The Khamsin Curse

by Anna Lord

  She nodded in the affirmative while he polished off his gin and tonic.

  “Well, I’m not surprised he prefers you as a partner. You are much easier on the eye than Mr Sherlock Holmes. You realise it should be me interrogating you. Do you mind telling me where you spent the night and what time you returned to the Sekhmet?”

  She tried not to bristle at the mockery he made of his high office, nor the facetious tone, but two could play at that game. “I spent the night with Colonel Moriarty. We hunkered down inside the Temple of Imhotep. He provided great comfort for which I was immensely thankful. Heroic men bring out my grateful side. I did not return to the Sekhmet until midday or thereabouts.”

  He seemed taken aback by her impropriety. “I, er, I understand that you were with Mr Longshanks, Colonel Moran, and Colonel Moriarty when the stretcher bearers arrived to retrieve the bodies. What did you make of the two deaths?”

  “Why anyone would want to murder our generous American host and a noted British Egyptologist is a true mystery worthy of the great London detective. My esteemed colleague will have to solve this case on his own.”

  If he noticed that she failed to answer the question, he did not show it. And because she didn’t want to know what he would make of her next evasive answer, she circumvented the question by leaving him to his next gin and tonic, unsure whether he was a true dipsomaniac or merely feigning drunkenness to divert suspicion from something more sinister.

  She had much to cogitate.

  Dinner was a quiet affair. Conversation was stilted and awkward. Any attempt to jolly-up would have rung false so no one tried. Everyone retired early. Gideon Longshanks did not return to the Sekhmet until almost midnight. Fedir alerted her as to the major’s return. She immediately threw on a white and gold Morocaine kaftan and went to his cabin. The door was unlocked.

  18

  Against The Gods

  “Unless you’re planning to shoot yourself in the foot,” she quipped, borrowing Jim’s phrase, “you can re-house your weapon.”

  What was it about men and guns? He was poised behind the door. The Smith & Wesson was cocked. Jim had once greeted her in like manner when she paid him a visit in the middle of the night. Quietly, she closed the door.

  The room was in darkness. The smell of a burning candle, recently extinguished, tickled the senses. She could just make out his shadowy outline as he climbed into bed.

  “I won’t relight the candle,” he whispered gruffly, shoving the gun under his pillow. “I’m naked and I’m about to go to sleep. I hope what you’ve got to say is important. Go ahead and make it quick.”

  Restless, and with her heart beating faster than normal for someone who should have been on the verge of slumber, she paced the end of the bed because it was the only piece of furniture she could make out with any certainty and she didn’t want to trip over his clothes or shoes or anything else he may have dropped as he scrambled for cover.

  “Ursula Graf had some interesting news to impart this afternoon.” She explained about the secret tomb. He made several guttural sounds that told her he hadn’t yet fallen asleep. “What I cannot reconcile is why she told me.”

  He sat up and fumbled for a cigarette and some lucifers. “You think she and her uncle murdered Lee and Mallisham so they could take over the tomb?”

  The lucifer created a spark that briefly limned him in gold. The end of the cigarette glowed red. He didn’t offer one to her.

  “Yes, it would make perfect sense.” She explained her theory about the helpless voices and the burqas and Miss Clooney being an accomplice.

  “Did you check if they still have their burqas?”

  She kicked herself, and not because it was dark. “No. I can do that tomorrow. Did you get approval for the post mortem?”

  “Yes. We can take the Sekhmet across to the construction site. There’s a large jetty large where we can moor for a few days. The British surgeon, Dr Bell, agreed to perform the post mortem and he’s pleased for Dr Watson to assist. How’s Miss Lee?”

  “She’s coping with the aid of opium twists.” She refrained from telling him that she inadvertently let slip the deaths were murders which was news which had somehow been kept from Hypatia until she blurted it out.

  “Where did she get the opium from?”

  She kicked herself a second time. “I presume she brought it with her. She had the twists in a Limoges candy bowl shaped like a seashell.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have an eye for useless detail?”

  “Dr Watson may have mentioned it once or twice but I live by the adage: Nothing is important; everything is significant.”

  He shook his head and exhaled at the same time. “Is there anything else significant that I should know about?”

  She told him about Lorna Baxter. “I was fairly sure she was the courier passing on military information via secret codes but the kilim rug and the papyrus scroll are nothing more than recompense for wandering hands. I’m going to help her find decent employment when all this is over.”

  He flicked a finger of ash into an empty water glass. “Mallisham might be dead but I wouldn’t rule him out. Didn’t you say he had papyrus scrolls in his suitcase?”

  “Yes, but they were just covered with odd scribbles. Remember the ancient Ma’at prayer which Daisy copied out for the party. I think they were related to that. He might have been trying to get the ink just right or working out the size of the lettering so the prayer would fit on the page.”

  “Has Hayter been following the two murders up this afternoon or getting stuck into the gin again?”

  “Need you ask?” she gibed before switching to serious. “Although, Dr Watson said he saw Hayter pour his gin into the potted palm in the saloon the morning after the birthday party. We began to speculate if Hayter might be play-acting the drunk to cover up for something else.”

  “Such as?”

  “Being a double agent.”

  “That’s not as daft as it sounds. The best double agents are the ones you never suspect. You’ve ruled out Moran?”

  “Yes, I think even Dr Watson has secretly conceded it cannot be Moran. You might find this fact interesting. It was Sharif who organized the servants for the party. I’m wondering if he also organized the crocodiles?”

  “To scare us off the island?”

  “Yes. Have you met him?”

  “Yes. The three engineers are impressed with his work and he’s highly respected by the workforce. By the way, Jim took care of the crocodiles. The Kiosk is clear. If any stories surface we’ll know they came from Ali Pasha.”

  “I want to speak to Ali Pasha about the tomb.”

  “It’s too dangerous. Stay clear of him.”

  “Where is he staying?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “If you don’t tell me I shall find out from someone else.”

  He flicked more ash into the water glass. “Are you forgetting Kom Ombo?”

  “I’m not forgetting anything.”

  “Then stay clear.”

  “If you won’t tell me then I’ll ask Jim.”

  He tossed his cigarette into the glass. A bit of water at the bottom made it sizzle. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow. Goodnight.”

  She turned to go. “You didn’t notice what I’m wearing?”

  “I have an eye for detail too and I know what’s significant. The Morocaine kaftan looks fetching. Is that what you’re fishing for?”

  Impulsively, she marched to the side of the bed and cupped his vitals through the blanket.

  “What are you doing now?” he said.

  “I’m checking to see if you’re pleased to see me.”

  “Satisfied?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then kiss me goodnight and go to bed. We can talk about Agilkia Island and Jim tomorrow.”

  Smiling happily, she kissed him and pretended she didn’t hear the expletive that followed her as she tip-toed back to her cabin.

  “This is how it must hav
e been in the days of the Pharaohs,” declared Dr Watson, gazing at the construction camp and the workers who toiled like ants under a hot sun. He was finally getting a chance to see first-hand how the construction of the Lower Aswan Dam was going.

  It was only the beginning of the new century but he doubted there would be anything to rival a gravity buttress dam of such magnitude. He had seen Telford’s Aqueduct and Paxton’s Crystal Palace and the Thames Embankment, but this construction surpassed them all. It was an engineering marvel! He felt an immense sense of sadness that Jefferson Lee was not here in person to witness it with him as the Sekhmet steered toward the eastern shore of the Nile.

  “And yet the Pharaohs would be amazed,” returned his travelling companion, training her sights further to the east where the Irish Guards had set up camp, scanning for a heroic figure striding among the small tent city, “that this construction should be for the benefit of the many and not just the one.”

  “Most of the people can see the benefit,” added Gideon, following her line of gaze, “but there are many who think it goes against the gods. They don’t like change. In fact, they fear it. To tamper with the flow of the Nile River and the annual flood is tantamount to tampering with the gods of creation.”

  Dr Watson, Countess Volodymyrovna and Gideon Longshanks were standing at the guard rail talking quietly together.

  “Did you have a chance to speak to the other female guests about their burqas?” asked Gideon.

  She shook her head. “I decided at breakfast that any questions would look suspicious so Xenia and Fedir will search their cabins while we inspect the dam.”

  “What about Hypatia Lee?” checked the doctor. “Will she be joining us?”

  “Yes, Xenia informed me that her lady’s maid was pressing a muslin dress in preparation for her mistress going ashore.” She turned to Gideon. “I suspect a lucrative offer of employment may be coming your way soon – something akin to advocate-on-world-affairs. The offer may come with fringe benefits that will be difficult to turn down.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll have to pretend to think long and hard about it. But changing the subject. Do either of you think the crocodile incident could be linked to the murders?”

  Dr Watson tucked back a smile and tried to concentrate. “Do you mean – was it perpetrated by a homicidal maniac in the hope of killing as many of us as possible prior to the double murder or was it designed to get us to flee in all directions from the Kiosk so the double murder could take place?”

  Gideon gave a philosophical shrug. “Either-or.”

  “The former seems more likely. The incident was not merely designed to scare us off the island – I don’t go with that theory - but to kill us off. None of us would have survived that attack without the two well-armed colonels. It helped that they were both crack shots and fearless. Anything less and we were done for. Anyone who survived a mauling would simply have bled to death by morning. As for the latter, it strikes me as unlikely. The murderer couldn’t possibly know who would and wouldn’t flee.”

  “I agree,” said the Countess, looking past the doctor’s shoulder. “Here comes Colonel Hayter. I’m not in the mood for his dithering this morning.”

  “I’ll head him off.” Dr Watson went quickly to meet his old chum.

  She turned back to Gideon. “I don’t think the murderer would have gone to the effort of staging the scene in the two chambers for nought. That makes no sense. The crocodile attack cannot be related to the Pashtun-style murders any more than the arrival of the Khamsin. The windstorm provided convenient cover but so would nightfall. The two men could have been lured to the site by any number of imaginative means once we all set off to return to the Sekhmet. The crocodile incident actually worked against the staging of the murders. It could have ruined everything. The murders must have been carried out by someone on the island or someone who had contact with someone on the island.”

  “You’re thinking of Ali Pasha?” said Gideon.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you still determined to pay him a visit on Agilkia Island?”

  “Yes.”

  Gideon angled his substantial shoulders due east; his baritone dropped to a lower decibel, dry, hoarse and slightly harsh. “Then take Jim with you. Dr Watson will be busy with the post mortems and I will be busy trying to get to the bottom of the latest sabotage. Make sure you tell Jim what’s at stake so he’s on his guard. Your arrival on Agilkia could invite a repeat of Kom Ombo, especially once you start asking uncomfortable questions. There are plenty of spare boats at the construction site but you should hire a felucca. That way you can make it seem as if you and Jim are having a private romantic assignation before he departs for Khartoum. Ali Pasha will be less suspicious and he won’t have time to prepare for your arrival. If Jim hasn’t already swapped the red and black military duds for desert khaki, he should do it before you set off in the felucca. Here comes Miss Lee. I’ll go and deliver commiserations. Go back to your cabin and stay there. After we all depart for the dam you disembark and head off in the opposite direction.”

  By the time he finished instructing her on how to go about things the tone was pragmatic, but she intuited it cost him an effort to remain detached. He had grown up poor but proud. Pride was all he had to cling to during the bleak years when his mother died of shame and his father gambled away what little was left of four hundred years of aristocratic acquisition before taking his own life. He would not sacrifice pride on the altar of romantic fantasy. Either she chose him or she chose Jim. He would not stoop to beg.

  Rumour flared the moment the Sekhmet docked. The crew members who came to collect the dead bodies noted that the bodies were clothed and appeared to have suffered no wounds or injuries. It fuelled superstitious fears.

  What’s more, the costume party had already set tongues wagging. Men shared strange stories about the party in the Kiosk on the night of the Khamsin. Several of them knew someone who knew someone who had been hired as a servant to help prepare for the party and they knew that all the servants had departed suddenly midway through the evening. Some people put it down to the storm; some put it down to other things. Words such as orgy and human sacrifice were breathlessly whispered.

  And then the baby crocodiles started appearing. Workers swore they saw several dead crocodiles floating downstream. Farmers found dead crocodiles in the reeds. Words such as: plague and curse began to circulate.

  By the time the group from the Sekhmet stepped onto the mainland an ominous silence fell over the construction site and most of the men downed their tools. Sharif tried to bully the men back to work but once superstitious fear takes hold nothing can move it short of some supernatural miracle.

  The Countess stepped pedetentously down the wobbly gangway with the aid of her manservant, then made a beeline for the army encampment.

  Colonel Moriarty had been watching the Sekhmet moor for the last ten minutes. Briskly, he marched forward to meet her wearing an arrogant smile that lost its cocky edge when it became clear she had not come all this way to grant a man going off to war his most fervent wish. Fedir, sensing she was in safe hands, went back to the ship to help his sister search the female cabins.

  “I hope it’s not another favour you’re seeking,” Jim quipped in that disarming, charming way he had, employing a bit of Irish blarney to hide his disappointment. “My men are still recovering from the last one.”

  “As a matter of fact,” she said, “it is another favour I am in need of.”

  He almost groaned.

  “I need someone to ferry me out to Agilkia Island.” She indicated the smallest of the four islands, closest to the shore, which looked like a stack of rounded boulders protruding from the water. “I thought you might commandeer a felucca and escort me.”

  His eyebrows registered something more to his liking. The island was practically deserted and the day was dripping sunshine like liquid gold. She was looking radiant in an exotic white and gold ensemble; her hair plaited and c
oiled in a coronet that reminded him she hailed from an eastern kingdom that the Irish Book of Conquests put as the birthplace of the Celts.

  “There may be some unpleasantness,” she continued, “Gideon issued strict instructions for me to warn you to be on your guard.”

  He recalled the pit of dead reptiles and felt a cold chill. “What sort of unpleasantness?”

  “The deadly sort. I want to speak to a man called Ali Pasha. He’s an antiquities trader. It was his houseboy who almost killed Gideon in Kom Ombo. For a houseboy he was a skilled gladiator and handy with a scimitar.”

  He felt instantly relieved. Scimitars were friendlier than crocodiles. “I can organize for a couple of my men to sail the felucca.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to arouse suspicion. You and I need to look as if we are enjoying a last minute romantic tryst before you go off to war. That was Gideon’s idea, by the way.”

  “I can thank him later. In the meantime, my men can wear jellabiyas. Duffy can handle a felucca like a genuine Arab and Brian is small enough to pass for a boy.”

  “Very well,” she said, checking his dusty, desert, combat clothes. “Go as you are. Don’t change into the red and black. It will be too conspicuous. We don’t want Ali Pasha to prepare a greeting party.”

  This favour was slowly decreasing in pleasantness. Instinct told him to organize for a few extra men in jellabiyas to take to the water in feluccas and just sail lazily around the island in the event things turned gladiatorial in the Roman Coliseum sense. “You can wait in my tent while I organize the felucca,” he said, offering an arm to help her navigate the uneven terrain in dainty white and gold shoes.

  As she swapped her lacy parasol for the other hand and put her arm through his elbow he wondered what had got into his rival. Had Nash finally conceded defeat? Had she made her choice and told Nash he stood no chance? Nash might be miles ahead in looks but women were a different breed to men. Good looks didn’t count as much with them. They wanted wealth first, except for the ones who already had enough for several lifetimes. They wanted status and a title, expect for the ones who already had that too. They wanted…what?