knew you would immediately question, a wrongly labelled Ushabti. The only thing is, you looked in the wrong place. All this time you have been questioning the letter when what you should have been checking is the artefact itself.’
‘The Ushabti?’
‘Yes, the bloody Ushabti. Think about it, he knew the package was coming to you and he must have reckoned that you would be the one who would read the documents. By placing an incorrect description against something you knew about, he was obviously hoping that you would examine the doll, not the letter.’
‘You think so?’
‘One way to find out,’ said John. ‘Where are they?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said, Becky. ‘They were in the display, but I doubt they are there now.’
‘I know where they are,’ said a voice and they both turned to see Amy standing in the doorway.
‘Amy,’ said Becky, ‘I didn’t know you were there. I am so sorry, Amy, I should have known better than to blame you. Please forgive me, I was wrong and I am very, very sorry.’
Amy gave Becky a slight smile.
‘No problem,’ she said before adding, ‘I heard what you were saying, and I know where the Ushabti are. They are upstairs in Montague’s office. He told me to take them up there after the argument with the student.’
‘Shit,’ said Becky. ‘How am I going to get at them now?’
‘I still have a key,’ said Amy, ‘I could let myself in and get them if you like.’
‘No, they will be too heavy for you to carry,’ said John. ‘Anyway, we only need the one. It would be easier if one of us goes up there and see it for ourselves.’
‘Then I will go,’ said Becky, ‘the staff are used to seeing me walking around the place, you will get challenged.’
‘I have a better idea,’ said Amy, ‘I have to take some papers up to him anyway since he has a meeting at twelve. I could hang around up there until he’s gone, let myself in his office and bring the one you need back down here. Nobody would ever know and we could change it back before anyone realizes.’
‘It could work, I suppose,’ said John.
‘Of course, it will,’ said Amy.’
‘I suppose it might,’ said Becky, ‘but why are you offering to do this, Amy, especially after the way I have treated you?’
‘I know you wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t important, Becky,’ said Amy.
‘Oh, Amy,’ said Becky, ‘that’s really kind of you.’ She got out of the chair, walked up to Amy, wrapped her arms around her, and gave her a massive hug. ‘I have been such an idiot.’
‘Okay,’ said Amy pushing her away gently, ‘don’t go on about it, you’re getting embarrassing now.’
Becky smiled; this was the Amy she knew and had become fond of; the self-co
nscious, seventeen year old with a typical teenage attitude.
‘Okay, Amy,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell you what. You do this, but if you are caught, you are to say that you acted on my instructions, is that clear?’
Amy nodded.
‘I mean it, Amy, if anything goes wrong, all you have to do is say that I wanted the Ushabti back for examination and told you to go and get it. Clear?’
‘Crystal,’ said Amy.
‘Okay, you go and borrow the Ushabti and we will wait down here. Be careful, Amy,’ she said.
‘Wish me luck,’ answered Amy and walked out of the office and into the vaults.
‘What now?’ asked Becky.
‘Now we wait,’ said John.
----
Chapter Eleven
Itjawi - 1245 BC
The Caverns of Sekhmet
Ramesses’ mind was racing. He was deep in the caverns of Sekhmet and had just been told that the immortality he craved was outside his reach. He wanted to fall on the frail form of Sekhmet and tear her apart for leading him down this false path, but knew the isolation from his bodyguards put him at risk.
‘You are quiet, Ramesses,’ said Sekhmet ‘yet I see murder in your eyes. Do not strain to conceal such burning emotion, for I read the soul as easy as you read the proclamations of your false prophets. Declare your will, Ramesses, I seek amusement.’
Ramesses stared at her with hate in his eyes and venom in his words.
‘For three seasons I have knelt before you, Sekhmet,’ he growled, ‘ever since the governor of Itjawi made representation to stop you and your sisters slicing through the population like a farmer’s scythe. Each time, you have received sacrifice from me and during my battles, I allowed you to feast on the dead of friend and foe alike. I have stopped the masses from tearing down this place with their bare hands, and all for what. To see you stand there and gloat in your revelation that it has been for nothing. You have belittled me, Sekhmet, played with me as a cat does a mouse.’ He retrieved his blade and held it at his side in a threatening manner. ‘Your soul may be immortal, Sekhmet, but your body is frail. What is to stop me from piercing your black heart with my blade right now and ending this earthly existence?’
