The Egyptian

by Layton Green

  Behind him.

  Grey kept walking as if nothing had happened. Wolves and coyotes roamed the hills around town, but wildlife didn’t accidentally kick loose rocks. When the hill took a sharp dip he ducked behind a stone wall.

  Two sides of the ruined wall still stood, waist-high, at a useless right angle. He crouched and waited. He didn’t hear a thing; whoever was following him knew they’d made a sound, and was praying Grey hadn’t heard it as well.

  Grey hoped he had continued walking long enough to set his follower at ease, because he didn’t want them to turn around.

  He wanted them to keep going.

  The footsteps resumed. Grey tensed, even though he doubted it was a professional. A professional wouldn’t have made a mistake like that and continued.

  The footsteps drew nearer, and then nearer still. Grey flattened his back into the wall, still crouched. He turned the foot nearest the edge towards the end of the wall, and kept his hands open and in front of him. He heard only one set of footsteps.

  The first foot passed the wall, and the moonlight revealed a small brown hiking boot. The next foot passed, and Grey followed a slim pair of blue-jean clad legs to a narrow waist and then to blond hair drawn back in a ponytail.

  Veronica.

  Grey clamped one hand over her mouth and reached around her waist with the other. He put one hand in the small of her back, pushed backward with the hand on her mouth, and eased her to the ground. She weighed nothing. He kept his hand on her mouth as he gave her a quick pat-down. Her eyes bulged, but she didn’t cry out.

  Her back was on the ground, and he sat on top of her. He put a finger to his lips for silence, and eased his hand off her mouth.

  He spoke in a harsh whisper. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like? Botching my attempt to follow you. Couldn’t you have just whispered my name?”

  “I didn’t want you to scream.”

  Grey eased off her and helped her up. Her hand was trembling. She brushed her clothes off and stood with her hands on her hips.

  “Following ex-spooks never pans out,” she said. “I suppose you have to silence me now.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. And I wasn’t a spook.”

  Grey sat on the knee-high wall. He saw lights in the distance, in the direction he’d been walking. He took out his binoculars and confirmed his thought: the dip in the hill had brought him within view of the manor. He could see the terra cotta eaves, the rectangle of the stone-worked rear courtyard, the gate flanked by cypress trees at the end of the drive.

  Veronica’s leg brushed his when she sat beside him. “I’m gonna take a stab and guess you’re staring at Stefan Dimitrov’s manor. You’ll either see where he goes, or search his house when he leaves. You’re not the only one who’s done this before, you know. Granted, I’m sure you’re better at it.”

  Veronica fell silent. Grey saw someone stirring in the house below, but the person moved out of sight.

  Fifteen minutes passed, then fifteen more. Veronica shifted beside him. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  Grey held the binoculars to the side while he readjusted his legs. She moved with him and looped an arm through one of his. “Can I take a look?”

  He returned to the binoculars. “Nope.”

  Veronica sighed. “So who is she?”

  “What?”

  “Who is she? There’s someone, past or present. I’ve determined that you’re straight, and therefore your utterly annoying habits mean that your mind is on someone else. Do you love her?”

  “I’m trying to pay attention.”

  “Yeah, it’s nearly impossible to have a conversation while looking through binoculars at a lifeless house. You won’t talk about Somax, so I’m prying into your personal life. So do you?”

  “What?”

  “Love her.”

  He stared harder through the binoculars.

  “Let me take a stab at this: can’t let yourself be happy, a loner, no one gets you. No one has your past, understands your present. Am I warm?”

  “I’m sure you think you are.”

  “The key is not taking life too seriously. You take your breakfast too seriously.”

  “So what happened to your great love?”

  “He married someone else and then told me it should’ve been me,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Grey mumbled.

  “Like I said, it’s a game. If you want to live you have to play.”

  Grey gripped the binoculars: someone was leaving. No, three people were leaving. Stefan and two men in white coats. Grey watched them lock the house, leave the grounds and start up the hill in a straight line. There must be a path.

  Grey put a hand out to Veronica for silence; sound travels a long way on deserted hills. Grey kept the binoculars trained on the men. Halfway up the hill they turned to the left, and he was about to lose sight of them.

  “Stay here,” he said to Veronica.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  He headed at a diagonal upward angle to try to gain vantage. He heard her following behind him.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he whispered. “Flatten your feet as you walk and try to even out your weight. For God’s sake don’t kick anything. If I say stop you stop and get on the ground and don’t make a sound.”

  “Fine.”

  Grey crept up the hill, still on the angle. The three men were circling the hill on a horizontal trail. They gained the eastern side of the hill, far from the tourist area and any of the major structures.

  They stopped moving at the base of a shattered tower. Grey watched Stefan pull out a small electronic device and point it at a shrub. The bush slid to the left, revealing a metal handle that Stefan pulled on. A hinged trap door opened.

  “I’ll be damned,” Grey murmured.

  Stefan held the door for the two men in white coats, and they descended into the hill. The false foliage slid into place behind them.

  Veronica tugged on Grey’s sleeve. “What’s over there?”

  He lowered the binoculars. He’d just found the lab.

  – 22 –

  The Berlin Museum fur Naturkunde. Below ground, in a clean basement café reserved for scientists and interns, Viktor sat across from Professor Gunther Krantz, who fussed over the small size of the café chairs. Professor Krantz, a relatively tall man himself, could not seem to grow comfortable with Viktor’s size. Even in Germany, Viktor’s huge frame and broad shoulders commanded attention.

  They shared the café with two other pairs engaged in quiet conversation in opposite corners. Viktor loosened his tie a fraction, and folded his massive hands on the table in front of him. Introductions had been made, Viktor had proffered his first question.

  Professor Krantz stroked his Van Dyke beard. He was very thin, and reminded Viktor of a Teutonic Abraham Lincoln. His voice was precise and his English excellent, although his accent was thick. “It is not so simple a question, was there worship of Nu, or Nun or Naunet, in ancient Egypt.”

  “What time period are we discussing?” Viktor asked.

  “It is also not so simple to name an exact time period. Nu is an entity, ja, an idea, at least as old as the Pyramid texts, twenty-third century B.C.E., and almost certainly older.” He took a thoughtful pause. “What is the extent of your knowledge of Egyptian cosmology?”

  “I’m familiar with the Ogdoad creation myths and deities. The original eight celestial forces that preceded creation, of which Nu was one.”

  “Most of our knowledge or mythology surrounding Nu derives from the Ogdoad.” He wagged a finger in the air, to himself. “But Nu has a history more complex than just the Ogdoad. Various creation myths arose in distinct areas of ancient Egypt. The most common creation myths derived from Memphis, Elephantine, Hermopolis Magna, and Heliopolis. The Heliopolis is the most commonly known—it included the worship of Ra, Osiris and Isis.”

  “The classic pantheon.”

>   He nodded. “One of the elements common to all the creation myths was the concept of Nu. In the Heliopolis myth, he was a “primordial mass of lifeless water from which a mound of silt emerged.” The mound of silt was a monad that, according to the Pyramid texts, floated “weary in the gloomy infinity of Nu.” The creator god, Atum, appeared on that mound of silt.”

  Viktor’s dark brow drew together. “Quite similar to the biblical creation myth. Primordial waters of chaos, and the spirit of God hovering above, creating the earth from the waters. Did Nu have specific followers?”

  Professor Krantz scratched at his beard. “Nu was considered a part of every god, and every god a part of him. He was often syncretized. Was there a specific cult dedicated to Nu? Not that I am aware.”

  “Any ritualistic behavior concerning Nu?”

  “In the earliest records there are accounts of offerings and feasts in honor on Nu, and in the temples of ancient Egypt, the priests kept a basin of sacred water which represented the eternal waters of Nu, life everlasting. The priests performed rites of purification in the pools.”

  “Are there records of these rituals?”

  “I’m afraid we know very little; either the priests were very secretive or their history has been lost. Probably both.”

  Viktor sat back, contemplative. Professor Krantz spoke again, this time with a rhetorical air. “There is one anomaly that has remained unsolved, likely a matter of imperfect interpretation. There are obscure references to Nu as a specific place. References as old as the Pyramid Texts.”

  “As in a place on earth?”

  “The Book of Nun is a set of hieroglyphs from the 23rd century B.C.E., a contemporary to the Pyramid Texts. It refers to a temple “at the fore of the cavern of Nun” and also to the “Gate of Nun.” The Pyramid Texts themselves have a reference to Pharaoh presiding over the cavern of Nun. There are at least two references to Nun as a lake—not an abstraction of the primordial waters as a lake, but the actual hieroglyph for lake.”

  “Do the texts mention where these places might be?”

  “They are obscure, veiled, and almost certainly metaphorical. I mention them only out of curiosity, ja, they are not fit for serious inquiry.”

  “Isolated textual references to topographical anthropomorphism,” Viktor said.

  “Assigning a physical location to a god. The need to relate the gods to the natural world was overwhelming.” He withdrew a notebook from his coat and opened it on the table, to the sketch of the symbol Grey had seen on Al-Miri’s medallion. Professor Krantz squinted curiously and then frowned.

  “I’m unfamiliar with this particular representation. Clearly it is symbolic of Nu in some manner. What is the source, if I may?”

  “A golden medallion.”

  He shrugged apologetically. “Ancient Egypt is a vast field, you see, and Egyptologists specialize more than most. My specialty is the Ptolemaic Period.”

  “Is there someone else at the Naturkunde who could help me?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He wagged his finger again, this time at Viktor. “There is one scholar that specializes in the Ogdoad. She works at the Museum of Antiquities in Cairo. I could arrange a phone call, if you wish.”

  Viktor stared off to the side as his fingers drummed the table. “Yes,” he murmured.

  Viktor’s instincts were abuzz. A long-forgotten god of the Ogdoad, so obscure the average Egyptologist didn’t even know much about it, yet this Al-Miri, ostensibly a respected CEO, was wearing a representation of Nu around his neck. Viktor looked forward to that phone call with the specialist.

  In the meantime, he had another trail to pursue. It was time to return to Prague and meet with a very old friend, a friend who also happened to be deeply entrenched within The Guild.

  – 23 –

  Grey sat on the hill for three hours, unmoving. He was still crouched behind the low stone wall when the trap door opened again.

  Veronica had slumped against Grey an hour ago, her cheek on his shoulder. He nudged her awake. He wanted her alert in case they had to scramble.

  Stefan exited the trapdoor, this time with a guard with a rifle slung across his back. Stefan said a few words to him, and the guard returned underground. Stefan replaced the trap door and headed downhill.

  Veronica whispered into his ear. “They went underground, didn’t they? God, I haven’t been this curious since I was a virgin.”

  Grey considered his position. Getting inside the underground chamber was too dangerous for tonight. Even if Grey lured the guard out with a diversion, there could be more guards inside.

  He watched as Stefan approached the manor. Without Veronica, he would have followed Stefan. With Veronica that avenue presented too many risks.

  And he certainly couldn’t leave her alone on the hill with at least one man with a rifle nearby.

  Fifteen minutes later the lights in the manor went out. Grey lowered the binoculars. “Let’s go,” he said. “Quietly.”

  “What’d you see?”

  “Not now. Let’s get back.”

  She brushed herself. “I sat up there all night! At least tell me—”

  “Quiet. No more talking until we’re across the bridge. I’ve already seen one armed guard.”

  Her eyes widened at this last statement. They returned down the hill, marching to the cadence of the insects, wrapped in the velvet arms of the Bulgarian night. Grey watched her navigate the stone walls and scrub with ease; she was spry.

  They reached the first archway on the bridge, and she said, “You’re going back because of me.”

  “I don’t think anything else is happening tonight. I need to think.”

  They returned to town in silence. Three blocks from their pension Grey caught a glimpse of movement in an alley, out of the corner of his eye. He murmured to her in a low voice, without breaking stride. “We’re being watched. Don’t do anything different, even if you see something, unless I tell you. We’re almost there.”

  When they reached the pension, he stepped inside with her and closed the door. He pointed towards the stairs.

  “Like I can sleep now,” she said.

  “You’ll be fine. If they’d wanted to come at us they had their chance on the walk back.”

  “Is that why you’re waiting by the door?”

  “I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She glanced at the stairs, then took one of his hands in her own. “Do you have to go?”

  Grey put his other hand on her arm to comfort her, but she eased into his arms and looked up at him. He had an internal shudder and didn’t push her away. “I won’t go far. Lock this door behind me and don’t worry.”

  She bit her lip and looked away. “There’s something I need to tell you. That night we had drinks, after I went home… I saw something outside my bedroom window. A person wrapped head to toe in white bandages, like a patient or a burn victim. Standing in the park behind my apartment, looking straight at me.”

  “You called the police?”

  “Sure, they arrived late and of course saw nothing. But who or what the hell was it?”

  Grey considered the information. “Have you seen anything like that again?”

  “No.”

  “Then either it was a coincidence, or there’s nothing to do about it right now. We can discuss it tomorrow if you want. I need to hurry.”

  She squeezed his hand a final time. “Be careful,” she whispered.

  He slipped outside and waited until he heard her set the deadbolt. He found himself breathing a bit heavily, but it wasn’t from exertion. He would far rather chase down whoever had been following them than deal with Veronica’s lingering fingertips and Nya’s face staring back at him from that blank email.

  He glanced both ways. The narrow street slumbered, without even a street light to relieve the darkness. He retraced their steps, and checked the front of the rooftops as he walked. Still nothing. He no longer
felt watched.

  If Grey chose the right direction, he might get a glimpse of whoever had been following them, returning from wherever they’d come. It was a long shot, but Grey thought he knew which direction to go.

  Towards Stefan’s chateau.

  Grey walked as quickly as he could while maintaining silence. He couldn’t risk running; the streets were in terrible condition. Potholes and bricks and loose gravel lurked underfoot.

  It was the deepest part of the night, bottled entropy, the hour before celestial momentum shifts and light creeps into the sky. A canine howl broke the hush, far in the distance. Grey reached the bridge without incident. He rested an arm on the stone ledge and strained to see into the darkness. He didn’t like crossing the bridge without knowing who was on the other side, with no cover.

  He felt sure Stefan wanted to find out what Grey was up to, perhaps to make sure his competitors hadn’t sent a spy. Tonight, Grey suspected Stefan had sent someone to watch for him after dark, but Grey had already headed to the castle hill. Someone must have picked up Veronica and him on their way back.

  He stood, arms crossed, thinking. Both martial arts and military training made one more aware, and Grey believed the sixth sense can be honed just like the other ones. Was it foolproof? Of course not. The movement he saw earlier could have been teenagers, drunks, a homeless person, even a dog. But he’d learned to trust his instincts.

  He wheeled and headed back to the pension. He didn’t like that bridge, and he didn’t like leaving Veronica alone any longer.

  He reached the corner before the turn onto his street, and stilled. Footsteps pattered around the corner.

  He crouched and waited. His anger at being followed had gotten the better of him. He never should have left Veronica.

  The footsteps drew nearer. Two sets. He could live with those odds, especially with surprise on his side.

  A foot rounded the corner, not turning, continuing down the street it was on. A worn brown boot. Grey flattened and waited for the second pair to pass. Grey would have their back.