Damned by the Ancients

by Catherine Cavendish

  It gave me such sadness to see you look so lost when I saw you off at the station. I trust you had a peaceful journey. Enjoy your studies, my dear.

  Your loving Papa.

  Gabriele folded the letter carefully and replaced it in the envelope. She could remember nothing of any journey. Nothing about leaving Berlin. In some ways it seemed no time had passed, but she knew she had lost at least a couple of days out of her life.

  She sat heavily on her couch, the envelope in her hand. Step by step. She went over the last events she could remember. Quintillus’s apartment…the strange black mist…the woman giving her the dagger… Then that was it. Nothing else until she found herself back here. She looked down at her dress. Surely she hadn’t been wearing this? She rubbed her forehead. The more she concentrated, the less anything made sense.

  * * * *

  Her friend, Angela, studied her. “You’re pale, Gabriele. Have you been ill?”

  Gabriele shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said, I haven’t the faintest idea?”

  Angela raised her eyebrows.

  “That man. Quintillus. What else do you know about him?”

  Angela eased back in her chair in Gabriele’s tidy room. “You’ve clearly met him.”

  Gabriele managed a wry smile. “How did you guess?”

  “My father had the same look whenever he spoke of Dr. Quintillus. A lot of shaking of the head tended to accompany it. He’s a strange cove by all accounts.”

  “More than that. I had the oddest experience with him. One minute I believed I had made a new friend and the next…”

  “He frightened you, didn’t he?”

  Gabriele nodded. “My father’s scared of him, too. But he’s pretty much forced to do business with him.”

  Angela sighed. “Yes. He makes sure of that. I’ve heard all this before, from my father. When I knew you were going back home to Berlin, I pumped him for more information. He wouldn’t say a lot, but what he did say made me wish I had never recommended you look him up.”

  Gabriele found herself confiding in Angela and, as her friend’s face grew increasingly incredulous, she recounted her experience with the mist, and the lost days.

  She finished and Angela continued to stare at her.

  “Do you know,” she said, “if anyone else was telling me this—or they were talking about someone other than Dr. Quintillus—I wouldn’t believe them, but this is you. Gabriele. Creative? Yes. Fanciful? Never.”

  “Thank you, Angela. I know it sounds far-fetched, but it happened just as I said, and it seems I have lost three days out of my life. I daren’t tell Papa. He’ll only fret. At least with me safely here and him keeping an eye on Quintillus in Berlin, I can put all this behind me and he can stop worrying.”

  A frown creased Angela’s forehead. “I only hope you’re right. I really do.”

  “You know something you haven’t told me. Come on, I need to know.”

  Angela’s face told Gabriele she wished she hadn’t made it so obvious.

  “My father told me that Dr. Quintillus had secured a position at Oxford University in England and he had also heard that he was planning on buying a house here…in Vienna.”

  “Oh dear God, I hope he isn’t. So he’s leaving Berlin?”

  “I would imagine so, but I don’t know. He’s got a lucrative business going there. Surely he won’t let that go altogether. I’m quite sure someone as resourceful as that man will find a way of combining all his interests.”

  “Let’s hope they keep him occupied away from Vienna as much as possible then.”

  Angela laid a hand on her arm. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Really.”

  * * * *

  As the weeks drew into months with no word of Quintillus, Gabriele allowed herself to relax and immerse herself in the culture of a city that was increasingly becoming home. When her studies ended, her father came to see her and she broke the news that she would be staying there.

  “I feel so alive here, Papa. I have friends, I’m part of a circle of writers and artists, and I’m even selling my paintings so I can support myself. I can visit you and you can come to Vienna. It’s not the other side of the world.”

  She wished her father wouldn’t look at her that way. Guilt washed over her.

  “My dear child. I always assumed that when you finally left home it would be to marry and raise children, not to become some sort of…bohemian.”

  Gabriele laughed. “Oh, Papa. I’m no bohemian, but even if I were and was happy, that would be enough, wouldn’t it? You want me to be happy, don’t you? And you have Hilde.”

  “Yes,” her father said. “I have Hilde.”

  “Be happy for me, Papa.”

  He nodded, managed a weak smile and kissed her on both cheeks. “At least you are away from Quintillus. I am happy for that.”

  Did Papa know about the house he was supposed to have bought in Hietzing? Gabriele guessed not or he would have mentioned it. They spoke little of him these days and Quintillus appeared to be spending most of his time between Oxford and Egypt. At least, that was what Angela told her.

  * * * *

  By 1908, after three proposals of marriage (all politely declined), Gabriele had settled into a comfortable life on her own. Angela had married a handsome doctor called Friedrich. She was enjoying modest success selling her landscapes and cityscapes through a local gallery, and life was treating her well. She and her father kept in touch, although not quite so regularly as she knew she ought.

  A bright sunny morning saw her putting the finishing touches to a stylized painting of St. Stephen’s Cathedral.

  Her doorbell rang and, humming a little tune to herself, she went to answer it.

  “Good morning, Fräulein Ziegler. I trust you are well?”

  She stared at him, not believing her eyes. Her hands fell to her sides. “Dr. Quintillus.”

  Berlin, 1908

  Chapter 15

  Hilde handed her husband a breakfast bread roll.

  “Will you at least try to eat something, Hermann?”

  He took it from her, placed it on his plate and ignored it. Hilde poured him coffee. That at least, he would drink. Coffee and cigarettes. That was pretty much his diet these days, since Gabriele…

  Hilde and she had not got on but she would never have wished any harm to come to her stepdaughter and certainly not this. To disappear without a trace like that. No word. The police had questioned everyone, including that man Quintillus, but had come up with nothing. Yet Hermann remained convinced that he was in some way involved.

  She looked at her husband now, wrapped up in his own world. He had lost weight these past weeks and aged twenty years or more. He still had his work at the museum, but that was all. He left home every day Monday to Saturday, returned home, went to bed and, on Sundays, he sat in his chair mostly staring into space. The conversation between them had been reduced to virtually nothing. He only roused himself when he talked about Quintillus but, try as he might, he had been able to get nowhere. Quintillus rarely visited Berlin these days and, living as he did in Oxford, he seemed to have the perfect alibi. Yet Hilde had grown to share her husband’s distrust of the man. To her, he was more slippery than any slimy reptile she could think of.

  There were times when Hermann would read strange books on the occult. She asked him about them but his answers were always vague. He was studying ancient Egyptian magic to add to his considerable knowledge of their culture. He wanted to find out more about the cult of Isis. Sometimes he would say he was interested in their religious symbolism. But a niggling fear that he wasn’t telling her something persisted, and she worried it could be important. Sometimes she worried he was putting his life in danger.

  Where was Gabriele? Was Quintillus behind her disappearance? Hilde lay awake night after night as she knew her husband did. They lay, side by s
ide, their thoughts as dark as the night around them.

  * * * *

  Hermann Ziegler took down the ancient leather-bound volume. Voyage into the Afterlife had been written by an eleventh-century Egyptian mystic who had allegedly discovered some ancient scrolls on the banks of the Nile near Alexandria. Ziegler had translated enough to know that it held important information for him. Information that he could use against Quintillus and force the man to tell the truth about Gabriele.

  The archaeologist had gone back to Taposiris Magna recently. This time he had taken a girl with him. A student. From reading the book, Ziegler guessed what Quintillus intended to do and he had to find a way to stop him. He closed the book and replaced it carefully on the shelf, fingering the binding as he had many times before. Strange. It didn’t feel like the usual leather used to bind books. It could be pig leather or…but that was unthinkable.

  Ziegler withdrew his hand quickly and left his office.

  In the Egyptian Gallery he stood in front of the display cabinet containing the gold statue of Set. Quintillus had said there was another, more powerful, twin to this artifact. He hadn’t said where it was located but if it wasn’t already in Quintillus’s possession, Ziegler knew it would be one day. What that man wanted, he invariably got.

  The statue glinted. Ziegler wrapped his hand in a clean handkerchief and, with his other hand, unlocked the cabinet. He hesitated, took a deep breath and removed the statue, taking care, as always, not to touch it with his bare hands. He put it in his pocket and re-locked the cabinet. Then he walked away, trying not to think of the consequences of failure.

  * * * *

  “You can’t go to Alexandria,” Hilde said. “You’re not well enough.”

  “I must. A young woman’s life may depend on it. Besides, it gives me another opportunity to find out about my daughter. Quintillus knows where she is, and I’ve got to make him tell me.”

  “Please, Hermann. See sense. If this man is as dangerous as you say he is, then you are putting yourself in great peril. No good will come of this.”

  “Nevertheless, I must go. I have been unable to do anything to help Gabriele so far. My trips to Vienna all resulted in dead ends. The least I can do is try to help this young woman. And maybe she knows where Gabriele is.”

  “Then I will come with you.”

  “No, Hilde. You mustn’t. It’s too dangerous. It would give him another way to get at me. By using you.”

  “Oh, Hermann, really. I beg you, go and see a doctor. You are most unwell and in no fit state to go anywhere, least of all somewhere like Egypt.”

  But Hermann wouldn’t be moved. Hilde could see there was no point insisting. His mind was made up.

  The next day, he left, and Hilde had the strangest feeling she would never see him again.

  * * * *

  In his hotel room in Alexandria, Ziegler unwrapped the little statue and examined it as he had many times. Such exquisite artistry. So much power from Set himself. Power to do good. Power to do evil. The god himself ruled storms, chaos, war, and all manner of turmoil but also protected the dead and helped them to the afterlife. Such a conundrum. In Quintillus’s hands, the evil Set would emerge. In his own? Did he imagine the glint in the statue’s eye at that precise moment? As he hastily rewrapped the precious artifact, he knew he didn’t imagine the tiniest ripple as it moved beneath the cloth.

  The girl—Lizzie Charters—so young and naïve. Loyal, too. She wouldn’t have a word said against her mentor. He must keep trying. He frowned. If Quintillus were to discover how he was trying to influence his student away from him, who knew what he would do?

  It hadn’t been hard to trace where Quintillus was staying. As soon as Ziegler arrived in Alexandria he had put up at a small hotel and then visited one after the other until his distinctive description bore fruit. Amazing what a little cash could do to loosen a concierge’s tongue. He had toyed with the idea of staying on at his original hotel and merely visiting the Regal Imperial where Quintillus and the girl were staying, but decided this way was better. He could keep a closer eye on the archaeologist’s movements. How ideal that the girl should be on her own temporarily. Quintillus was at his excavations at Taposiris Magna with Dressler while she recovered from a short-term illness. He had tried his best but she wouldn’t listen. Now Quintillus had returned, he would have to tread carefully. There wouldn’t be much time. Any day now she would surely return to assist him and following them to Taposiris Magna wouldn’t be an option. He could pass off his presence here as pure coincidence. A much-needed vacation in a historically important city. What could be a more natural choice for a museum curator? Even as he thought this, he knew he was fooling no one—neither himself nor Quintillus. He would know why his adversary had traveled all these miles at precisely this time.

  Ziegler tucked the shrouded statue of Set into a drawer, changed into his robe and went into his bathroom. A leisurely soak would ease his aching muscles and soothe his preoccupied mind.

  Half an hour later, he emerged, refreshed if not entirely relaxed, but then since Gabriele had disappeared, the ability to relax had forsaken him.

  He wandered out onto his balcony and inhaled the jasmine scented night air. Crickets chirped. A sudden urge to go for a walk sent him back into the bedroom where he quickly changed.

  Outside, a gentle, occasional breeze cooled him. He set off through the gardens and down to the beach. The waves gently lapped the shore and the moon cast silver shimmers across the calm waters.

  “Good evening, Herr Ziegler. It has been a long time.”

  Ziegler stopped in his tracks, his pulse quickened. The familiar voice chilled his blood.

  Quintillus moved in front of him. “I would ask what brings you to Alexandria but I believe we both know the answer to that, don’t we?”

  Ziegler didn’t reply. Quintillus did not look as if he was in any mood to listen to excuses.

  “Not so talkative now, I see. I understand you were more forthcoming earlier today when you accosted my student, Miss Charters.”

  “Hardly accosted—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Ziegler. I know precisely what you said to Miss Charters because she relayed it to me, and now, you and I are going to take a walk together.”

  “I think not. I only wanted a little fresh air.” He must get away from this man. So, why wouldn’t his feet obey him?

  “No. You will not be returning to your room. You will come with me. We have matters to discuss.”

  He struggled, stumbled, but Quintillus controlled him and he had to move forward.

  They walked along the darkened beach in silence. Ziegler was well aware of the absence of the statuette. Why had he left it in his hotel room? In his haste to go out, he had completely forgotten it, leaving him unprotected.

  Quintillus turned into a pitch-dark cave. Near the entrance, he felt around the sandy ground and picked something up.

  Ziegler stumbled and fell headlong. A bright beam flashed around him. The object was a large flashlight.

  Quintillus shone the flashlight at the rear wall. “Move to the back of the cave.”

  “I do not take my orders from you,” Ziegler replied. He might be scared witless but he would be damned if he would allow this evil man to talk to him like that.

  “You will do as I say.”

  A searing pain shot through Ziegler’s chest. He looked down. His shirt front was rapidly staining. He touched it. Blood seeped from a shallow, lengthy wound. He stared in disbelief at Quintillus, who brandished a horsewhip encrusted with evil looking barbs that would make short work of any skin they encountered.

  “Back of the cave.”

  In shock and too much pain to argue, Ziegler moved.

  “What do you intend to do to me?” he asked.

  “Simply to ensure you no longer interfere with my plans.”

  “What did
you do with Gabriele? Where is my daughter?”

  “Your daughter is dead. At least she is to you.”

  Dead? She couldn’t be. She mustn’t be. He had failed her. Ziegler sank to his knees. “You lied to me and to the police. You insisted you had no idea where she was. All the time you knew. You knew and didn’t tell me. How long has she been dead?”

  Quintillus didn’t reply.

  Ziegler’s anger drowned out his pain and all fear of this monster. He staggered to his feet and rushed him. Quintillus sidestepped and more pain scythed through Ziegler’s body. Still he came at Quintillus, fists flailing. Each time he pushed forward, Quintillus struck. He flayed Ziegler’s skin until rivulets of blood flowed freely.

  His shirt hung in tatters. His trousers in ribbons. His only thought left was to kill Quintillus, but the man had an evil force on his side. Ziegler’s only defense lay in a drawer in his hotel room.

  Quintillus raised his arms and Ziegler lifted off the ground. Quintillus flung him with such force it knocked the breath out of his body. His back slammed against a board propped against the cave wall. For a few seconds, he hung suspended by an invisible force before the first of four paroxysms of fresh agony assailed him.

  Strong iron nails were being hammered into his palms and his feet.

  Quintillus was crucifying him. Now it wasn’t only blood that poured from his tortured body. The stench of his own waste filled his nostrils.

  Quintillus laughed. “Not so brave and foolhardy now, are you, Ziegler? Death will take you eventually. While you wait for its merciful release, reflect on your own stupidity in coming here. You could never prevent what will take place, but at least you could have lived out your days peacefully in Berlin.”

  Ziegler’s breath came in labored gasps as he struggled to speak. “Damn your soul to hell… Without my daughter…I have…no life. You…have…done…me…a…favor.”

  “I doubt you will say that in the hours to come. Especially not when the insects find you, and the other bloodsucking creatures that inhabit this shoreline.”