Curious, I started toward the next shaft. Kinkaid lowered his lantern and pointed to several wood planks along the ground.
“Be very careful, Mrs. Stayton. I can’t have my benefactor injured.”
After the echo of laughter that I had not joined in on passed, I asked, “What’s that?”
“A booby-trap!” said Wilma.
The professor elaborated, “A vertical shaft was created for two reasons. One, as a sort of storm drain. The Valley of Kings is typically dry, but when the rain hits, there can be flooding. So, if there was a downpour that made its way past the entrance, the water would wash out into the pit below rather than run into the burial chamber …”
“But the tomb’s entrance was all sealed; how could water get past all that rock?” asked Lucy.
“The Royal Tombs weren’t always covered with earth. The entrances were gated off; officials could enter the tombs and inspect them. Guards patrolled the valley, and priests made their way about, tending to the everlasting souls of their once-living gods.”
“Alec, such blasphemy on the Lord’s day, for shame,” scolded Wilma, before she turned to me and said, “The real reason for the pits was to catch tomb robbers. The dirty thieves would fall down and break their necks.”
This notion seemed to please the woman.
“Well, that too. This shaft is only about eight feet, so perhaps a leg, but I doubt any necks were broken here,” remarked Kinkaid.
With much care, we tramped across the wood planks and into the next shaft. As we had been told, the rock was nearly bare of adornment. A few outlines of baboons and palm trees graced the very start, but that was all. The farther we descended the shaft, the rougher the stone became.
“Watch your head,” warned the professor.
As short as I am, I had to duck to enter the final chamber.
Lucy gave a little gasp at the sad sight. What must have been a beautiful sarcophagus lay in rubble in the middle of the bleak chamber. The lid was split into two large parts, at the waistline, while the lower portion of the alabaster casket looked to be broken into five or six pieces.
Damaged or not, the lid of the casket was marvelous. Lucy and I knelt down and brought my lantern very close to the carved face.
“How very beautiful,” I said, almost in a whisper.
“The ancient artists always depicted the pharaohs as youthful.”
“Yes.” I paused. “Of course, the sarcophagus might have been intended for someone else, someone who was young.”
“Come again?” said Lucy.
I spoke before the professor could. “It was a common practice to usurp the intended grave goods of others still living if the pharaoh died unexpectedly.”
“Very good, Mrs. Stayton. You have done your homework,” said the professor.
“Indeed, I have, Professor,” I remarked as I ran a gloved finger over the rounded chin of the alabaster face.
Chapter Six
I took a deep breath of fresh, dry air once we emerged from the tomb. I was glad to have laid eyes on the place, but I was relieved to be out of the sad crypt. I envied no god-king whose soul was sheltered within a cave; this seemed to me an eternal prison. My soul belonged to the precincts of Heaven, in the presence of the Lord and my dear Xavier.
Lucy patted the dust from her pocketed vest and brushed off some dirt on her wool skirt before asking, “Where is Sandy?”
“Here I am, Ms. Wallace.”
We turned to see him leading a tall native in our direction.
Professor Kinkaid charged forward and took over the introductions. “Ah, Mrs. Stayton, Ms. Wallace, this is our foreman, Hat Tem.
The tall fellow, wearing a gaily colored kaftan, smiled and gave us a bow. The man spoke slowly in a deep voice with a thrilling accent, “It is my honor to meet the esteemed lady and her friend.”
Hat Tem was unexpectedly handsome. He had strong cheekbones, a cleft chin, large, dark almond-shaped eyes, and his dark complexion was most exotic.
Lucy tittered, and I think I gave him a curtsy. Speaking at the same time, we both greeted him like schoolgirls meeting some sort of dignitary.
Dr. Smith gave an odd snort and said wryly, “Hat Tem has that effect on the ladies.”
Kinkaid’s brow rose, but the fixed smile remained on his face. “I don’t know what we’d do without him. I owe my success to this man.”
Hat Tem’s smile was not at all humble as he thanked the professor for the kind words. The foreman said something to us in his native tongue, bowed his head, and went back in the direction of the workers.
“What did he say?” I asked our dragoman.
“Oh, some sort of blessing, all that stuff about Allah and such.” He chuckled and added, “Who can say, really?”
It struck me that perhaps Sandy’s typical client was not as inquisitive as I.
As we walked over to the work stations, where dusty items were being sorted, the professor lowered his voice and said, “I received a wire last night, after you and Ms. Wallace retired. The Egyptian Royal Railroad still hasn’t found a clue about where the mummy ended up.”
I nodded my chin, but kept my opinion—that the mummy went missing before the casket was placed on the train--to myself.
“The shock of Kamose being missing from the mummy case nearly caused her mother-in-law to faint,” Lucy remarked.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this all has happened,” said the professor in an almost scripted manner.
“My mother-in-law rather enjoys a good swoon from time to time,” I said as a jest, and then, pouncing, I suggested, “I am sure that you are far more concerned with what has become of Percy Huston, rather than an individual who left our mortal plane three thousand years ago.”
Kinkaid stuttered for a moment—he had not rehearsed a response to my comment. Rather, it was Wilma who spoke up. “Percy! I wouldn’t give much care to where he went off to, that is, unless he owed against his wages. That young man was in debt to everyone he knew.”
Dr. Smith’s hand fell on his wife’s shoulder, again. “Now, Wilma …”
“Well, it is true,” she scoffed.
Kinkaid forced a smile and said, “You see, Mrs. Stayton, Percy was a bit of a character.”
I flashed a smile to Wilma. “I suppose not the sort of character who attended your church services.”
Rather than risk another chiding by her husband, she tapped a pudgy finger to her nose.
The professor went on, “He was a skilled photographer, and very handy around here, eager to pitch in and help. However, when he wasn’t working, he often got himself into mischief.”
I was surprised that Wilma did not chime in, but then I noticed her grimacing, and it appeared that her husband’s fingers were digging into her shoulder.
Why, I could not tell, but I was sure that Kinkaid knew that he was pitching a lie when he said, “Besides, I’m not sure it’s apt to say Percy is even missing. His work was done; he’d taken photographs of every artifact we’d found. As they say, he was closing up shop.”
“But wasn’t it you who told Mr. Farber that Percy was missing?” I asked, in my most innocent tone.
The professor’s smile was really quite insincere when he responded, “Perhaps that was Mr. Farber’s translation, but what I told him was that Percy Huston was gone. Missing and gone are two different things.”
I nodded my chin and retorted, “How right you are, Professor; missing sounds somewhat temporary, and gone strikes one as rather permanent.”
Kinkaid’s smile disintegrated.
Dr. Smith rapidly interjected, “Percy mentioned to me some matter of pressing business—”
Wilma interrupted, “With a Dutchman—”
Dr. Smith’s hand reappeared on his wife’s shoulder, as he cut into her statement. “I’m not so sure he was Dutch, nonetheless, Percy was eager to be on his way. I believe he had another job lined up.”
“I see,” was my only reply.
The sound of Jac
ob Saunders’s voice echoed through the small valley from the direction of the work tent. “Well, is church over?”
With that, we all smiled politely at each other. Free of her husband’s grip, poor Wilma rubbed her shoulder for a moment while the professor suggested I inspect the artifacts that had been found.
Lucy fanned herself while I carefully took hold of the ushabti that Jacob was thrusting in my direction. “Here, see where the hieroglyphics have been scraped off?”
The stone figure resembled a small mummy. While the face was expertly carved, and the body smooth and polished, the chest was rough and scratched.
“Yes, I see.”
The flap of the tent opened, and for a moment, the sunlight blinded me.
“Sorry, it’s a bit bright, isn’t it?” said Arthur Fox, as he timidly stepped inside and joined us.
Jacob ignored the journalist as if he were a younger sibling, greedy for his parents’ attention, and said, “This is just one of twenty or so of the ushabti that were placed in Kamose’s tomb.”
Kinkaid said in a whisper, “Each one represents a servant who would help the king in the afterlife. They all had unique duties.”
I nodded my chin, and Jacob went on, “Kamose was buried in such haste that few of these bear his name. Instead, they scratched out the names of whomever they had been made for …”
Arthur gave a harrumph as he tucked the notebook he’d retrieved from the table under his arm. Before he made his way back to the entrance of the tent, I said, “The Egyptians made a practice of this, did they not, Mr. Fox?”
Hesitantly, the journalist turned back toward us. “Well, yes, yes, they did, Mrs. Stayton.”
“I learned about that in your article on Queen Hatshepsut in The Science and Archeology Chronicle Quarterly,” I remarked.
There was just a waver of a smile on the small man’s face. “Yes, virtually everything ever produced in the queen’s name was usurped.”
I tipped the artifact in my hand upward. “Then perhaps even this ushabti might have been hers.”
Arthur crossed the small space and looked closely at the figure. He was about to speak when Jacob remarked, “Doubtful. Kamose lived and died a hundred years after the power-hungry queen regent went on her building frenzy.” The young Egyptologist pulled the object from my hands with undue force, and then flashed me a great smile. “No, I suspect this belonged to one of Kamose’s ministers.”
Kinkaid agreed with his protégé. “Quite. When old Kamose died, everyone had to pitch in and fill his tomb.”
Lucy gave a little chuckle and said, “Sounds quite the team effort.”
Watching the two Egyptologists, I suggested, “More of a church jumble sale, would you not say, Mrs. Smith?”
The pudgy woman let out a surprisingly devilish laugh.
I noticed Kinkaid and Jacob exchanged an odd glance in the lengthy moment it took either of them to say something agreeable.
“Please, do pardon me,” said Arthur before slipping away.
Kinkaid seemed not to notice the journalist’s departure as he said, “You’ll be most impressed with these, Mrs. Stayton.”
A delicate pair of leather sandals decorated with gold beads was placed on the table before me.
“Oh, yes, these are quite nice,” I remarked, in awe of the ancient footwear.
Lucy asked, “The hieroglyphics on them, is that what Kamose’s name looks like?”
Jacob traced his finger over the symbols. “We call him by a name, as if he were a European monarch, but his people had a variety of titles for him, god-like titles—yes, Mrs. Smith, I know that today is the Sabbath!—they would call him, Son of Ra, Ruler of the Nile, Beloved of Amun, and the like.”
“How very interesting, Mr. Saunders,” I remarked, as this time, Lucy and I exchanged glances. It seemed by his tone of voice, when directed toward Wilma, the young Egyptologist had a rather short temper.
The Smiths excused themselves, and after Lucy and I were shown a few more fantastic artifacts, the professor remarked, “The air is getting a little thick in here, isn’t it?”
This was the professor’s subtle hint for us to leave. Jacob politely commented that he had more work to do, so Lucy and I allowed ourselves to be led out of the tent.
Stepping out into the brilliant light, I shaded my eyes. Almost under his breath, Kinkaid said, “Wilma gets on Jacob’s nerves; he usually doesn’t fly off the handle like that.”
The man wanted me to say something agreeable; instead, I just looked at him. Kinkaid gave a shrug and said, “Frankly, Mrs. Stayton, we are all a bundle of nerves right now, and well … well, your presence has us all concerned.”
I tried to smile sweetly as I asked, “Why is that, Professor?”
“Obviously, the disappearance of Kamose’s mummy is unacceptable, but it seems you are here to blame someone for Percy Huston’s …” Words failed him.
“Disappearance?” I nudged.
“That’s just it, Mrs. Stayton, just because he’s gone doesn’t mean he’s disappeared,” pleaded Kinkaid.
I gave the man a shrug. “Then if nothing sinister has occurred, why does my presence concern you?”
He fumbled for words for just a moment and then blurted out, “We’ve read about you in the papers: a woman bludgeoned to death, a butler sent to the gallows, a Russian countess strangled, a famous woman leaps into the Atlantic … you seem to leave a wake of disaster. Even your husband’s demise is shrouded in mystery; one story goes that he was eaten by giant fire ants, another that he fell off of Mount Fuji!”
I noticed that Lucy took a step back as I moved a step closer to the professor. “Come to your point.”
“No one wants you here. They are afraid of you, more afraid of you than any mummy’s curse.” Kinkaid’s brow was dripping with sweat as he spoke.
“I see.” Reaching into one of my vest pockets, I retrieved my little silver snuff case.
“Percy is gone, and truth be told, the one person who should know anything about it is right there,” hissed the professor.
I looked across the valley to the where Kinkaid’s shaking finger pointed. “Sandy?” I remarked incredulously.
“Sandy, Percy, and Onslow Farber, they all grew up together, old friends and all that. That’s why Farber stuck Percy with us, and Sandy was always popping up from time to time.” Kinkaid’s manner concerned me; was he paranoid, genuine, or attempting to set me down the wrong course?
The nervous fellow leaned into me, as if his voice might carry to where Sandy stood speaking to the foreman. “We started off, you know, just Martha, Jacob, the Smiths, and Hat Tem. After we found the tomb, you hired Fox, an odd, unsociable chap, and Farber sent Percy. Things changed.”
It was true, Mr. Farber had arranged for Percy to join the team, and he’d referred to the photographer as someone he could trust.
“How so?” I asked.
Kinkaid’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. After his eyes darted about, he said, “Percy had his own agenda, and I’ll thank you to leave it at that. He’s gone, and it is of no concern to me. I cannot fathom why it is a concern for you?”
“Percy Huston was under my employment, and his welfare is my responsibility …”
“Then look to the ugly vices that Percy was so drawn to. You won’t find alcohol or gambling here in the desert, Mrs. Stayton. Root around in the shadows of Luxor, and with Sandy lurking at your side, good luck to you.”
I shook my head. “Professor, first you tell me that there has been no foul play, and then you cast suspicions.”
“You see, Mrs. Stayton, that is just the sort of effect you have on people.” Rather awkwardly, the man stormed off toward the tomb; his haste did not go unnoticed by our dragoman.
Sandy, waving his hat before his face, called out, “Are you ladies ready to return to the land of the living?”
I had no interest in finding Lucy and myself abandoned in the desert by an offended dragoman and the rickshaw drivers that only he could comm
unicate with, so I waited until we were inside the large American sedan before asking, “Sandy, I understand that you and Percy Huston are friends.”
His chuckle sounded quite unperturbed. “Friends might be a stretch. Onslow and I are old friends, and Percy and Onslow are old friends, thus Percy and I are acquainted.”
I noticed that Lucy’s brow raised just as Sandy used the word are rather than were. She asked, in her most innocent voice, “Onslow Farber, how do you know him?”
Sandy let out a long sigh. “Our mothers called one another cousins, but I don’t think they were so closely related. When I was young, quite young, my family spent some time every year at a country house. Onslow’s did the same. Everyone referred to us as cousins, and we got on just fine. Onslow was always a bit bookish, and it was up to me to drag him to the lake, take him for walks, and the like.
“We’ve kept up after all these years, but it isn’t the same; you know how that is. A hasty but friendly letter now and then. As of late, I’ve been more of a lackey for him.”
Lucy asked the natural question, “How is that?”
“Since old Percy arrived, Onslow’s sent me telegrams asking me to trek out to the tomb and ask Percy why he hasn’t responded to the telegrams that Onslow has been sending him; damn ridiculous, wouldn’t you say?”
“I wouldn’t have put it that way in front of Mrs. Smith!” Lucy retorted.
“True, quite true. I had better watch my heathen’s tongue,” agreed Sandy.
I put my words together carefully. “You understood that we had come all this way on a quest to learn what became of Percy; why didn’t you mention that you know him as well as you do?”
Sandy made no chuckle; he shrugged and replied, “Onslow made it clear that you were some sort of sleuth, and to let you do just that.” Here he paused and gave a little laugh. “And you see, you’ve already sleuthed that out.”
I nodded my chin and said, “Do forgive me for asking you this, but are you actually a dragoman, or are you Mr. Farber’s spy?”
“I’ll tell you straight: I’m a guide, mostly to celebrities and dignitaries; it doesn’t pay the rent, but I live off family money. Onslow hired me on the up-and-up to translate for you and make sure you didn’t get lost.” He paused. “But another message arrived from him, after I agreed to work for you. He asked me to keep an eye on you, Mrs. Stayton. He said he was worried about your safety.”
Murder Most Egyptological (A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery Book 3) Page 6
