Eve of the Pharaoh: Historical Adventure and Mystery

by R. M. Schultz

  Forcing a deep breath, I stepped forward. Our flashlights wavered over the coffin, the beams hunting for crevasses beneath the gaping lid. Leathery brown skin from a gnarled leg lay exposed. Gasping in astonishment, sweat trickled down my brow. Maddie clamped a hand over her open mouth and froze. Leaning over, I cast my light farther inside the stone box, half expecting to be yanked in.

  The stinging reek of embalming agents permeated the inner confines, even after all these years. But no inner layers of coffins or precious artifacts remained. The crumbling mummy of the ancient pharaoh stared toward the heavens, surrounded by dust—

  “There’s nothing in the next room either,” a voice echoed from the darkness. I jumped back in surprise. Mr. Scalone reentered from another side passage, one that would have led to the pharaoh’s treasure room.

  “Nothing?” Maddie asked.

  “Just discarded junk,” Mr. Scalone said.

  “Maybe I should collect what’s left,” Maddie replied.

  “We don’t have time,” I said. “It’d take days to catalog it in your ivory tower format. I’m going to read the hieroglyphics and could use your help.”

  “Meet you there in a minute,” Maddie said. “Just gonna peek inside the treasure room.”

  My head hung in growing disappointment like a wilted plant. I needed to find a clue about the Hall, like Dr. Shelsher’s letter said we would. Stepping back into the antechamber, I pushed the brim of my fedora up and located the beginning of the hieroglyphics. The images started due east, carved with perfectionist precision, just as the tombs and pyramids. I faced the origin of life itself, the rising sun. Blowing a layer of dust into a swarming cloud, I touched the ancient symbol of a man. A tingle ran throughout my body, connecting me to the ages. The presence of men and women working the tomb by oil lamps, the artists with their brushes, and the rasp of their breathing floated around me.

  The intricate detail of the figures evoked sounds or thoughts. Attempting to form English sentences, I started slowly and awkwardly, but soon the artwork came alive. Descriptions and translations sprang into my mind. Grabbing a notepad from my bag, I jotted down important ideas, potential clues, or anything that seemed out of the ordinary for typical tomb jargon.

  I became lost in the timeless words, the tingling of discovery fueling limitless energy, when a boom thundered through the walls of the tomb, spilling dirt onto my head. Grating from stone on stone rattled the stagnant air. This wasn’t thunder. My muscles tensed with apprehension. What had Maddie and the guide been doing? Jumping to my feet, I dropped my pen and paper and crept toward the commotion. Maddie sprinted past me toward the stairway, bounding up two steps at a time.

  Barreling out of an adjoining chamber, Mr. Scalone crumpled papers against a camera. What was happening? Following them back toward the entrance, I raced up the ancient steps.

  “No!” Maddie screamed, heaving for breath as she reached the summit. Her fingers arched like claws beside her face. “The opening!” Leaning over beside Mr. Scalone, she tried to push and pull against a sliding stone slab filling the exit. My heart skipped a couple beats. Someone was trying to trap us inside the tomb!

  I assisted, but pulling on the edges with all of our might couldn’t match the strength of whoever was out there. Rumbling into the void, the block’s margins fell even with the inside bricks and ceased moving.

  We shoved outward, but the slab wouldn’t give. The smooth surface and now-flush edges yielded nothing to pull on. Yelling, I clenched a fist to punch the stone but took a breath and rapped it with my knuckles. Maddie screamed and repeatedly smacked its surface with the flat of her palm. Bellowing as loud as he could, Mr. Scalone cursed and shook his fists and tattoo-encrusted forearms.

  Pounding and tamping rang from outside, vibrating the walls of the tomb. Earth rained on us from above. We fought against the stone, long after the noises outside ceased. Darkness engulfed us, broken only by the pale beams of flashlights. We were trapped.

  Hyperventilating with disbelief and dread, I searched the area. The slab no longer dangled overhead. Someone had used the same brick to reseal the crypt.

  “Someone really didn’t want us to find this place,” Maddie said, slumping down onto the stairway. Holding her face in her small hands, terror revealed itself in her trembling limbs.

  My heart melted with sympathy. “I …” I wasn’t sure what to say. We could all die in here. My body sank onto the stairs in defeat. “I’m sorry. But we might still get out of here.”

  Storming along the wall, Mr. Scalone cursed and shoved on everything.

  “I knew the consequences,” Maddie said, not exposing her eyes. “I could’ve stayed home or in Cairo with Kaylin.” Two tears rolled out from under her palms and glided down creamy cheeks, gathering below shaking lips. “I wanted to believe in something bigger, like you do. The mystery got to me. What a mistake.”

  Remorse for bringing her along created a hollow sinking feeling deep in my stomach. Could my wild ideas have gotten us both killed? I’d messed up plenty of times on my own, but now I’d taken Maddie with me. If something happened to her I’d never forgive myself. I wanted to reach out to comfort her, but my quivering hand didn’t respond. “Maybe there’s another way out,” I said, yanking my phone from my bag. No service.

  Maddie’s hands fell to her side, her eyes cloudy behind fogged lenses. “Out of a tomb in the desert, buried by the sands of time?” Grabbing her own phone, she clicked through a few screens.

  She was right. Secret exits weren’t common in ancient Egyptian tombs. Burial complexes were flawless and designed to protect Pharaoh and his treasures for the next life while denying thieves access. Tapping my foot on the steps, I tried to speak through parched vocal cords and fought back tears of my own. “Maybe time has loosened a stone or two. We could dig our way to the surface.”

  The resonating silence tugged my torso down even further into despair. If we somehow escaped this, I’d head home and follow a normal career path, like I was supposed to. I wouldn’t interfere with Maddie’s life anymore. The hope of a grand accomplishment kept life exciting and made me forget the things I didn’t want to remember. But I just ended up crashing and burning harder and harder.

  “It’s just as much my fault,” Maddie said. “I’ve laughed you off before, Gavin, and I’d have dismissed this, too, if I didn’t want to believe you so badly. Damn it!” She slapped her knees. “Well, I think we know what happened to the student in here.”

  Glancing down into the darkness, images of both grisly mummies and their stark, sunken eyes sockets appeared in my mind. The corpse of the student lay gaunt and preserved in the moistureless environment. Dehydration must’ve killed him. How long did it take him to die? How long would it take us?

  Present Day

  MR. SCALONE CURSED, grabbed his pack, and stomped down the stairs.

  “What happened to his hired locals?” I asked, examining the false block and walls.

  Maddie shrugged. “Mr. Scalone found them. He guaranteed they were the type of people who could be trusted, for the right price. They make their living digging for artifacts. Maybe they ran off, or betrayed us.”

  “Those two couldn’t have sealed the slab themselves, could they?”

  “How did anyone else know we were here?” she asked. “Anyone besides Kaylin, her little brother, Aiden, and their bodyguard? They will find us … unless someone is guarding the mountain.”

  My eyes sprang open with new hope, but the feeling faded like dew under the desert sun. The remainder of our group in Cairo knew our destination was the pyramid mountain in the Valley of the Kings, but they didn’t know we had climbed up and dug inside. Kaylin, her brother, and the bodyguard, Jenkins, probably lounged in the hotel waiting for our call. Maddie had convinced me this small crew would be the minimum to try to pull this whole thing off. I knew a lot about ancient Egypt and possessed textbook knowledge of modern medicine, but my talents ended there. I hadn’t been on any adventures before, or traveled
much of anywhere. Reluctantly, I had agreed to let the others join us.

  Through Kaylin’s father’s funding and influence, we had been granted an informal meeting with the Egyptian Prime Minister of Antiquities. Sitting outside a small Cairo café, sweat had accumulated in the crook of my elbows and back of my knees. Small cars raced along the nearby street, flinging dust and honking so often the racket grew into background noise. Aiden, a beanpole teenager, stared absently as music blared out of earbuds partially concealed by red dreadlocks. The hired bodyguard stood silently against a nearby wall.

  A black limo had parked at the curb. Two hulking men in gray stepped out, flanking a man in a white suit. Striding directly for our table, the man in white sat down. He sipped from a steaming cup, which wafted an herbal aroma, while scrutinizing us and our story. Speaking in a thick accent, he said we could apply for excavation rights but it’d take years, and we’d probably be denied amidst these times of civil unrest and terrorism. He warned exhuming artifacts illegally carried stiff sentences, then patted his wavy gray hair, donned dark sunglasses, and excused himself.

  We hadn’t revealed Dr. Shelsher’s letter, or our true purpose of locating the Hall of Records. But despite Kaylin’s wealth and Maddie studying Egyptology, the Prime Minister of Antiquities couldn’t or wouldn’t grant us access to sites not open to the public. Our childish excitement crumbled.

  Maddie had slapped the table, rattling our cups. Not wanting Kaylin, Mr. Scalone, or the bodyguard to know too much, she briefly explained my letter and the opportunity of unearthing a tomb. Grinning, she suggested a vote.

  Temptation dangled before us like a golden fleece, creating a tingling in my stomach. Maddie, Mr. Scalone, Kaylin, and I decided to take the risk in hopes of discovering the Hall now, rather than waiting for a potential opportunity in several years. The police and military remained preoccupied with internal conflict, anyway. Tourist attractions had become a secondary or tertiary commitment. Also, once we revealed the secrets of the Hall, the Egyptian government should be grateful. We’d shine a positive light, distracting international attention from recent transgressions such as shooting unarmed protestors, locking up dissenters without trial, and terrorist attacks. Kaylin also mentioned that if we were really thrown in prison, her dad could buy us out.

  Maddie and I flew to Luxor to visit the Valley of the Kings. The others would stay behind in the comfort of the hotel, until we unearthed the tomb. Except for Kaylin’s hired expert, Mr. Scalone. He insisted he come along, as he knew the country and had much more experience with explorations than either of us. After hiring a couple locals in Luxor—

  Gritty antacids broke between my teeth, returning me to the present. A painful cramping in my stomach climaxed and then subsided, doubling me over. “Did you share the letter with anyone else?” I asked. “Someone who might come looking for us?”

  “No,” Maddie said, her chin slumping onto her chest. “I had a lab technician corroborate the date of the paper and ink to the 1920s, to convince me it was genuine. But I didn’t let him read all of it. In academia the head of the department gets all the credit for their student’s accomplishments. I wanted our stamps on this before inviting professors into the mix. My entire career could’ve been fashioned and funded from this discovery.” More tears rolled out, cleaning streaks of dust from her skin before trickling off of her chin.

  Pondering our deaths, a shiver of terror ran through my body.

  “You discover any clues about the Hall?” she asked, running a finger across a pile of dirt she’d formed at her feet. “I read about Pharaoh in his coffin text, but didn’t find much in the treasure or annex rooms.”

  “There’re no obvious hieroglyph clues,” I said. “Typical spells from the Book of the Dead, the Book of Gates, tales about Pharaoh and his allegiance and offerings to the gods.”

  “So what’s inside the dead guy’s journal isn’t from this tomb?” Straightening, she cocked her head and moved her eyes as if reading. “Didn’t you say it looked like he translated a story?”

  “Yes,” I said, tipping my fedora back. “There could be clues about the Hall buried in there, but it’ll take awhile to read.”

  “Unless that book tells us how to get out of here, we’re in serious trouble. And nothing the student knew worked for him. If we don’t escape, everything the professor discovered, including the Hall, will be lost again.” Her voice grew tense, as if history was more significant to her than her own life. “And this time it’ll be lost forever.” Brushing aside her tears, she rolled her dark locks into a bun on top of her head. “Maybe Mr. Scalone has some ideas.”

  Sauntering down the stairs, she dragged a shovel along. The grating of steel on stone followed her.

  My spirits sank as I watched her go. How could I make her feel better? “At least if we die, it’s in a place we always wanted to be part of,” I said.

  She glared from the edge of the shadows created by my flashlight. Not even the corner of her pink lips turned up. “We only have enough water to survive a couple days.”

  My stomach cramped again, this time with anxiety. Rifling through my messenger bag, I pictured my pack with most of my supplies against the rock on the mountainside.

  “Get off your asses and find a way out,” Mr. Scalone said, stepping back into view. “I’ve been in worse situations. Like the time I was thrown into solitary in Colombia. They didn’t think I’d make it out of that one, either. Must’ve been pretty surprised when they opened my cell.”

  Maddie stomped her small foot in defiance and stepped down alongside Mr. Scalone. “Come on, Gavin, don’t give up yet!”

  I gritted my teeth in frustration. Damn tour guide. He made her feel better, being a cocky bastard. But what could I do? Maybe he was our only hope.

  Rushing down to the lower chambers, I prodded every inch of the crypt with my shovel. Mr. Scalone took pictures and tapped along with his own tool. Hours dragged by. No shouts of excitement echoed through the dark halls, and I couldn’t find a crack wider than a hair’s width. We hadn’t slept for over twenty-four hours. Fatigue and a parched throat slowed my progress.

  Sipping warm water, I washed gritty dust off my teeth and hacked. I felt along smooth walls, entering the cobweb-encrusted treasure room. The air lay heavier in the narrower confines and smelled of damp earth. An external presence hovered, growing more intense. Clanking from shovels echoed from the antechamber or annex room, their rhythm slowing.

  Beyond what must’ve been the middle of the following night, I collapsed in exhaustion. My dreams raged fiercely, but I could never recall much of the recurring details, only themes. In the past I had played the champion, but recently nightmarish scenes danced. I searched for something, hunting. Then I saw her face, the old woman’s.

  Present Day

  BLOOD POOLED ACROSS MY gloved hands as I lifted the dismembered foot from the operating table. Blue drapes slipped away. Aching from standing in one spot for at least an hour, I offered a hemostat to Dr. Banks. I couldn’t observe much through the small opening in the blue towels and had been contemplating what I’d do if the surgeon fell over from a heart attack. The patient’s anterior tibial artery might shoot blood across the room like a pulsing water fountain. The nurse would scream. I’d catch the collapsing doctor in one hand, so I could keep the other sterile and clamp off the bleeder. The splashing against the far wall would cease. Then the nurse would care for the surgeon while I saved the patient … or maybe I should let the doctor fall and save—

  Dr. Banks yelled, ruffling the blue mask over his nose and chin. Laughing at me, the head nurse’s swollen midsection jiggled under purple scrubs. The surgeon motioned to place the amputated tissue aside as he closed the subcutaneous layer over the tibia. The heat of embarrassment rose in my cheeks.

  Staring at the dark foot in my hands, it felt like a hundred-pound weight. But this old woman had suffered from poorly controlled diabetes and needed the amputation. I opened a black bag. The slippery red liquid released my
grip on the tissue, and it dropped onto the floor with a splat. No signature lay on top of the foot or on the arch. Freezing in panic, I barely registered Dr. Bank’s shouting or the pointing from students who observed through the partition window. Springing over to the operating table, I threw up the blue drapes. The surgeon screamed. His face flushed as red as the blood on my gloves. But it was too late. I’d already seen the signature on the anesthetized patient’s other foot. That foot was the one we were supposed to remove! And I was in charge of making sure she was marked and draped appropriately. Collapsing, I hit the hard floor with a crack. Everything went black.

  Familiar images arose and my heart rate slowed, my ribs expanding for deeper breaths. I wandered through a barren desert and stumbled upon a gleaming white city beside a river. Searching for friends, I found buildings filled with horrors, although I couldn’t put a face to any of them. No reanimated mummies chased me, but the monsters appeared no less ghastly. A cold fog swirled around my feet as I fled in terror. Waves then slapped against wood as I sailed upon a boat with several companions, unable to recall their faces. I longed to meet them. Then I could almost make out a semblance, one of her features. A biting nostalgia sprang forth, caking my eyelids with tears. The smell of citrus—

  A boot sank into my ribs, jolting me awake just before I saw the woman who haunted my dreams. Scrambling away in surprise, I flailed like a seizuring animal.

  Maddie stood over me with a flashlight beaming into my eyes. “You scared the crap out of me!” she said. “I thought you were dead.”

  “How long was I out?” I asked, trying to hide a yawn.

  Glancing at her watch, a pale blue light reflected off of her tired features. “It’s seven in the morning. Maybe an hour or two.”

  “Already?” I asked, rubbing my scratchy eyes and running a hand through my short brown hair. “Did you sleep?”