Waking the Ancients

by Catherine Cavendish

  She could swear it had moved by itself in her hand.

  * * * *

  Over the next three days, Lizzie worked diligently, ensuring she packed every item carefully and securely. She saw little of Dr. Quintillus. He would appear at mealtimes but spent most of his time with Dressler.

  On the seventh day, Lizzie awoke bathed in sweat, her head pounding and her stomach churning.

  Abbas took one look at her and immediately fetched a bowl. Within seconds she was glad he had as she spewed bright yellow vomit into it. He handed her a glass of water, which she drank down. Her unquenchable thirst led her to drain a second glass. She shivered and her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

  “You must lie back and rest, Miss Charters,” he said. “I will inform Dr. Quintillus.”

  Lizzie sank gratefully down onto the pillow. When she opened her eyes again, Dr. Quintillus stood over her. Abbas pressed a cold, damp flannel against her burning forehead.

  “I’m so sorry, Doctor. I…” Her mouth felt so dry, Lizzie could barely get the words out.

  “You must return to the hotel. Abbas will accompany you and instruct them to summon a doctor.”

  “But the dig—”

  Quintillus raised his hand. “I shall continue here and return to the hotel in a few days, when I trust you will be much recovered.”

  Lizzie felt too weak and sick to argue. She kept drifting in and out of consciousness and the camp bed provided precious little comfort. The thought of clean, cool, fresh sheets was seductive.

  Barely aware of the journey back to Alexandria, strange images flashed into her fever-ridden brain, the alabaster statuette of Sekhmet coming to life and leaping at her. She cried out as wave after wave of delirium sucked her down. Through it all, the gentle voice of Abbas soothed her while the cool flannels he applied to her head eased the burning fever a little.

  In her room, Abbas left her to get undressed as best she could. Lizzie felt relieved that everything had remained where she left it, so at least she didn’t have to search around for a nightdress. As she lowered it over her head, the cotton cooled skin that felt as if an army of ants were crawling across it.

  Lizzie tossed her clothes into the bottom of the wardrobe and, with a great effort, dragged the bedcovers back. Once in bed, with every muscle and nerve aching and throbbing, she lay back against the deep pillows.

  The doctor prescribed quinine and complete rest, not that Lizzie could have done anything if she tried. Her legs buckled whenever she needed to go to the bathroom, and she could only walk by holding on to available pieces of furniture.

  Abbas attended to her with care and compassion. Not once did she ever feel compromised by having a manservant rather than a lady’s maid. He showed her total respect at all times, fed her soup when she felt she could hold it down, and brought her a bowl when she discovered she couldn’t.

  On the third night, she awoke to a flapping of wings directly above her head. She cried out in horror as a large white bird flew around the room. The door opened and Abbas dashed in, a bowl in his hand.

  “Abbas, please get that bird out of my room.”

  He lit the lamp and shone it around. “There is no bird here.”

  Lizzie stared around incredulously. “It must have escaped through the door when you came in.”

  “Maybe…”

  Lizzie could tell Abbas didn’t believe it. She spotted a feather on the bed and picked it up. “Look, you can see I told you the truth. Where did this come from?”

  Abbas picked it up and Lizzie remembered the white feather that had disappeared. But this one was gray. Like the white one, this feather was large, distinctively pointed, but it couldn’t be the same bird. She said as much to Abbas as she told him of her previous experience.

  “Caladrius,” Abbas whispered.

  “What? Caladrius? What’s that?”

  “It is a myth from long ago, Miss Charters. Caladrius was a large white bird that could take away sickness, but it paid for it. Its plumage would turn gray as it took on the illness.”

  Lizzie put her hand to her forehead, hardly daring to believe what she found. “My temperature’s gone down.”

  Her headache had also gone, her muscles no longer protested at every movement and her skin had stopped feeling hypersensitive.

  “Maybe Caladrius visited you. He took away your sickness and left a gray feather.”

  Lizzie settled back in bed, skeptical but bemused. “Whether that’s true or not, I certainly feel much better. I think I’ll sleep now.”

  Abbas left her and she slept soundly for the rest of the night.

  * * * *

  Although still quite weak, she got up, bathed, and dressed for the first time since returning from the dig. Two days later, she could not wait to return to Taposiris Magna.

  “When may we leave, Abbas?”

  “Dr. Quintillus told me he would return here after a week. He will then see how you are recovering.”

  “But I’m fine now.”

  “Then I am sure he will decide you are ready to return to the camp. You need patience. For a day or two longer only.”

  When Dr. Quintillus did return, he seemed encouraged by her appearance.

  “I hear you have been an excellent patient, Miss Charters. I believe the doctor is satisfied with your recovery.”

  “He is indeed, and so am I. When shall we leave?”

  “Tomorrow. Early. Eight o’clock.”

  * * * *

  At dinner that evening, Dr. Quintillus ordered them a bottle of chilled white burgundy, and it complemented the excellent sole Véronique. Lizzie still needed to get her appetite back and ate sparingly—a fact not lost on Quintillus.

  “You have become much thinner, Miss Charters. Are you sure you’re ready to return to the camp?”

  “I’m certain. Miss Bell has suffered much worse and still kept going. She has ridden through the desert for miles, irrespective of the conditions or her own comfort. I’m growing stronger every day, and I’m determined to return to full health as quickly as possible. Lying around here with nothing constructive to do will merely hinder that recovery.”

  “I admire your determination. It does you credit.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “I recommend you retire early this evening and get a good sleep to prepare for tomorrow. Remember, we leave at eight.”

  After dinner, Lizzie took the elevator to her floor and emerged from it. She swayed and grabbed the wall to steady herself. Her vision blurred, and the corridor shimmered in front of her. She could move, placing one foot in front of the other, but her legs wouldn’t respond to her commands. It seemed as if someone outside her body had taken control. It didn’t make any sense, but she felt as if she were a stranger inside her own body. Maybe the wine had affected her more than she thought one small glass could? Whatever the cause, she wished it would stop. Now. Her right hand removed the room key from her purse and inserted it in the lock. It opened the door, removed the key, closed the door behind her and locked it, while she watched the whole proceedings like a bystander.

  Ten minutes later, her body took itself to bed, lying under the coverlet and closing her eyes. The strangeness continued into her subconscious as she drifted off to sleep.

  * * * *

  A statue stood in front of her, in the shape of a large black cat. Its ears were pricked and it wore a magnificent jeweled collar. As she watched, the statue lost its sheen and became softer. It flexed its paws and its body became covered in gleaming fur. Its eyes shone like amethysts and it fixed her with a powerful stare. The sight mesmerized Lizzie so much she couldn’t move. The cat began to circle around in front of her, its tail waving. Its head grew, the snout becoming more like a lioness than a cat. It opened its mouth to reveal large incisors and spat at her.

  Lizzie understood the warning. She trie
d to back off, but her feet would not obey her and she remained rigid. The creature gave one last warning hiss, arched its back, and leaped at her. She fell downward into an endless black abyss.

  She awoke, panting, disoriented. Surely the fever couldn’t be returning? She put her hand to her damp forehead and swung her legs off the bed. At least her body seemed to belong to her once more.

  In the bathroom, Lizzie looked at her flushed face in the mirror and ran the cold tap. She squeezed a facecloth almost dry and patted her burning cheeks. Her wrist stung and she winced. She glanced down and saw why. A three- or four-inch long scrape. Bright red. A scratch exactly like that of a cat.

  She hurried back into the bedroom and over to her bed where, on the sheets, she saw a few tiny droplets of blood.

  And some black cat hairs.

  * * * *

  The next day, Lizzie awoke late after sleeping so heavily. Her head felt full of cotton wool. She peered at her bedside clock. Five minutes to eight. She threw back the covers and prayed Quintillus would wait. She dressed hurriedly and readied herself to leave when she spotted a note pushed under her door.

  Lizzie picked it up and unfolded the paper.

  Dear Miss Charters

  As you are clearly still not fully recovered, I deem it wise to delay your return to camp. Please ensure you rest today. It was signed, E. Quintillus.

  Lizzie cursed herself. How could she oversleep when she had promised him she had recovered? Why hadn’t Abbas come to wake her? He must have returned to the camp with the doctor. So she had been left all alone. She had let Dr. Quintillus down. Lizzie railed at herself for her stupidity. Part of her felt tempted to simply go after him. After all, the hotel could arrange transportation for her. She had almost decided to do it when a voice inside her warned against it. He had ordered her to stay and rest. What sort of reaction would she get if she ignored his instruction and turned up there anyway?

  Lizzie sighed and went down to breakfast. A long day stretched in front of her, with no plans how to spend it. After some deliberation, she decided to explore the grounds, and took care to stay in the shade of the palm trees that lined the walkways.

  The hotel gardens boasted flowers of every exotic color. Vivid reds, blues, and oranges, and delicate scents she was unused to. Lizzie had never been a gardener and couldn’t have begun to name the various plants, but that didn’t stop her from appreciating the dazzling array. She found a bench and sat down with a book she had found in the hotel lounge. As soon as she started to read H. Rider Haggard’s The Yellow God, a shadow passed in front of her and she looked up. A man dressed smartly in a gray suit smiled down at her.

  “Forgive me, but my name is Hermann Ziegler. I am from the Lorenz Museum in Berlin.” He bowed and kissed the back of her proffered hand.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Herr Ziegler. My name is Elizabeth Charters.”

  “I already knew that, Miss Charters. I wonder if you would permit me to join you for a few minutes. I need to talk to you about Dr. Quintillus.”

  Curiosity tinged with suspicion meant Lizzie couldn’t refuse. She indicated a chair opposite her and he sat.

  “I am most sorry for disturbing your morning in this manner, but when I saw you with Dr. Quintillus yesterday, I felt I had to speak to you. To warn you. I know you are personally acquainted with the doctor. I am afraid he has something of a record of influencing impressionable and vulnerable young women.”

  Something about his tone raised Lizzie’s hackles. “Herr Ziegler, I am academically acquainted with Dr. Quintillus. I attend his lectures on ancient Egyptian history at the University of Oxford in England. Ours is a purely professional relationship.”

  “I would not presume to suggest any other, Miss Charters. Indeed, I would be most surprised if he had entered into a personal relationship with you, or with anyone, for that matter.”

  This took Lizzie by surprise. “What are you suggesting, Herr Ziegler?”

  “I think you must know of the doctor’s feelings for Cleopatra? His unnatural obsession with her is the talk of Berlin’s academic circles—and elsewhere. His ideas are…unorthodox, shall we say. His methods even more so.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know of his keen interest in Cleopatra, of course. But he is an archaeologist engaged in digging for artifacts, which I believe your museum has benefitted from in the past. I am here as his assistant. That is all.”

  “I wish it were so, Miss Charters. Truly I do. Unfortunately, I must tell you that such is not the case. It never is with that man. Over the years, he has traveled from Budapest to Leipzig, Paris, Madrid, Berlin, Oxford, Vienna. Where next, I wonder? He seems not to stay anywhere for more than a handful of years. Do you know anything about his history or his personal life?”

  “Of course not. It’s not my place to question him about such matters.”

  “He won’t tell you anything even if you decide to make it your business. Plenty have tried. And regretted it. If he were here today, we wouldn’t be having this conversation because I would be too fearful of the consequences to myself.”

  First her mother and Uncle Andrew, and now a complete stranger. Everyone seemed intent on besmirching Dr. Quintillus’s character. “Herr Ziegler, please. I must ask to you stop this. He’s a brilliant man.”

  Herr Ziegler shook his head. “I will not deny it. His is a brilliance. Of a kind. But I have great personal reason for my concern—and pity for anyone unfortunate enough to venture within his sphere.”

  “I can assure you I don’t require any pity. Quite the reverse.”

  “Miss Charters, you are aware he intends to reincarnate Cleopatra, aren’t you?”

  That was too much. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Absurd? Really? I don’t think so, and I am far from alone in that view. Did you know he found an ancient scroll tucked away somewhere deep in the archives of your university? It tells of the circumstances of Cleopatra’s death and much more. There are those of us who believe he has stumbled on the actual location of her tomb and how to revive her.”

  “But that’s preposterous. Revive a mummy?” It would be laughable if the man hadn’t ventured so close to the truth. After all, the doctor had told her he had found a scroll and it had led him to Taposiris Magna. But, as for the rest…

  “Have you ever tried to revive a corpse, Herr Ziegler?”

  “Indeed not. It would never occur to me to want to commit such an immoral and blasphemous act.”

  “Quite apart from the fact that it goes against all the laws of nature and of God.”

  “As you say. Surely, by now, you know that to Quintillus, laws of God and nature don’t apply. At least in his mind.”

  “I know nothing of the sort. I don’t know what intention you had in approaching me, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t trouble me again.” Lizzie stood and hurried away, back to the peace and quiet of her room.

  She spent the rest of the morning on her balcony overlooking the blue waters of the Mediterranean.

  Quintillus returned a little after four in the afternoon. Lizzie had taken a short nap after lunch and heard his door swing shut.

  She got up and rearranged her hair. Satisfied with her appearance, she went out and knocked on his door.

  He answered it straightaway. “Ah, Miss Charters. I trust you are recovered now.”

  “I am so sorry I overslept. It’s something I never do.”

  “No apology necessary. You have been ill and your body needs time to recover. I hope you spent a peaceful day?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Yes. I…” A middle-aged woman passed them in the corridor and shot Lizzie a disapproving glance. “I wonder if we could go down to the lounge. I need to tell you about something odd that happened this morning.”

  Quintillus listened in silence, but
with growing anger, judging by his expression. When she had finished her halting account of her meeting with Herr Ziegler, he spoke.

  “I am acquainted with that man. He has attempted to thwart my every move. I trust you did not grant any credence to his words.”

  “No indeed, Doctor. I thought I should tell you what he said because it’s outrageous that he should be slandering you in this manner.”

  Dr. Quintillus waved his hand. “It is of no consequence. Ziegler is a jealous man. He has achieved nothing in his own miserable life and sees no reason why anyone else should, either. I had no idea he was staying in this hotel, but I’m very glad you sent him off. I appreciate your loyalty to me. Think no more about it.”

  * * * *

  The following day, Dr. Quintillus allowed a delighted Lizzie to return to the dig. The heat still bothered her, but the sight of a small statuette of Isis she uncovered that morning more than made up for it. The doctor seemed pleased with her progress. Over the next few days, she managed to unearth shards of pottery from the Ptolemaic era and even some jewelry, among which was a gold and lapis lazuli oval brooch, decorated with the representation of a queen. Possibly even Cleopatra herself. The figure had been created in profile and demonstrated a noticeably prominent nose. If it should prove to be the queen, she certainly hadn’t been the classical beauty legend had painted her.

  * * * *

  One afternoon, having returned from the dig with Dr. Quintillus for a couple of days’ rest, Lizzie witnessed an altercation at the concierge’s desk. A tall woman in an elegant, broad-brimmed hat engaged in a heated argument with a well-dressed man Lizzie knew to be the hotel manager. She spoke English with a heavy German accent.

  “I tell you my husband did not check out. He is still here.”

  The manager spoke as if placating a recalcitrant child. “Once again, I assure you Herr Ziegler checked out three days ago. He settled his bill. I have our copy of the receipt right here.” The manager thrust a piece of paper into the woman’s hands. At the mention of the name Ziegler, Lizzie decided to hang around, remaining as inconspicuous as possible.