“I believe you’ve had quite enough to drink, Alex. Get to the point.”
“I wish to go to Egypt with you on your next expedition.”
Winston threw his head back and laughed heartily. He shook his head. “Oh, Alex, my dear boy. I’m afraid that is never going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll tell you the truth right off. Your kind does not have the stamina for such a life.”
“My kind?” Alex said with a touch of amusement in his voice. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Look at me, Alex. What do you see?”
Alex cleared his throat. “I see a man well past his prime with a bad back and heart problems. I see a man with haunted eyes, a brown sun-baked complexion and hands that are so scarred and calloused it’s a wonder they can function at all.”
Winston smiled grimly. “You are absolutely correct, Alex, my boy. Even so, I press on day after miserable day, against all odds. I never run from adversity. As a matter of fact, I look it in the eye and spit in its face. On the other hand, I’ve known you since you were a child. You’re a romantic, true, but as far as I know you’ve never done a lick of real work in your life. The simple truth of the matter is you’re soft and bone lazy. You’ve allowed your father to spoil you to death.”
Alex reddened and was on the verge of blowing up at his uncle, but in the last moment, decided that it would be a non productive strategy.
“You wouldn’t last a day in the desert,” Winston said. “Besides, I’m too tired for another expedition. There’s no money and my investors have all abandoned me. There you have it. The bitter truth. I’ve just saved you the embarrassment of proving I’m right about you.”
“What if I could get you the money?”
Winston took a drink from his glass, his small, dark eyes narrowing to suspicious slits as he stared at his nephew. “You?” he said finally. “And where would you come up with enough money to finance such an endeavor?”
“My family.”
Winston chuckled. “Oh, Alex, my dear boy, your mother has no money, and your father has been very candid about his feelings for my chosen profession. I can assure you, there’ll be no money from them.”
“I didn’t say my father, Uncle Winston. I said my family. I turn twenty-five next week and according to the terms of my grandfather’s will, I will inherit twenty million pounds on that date. My father has done everything within his considerable influence to derail my grandfather’s wishes, but alas, granddad was a master at manipulating the legal system and I can assure you the will’s terms are iron-clad.”
Winston thought about this for a long moment while staring at his nephew. “So am I to assume you’ll be offering me a loan?”
“Not a loan, Uncle Winston. I’m offering you a gift.”
Winston chuckled shaking his head.
“Why is that funny, uncle?”
“I don’t believe in gifts, Alex. Rarely are such offers made strictly from the kindness of the heart. What do you want?”
“Equal credit across the board. Including equal billing. I think Smith/Whitehead would suffice. You’re the master, there’s no doubt about that, so of course you’ll get top billing. But I get second billing. It’ll look good in the headline, don’t you think? Smith/Whitehead expedition discovers greatest Egyptian treasure since Tut.” Alex smiled disarmingly.
“You’re deluding yourself, Alex.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
Winston’s eyes narrowed. What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing, Uncle Winston, other than this feeling I have that it just might be your time. I believe that if a man sticks with something long enough, eventually success will come to him. Law of averages, you understand. Point is I want to be there when you strike it. I want to share in your extraordinary moment.”
“I still think you’re deluding yourself.”
Alex, who now seemed strangely sober, smiled again. “Do we have a deal?”
“What other terms do you expect?”
Alex cleared his throat. “I’ll be free to come and go as I please, bring along my own assistant, and conduct myself in any way I see fit, within the limits of conditions on the ground, of course.”
Winston seemed amused. He took a sip of his scotch his eyes sparkling. “Ah yes, the expedition rogue. Right up your alley, I suspect.”
“These terms are not negotiable,” Alex said, his tone gravely serious. “You have exactly ten minutes before the offer expires.”
“You’re drunk, Alex. I think you should go home and sleep it off. Come back in the morning. If you still want to do this, we’ll talk then. I have a feeling a sober head will put a different light on it for you.”
“I’m not drunk now, uncle. Actually this conversation has been quite sobering.” Alex looked over at the ancient oak clock resting against the far wall. “Time is running out.”
“You’re a playboy, Alex, and there’s nothing for you to play with in the desert. There are no nightclubs or fast cars or beautiful women. It’s hotter than you can imagine, it’s dusty and most uncomfortable. The sand gets in your eyes and your ears and under your clothing. You can’t sleep at night, sometimes you can’t even breathe.” Winston stopped.
“I will not be dissuaded,” Alex said.
Winston sighed. “You’ll finance the entire expedition? These things can be quite expensive, you understand—men, vehicles, animals, supplies.
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“There are no other conditions?”
“None whatsoever.”
Winston got up and brought another glass down from the cabinet behind his desk. “Well then,” he said, pouring his nephew two fingers of malt. “I suppose this calls for a celebration.” He slid the glass across the desk.
Alex picked up the glass and swirled it before his eyes staring at the amber liquid as if mesmerized when a voice that was not his uncle’s brought him back to the present.
“Master Alex!” Anwar’s voice was rife with urgency. “What are you waiting for?”
Alex’s body was caught suddenly in a cold, involuntary shudder. A wave of dizziness passed over him. Don’t faint, Alex. Dear lord, don’t faint now.
In the next moment he realized that his hands were inside the wet and warm body of the woman he loved and about to grasp hold of their unborn child. The thought occurred to him that this entire escapade had somehow been contrived; something beyond his control, some twisted form of fate had prodded him into persuading his uncle to embark on this ill-fated expedition and now he felt trapped like a fly in a honey jar. If only he hadn’t gone to Casablanca . . . If only he hadn’t met Camille . . .
“Oh, lord, Anwar, I don’t think I can do this.”
“But you must, master. There is no one else here who can. Please, just pick the child up and bring it out. And hurry, before Mademoiselle St. Clair bleeds to death.”
Alex looked down. Anwar was right, blood was pouring profusely out of Camille, and Alex did not have the tools or the skill to curb its flow. Camille’s body turned hard again, locked and straining. The child’s tiny foot emerged. Alex waited for it to slip back in but this time it did not. Without the benefit of further thought he grasped hold of the child and lifted. It squirmed and writhed in his hands.
Chapter 12
The door fell inward and hit the floor with a great muffled thud. Dust puffed up and filled the cavern, causing them to choke and gag. Winston rushed over the huge slab door and into the burial chamber, a handkerchief plastered over his face. The workers stayed back in the cavern, fearful of what might be found within.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Winston asked crossly. “You men bring those torches in here, this instant.”
The two workers reluctantly stepped over the slab door and entered the tomb, torches held out before them like offerings, dust covered faces slack with fear, eyes huge and glistening with superstition.
The dust began to settle quickly, and as it did s
o, the tomb lit up in a rainbow of colors so bright in the glow of the torches that their eyes could not immediately grasp its significance. Winston gasped aloud. “Oh . . . dear . . . Jesus!” He began to tremble as if in a fever and his face blanched white.
Joseph moved quickly to Winston’s side. “What is it, master?”
“Do you see it, Joseph?”
“Yes, I see, master,” Joseph said with awe. “You have finally found what you have searched for your entire life.”
Winston and Joseph stood gazing as they took it all in…a huge stone sarcophagus surrounded by a nest of four timber shrines, all plated with gold. Funerary equipment—scads of it, and ever so rich. Couches, beds, chairs, caskets of clothing, ornaments, golden statues, papyrus baskets filled with treasures beyond belief, trunks overflowing with jewels and medallions, arms, even a golden chariot. And before the offering table, the richest treasure of them all, a life-size statue of Akhenaten himself in gold. What a glorious sight. A treasure equal to or perhaps even surpassing Tutankhamen.
“The sarcophagus,” Winston said, bounding suddenly forward. “The sarcophagus must be opened. I must view the body of Akhenaten. I must prove my theory to the world once and for all.”
A sudden euphoria came over Winston, a waking dream. The experience of being here in this tomb after so many years of searching was almost a religious one. He fell to his knees in front of the sarcophagus and bowed his head. The men watched, dazed, frozen like statues.
But Winston was not praying. He was thinking of the greatest pharaoh of them all; Ramesses II, his mummy lying in the Cairo museum, clad only in a rag of linen, stripped of all its immortal delights by grave robbers back in the distant recesses of time. When Ramesses’ remains had been discovered in 1881 in a cliff cave near Deir El Bahari along with a cache of more than forty other royal mummies it was ascertained that they had been relocated there hundreds of years before in order to discourage further pillage.
The original robbers had plundered the tombs, had even stripped the linen wrappings from the dead royals in order to get at the valuable amulets and scarab rings that had been buried with them. A scrap of papyrus parchment with Ramesses’ name and lineage had been attached to the breast of one of the mummies.
The moral of the story, of course, was that here beneath an insignificant stretch of desert more than one hundred kilometers south of the ancient city of Thebes, the body of Akhenaten slept undisturbed with all his treasures intact.
It was a euphoric moment for Winston, a waking dream. He opened his eyes and saw the inscriptions on the sarcophagus. He read them and wondered. After a long moment he stood and translated the hieroglyphs in a quietly reverent voice.
“Be warned, those who would come this far. Turn away now and be gone, or the wrath of ka will be upon thee. Seal all doors in thine exit and let no man look upon this temple of the dead. The treasures one sees here have magical purposes. They are not intended to delight human eyes. They are for the sustenance of ka. Those who would remove treasure from the tomb of Akhenaten will forever be cursed and their children and their children’s children will be cursed, and the entire world will know the wrath of ka. Heed this warning. Go now lest ye be damned by the almighty power of Aten the sun god and the Kingdom of Egypt.”
“We should be very careful, Master Winston,” Joseph said. “I do not like this. The sandstorm, the light in the sky . . . the workers are very much afraid. There is something here that is sacred.”
“Joseph, you astonish me. Ten years you’ve been at my side searching these bloody dunes for just such a discovery, and now that we’ve finally found it, you’re . . . afraid.”
“Yes, master, very much afraid.”
Winston stared at his servant for a long moment, as if he were trying to see beyond those dark, gentle eyes to something inside the man himself. And for just a fleeting second he did see something he never realized existed until now: a profound and almost mystical wisdom. Over the years he supposed he had grown to love this kind and gentle young Indian man. But more than that, he had come to depend on him, to trust in him. But now he would have to disobey his better instincts. He must. He was an old man and this would be his last chance.
“No,” he said aloud but a little under his breath. “I’ve come too far to turn back now.” He moved quickly back into action again. You men, over here with your pry bars. Lift this lid at once.”
Joseph grabbed Winston’s arm. “But, master, the lid should be lifted carefully. You cannot do this with pry bars. It is too heavy. We need to bring in a tripod with pulleys and blocks. And we need more lighting. This is not what you have taught me.”
“I know perfectly well what I have taught you, Joseph. The truth is there isn’t time for the niceties of formal archeological excavation. We must do this now.”
“But why, master? What is wrong?”
Winston’s face was flushed and his breathing was laborious. “I don’t know, Joseph. Something is pushing me onward. Something is telling me that this has to be done now. I can’t adequately explain it, so please do not question me further. Just do as I say. Do you understand?”
Joseph nodded.
Winston turned and faced the two laborers. “I said get those pry bars under the lid of this coffin. Now!”
Chapter 13
Alex held on as the mass of the child squiggled and writhed in his hands. Suddenly it felt loathsome and repellent to the touch, and he imagined a huge slimy worm was about to be born. He pulled the abhorrent thing toward him, but did not dare look at it.
Chapter 14
It took some doing but the leverage brought forth by the two iron pry bars finally bore fruit. The heavy marble lid of the sarcophagus slid slowly from its base, tilted beyond the balance point and fell crashing to the floor, shattering into fragments at their feet. Winston and Joseph peered down into the opening. As expected a second anthropoid coffin lay within, the surface concealed beneath a decayed shroud of linen, partially obscured by floral garlands. Blue lotus petals and cornflowers were wrapped around the protective deities on the pharaoh’s brow. Winston determined that this second coffin was made of some sort of wood, probably cedar, partially decayed and worm-eaten. The coffin had once been covered in an overlay of gold foil and decorated painstakingly with scenes of the Pharaoh’s life. Now a large portion of the foil and artwork had eroded along with the decaying wood.
Winston took his knife and cut around the edges of the coffin’s lid, scraping and chipping away the centuries of brittle glue-like varnish until the seal was broken. Once the relatively light lid had been removed they were staring down at a third anthropoid coffin. This was a common practice, he knew. Some royal coffins had as many as seven levels. As Winston had hoped, this coffin was cast in solid gold and inlaid with precious stones. Unlike the second anthropoid coffin this golden sarcophagus was shiny and pristine, unscathed by scarab insects or the ravages of decay. To Winston’s great delight the entire upper half of the lid was a magnificent funeral mask of alternating patterns of solid gold and blue glass studded with massive diamonds, emeralds, garnets and the largest and most stunning rubies he had ever seen. The funeral mask was similar in nature to the magnificence of Tutankhamen’s death mask. But unlike Tut’s mask which at the top had representations of vultures and cobras, Akhenaten’s mask featured a brilliant sun disk with its life-giving rays spreading out and shedding its beneficence down upon the pharaoh’s placid visage.
Such a chill of excitement went through Winston that he could scarcely breathe. He put his hand to his heart nearly staggering from the funeral platform.
Joseph moved in quickly to steady the old man.
“I’m all right, Joseph,” Winston said, waving him away. “Don’t worry about me. Lost my bloody balance for a moment, that’s all.”
Joseph knew instinctively that Winston was in the process of losing more than his balance. The excitement was affecting his heart. He could see it in the pallor of the old man’s skin and hear it in the as
thmatic exertions of his breathing.
Winston leaned back over the sarcophagus and very carefully examined the coffin within from head to foot. It was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. There were pins with golden heads holding the funeral mask in place. Using pliers he carefully extracted the pins, and with Joseph’s help they lifted the mask out of place and set it carefully aside. Golden pins also held the lower half of the golden anthropoid coffin in place. Once the pins were removed it took all four men to lift it off the mummy. Winston determined that this part of the coffin was made of nearly one hundred pounds of solid gold and studded with literally hundreds of carats of gemstones. This item alone would be worth more than enough to cover the entire cost of the expedition.
Now they were peering down on a human being wrapped in a linen shroud. Slowly Winston lowered his knife and carefully began slicing through the brittle, yellowed husk of dried linen which fell open to reveal the blackened figure beneath.
“Akhenaten,” Winston whispered reverently. “I have finally found you.”
The mummy appeared small and shriveled but Winston understood that this was a normal part of the aging and decaying process. Its hands were crossed over its chest and clearly visible on the right hand was the most brilliant and beautiful scarab ring he had ever seen. That alone was an eighteenth-dynasty treasure if he ever saw one. There were other jewels and amulets scattered about inside the coffin, and Winston began scooping them up and filling his pockets.
But no treasure here was as marvelous as what lay against Akhenaten’s chest. Winston closed his eyes and massaged his eyelids gently, thinking this must surely be a dream.
When he opened his eyes again the mummy seemed to move suddenly, as if it were in the process of waking up from a long sleep. The laborers both jumped back in terror. There was a collective gasp among the men as a long, raspy wheeze emanated from the mummy’s mouth followed by a whirling column of black smoke which rose above them and circumnavigated the chamber before exiting through the doorway in which they’d entered. Both laborers fell to their knees lamenting in misery.
Servants of Darkness (Thirteen Creepy Tales) Page 16
