by C J Turner
Amunet herself had vouchsafed the other woman only a curt unsmiling nod of acknowledgement in greeting, at which Dr. Meredith’s own smile had deepened. She had a wide, beautifully shaped mouth, which curled up bewitchingly at the corners when she was pleased - and this evening she was disposed to be very pleased indeed.
Amunet looked pale, she had lost weight again in the last few weeks and her face looked pinched and thin, the dark smudges under her eyes testifying to too many sleepless nights.
If this was the competition, it could be dismissed out of hand! Blake’s taste did not run to the young and green, as Lalage knew only too well.
Moreover, the lady was intelligent and now she uncrossed long slim legs and smilingly took her leave of them. Blake seemed inclined to argue but she reminded him gently that they would soon be seeing a lot more of each other and exchanged a meaningful glance with him, which she marked with satisfaction, had not gone unnoticed by the stony faced girl at Max’s side.
Blake saw his visitor to her car, lingering somewhat unnecessarily over his goodbyes, and came back in jaunty mood to face the music.
Amunet stood stiffly in the middle of the room, her eyes as dark and stormy as thunderclouds in a summer sky.
‘How dare you tell that woman about our plans without consulting me!’ she blazed at him angrily as soon as he walked through the door. ‘The dagger belongs to my family and has nothing to do with her and I will not allow anyone else to see it!’
‘Take a damper!’ Blake dug his hands in his pocket and strolled negligently over to the fireplace where he turned to look at her in bored exasperation. ‘Lalage Meredith is an expert in her field and if anyone can help us trace where that dagger came from, she can.’ His stark rejoinder poured oil on troubled flames.
From white, Amunet’s cheeks now burned scarlet with fury.
‘Why didn’t you tell Max and I what you intended, we have a right to know before you involve anybody else?’ now she fairly spat at him, shaking with rage.
‘Well, what was I supposed to do, risk breaking up the Cornish idyll with your fiancé, just to ask your permission?’ he shot back. ‘I don’t think so!’ He had the dubious satisfaction of seeing her face lose all trace of colour again as she fought vainly for control.
‘All right, that’s quite enough, I think.’ Max interpolated firmly, but Amunet had walked stiffly up to Blake and slapped him resoundingly across the face before he could stop her.
Impassively, the Professor stood looking down at her, the livid imprint of her hand standing out in shockingly relief on his suddenly drawn face. Then, ignoring the small fury before him, he turned his head leisurely to Max, the calculated movement in itself a studied insult, and remarked in his most aggravating manner,
‘A pity you didn’t teach your fiancé better manners while you were in Cornwall!’ he stared grimly down into her blazing eyes, ‘Now, if you have finished your tantrum, I have rather a lot to do before we leave!’
Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
‘What the hell do you think you are playing at?’ demanded Max furiously, as the door slammed behind her. ‘That was not well done of you - I’m in two minds whether to give you a punch on the nose myself!’
‘Oh, not you as well – I haven’t mentioned the blasted dagger to Lalage yet, nor will I – but I do resent having my every action misinterpreted and standing accused each time that little hell cat jumps to the wrong conclusion!’
‘Well, you only have yourself to blame,’ Max responded, but in slightly more mollified tones, ‘You could have explained that to Amunet.’
‘She can think what she likes; anyway I am glad she’s out of the way. I had a response today from some enquiries I made in Luxor. It concerns her cousin, I needed to find out a few things – how exactly the girl died for a start and now I know - more than I bargained for!
Blake distractedly raked a hand through his hair and told Max the unvarnished circumstances of Ghalida’s death.
Max was horrified. ‘The poor child, what a tragedy, Amunet told us her cousin was dead but I can understand why she did not go into details! She must have suffered the most terrible shock!’
Blake looked hard at Max. He guessed that Amunet’s prime motivation now was not grief, or shock, but revenge - pure and deadly. Her determination to catch up with the gang was now explained. He said nothing however, let Max keep his rose-tinted view of his fiancé, he would learn his error soon enough.
Max was still thinking.
‘But why was Lalage Meredith here? I seem to remember that you likened her to a predatory raptor on heat last time you got involved with her, and you had the devil of a job breaking free!’
‘Exactly! I am so pleased you remembered that! I put myself out to be pleasant to the one person who might be able to help us, despite all personal risk, and is it appreciated? Not at all, I just get insulted!’ Blake sounded sorely tried and Max looked at him with a quick frown.
‘Rubbish, you looked as if you were thoroughly enjoying yourself to me!’ he snapped and Blake grinned cheerfully back at him.
‘Well, you must admit, she is very easy on the eye! Even if she is as hard as nails and proud of it, you at least know where you are with her! Forewarned is forearmed. I am not likely to make the same mistake again now, am I? More importantly, she knows her stuff and …’ Blake broke off and met Max’s troubled eyes directly. ‘In any case, so what? It is not as if I have anything to lose now, is it?’
His tone challenged and Max may have tried to end the conflict there and then but Blake would not let him finish.
‘Now look, Blake you know…’
‘No! I do not want to know. Forget it, Max! She’s made her choice,’ Max knew they were no longer talking about Lalage, ‘It’s probably for the best anyway, like this. Now, I really do have some telephoning to do, so if you will excuse me.’
Blake quickly finished the rest of his drink and left the room, leaving Max to glumly conjecture where this imbroglio was going to end up and what he should do about it. Looking moodily down into his own glass, it suddenly struck him that Blake had not introduced Amunet to Lalage as Max’s fiancé, as form demanded. The engagement was obviously still a sore point and a state of affairs that stuck in Blake’s throat, which was, of course, exactly the intention. He knew Blake well enough to know that there was more than a touch of hurt male pride in his friend’s attitude, which Blake would try to deal with by simply detaching himself from the situation.
Max did not believe that that would prove to be a very easy task where Amunet was concerned. He immediately began to cheer up as he savoured a distinct feeling of resigned gratification, assured that they were on the right lines after all.
His elation did not survive long. Over the next few days, Max was conscious of a strong feeling of unease when he noticed that Amunet was looking increasingly fragile; her eyes etched in with shadows that made them look far too big in the thin pale face. Blake, of course, seemed to notice nothing wrong or if he did, he did not mention it. He treated Amunet with cool indifference, rarely looked at her directly and taking pains to avoid her wherever possible.
Amunet had come to Max after the row and told him that she was leaving for Luxor on the next available plane – alarmed at her distraught appearance, he had to use all his arts of persuation to get her to reluctantly agree to stay so that they could leave together. It was an uneasy truce at best, Amunet looked hag ridden, and Blake’s foul temper appeared to have become permanent.
Max might have taken the situation in both hands and tried to break the impasse, if events had not suddenly resolved the matter for him.
‘Well, I’m worried about her and so would you be if you had eyes in your head and used them!’ Alice declared in martial tones over breakfast one morning.
Impassively, Blake continued to drink his coffee but Max looked up and frowned at Alice with a quick shake of his head in Blake’s direction.
‘No, I’
m going to have my say and you need not flatter yourselves - either of you - that you have anything to do with the state she’s in! She says there’s nothing wrong but she’s not well and it is because she’s having those nightmares again!’
Now she had both men’s undivided attention, and she told them that on several occasions recently, she had heard Amunet talking in her sleep, evidently in great distress, and the strain of these disturbed, and disturbing nights were taking their toll. As if the poor child did not have enough to put up with, Alice finished with a sharp look at the two men. Blake flushed a little under his tan, but Max looked worried and shook his head in dismay.
Alice regarded herself as somewhat in ‘loco parentis’ where the younger woman was concerned and was disappointed that Blake seemed so impervious to Amunet’s plight. She guessed that he was having a few emotional problems of his own, but Alice was not prepared to waste sympathy on him – he was after all a big boy now and not unintelligent; she was reasonably confident that he would work it out for himself. Amunet, on the other hand, was another matter altogether.
When Alice had first seen Amunet in the grip of an appalling nightmare and heard her continued repetition of the name of Menkheperne, a shiver had run down her spine. She too had heard that name before and hearing it again brought back a whole host of emotions, but in the present context, fear predominated. Not for herself, but for the girl she now saw caught in a tangled, age long spider’s web of murder and vengeance.
Alice had dreamt about Menkheperne herself some years ago and the mention of his name had stirred up memories that she would have preferred to forget. She had never mentioned this to Blake as she was well aware of his scathing disbelief of such matters.
She had now, however, managed to have several conversations with Amunet and had finally pieced together a theory, which along with certain other facts in her possession, raised a number of fascinating possibilities
Reincarnation, the dead investing the living and vengeance stretching out over the millennia did not seem at all farfetched to Alice. She had come across many inexplicable phenomena over the years in her research of the mores of ancient Egyptians and one particular belief nagged at her like an aching tooth. It had been a widely held belief that a ‘ka’ or spirit, providing it had undergone the correct rituals, could reassemble its seven component parts after three thousand years and take physical form again if it could find a suitable host, and, of course, had a sufficiently compelling reason to do so.
Blake’s account of the depiction of Kenna striking the mummy of Menkheperne in the secret chamber had struck Alice forcibly. She knew how imperative it was that the mummified remains of anyone seeking the afterlife must be perfect and inviolate. Any damage to the mummy would result in the ka of the injured soul wandering in limbo, forever seeking a way back into the land of the living. Such a return would be aided if there were a strong amulet in the land of the living, powerful enough to show the spirit the way back. Alice grew thoughtful and increasingly uneasy. To Amunet, she stressed the importance of wearing the scarab necklace at all times.
Alice wondered whether she should try to speak to Max, it would certainly prove a waste of time talking to Blake - the Professor’s views on what he would consider supernatural hyperbole were extremely well known. Then again, Max’s reaction would probably be the same, even if expressed in more polite terms. He would simply write it off as sensationalism or even worse, middle-aged gullibility. Despairingly, she realised that there was no one whom she could rely on to take her seriously.
Then she had an idea.
Chapter 20
They were to fly out in two days time, all arrangements were made; they were packed and ready to go. That evening, Max was engaged to dine with particular friends of his and Alice had arranged to see a film with a chum. Knowing that Max was staying with Blake, the Professor had also been courteously invited to the dinner party, but he had freely stigmatised Max’s friends as being so stiff they crackled when they sat down and had declined the privilege of being bored to death for three or four hours, as he very rudely put it.
It was seen then that Blake’s mood was worsening steadily; he was like an unexploded bomb likely to go off at any moment. Max had tutted disapprovingly and had left the house - very dapper in his black tie - with more than a touch of relief. Looking forward to an uncomplicated evening with his hosts (who were actually very charming people), his only disappointment was that Amunet was not accompanying him. She too had prudently declined the invitation and was herself a little alarmed that Max appeared to be taking their engagement a little more seriously than she had expected.
Her excuse that she had a headache and was going to have an early night was accepted with concern but not surprise, she did not look well, and it was only worry over her health that threatened to cloud Max’s evening.
Blake, left to his own devises, now contrarily decided that he was not in the mood for solitude. Craving company, he took himself off to the local pub where he spent an enjoyable evening putting the world to rights with the like-minded denizens. The landlord being a particular friend, it was not until much later that he finally returned home.
The house was gently illuminated by a subdued radiance welling from just one window, which shone out into the dark street causing the shiny rain washed pavements to shimmer in the reflected sheen. Not the hard bright glare of electricity, but a softer, more luminous glow of candlelight.
Surprised, Blake looked up, marking that the golden light spilling into the night was coming from Amunet’s bedroom window. Instantly sobered, he leapt up the three steps leading to the front door and hurriedly let himself in. The house was quiet and dark. Flicking on the light switch, it remained dark. Simply a power-cut then and he felt relief wash through him at such a prosaic explanation of his sudden fear.
Hearing a whisper of sound from above, he stilled suddenly; someone was speaking or rather chanting, very softly above him. Something in the hushed atmosphere of the house was affecting Blake and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen in warning.
Quietly, he climbed the stairs.
He paused when he reached the landing, and looked through Amunet’s open bedroom door. He could see her kneeling on the floor, her back towards him, wearing something white and practically transparent, the honey sheen of her skin clearly visable through the filmy material. On every surface in the room a candle flickered; the shimmering refulgence of golden light diffusing through a pale mist that was slowly rising around her ethereal figure so that she appeared to be floating amid the swirling, eddying wisps.
Blake felt an icy trickle down his spine as he heard her murmuring some sort of chant in the ancient tongue that Max believed was indeed the ancient language of the Pharaohs. In this setting, it was only too easy to believe.
She rocked gently back and forth, taking no notice of him as he cautiously edged into the room trying to see what it was that she held up in her hands.
Her arms were raised in the posture of a supplicant. To his utter consternation, he saw that what she offered across her open palms was the golden dagger itself!
It was an uncanny, and strangely beautiful scene, but he was appalled. Even as the terrible implications began to sink in, her whispered chant ceased and she sat still, her head bent slightly as if listening intently to something only she could hear.
As Blake watched in incredulous horror, she bowed her head in acquiescence, transferred the dagger to one hand and holding it at arm’s length, made to thrust it directly into her own breast.
As soon as he saw the knife turning toward her, Blake shot forward shouting a hoarse exclamation of denial. He knocked the knife out of her hand, and the horrified girl screamed in terror as she was wrenched abruptly back into this reality. Grimly, she fought him with all her strength; her eyes blank and unrecognising, glared green in the reflected candlelight.
With difficulty, he gripped her hands firmly in both of his own, saying her name, calling her back until
her struggles gradually stopped. She looked up at him dazed and confused and his expression was for once not hard with suspicion or coldly mocking but instead alight with desperate concern. The green fire faded from her eyes and she looked away, her whole body beginning to tremble uncontrollably.
Blake inhaled deeply, but his relief was short lived. Suddenly the window rattled violently in the frame and the sash flew up with a crash. The curtains billowed out as a cold wind swept through the room, extinguishing most of the candles but for a few whose flames leapt up to meet the chilly draught. Soughing thought the open window he heard a low moaning sound, accompanied by a sickening, musty stench. At the same moment, Amunet wrenching her hands from his, had snatched up the fallen dagger. Spitting an incomprehensible curse, she lunged towards him with the lightening strike of a cobra.
He had no choice, his fist came up and swiftly clipped the small chin. Her head snapped back and she fell like a stone unconscious into his waiting arms. The lights suddenly came on all over the house.
Blake carried her out of the room and laid her on his own bed, checking her pulse before returning to her bedroom. His own heart was hammering in his chest and his mouth was dry.
Crossing to the window, he was not surprised to find it closed, the latch still securely fastened. The strange mist had disappeared and the room was icy cold. Pulling the curtains and turning back to the room, he noted that all the candles were still in their places and burning brightly. Carefully blowing them out, he gathered them together. He cautiously picked up the dagger, and noticed as he did do so, a tiny, pale brown object on the carpet in front of the window and he picked that up too. His hands were not quite steady, he noted with disgust. He knew that if anyone else had described to him what had just happened in the candle-lit room, he would have refused to believe them.
