The poor kid cried on Diana’s shoulder. Jack could barely make out what she was saying, but it wasn’t hard to guess. Romeo gave her a pink slip.
Diana looked at Jack with a melancholy frown. “Young love.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Cursed.”
Henri Jouvet looked around at the people seated with him at their table in the Long Bar of Shepheard’s and smiled. “Or, at least, so the story goes.”
Jack stared at the small stone scarab Henri had placed at the center of the table. It looked harmless enough. But then Jack had spent his last few weeks in WWII looking for a piece of a magical sword, before discovering two time travelers, so…
Elizabeth reached forward, but Henri grabbed her arm. Jack saw Simon’s hand tighten its grip around his second scotch of the night. Something had happened at the museum, but they’d barely had a chance to talk about their days before Whiteside had shanghai’d them for his cocktail party.
“Be careful, ma cherie,” Henri said. “Anyone who touches the scarab will fall under the curse.”
Her eyes went wide in amused surprise. “Good to know.”
Henri smiled at her, his gaze lingering longer than a man’s should at another man’s wife. And he sure took his time letting go of her. No wonder Simon was being such a bundle of fun tonight.
“Is it really cursed?” Constance Everett asked.
Henri frowned and shrugged with his mouth in that way the French do.
“Oh, it’s quite possible,” Whiteside said as he reached for the stone and elicited gasps from Constance and a “Good God, man!” from her idiot husband, Trevor.
Whiteside chuckled as he examined the scarab. “I was going to say, that it is quite possible that the ancient Egyptians believed so anyway.”
“What’s that writing there?” Elizabeth asked leaning in for a closer look. “Is that the curse?”
Whiteside held it out for her inspection. “No, the hieroglyphics here in this oval area are the cartouche, or the royal name, Akhenaten in this case. And these here are something about the divine manifestation of the king. Multiplicity and such.”
“So how do you know it’s cursed?” Elizabeth asked.
Whiteside grinned like a small boy. “Ancient legend.”
“Akhenaten, you see,” Henri said, joining in, “was a heretic. He took the many gods they worshipped and tossed them away to create one true god, Aten. His god.”
Whiteside practically glowed with excitement. “As you can imagine, that didn’t go over quite so well. He was the pharaoh, but he was not exactly well-loved. After his death, nearly everything bearing his name was destroyed or defaced.”
Henri took the scarab from Whiteside and turned it over in his hand. “He probably feared that his tomb would be desecrated and the curse was a means to protect it and his journey to the afterlife.”
Whiteside leaned back in his chair and squinted at the ceiling as he recalled the words. “All people who disturb this tomb, who make evil against it, may the crocodile and the hippopotamus be against them in water, and snakes and the scorpions against them on land. And may the evil they bring swallow them…something something in sand. I can’t remember the ending.”
“Hippopotamus!” Trevor said, scoffing at the idea.
“They are not to be trifled with,” Henri said. He slipped the scarab back into his pocket.
“You’re not afraid of the curse?” Constance asked.
Henri smiled and raised his glass. “So far, dear Akhenaten has been anything but a curse for me.”
“Henri has quite a dig going in the Valley of the Kings,” Whiteside said. “I still don’t know how you got the permit. Carter’s the only one who’s been able to wrangle one out of Lacau and that damned, you’ll pardon me, antiquities department.”
Henri smiled and finished what was left of his drink. “My patron is…convincing.”
Whiteside laughed. “Oh, yes, the mysterious patron. Are you sure you can’t say who it is? It’s not Charles Sitwell, is it?”
Henri stood. “I am well paid for my silence.” He held up his empty glass, silently asking if anyone needed another. To no one’s surprise, Trevor did.
Once Henri had left the table, Whiteside leaned in and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “Between us, I think it’s a fool’s errand.”
“Why?” Jack asked.
“Because Akhenaten’s tomb has already been found. All of the royal tombs that can be found have been found. Of course, there’s some debate, but…”
Simon leaned back in his chair, his eyes seeking out Henri as he leaned against the bar. “Aren’t archaeologist usually at their digs?”
Whiteside laughed. “Yes, quite. Now, don’t get me wrong, Henri is a talented man, dedicated, but I think this venture is a bit of a lark. I’m not sure he even believes they’ll find anything of significance.”
Jack didn’t get it. “Then why do it?”
“Money,” Simon said, his distaste for the idea as well as the man painfully apparent.
That Jack understood.
“Perhaps, I am wrong,” Whiteside said. “Egypt has a way of surprising you.”
Simon pulled his glare away from Henri and forced a smile to his face. “I’m sure. And I suppose his being here in Cairo isn’t a total loss.”
It was all Jack could do not to laugh at that, but he had to admire Simon’s acting ability.
“After all,” Simon continued. “He wouldn’t be able to help you with your papyrus.”
Whiteside’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you—”
“You mentioned it at the museum this afternoon,” Simon said.
And, Jack thought, Diana had mentioned it as well. And Mason’s obsession with it. He’d tried to press Diana for more information on their trip back from the bazaar, but she’d said he should ask Whiteside. Papyri weren’t her game.
That, of course, begged the question of just what was her game. Was she a thief like her friend Nico. Or something else?
“Oh, that’s right,” Whiteside said. “It’s just a trifle really. More of a curiosity.”
“I’d love to see it,” Simon said. “I’ve always found that the best window to a civilization are its writings.”
“Well said!” Whiteside agreed. “I am rather proud of it. Truth be told. Tomorrow then, perhaps after breakfast, if that suits you?”
Jack knew Simon would have preferred right now, as he did with everything he wanted, but he smiled and accepted graciously enough.
Their little party grew and contracted as new people joined and then left the table, shifting into smaller groups by the bar or other tables. The social scene at Shepheard’s was alive and well. By eleven o’clock the bar was filled to capacity. Everyone in the hotel seemed to be there. Except Diana.
She was probably off outmaneuvering Gutman for the Maltese Falcon. He smiled at the thought, happy to let that daydream progress until Simon ruined it with a loud grunt.
Jack followed his gaze. Elizabeth must have gone to get another glass of wine because she was standing at the bar chatting with one of the people waiting for their drinks. Henri insinuated himself behind her and said something Jack couldn’t hear. Elizabeth turned around and must have said something charming because Henri smiled and leaned in a little closer.
Simon put his glass down on the table a little too hard.
Henri nodded and then reached out and touched Elizabeth’s arm.
Jack moved his chair a little closer to Simon’s. The rest of the table was busy with their own conversations. “I’m confused.”
Simon grunted. “By what?”
“Why exactly aren’t you punching him in the face?”
Simon laughed. “Oh, I’d very much like to.”
“But?”
With a deep sigh, Simon turned to face Jack. “We need to know what Mason was up to,” he said quietly. “Jouvet is part of the puzzle.”
Jack watched Henri with Elizabeth. He’d known men like him before. They were
n’t just looking for a good time, but a good time that was hard to get. It was the challenge that excited them. Forbidden fruit. Married women.
Not that Jack was exactly a boy scout when it came to women, but there were lines he wouldn’t cross and that was one of them.
Jouvet touched Elizabeth’s arm again.
“Maybe I can hit him for you?” Jack offered.
“Don’t tempt me,” Simon said and excused himself. He made his way over to Elizabeth and slid his arm around her waist, logistically preventing any more runs across the British version of the Maginot line. Jack chuckled and raised his glass in salute. But he couldn’t help but feel a pang of loneliness.
He’d spent the last few months recovering from losing Betty. He’d finally come out of the deepest part of his depression, but bits lingered. They always would.
“Isn’t Egypt wonderful?” Whiteside, his cheeks rosy from drinking, said to no one in particular. “The bosom of civilization.”
Whiteside’s eyes lit and his smile broadened. “Diana, my dear! Where have you been?”
Jack turned around and quickly stood.
She smiled at him, but there was a sadness to her eyes. “Hello, Jack.”
“What’s wrong?” Whiteside asked.
Diana slipped into the empty chair between them. “I have some bad news, I’m afraid. George Mason is dead.”
“What?!” Whiteside exclaimed loudly enough to get the attention of the tables nearest to them and a few people at the bar including the Crosses and Jouvet. They left their spots and came over to the table.
Jack carefully watched everyone’s reaction. If one of them had anything to do with Mason’s murder, their expressions at hearing the news might give them away.
“That’s impossible,” Whiteside said.
Diana shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid not.”
“What has happened?” Henri asked.
“George Mason was killed yesterday,” Diana explained. “Shot on a train or something near Fayoum.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shifted nervously to Jack. He silently told her to stay calm. She looked at Simon briefly, whose poker face was impeccable, and then said, “That’s awful. I…I can’t believe it.”
Good girl.
“Are you sure?” Whiteside asked Diana.
Diana nodded.
Jack couldn’t be sure of course, but none of them gave any signs of the news being anything other than a complete and unwelcome surprise.
The table fell into thoughtful silence until Trevor spoke.
“That’s one way to kill a party.”
“Trev,” his wife chided him.
He merely arched an eyebrow and shrugged.
“Well…” Whiteside said, unsure how to segue from that. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s a shock,” Simon said. “Perhaps it would be best if we called it a night.”
“Yes,” Whiteside agreed. “I think that might be best.”
Slowly, their group disbanded and said their goodnights. Jack and Diana stayed at the table as the others left.
“Are you going up too?” Diana asked.
Jack shook his head.
“Well, then,” she said, laying a hand on his forearm. “Buy me a drink?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Simon woke from his nightmare with a start. His breath caught in his throat as he jerked awake. It took him a moment to orient himself. The room was cast in oranges and reds from the sunrise filtering through the window sheers. He glanced at Elizabeth beside him, still sleeping.
He pushed out a long bracing breath and let the sight of her, alive and safe by his side, calm him. Unperturbed by his sudden waking, she slept on peacefully. Simon gently caressed her cheek and then slipped out of bed.
It had been months since he’d had a nightmare and he’d foolishly thought they might never return. He pulled on his robe and let the quiet of the early morning soothe his jangled nerves. Whatever the nightmare had been about fled from his mind. Not even a vague glimmer remained behind, except the feeling of foreboding he couldn’t quite shake.
Glancing back at the bed once more, he walked quietly over to the window and pulled the sheers back. Cairo was stirring to life. Although the view from their hotel room offered little more than a view of the rear garden he could sense the city waking. The rooftops and spires on the horizon stretched out in the dusty morning haze as far as he could see. Just beneath them the tranquil morning would transform into the chaos that was Cairo.
Elizabeth mumbled something in her sleep and then smiled. He hoped whatever was happening in her dream, he was the reason for that smile.
Since their arrival in Egypt, smiles had been few and far between for him. Somehow hers had always made up for it though. And as he felt the tightening in his chest ease, they still did.
Resigned now to being awake, Simon walked over to the front door. Gently, he unlocked it and eased it open. The day’s newspaper and his freshly polished shoes sat waiting for him. As he leaned over to pick them up, a door down the hallway opened and a woman tiptoed out of a room. Jack’s room.
The woman shifted her shoes into her other hand and eased the door shut. Simon sighed and she turned at the sound.
Diana. That was quick work even by Jack’s standards.
Instead of being embarrassed at being caught in what Elizabeth called the walk of shame, Diana smiled pleasantly and nodded her head in greeting. Too surprised to do anything else, Simon reciprocated and Diana took a few steps down the hall before slipping on her shoes and tucking in her blouse.
He was going to have to have a talk with Mr. Wells. The last time Jack had traveled back in time with them, he’d nearly let his feelings for a woman destroy the bloody timeline. Simon’s mood curdled again as he picked up the paper and his shoes and went back inside.
He spent the better part of the next hour reading the news and brooding only to be leavened again by a sleepy-headed Elizabeth as she walked drowsily over to him. He pulled her onto his lap, and much to his disappointment, she picked up the paper.
“Anything interesting?” she asked, blinking her eyes to try to focus.
“Yes.”
She turned to ask him what and Simon gently pulled the paper from her hands.
“Oh,” she said with a smile as he leaned in to kiss her.
An hour later, they were dressed and ready for breakfast with Whiteside and, hopefully, a clue as to why Mason was so interested in his bit of papyrus.
Simon locked the door behind them and they started down the long, wide corridor to the stairs.
They’d nearly reached them, when Elizabeth stopped. “I forgot my purse.”
Simon sighed as she turned back. “I have money.”
“It has my lipstick and things.”
It was a pointless argument and one they’d had many times. She claimed she couldn’t live without it, and yet, was forever forgetting it. In the end, he’d learned simply acquiescing was easier than explaining her faulty logic to her. And so, he lengthened his stride to catch up with her.
Opening the door for her, he let her precede him into their room. He nearly crashed into her as she’d come to an abrupt halt barely a few paces inside the door. It didn’t take him long to see why.
The French doors to their balcony were open, the sheers blowing in the breeze. Standing in front of one of their trunks, a drawer left open, was a man in black robes.
They all stared at each other in equal shock.
Simon reached out for Elizabeth and tried to ease her behind him. The movement broke the man out of his fugue and he ran toward the balcony. Simon gave chase, but the man flung himself over the railing. For a brief moment Simon thought he’d plunged to his death. They were on the third floor after all. But as soon as he leaned over, he saw that the man had swung himself to a lower balcony and was scrambling down to the ground with frightening agility.
Elizabeth arrived at his side and they watched the man jump the last ten feet to the gro
und and run off into the garden. He easily leapt up and flipped himself over the eight foot back wall and disappeared.
“Okay, that was impressive,” Elizabeth said.
Simon grunted and went back inside. He quickly surveyed their belongings, pausing as the reality of what could have happened here sunk in. He’d nearly let her come back to the room alone. It was damn lucky he hadn’t. Who knows what Elizabeth might have done on her own.
He glanced back and saw her leaning over the balcony, gauging how hard it would be to duplicate what she’d seen.
Simon let out a breath and shook his head. She probably would have followed him.
And if he’d been armed? It didn’t bear thinking about. They’d been damned lucky. One day that luck would run out though.
“I don’t know how he did that in those robes,” Elizabeth said.
Simon nodded and tried to refocus. Nothing seemed to be missing, but then he hadn’t had long to go through things.
“I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t see him again,” Elizabeth said as she joined him and closed the open drawer.
“Again?”
“The man from the train.”
It suddenly clicked. He’d sensed it, but his mind had been too busy trying to find something to use as a weapon that it hadn’t gelled yet. Although, they hadn’t seen the man’s face, his body shape, his height, his eyes, and a thousand other tiny pieces of information were indelibly etched in Simon’s memory. And the marking on the inside of his wrist. Simon hadn’t been sure he’d seen it on the train. It could have been a shadow, a trick of light. But as he replayed the last few minutes in his head, he forced himself to slow down the images that had raced past in a panic. He could see the marking again. The long sleeves of the man’s robe obscured most of it, but there was something there. All he could make out or remember were two curved lines.
“Dammit,” Simon said. He couldn’t get a clear image in his mind. He looked around their room helplessly.
It had been foolish of them to think even for a moment that their presence at Mason’s murder would go unnoticed or neglected. He should have seen this coming. Despite Elizabeth’s feelings on the matter, they were too vulnerable and every moment spent here was more dangerous than the next. Still, he knew his wife and there was no possible way of convincing her to return home. Despite his misgivings, they were there for the duration.
Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) Page 9
