Theodosia and the Last Pharaoh (The Theodosia Series)

by R. L. LaFevers

  Gadji shrugged. "Why else are you going to him?"

  I relaxed slightly. "Right. Exactly so. That is exactly why I visited him."

  He gave me an odd look, then led me back to the house, careful this time to avoid the dark street I'd been so curious about. Which reminded me: I'd forgotten to ask the major about that. Bother.

  My thoughts were in such a tangle that I could hardly manage to put one foot in front of the other. Grindle's revelations haunted me. I was angry with my entire family for keeping such an enormous secret from me. I was also filled with a deep sense of having been cheated by never having met my grandfather. Oh, the conversations we could have had! The things he could have explained to me!

  ***

  Mother wasn't back from her errands yet, and try as I might, I found no signs of Nabir anywhere. That left only Habiba to get around. I had no idea if she'd noticed I was gone or if that was even a part of her duties. Even so, I have learned it is best to tread cautiously.

  Motioning for Gadji to stay back by the road, I crept forward to the window near the kitchen. Satisfied at the sound of crockery and splashing water, I motioned for Gadji to follow. I'd had another corker of an idea on the way home and I couldn't wait to share it with him. "I have a business arrangement for you," I said. Then I took a deep breath and began to tiptoe my way through the proposition. "I will need a guide here in Luxor. Not all the time, because I will be working with Mother mostly. But I have a few, er, side jaunts that I will need to make and would dearly love a guide to show me the way. Someone whom I can trust—and I feel I can trust you."

  "Effendi miss can trust Gadji. Sefu, too," he said.

  "Excellent. Then in exchange for your services as a guide, I can provide you with a place to sleep. Would that be acceptable?"

  Gadji folded his arms across his chest, a shrewd glint in his eyes. "And foods," he said.

  "And food," I agreed. "And you should still have plenty of time to look for your family. Deal?" I held out my hand for him to shake. Instead, Gadji spat on his palm, then, before I could retract my arm, placed his palm against mine and held it in a strange manner—almost as if he meant to arm-wrestle—and gave it a firm squeeze. "Deal," he said.

  "Excellent," I said, trying not to think about what now coated my glove. "Let me show you where you'll sleep." Skulking past the main house, I quickly led him to the unused stable. "Will this work?" I asked, nervous about the old dusty straw and the general abandoned feel of the place.

  "This do very nice," Gadji said, ever cheerful. "Look!" he said. "It even has blanket."

  Honestly, the rag hardly lived up to the word. It was faded, dirty, and moth eaten, but he held it up like a treasure. I felt a horrible twinge of conscience for not being able to offer him the spare bedroom. But I could absolutely do better than that filthy rag. "I'll get you a better blanket," I assured him. "And a few supplies. I'll be right back." I left him clearing the worst of the debris out of the biggest stall and hurried to the house.

  I went first to my room, where Isis was waiting for me. "I'm back," I told her, then went to lift the sandbox, pleased to feel the weight of the tablet still there. "You can go out now." Happy to hear this, she jumped up onto the windowsill and waited patiently for me to open the shutter. When I had done so, she took off like a streak of black lightning for parts unknown.

  I stripped off my gloves, fished a fresh pair from my suitcase, then quickly washed my hands. I snagged an extra blanket from the trunk at the foot of my bed and tried to think what else Gadji might need.

  Water for drinking at least, if not washing. Somehow, I didn't think he performed that last chore very often. Food. And a change of clothes would be nice, but we did not have any extra boy-size robes lying about.

  I went into the supply room and rooted around until I found a canteen. I filled it with water from the pitcher in my room, then set that on my bed next to the blanket and went to find some lunch.

  Habiba was still busy in the kitchen. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn't hear me in the doorway. When I cleared my throat, she jumped nearly a foot.

  "I'm so sorry, Habiba. I didn't mean to startle you."

  She glared at me and her fingers twitched. Either that or she was making the sign of the evil eye. I pretended not to notice and grabbed two figs and a handful of sticky dates (ruining yet another pair of gloves) from a bowl on the table. When Habiba turned back to the stove, I slipped one of the freshly made pieces of flatbread into my pocket.

  Halfway back to the stable, I heard an unholy racket rise up. Now what? I thought, then broke into a run.

  Inside the stable, Isis and Sefu circled each other like two pugilists, growling and hissing. The monkey bared his teeth and erupted with a spate of angry chatter. Isis flicked her tail disdainfully and hissed. Gadji was sucking on his hand.

  "What happened?" I asked Gadji.

  He removed his hand from his mouth and I saw three angry scratches along the back of it. "This black demon of the Underworld fall from the skies and tries to eat my monkey!" he shouted, nearly as worked up as Sefu.

  "I already told you," I explained. "That's my cat."

  This seemed to enrage the monkey even further. He jumped up and down, and his scolding reached earsplitting levels. "Gadji! Make him stop or the racket will bring somebody and we'll be found out."

  Gadji shook his head. "Not want the demon should curse me, effendi miss."

  "Oh, honestly! She's just a cat. Here, watch." I went over to Isis and picked her up, careful to grasp her paws with my gloved hands so she wouldn't shred me to ribbons. In spite of what I'd told Gadji, she had been a bit demonic ever since her unfortunate incident with the cursed Bastet statue back at our museum in London. Her low growl rumbled along my arms, but to my great relief she did not scratch or try to claw her way free. "Relax," I whispered in her ear. "It's only a silly monkey." Louder, I said to Gadji, "Now make yours be quiet."

  His eyes full of newfound respect, he said something to the monkey in Arabic. Sefu shut his mouth with a snap, then scampered up onto Gadji's shoulder. With one last grimace of protest in Isis's direction, he dove under Gadji's robes and settled himself along the boy's back.

  And none too soon. From outside I heard the clop of hooves and raised voices. I held my finger to my lips and went to the stable door to see who—or what—was coming.

  It was Nabir and Mother, both astride donkeys and leading nearly a dozen more. It looked as if our stables were going to be populated after all.

  Mother saw me standing in the doorway and gave a cheerful wave. "Look, darling! We've our own means of transportation! Aren't they dear?"

  "They're lovely!" I called back, trying to sound equally cheerful, even though they had just destroyed my plan for Gadji's lodgings.

  "I hope she is not paying too much for them," Gadji said from behind the doorway where he hid. "They are not so very by Jove as all that."

  I glanced at him. But of course! I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the doorway with me. "How perfect, Mother, for I have found us a donkey boy!"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Necropolis

  THE NEXT MORNING we were up before the sun, wanting to arrive at the Valley of the Kings in the coolest part of the day. I vowed to put all my secret-mission intrigue behind me for now and concentrate on the unspeakable thrill of being on an official excavation team. I was quite sure I was the first eleven-year-old to be in such a position.

  The Valley of the Kings doesn't look like much, truth be told. It is the most barren, dry, desolate collection of sandstone cliffs and ravines imaginable. However, the atmosphere of the place is nearly overwhelming. As we entered the necropolis, the air grew thick with the weight of old souls and lingering mut and akhu, remaining long after the bodies were gone. In spite of the near-blinding glare of the sun, the valley felt dark to me, as if the tunnels that peppered the desolate cliffs reached down to the Underworld itself and allowed the darkness there to seep back up through the earth's cru
st.

  I shivered. Even the lone guard who patrolled the entrance to the valley seemed touched by the dark forces. He was rude and surly and almost wouldn't let us pass.

  Mother kept a sharp lookout for the gentleman who owned the right to dig in the valley. It was highly unusual for us to be allowed back in, but since my parents had laid an earlier claim to the tomb of Thutmose III and had managed to convince the rights-holder that we were there for recording purposes only, the Antiquities Service had allowed the exception.

  The tomb we were looking for was at the very end of the valley. A small crowd of men in black robes and white turbans waited for us at the base of the cliff. There were two Europeans with them. One was a thin whippet of a man, and the other put me more in mind of a bear. A bear who had just very unhappily awakened from his winter hibernation. Mother introduced him as Kazimerz Jadwiga of the Polish Institute. He had a thick brown mustache that drooped mournfully, and his eyes were kind but sad, as if he expected to have his heart broken at least twice before luncheon. I liked him immediately and vowed to think of some way to cheer him up.

  The whippet fellow was Gunter Rumpf of the Berlin Archaeological Society, a pale, intense man who stood extremely erect. He had thin lips and flared nostrils. His hair, which he wore longer than was fashionable, was straight as straw and swept straight back. Instead of offering me his hand as Jadwiga had done, he peered at me over his small gold-rimmed spectacles, as if he did not quite believe what he was seeing. However, before I could decide whether or not to be offended, Mother called us all to work.

  The access to Thutmose Ill's tomb was particularly tricky, as it sat high off the ground, perched atop a cliff between two pillarlike formations of rock. Just looking at the small entrance made my heart beat faster—and not simply due to excitement, although there was plenty of that. I felt some trepidation as well. The last time I had been there, I had come face-to-face with some of the most ruthless Serpents of Chaos in a deadly showdown. Even now, if I half closed my eyes, I could hear von Braggenschnott's cruel laughter echoing out from the tomb's shadowy depths.

  Nonsense. I'd seen von Braggenschnott myself in Maspero's office back in Cairo.

  Unless he'd managed to beat us here. I glanced nervously up at the tomb entrance.

  We settled our donkeys at the base of the cliff and dismounted. The men got busy getting out the tools and equipment we'd need, and soon we were ready to enter Thutmose Ill's burial chamber. Fortunately, I would not be the one who would enter first. That honor was Mother's.

  I watched her climb the crumbling set of steps that had been set into the rock, then cross the last distance on a rickety ladder. Next up was the Polish fellow, Jadwiga. He was such a broad, solid man that I was afraid the ladder would crumble under his weight. He was, too, if the doleful look on his face was any indication. However, the ladder proved to be much stronger than it looked and he made it to the top in one piece.

  When it was my turn, I stepped carefully on the crumbling steps, not wanting to send a shower of scree onto the fellow below me. Although his turban was so thick and padded that I'm not sure he would have felt a thing.

  I had planned ahead this time and brought a pair of Henry's trousers with me to wear under my skirts so I wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing my knickers. It is surprising how much confidence one gains when all one's limbs are thoroughly covered.

  The ladder was downright wobbly and I tried not to think of the hard rock below. There was a bad moment at the top when the ladder didn't quite reach the ledge outside the tomb opening. Much to my relief, Jadwiga was there, holding a hand out to me.

  "Thank you," I said, when I was safely on the cliff ledge.

  "Ja," he said in his glum voice. "Wouldn't want you to tumble to your death before we'd even set foot in the tomb."

  We really had to do something about his dour outlook.

  Mother's men unpacked the electric torches she'd brought and handed them around, and then Mother came over to me and gave me a bright smile. "Are you ready, dear?"

  I smiled back, thrilled to be included as an equal on this dig. "Ready!" She took my hand in hers, then frowned.

  "Tell me you didn't bring that wretched reticule with you."

  "Er, yes," I said, whipping my hand with its heavy weight away and hiding it behind my back. "Still practicing," I said, then ducked around to her other side and grabbed her right hand with my left.

  She sighed and shook her head, as if I was a great trial to her, and then together we approached the mouth of the tomb.

  At the threshold, I felt the ancient magic swirling in the dark, just past the daylight, the pressure of it throbbing against my skin, like the beat of a drum. Or a heart.

  "I love this part," Mum confessed in a whisper. "That moment when we step into the past and all the wonders that it holds."

  Together, we went inside.

  I shuddered violently as the flood of mut and heka washed over me. I took slow, deep breaths and hoped that Mother hadn't noticed.

  "It is a bit chilly in here after the sunlight," Mother said. I looked at her sharply. Did that mean she had actually felt something similar to what I felt but merely dismissed it as a chill? However, she looked thoroughly unperturbed. Drat. For a moment there I had had a flicker of hope that she, too, had an ability to detect curses and black magic, albeit a latent one.

  We proceeded down the corridor to the first stairway. The others followed. I felt as if I were wading through a stream of sinister, shadowy things with power that plucked at my flesh, wanting to find a way in. There was the heavy presence of old souls, pressing down on me, wanting to chase me from this place. My fingers crept up to my throat, where I wore three amulets of protection. As my hand closed around them, the sensation lightened somewhat. I sent a silent plea up to whatever Egyptian gods might be listening to please forgive us for trespassing on their sacred space.

  I gripped the electric torch more tightly, grateful for its solid feel in my hand. If the gods or spirits were watching, I couldn't help but wonder what they might think of such a technological advance. Would they see it as magic, perhaps? My heart gave a tiny leap of excitement. Were electric torches magic? Was science simply magic explained? I grew a little dizzy with the thought.

  A big, thick hand reached out and grabbed my arm, jerking me back. I looked around to find Jadwiga shaking his massive head at me. "Be careful, ja? You are too young to tumble to your death."

  I glanced back to see that I had nearly plowed right into the ritual shaft, a gaping hole that spanned for yards, then plunged downward for who knew how far. Perhaps right down to the Underworld itself. "Thank you, Mr. Jadwiga," I said, vowing to keep my mind on matters at hand and not on philosophical questions.

  When we reached the vestibule, Jadwiga and Rumpf gave murmurs of exclamation and hurried to examine the walls. As they marveled over the entire text of the Book of the Dead painted there, I took the opportunity to try to acclimate myself to the thick sea of magic that filled the room, rushing up against me in waves. I'd had no idea how much the powerful Heart of Egypt had protected me during my first visit. Trying not to think about all the corrosive magic swirling about, I concentrated on Mother's voice as she described for Jadwiga and Rumpf how Father had found Thutmose Ill's tomb back in 1899 when Loretti had been in charge of the Antiquities Service and how Loretti had claimed the find for himself. (She managed to keep her bitterness to a minimum, which I thought quite sporting of her.) As we proceeded into the main burial chamber, she continued with the story of how Father had deciphered some texts that led him to believe that Thutmose's war minister, Amenemhab, had been buried near Thutmose himself.

  "I still say that makes no sense," Rumpf said. "Amenemhab is most likely buried in the Valley of the Nobles with the other high officials."

  "I do admit that it is inconsistent with other pharaonic burial practices," Mother said. "But Mr. Throckmorton's research did bear rich fruit, even if we haven't deciphered what it all means yet. Th
at is why we are here, gentlemen. We have come across further translations that indicate our initial understanding of the situation may have been incorrect. This was further highlighted when our daughter located a secret annex last year that we have yet to explore in depth. Which leads us to today's expedition."

  Interesting, I thought, that she did not tell them we were looking for indications of a possible location for a temple dedicated to Thutmose or Mantu, the god of war. Did she not fully trust them, I wondered? Or was she simply hesitant to put forward such a theory only to be proved wrong?

  Mother led the way into the main burial chamber, with Jadwiga and Rumpf hard on her heels, eager to see what new wonders awaited them. As I crossed the portal into the burial chamber, a loud rustling whooshed by me, as if an entire flock of pigeons had taken flight nearby.

  But of course, it wasn't pigeons; it was all the invocations and curses and blessings laid down by priests thousands of years ago to watch over the dead pharaoh. With luck, perhaps they would recognize me from my previous visit and remember that I bade them no ill, nor had any thieving plans for the items they were preserving for the pharaoh in the afterlife.

  The workers put their equipment down in the main burial chamber and began setting up for operations. Jadwiga and Rumpf began exploring the room, their excitement clear. Honestly, they were like children in a sweetshop!

  And I couldn't blame them. Even though I had been here once before, my heart beat faster and I felt tingly all over. Four thousand years ago, ancient Egyptians had worked in here, creating these carvings and fashioning this majestic sarcophagus. I held myself very still and closed my eyes, wondering if perhaps I could hear the echo of their ancient voices, feel the scrape of their ancient tools. Then I remembered the sliver of brick in my pocket. I hesitated, then thrust my hand into the pocket and closed my fingers around the brick.

  My ears popped, as if I had just yawned, and the whispering voices altered slightly. If I listened carefully, I could just make out the words.