Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner

by Murray Bailey

  He sniffed the air and wondered if it had become more smoky and then jumped as he heard voices echo along the stone passageways. Yanhamu drew his sword and headed towards the sound. The air became acrid with smoke. He passed through two small rooms and then ascended stairs and could now hear the voices clearly. It was an argument.

  Yanhamu shouted, “Who’s there?”

  He entered a chamber lined with shelves, each with pigeonholes stuffed with papyri. A soldier appeared to have lit some of the scrolls, the fire of which spread rapidly. Another man was frantically trying to stop the destruction but was struck to the ground.

  The soldier looked across the chamber towards Yanhamu at the same time as raising his sword arm to drive it into the man on the floor.

  The soldier growled, “Piss off!”

  “Stop!” Yanhamu clashed his sword against metal and, through the smoke, took in more of the scene: the man on the ground was a noble, possibly by royal appointment; the soldier wore the blood-red cloak of a mercenary.

  “I said, piss…” The mercenary turned towards him with the glower of a cornered jackal. “You!”

  The shock made Yanhamu drop his sword. “You… Captain Ani…” he stammered. “Serq, you’re alive!”

  The man on the ground rolled, but Serq slashed at him with his blade, splashing scarlet across the old man’s white gown. He stepped and prepared again for a death blow, but all the time his eyes were fixed on Yanhamu.

  “Ani?” He laughed mirthlessly. “I haven’t been called that for a long, long time. Did I know you from somewhere else?”

  “You came to my village and took my sister.”

  Serq shook his head, uncomprehending. “It’s the way of war. So you survived the great wave but stayed with the Seth. Good for you. I, on the other hand, recognized an opportunity and formed my own elite unit. Much more—”

  “You took her to your garrison. You used her and you killed her.”

  A thought crossed Serq’s hard face. The scorpion-like scar seemed to twitch with life and Yanhamu was sure then that the man suddenly remembered who Laret had been. Serq looked down and then up, attempting to mask his true thoughts. He said, “Look, you’re a smart lad. You can join us. There’s enough gold here to share. Once I despatch this old crone.” He slashed down with his sword but struck wood as the old man diverted it. Serq tore his eyes from Yanhamu and struck again, this time tearing through the old man’s gown.

  Yanhamu bent and felt for his sword but grasped a metal rod instead. In a smooth movement he had it in his hand and was charging and screeching. “No…!”

  The rod struck Serq in the chest but didn’t stop. Yanhamu drove forward with all the force he could muster.

  Serq staggered backwards and then tripped over a bag on the floor. His eyes stared, glass-cold, and his mouth opened as if to shout but only air rushed between his lips. His sword clattered to the ground and then he toppled.

  Yanhamu stood over Serq, his rod raised to strike again should the man rise. But he didn’t. Instead, he checked for a pulse in Serq’s neck, found none and turned to the man on the floor.

  The old man tried to lever himself up but then slumped. His gown was splashed with scarlet, his face pale, and when he spoke his voice trembled. “Pray, don’t kill me.”

  “We’ve got to get out of here—now!”

  Yanhamu pulled the man to his feet and dragged him from the chamber of burning scrolls. The old man nodded and pointed in directions and they zigzagged through corridors into a small courtyard. Here, Yanhamu carefully helped the old man to sit and inspected his wounds. A deep slash to his left arm was causing most blood loss although a stab to the side concerned him more. Yanhamu staunched the bleeding and gave him water.

  The man said, “The records…”

  “It’s too late to save the scrolls,” Yanhamu said. “You saw how fast they were burning. What were you doing in there anyway?”

  The man ignored the question and looked at his bloodied gown. “I need the apothecary. Please help me. I can show you where it is.”

  Yanhamu helped him up and supported the old man as they went through the corridors of the King’s House and out onto the street. They checked for mercenaries before Yanhamu helped the man find the shop he was looking for. Inside, everything had been broken or knocked to the floor. While the old man searched through bottles and jars, Yanhamu went through other shops until he found clothing. When he returned with a couple of gowns, the old man finished applying a poultice to his wounds and smiled.

  “Yanhamu.” He held out his hand. “Second officer and on a royal mission.”

  The old man studied him as he dressed. “My name is Meryra, also on a royal mission. Did you notice the sack in the records chamber? The mercenaries are stealing anything of worth. They are not collecting royal treasures for Pharaoh but for themselves.”

  Yanhamu nodded. So that’s what Serq and his mercenaries were up to: appear to act for Horemheb but profit in the process.

  Meryra interrupted his thoughts: “When you say royal mission, I presume this is also in the name of Horemheb?”

  Yanhamu pulled a scroll from his satchel bearing the mark of the Office of Pharaoh Horemheb. It was authority to collect the mummy of Akhenaten and treasures from the royal tombs and move them to the safety of the Valley of the Kings.

  Meryra nodded. “I expected it would be so. While Horemheb tries to rid the country of the people he calls the outlaws—Akhenaten’s and his queen’s followers—he must also be seen to do the right thing by the priesthood and the gods. Each pharaoh has a duty to protect all pharaohs who have gone before.” There was a deep sadness in Meryra’s dark eyes as he added, “This is the same king who removed the guards from royal tombs. Even the tyrant Ay did not dare encourage the desecration of holy sites.”

  “And your mission?” Yanhamu said sceptically, having registered the old man’s criticism of Pharaoh.

  “I will explain fully later. Clearly, you have been sent by the gods and we must move as quickly as we can. How are you to move the royal coffin?”

  Yanhamu told Meryra about the carriage and his small armed unit he had sent ahead. They would travel during the night and find cool places to leave the body during the daylight hours.

  The old man said, “Excellent. Go to them and collect me when you return this evening. On the road by the Great River, the last building in the south has an animal enclosure. I will be in the hut behind it. Oh, and in Akhenaten’s tomb you will find a coffin. It is empty but you should take it back as evidence. Do not bother looking for any mummies. They have gone.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Free your mind of the problem and the solution may appear: the concept of aha moments problem solving. From Alex’s experience all his insights came this way. He needed a distraction.

  He said, “Let’s go.”

  The driver said, “Hotel?”

  “The Royal Wadi.” Alex pointed to the hills. “Can you take us there?”

  The driver grinned and swung the Nissan around to head south once more.

  “Are you all right?” Vanessa touched Alex’s arm.

  “Akhenaten’s tomb,” he said. “Since we’re here we must go see his tomb.”

  Vanessa looked confused but sat in silence as they drove back through the town, picked up the main road and followed it to the hills and into a valley. The road looked new with drainage channels.

  “Wadi means riverbed, I think you told me?”

  Alex nodded. “But a long time dry, even in Akhenaten’s time. This was his equivalent of the Valley of the Kings but radical because it was to the east to greet the rising sun rather than where it went at night—the underworld. There are five royal tombs here, although it’s unclear who they were for. In fact, only one was completed.”

  They drove through the valley until the road ended in a parking area. There were four other cars already parked. Alex and Vanessa got out and followed a track into a side valley. Here they were sheltered from the storm, and
the trek to the gated entrance to the tomb took only five minutes. Beside a ticket booth, two men in black uniforms and carbines scowled at them.

  Alex said, “The Antiquities Service—no wonder Carter had so much trouble with the authorities. What a tourist-friendly bunch!” He paid for their tickets and they walked to the farthest tomb and then followed a path to the entrance.

  An Asian couple, with what looked like a police escort, came out and down the ramp. Alex and Vanessa stood to one side to let them pass and exchanged polite nods. Once clear, they walked up the ramp and into the tomb.

  The cool air was an immediate relief from the arid heat outside. They were standing in a corridor perhaps twenty yards long, hewn from the rock. Vanessa ran her hand over the smooth surface.

  “How did they do this? It’s near perfect, like they used a modern angle grinder.”

  Alex didn’t answer. He half closed his eyes, breathed in the dusty air and imagined he was here over three thousand years ago, walking in the footsteps of a pharaoh.

  To the right a small opening led to a roughly cut tunnel. It was barricaded with a no entry sign. Alex continued straight and then stopped where the corridor narrowed.

  “This would be where the door to the outer chamber was.” He hesitated and took a long stride through. Immediately to the right was another passageway. Ahead, twenty stone steps took them down. A string of weak lights created a pinkish limestone glow that somehow added to the sense of travelling back through time.

  They heard a male voice echo from the right and followed the sound through one chamber directly into another. An American guide was explaining to a group of four that the side chamber had contained the coffin of Meketaten, the second of Akhenaten’s and Nefertiti’s daughters.

  He said, “As you can see from the very realistic style of art of the time, her death caused the pharaoh and his queen extreme distress. This is the first time such imagery had been used. She was born in year four of Akhenaten’s reign and some believe she died in childbirth.” He pointed to the image of a young woman with a child strangely facing away from the mourners. “Some people say that this is Meketaten with her child. But let’s see who can work out why that’s nonsense. We know the princess died in year fourteen.” The guide hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, that’s right, she was only ten. My own theory is that this child is Tutankhamen.”

  The guide waited for this suggestion to be appreciated before continuing. “Back to Meketaten, what is much more likely is that a plague spread through the land, possibly also killing Queen Nefertiti, who herself disappears from the records shortly after this event.”

  “Where is the queen buried?” one of the tourists asked.

  The guide beamed. “No one knows. It is a mystery what happened to the royal family. Even Akhenaten’s body has not been found and maybe was never buried here.”

  Alex pitched in, “Do you think his mummy is one from KV55?”

  The guide looked at Alex and then back to his group. “Ah, the mysterious KV55. This is a tomb in the Valley of the Kings—KV—that was discovered in 1907, very close to where Tutankhamen’s tomb was later found. It is small, simple and unadorned, and at some point was damaged by flooding. There is a great deal of evidence to suggest the mummy is someone from the Akhenaten royal house and that it had been relocated.” He looked back at Alex. “It seems to fit but the jury is still out.”

  The guide led them out and Alex and Vanessa tagged along behind. One by one, they descended steps and, when they were all gathered at the bottom, he turned them around and pointed out to where the door would have been sealed with a limestone block.

  “This is known as the Well Room and”—he shone his torch slowly over the walls—“these are the famous reliefs showing Ahkenaten and the royal family worshipping the Aten.”

  From there he led them into Akhenaten’s burial chamber, about ten paces square with two pillars and a low platform. The guide explained that the rock walls here were of poor quality so were plastered and then chiselled. Unlike Meketaten’s burial chamber, most of the decoration was gone except for the names of Akhenaten, Nefertiti and Aten, which he pointed out near the ceiling.

  “On this plinth would have been Akhenaten’s pink granite sarcophagus. Unfortunately it’s damaged, having been found in pieces and is now outside the Cairo Museum. One interesting thing is Nefertiti features on each corner as a protector. The accepted wisdom is that Nefertiti died before Akhenaten, but I think this tells us a different story.” He placed a hand on a wall. “If only we could see what was painted here, it would tell us so much. For example, who performed the Opening of the Mouth ceremony? This would have told us who Akhenaten’s successor was. This is also fascinating.” The guide pointed to a small alcove and the group peered in. “This side chamber was never completed.”

  Alex stopped listening. He was thinking about what the guide had said earlier about the body in KV55: There is a great deal of evidence to suggest the mummy is someone from the Akhenaten royal house and that it had been relocated. Perhaps this was the aha moment, the idea he needed to solve the problem with the map. Perhaps the map wasn’t found here. Perhaps the map pointed to somewhere else entirely.

  The group began to leave, ascending to the main burial corridor. Vanessa followed and Alex took the rear. As they passed the halfway point of the corridor, Alex stopped and grabbed her.

  “Shit!” he whispered, then raised his hand to stop her talking.

  The guide and his group neared the entrance. Alex looked behind and then at the barricaded side opening. “This way,” he hissed.

  He lifted the tape strung across the entrance and together they ducked through. He was still holding her arm and pulled her quickly along the side passage. The illumination faded quickly and, after ten yards, when it opened up into a small chamber, they could barely make out the opening on their right. This was a rough and curved passage.

  Alex slowed. His breathing sounded loud in the confined space. He swallowed and whispered into Vanessa’s ear, “There was a tall man at the entrance.” He breathed deeply trying to calm his racing heart. “Vanessa, I’m pretty sure it’s the guy who’s after us—the BMW man!”

  Vanessa said nothing.

  They stood in the darkness for five minutes.

  Distant voices echoed through the passageways. The American tour guide started again. Feet moved down the main hall. They faded. Then more footsteps, only this time coming towards them.

  A flashlight played across the chamber they had left.

  Alex and Vanessa backed into the darkness, feeling the wall. It smoothed and opened up. They felt their way into another burial chamber, round it and through to yet another. At the far end they felt it open into another doorway. The ground dropped and Vanessa stumbled. They both froze as the scuffing sound echoed loud.

  Footsteps behind them again.

  They pressed on into the pitch-black. Then the flashlight briefly lit the room they were in. An unfinished chamber. They could go no further.

  Alex pulled Vanessa to the side and crouched beside the entrance. He held her hand.

  The light bobbed and flashed across the room, growing brighter. The feet crunched, heavy on the sand-coated stone. The person paused and then stepped through into their chamber. The torch, attached to a gun, swung towards where they crouched.

  FIFTY-TWO

  1322 BCE, south of Akhetaten

  Yanhamu rode at the front of the carriage beside the old man. Four of the foot soldiers carried lanterns and another swung above the heads of the two men on the carriage seat. They had been travelling for an hour, making slower progress in the dark than Yanhamu had hoped.

  “You’ve some explaining to do,” he said, and was surprised by Meryra’s expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” Meryra said, and pulled a dull silver necklace from beneath the gown. “You have the same amulet on your wrist. Where did you get it?”

  “Many years ago�
�� a gentleman in Thebes…” Yanhamu stared long and hard. “Was it you?”

  “You’re the boy who raged against the gods… the one who lost his sister. And you’ve grown into a fine young man.”

  “You told me I would find justice through the law. I studied for years under the Thebes magistrate and found it to be at times unfair and biased against the common people.”

  Meryra shook his head. “I was referring to the Law of Ra—God’s justice, the Two Truths—not the crooked laws of mankind. It seems that you have had your revenge after all.”

  “But I have killed a man—an Egyptian—and my soul is doomed now anyway.”

  “You did not spill his blood. It seems that blow to the chest stopped his heart, and anyway, I believe when Anubis weighs your heart, he will find it a good one. The gods are not stupid, my son. They know good from evil—and I can help you. All you need to know is the language of the gods so you can speak the truth that they will understand.”

  “You can?”

  “I was Akhenaten’s Chief Scribe. I later became Keeper of the Secrets and when Ay took power, he could have either killed me or used me. The consummate politician, he decided it was better to keep me close and made me treasurer. I arranged Akhenaten’s burial and was a witness to Tutankhamen’s. I know the secrets and I know the ancient words.” He reached behind to pull something from his satchel. His movement was awkward, as though the cut in his side troubled him. When he turned back he had a leather tube from which he pulled a papyrus scroll.