The Bone House be-2

by Stephen Lawhead

  “Well, have some of this muffin,” she urged in a soothing voice, nudging the plate nearer. “Taste it, and tell me what you think. If enough people like them, we will begin selling them in the shop very soon.”

  Gustavus broke off an edge and lifted a bit of the freckled yellow cake to his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully and announced, “It is very good. Moist and sweet. What are you going to call this kleiner Kuchen?”

  “We have not decided yet-but we are open to suggestions.”

  He nodded and ate some more. The maid appeared with his coffee, put down the little pot and cup and, at a nod from Mina, retreated again. “Here,” said Mina, pouring his coffee, “taste it with this and tell me what Burleigh has done to upset you so.”

  Gustavus sipped his coffee and recovered some of his usually placid demeanour. “It is not seemly to take on as I have,” he said, gazing into his cup. “Forgive me, Fraulein. I did not mean to inflict my personal concerns on you. I am sorry.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, reaching across to pat his hand. “What are friends for? Come, now. Eat some more of this cake and tell Wilhelmina what is bothering you.”

  The young alchemist did as he was told, and in a moment began to relate how early that morning the mysterious earl had appeared at the palace. The visitor had spent a long time in close consultation with the Lord High Alchemist while Gustavus continued with his work in the laboratory.

  “Then,” he said, “all of a sudden, I am summoned and told to abandon my present work in order to undertake a new commission from Herr Burleigh. But I am deeply engaged in a most delicate experiment, I tell them. I will be finished in a day or two-and I must not lose all the work I have already completed. But no! It is not to be. Nothing will do but that I must sweep everything aside and begin at once on this new project-and they will not even tell me why it is so important that it cannot wait another day!” He puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. “Months of the most exacting labour gone up in smoke-poof! Just like that!”

  “Most upsetting,” sympathised Wilhelmina. “What do they want you to do?”

  “It is to be another device,” answered Gustavus. “Like the one I made before-to aid in His Lordship’s astral investigations, ja? But this one is a little bigger, and more powerful and more complex in every way.”

  “I see.” Wilhelmina feigned a mild interest. Inside, her pulse quickened at the news. She let him enjoy some more of the muffin and drink some more coffee, then said, “Did they tell you the purpose of this new device?”

  “No.” He shrugged, then gave her a sly smile. “But I overheard them talking about it when they thought I had gone.” He sucked in his breath with an audible clutch. “They treat me like a child.”

  “Tch!” Mina gave her head a derisive shake. “That is a very shame. But I hope you know that I have the utmost respect for your intelligence and skill. I am grateful for your expertise.” She paused, then offered, “I suppose they hope to keep such important work a secret.”

  “It is to be similar to the first device in many respects,” offered Gustavus. “But this one, I believe, is to be used to locate people as well.”

  “People?” wondered Wilhelmina. “Which people?”

  “Fellow travellers-if I overheard them correctly-those who likewise journey on the astral paths. The earl says he wishes to meet those who share his explorations.” The chief under-alchemist leaned forward. “But I do not trust him. I think this Lord Burleigh is not what he appears.”

  “You could be right.” Wilhelmina frowned. There was no question but that she had to get her hands on a copy of Burleigh’s latest mechanism, whatever it was, and add it to her collection. At the same time, she thought it best not to let on how badly she wanted the new gismo.

  She was thinking how best to phrase the request when the young alchemist asked, “Would you like me to make one of these new instruments for you?”

  “Well, I don’t know-” Wilhelmina began, not wanting to sound overeager. “I appreciate you are in a very precarious position. I would not like you to put yourself at risk in any way.”

  “I will do it.” Gustavus slapped the table with determination. “I will make a copy for you.” He saw her hesitation and offered, “You will not have to pay me anything. It will be my gift to you.”

  “I am not worried about the cost, mein Freund,” she told him. “It is you I am worried about, Gustavus. It is such a big risk. If the earl discovered what you were doing, he could cause a great deal of trouble for you. I would not like to see you come to any harm.”

  “Do not worry, Fraulein. No one will ever know. Of this I am quite certain.” He took another drink of coffee. “I am a scientist. I have devoted myself to years of study. I have mastered the arts of my profession, and I refuse to be treated like an ignorant stable hand to be commanded at every idle whim.” He smiled ruefully. “Excuse me, I seem to be forgetting myself.”

  “It is nothing,” Wilhelmina assured him. “Drink your Kaffee and I will bring another pot. We have a few more things to discuss.”

  CHAPTER 17

  In Which a Burden Shared Is a Burden Halved

  The dig at Karnak was abandoned for the rest of the day in favour of other, more pressing investigations. Dr. Young, having recovered from the shock of Kit’s revelations, was now in the grip of scholarly excitement and, in a fit of exuberance, treated Kit to a meal at Luxor’s newest sensation, the Golden Ibex Hotel, recently erected to cater to the city’s nascent tourist trade. There on a table spread with clean linen, he fed his new friend on substantial Egyptian fare and began a preliminary examination of the nature and mechanisms of his latest discovery: ley travel.

  Unfortunately, the scientist’s enthusiastic queries very soon outstripped Kit’s own very limited experience and understanding. “I honestly wish I could tell you more,” Kit finally confessed as they sat staring at the remains of the meal. “The real expert was Cosimo, my great-grandfather. He is the one who got me involved in this, and the one who knew the most about it. I’m sure he could have told you far more than I can.”

  “He sounds like a man after my own heart,” said Thomas. “I should have liked to meet him.”

  “If only that were possible,” replied Kit gloomily. “Sadly, Cosimo is no longer with us.”

  Thomas, catching the note of grief in his companion’s voice, raised his eyebrows. “Am I to understand that his passing was quite recent, then?”

  Kit, suddenly unable to speak, merely nodded.

  Thomas sat back, regarding Kit across the table. “Forgive me, but I am puzzled. I had assumed-”

  “That he must have passed many years ago?”

  The doctor nodded.

  “Cosimo and Sir Henry died only a couple days ago.”

  “My dear fellow,” said Thomas, his physician’s manner coming to the fore; he reached across to pat Kit on the arm. “I am truly sorry. Please, accept my sincerest condolences.”

  Kit thanked the doctor for his sympathy and proceeded to tell his host about the untimely demise of Cosimo and Sir Henry. Thomas listened to the sorry tale, hands folded beneath his chin as Kit unburdened himself of the weight he had shouldered since landing in Burleigh’s clutches. “It is up to us-Wilhelmina, myself, and Giles, that is-to carry on the work of those two good men.”

  “A most noble ambition,” affirmed Thomas. “I salute you, sir. Moreover, I stand ready to aid the enterprise in any way I can.”

  “Thanks. You don’t know what a relief it is to hear you say that.”

  A white-coated waiter in a blue turban came to remove the dishes. Dr. Young spoke a few words of Arabic to him, and then rose. “Come, we will continue our discussion in the garden. The walk will do us good.”

  They crossed the dining room to a pair of French doors that opened onto a canopied terrace. A pebbled path led into a palm-shaded garden, lush with tropical vegetation. They strolled among lime-green tree ferns and dwarf figs. Peace returned to Kit’s soul. After a moment, he asked, “What
did Wilhelmina tell you-about all this, I mean-however did she explain it?”

  “Well!” sighed Thomas. “She said the most outrageous thing I have ever heard uttered from a rational human being. She told me in no uncertain terms that she was a traveller from another dimension who had come to enlist my aid in helping her locate a very valuable artefact which was believed to be buried somewhere in Egypt.”

  “Wilhelmina can be very… forceful.”

  “I thought her demented, of course,” replied the physician. “In my professional practice, I occasionally encounter people suffering from various forms of delusion and insanity. However, those were merely her introductory remarks. I offered her refreshment and sought to keep her talking so that I might observe her better and improve my diagnosis of her particular hysteria.” He smiled suddenly. “That was where she captured me, the dear girl.”

  “Literally?”

  “The more she talked-lucidly, calmly, with animation, intelligence, and fervour, but entirely lacking any of the more explicit signs of mental aberration-the more fascinated I became. In short, I allowed her to spin me such a splendidly impossible tale that I confess I was wholly taken in by the audacity of her creative invention.”

  Thomas raised a finger in his own defence. “Not that I did not argue-I put forth numerous and vigorous objections, which she could not entirely answer. Neither did she back down from her assertions. In the end we made a bargain. In exchange for my help, she would provide me with undeniable proof that her claims were genuine.”

  Thomas Young glanced at Kit, and his voice softened with awe. “I thought it all a splendid lark. I never dreamed what she said might have even the slightest smidgen of veracity in it. Just think-the ability to travel at will through time and space.” His gaze lost focus for a moment as he contemplated anew the enormity of the implications of the new reality that had broken in upon him. “You must excuse me,” he said. “I still find it all but impossible to credit.”

  “So do I,” Kit assured him, “and I’ve made the leap a few times.”

  “You must teach me this skill at the earliest opportunity. I do insist upon it.”

  “Well, why not?” said Kit. “But getting back to Wilhelmina and the bargain you made with her, why did you go along with it if you believed it was some sort of mental illness?”

  “Because, my dear fellow, Miss Wilhelmina made me give her my word as a gentleman that, providing her assertions proved true, I would help you.” He chuckled to himself. “She can be a most persuasive and determined young lady.”

  “The proof-the coin, the clipping, and the pages from the book-that convinced you,” observed Kit.

  “Not forgetting the postage stamp,” added Thomas. “Yes, I am convinced. You see, King George sits on the throne of England at the moment. Princess Victoria is a mere child, and not even in the direct line of succession. Yet, apparently, she is to become queen with her image on every coin. Extraordinary!

  “But the book is the thing that removes all doubt. That book has been in my mind for quite some time. As president of the Royal Society, I’ve been collecting my papers and organising them, of course, for the last several years. But I have not submitted them to be published as they are nowhere near ready yet, and more remains to be done.”

  They reached the end of the path, turned around, and started back the other way. The afternoon had dwindled, and the heat of the day was fading somewhat. As they walked together, Kit felt he had found a true friend, a person of integrity, one whom he could trust. He was still uncertain about how much to reveal about the problem of Burleigh and his thugs, but that was more out of a genuine concern than any wish to obfuscate or deceive. Having just secured a new and trustworthy ally, he did not want to risk scaring him away.

  So they strolled in companionable silence, watching the shadows lengthen on the path as evening hastened on.

  Thomas, pensive and brooding over the earthshaking revelations of the day, at last confessed, “Just when I begin to imagine I have achieved some pinnacle of understanding, reached the summit of the highest climb… I scramble the last few feet to the top only to see that I have merely gained a foothold on a narrow plateau and that entire new mountain ranges rise before me, serried ranks of peaks, each one higher than the last.” He laughed softly to himself. “I feel that way now.”

  Kit nodded in commiseration. “I feel that way all the time.”

  “Time… strange stuff,” mused Thomas. “Time is the central mystery of our existence. It confines and defines us in many ways. We are obedient to its inexorable mechanism throughout our lives, and yet we know almost nothing about it. Why does it flow in only one direction? What is it made of? How is it regulated? Is it everywhere the same for everyone? Or might its substance or speed be altered by mechanisms as yet undiscovered?”

  “I think Albert Einstein had something to say about it,” put in Kit.

  “Who? I do not believe I know the gentleman.”

  “No,” said Kit. “I don’t suppose you would. But he caused quite a stir in my world.”

  “Tell me about your world. What is it like-is it very different, the future?”

  “Well, where to begin?” wondered Kit. “I guess things are-”

  Young stopped on the path. “No! Wait. Do not say another word.”

  “No?”

  “Whatever you tell me could have unforeseen implications. There could be disastrous repercussions.” He pulled on the corner of his moustache. “I must think about this. I must consider it most carefully.”

  “Okay,” agreed Kit. “You know best.”

  “Where were we?”

  “You were talking about the mystery of time.”

  “Indeed. Sometimes I think that if we could only gain a knowledge of the working of time at its most fundamental level, we might at last begin to understand something of the mind and purposes of God.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Kit replied. “It seems pretty random to me-but I’m no expert.”

  Thomas regarded his companion for a moment, then turned his gaze up into the clear blue sky. “Do you know why I am here in Luxor?”

  “To dig up history, study the past-that sort of thing?”

  “Partly,” said Thomas. “But only in that all this digging and study serves a far greater ambition.”

  “Which is?”

  “To unravel the mystery of tombs.”

  “The pharaohs’ tombs?”

  “ All tombs.” At Kit’s quizzical expression, he said, “Since the human creature became a conscious being, we have made tombs and graves for our dead. Is this not so?”

  “I suppose.”

  “It is a fact. From one end of the world to the other, and in every successive age from the dawn of human consciousness until now, and from the simplest societies to the most sophisticated, we have made graves and tombs for our dead. Have you ever stopped to consider why?” Thomas peered at him expectantly. “Why engage in such an expensive and ultimately pointless activity, if death is the final, irrefutable answer to all of life’s questions?”

  “Maybe,” Kit ventured, thinking of how he rued leaving Cosimo and Sir Henry unburied and unmourned, “we don’t do it for them, but we do it for ourselves.”

  Thomas commended this response. “Very good! Yet, if we do it for ourselves alone, what do we hope to gain by such taxing endeavour? For, if annihilation is all there is at the end of life, then tombs ultimately make no sense whatsoever.”

  “True,” Kit allowed.

  “True- unless,” countered Thomas quickly, “there is something more than mere physical existence, something that lies beyond the grave, something even our most primitive ancestors knew that we moderns seem to have forgotten.”

  “What did our ancestors know?”

  “That is the riddle of the tombs,” declared Thomas. “And that is what I am trying to discover.”

  Kit considered this for a moment. “After all your work, you must have some theories.”

  “Oh, I d
o,” Thomas assured him with a laugh. “In my avocation as a scientist, there is no shortage of theories. Indeed, it is the one commodity we have in admirable abundance.”

  “So, what’s your theory about the tomb-building?”

  “It is all of a piece with the very plain and simple fact that we are immortal.”

  “I don’t feel very immortal,” admitted Kit, a little unsettled by the turn the conversation had taken.

  “But you are-and so am I!” Thomas declared. “All human beings, by virtue of having been born into this world, are immortal beings-not our material bodies; those are sadly quite fragile, inasmuch as they are bound by the laws of matter and time. The spirit, however, is indestructible. It obeys different laws.”

  Dr. Young turned on the path and started back to the restaurant. “Do you have a place to stay?” he asked.

  “Not as such.”

  “Then you will be my guest.” He glanced at Kit. “Unless you have any objection?”

  “None whatsoever,” Kit replied. “Thanks.” He looked at the hotel facade rising above the palms. “You have rooms here?”

  “My dear friend,” chided Thomas lightly. “I am but a simple London doctor. I cannot afford to stay in such luxurious accommodation. Besides, it is not convivial to my work. Instead, I have a dahabiya.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Thomas chuckled. “It is a kind of sailboat. You will have seen them on the river. As it will soon be dark, I suggest we go there now, if you have no objection.”

  “Lead on, Doctor.”

  They mounted the steps and made their way through the hotel lobby and out onto the street where three lonely mule-drawn carriages waited for passengers. Thomas called a few words to one of the drivers, they climbed into the carriage, and they were soon clip-clopping along the road fronting the river. The sun was low, turning the hazy sky a warm golden orange and the Nile to molten bronze. They passed through a market-a chaos of shops no bigger than broom closets; flimsy kiosks constructed of cloth and palm branches and held together with, so far as Kit could see, bits of raffia twine; and street sellers whose place of business was merely a hand’s breadth of cloth spread out on the ground to showcase their meagre wares.