“Dust,” Winston said but he did not believe it any more than the others.
“The Immortal Breath of life” Joseph whispered in awe. “I told you it was a curse.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Joseph.”
“But it came from the mummy’s mouth, master . . . like a breath. And the mummy moved. The mummy breathed.”
“The movement we saw is a perfectly natural phenomenon, Joseph. He’s been wrapped up for thirty-two hundred years. Once the tight linen shroud is removed some movement is expected.”
Joseph knew this to be untrue but he did not argue further.
Winston went back to examining the mummy more thoroughly. He leaned over the coffin in order to get a better look at the glorious amulet around the mummy’s neck. “What in the name of God . . .?”
Joseph, now curious, leaned in for a closer look. “Yes, I see,” he said, noting that it was an amulet of sorts, bright golden in color and plainly visible on its surface was the head of a pharaoh upon the body of a great bird of prey, its wings outstretched in triumph. Above the bird a great golden sun disk shone its rays down upon the pharaoh. But it was the symbol beneath the bird of prey at the very bottom of the amulet that most intrigued Joseph. He leaned in closer, slitting his eyes, trying to focus them.
As though something had bitten him, Joseph jumped back suddenly and shuffled several hasty steps away from the coffin, his eyes wide and wild with fear. He turned a frightened and puzzled expression to his master. “Dear God,” he said. “Nazis? We have come all this way to discover Nazis? Why is there a Nazi Swastika symbol in a three thousand year old tomb?”
Chapter 15
Alex opened his eyes and gasped, almost dropping the loathsome child back into the mother, for in his hands he held a monster with the face of a demon, the same face he had seen in the fading light of the desert sky. There could be no mistake. Alex closed his hands around the infant’s tiny neck and began to squeeze.
“No, master!” Anwar howled, grabbing Alex by the arm. “What are you doing?”
Alex loosened his grip on the child’s throat, staring at his man-servant with haunted eyes. “It is not meant to be,” he said. “I have fathered a demon.”
“No, master, look!” Joseph pointed. Alex looked again, and what he saw amazed him.
“Dear God,” he said. “I have nearly killed my own child.” He stared at the infant, frozen in shock, looking for some sort of deception on the child’s visage, a nuance, a treachery that might make him rethink his decision to spare the child’s life. But beneath the muck and slime that is a natural part of birth, Alex saw the truth. In his hands he held the most beautifully formed human child he had ever set his eyes upon. “I must be losing my mind,” he said. “I thought I saw . . .”
“No, master, it is just a child.”
“Dear Lord, surely I am the monster.”
Outside, the wind was picking up, throwing skittering sheets of sand against the buffeting tent, but above the steady roar of the burgeoning storm other sounds were coming into play; the low rumble of rolling machinery and the urgent shouts of men. A barrage of gunshots rang out and a dull explosion rocked the ground on which they kneeled. The blast was followed almost immediately by a second explosion. Alex turned the child over to Anwar, took the knife and cut the umbilical cord.
Chapter 16
The hysterical bawling of a newborn child was lost to howling winds and the raucous noise of battle.
Inside the tent, Anwar sat holding Alex’s newborn son, rocking him in his arms. Alex kneeled, bent over the lifeless body of Camille St. Clair, weeping, oblivious to the noise outside, which to him didn’t seem real at all, like a phantom battle being fought on some mystical front eons away.
He had been unable to save the love of his life. This was all he could focus his mind on now. Everything else was meaningless. There had been too much blood and he hadn’t known how to stop its flow. It had run out of Camille, and along with it, her life. Oh, how his heart ached. It was the bitterest moment of his life.
Alex fiercely embraced the dead woman, and as he did so he wondered how his life had come down to such a terrible moment. In that instant his mind unwittingly flashed back to the night in Casablanca where he had first set eyes upon the beautiful young woman who would bear him a son . . .
Chapter 17
How perfectly lovely she was standing on the balcony above him in her yellow flowered dress.
As she turned and stared at him Alex blushed. Although he’d had his share of experiences with women, at first sight, he knew instinctively that this one would be different from all the rest. She was beautiful, yes, but there was an air about her that defied logic, as though she were surrounded by a supernatural aura. There wasn’t a man in the room able to take his eyes off her. Alex was no exception.
“There you go,” Terrance Carver said, giving Alex a slight nudge of the elbow. “Appears she has designs on you, old boy.”
“Not a chance,” Alex said with a short, nervous laugh. “She has her pick of any man here. I hardly think she’ll choose me. Just look at her, Terrance. She’s absolutely breathtaking. There has to be a husband in the crowd somewhere.”
“Haven’t seen one,” Carver replied ironically. “Right now she looks quite frazzled at having to put up with that old fart Tennyson and his drivel. See how she keeps turning around and staring helplessly at you? Seriously, I think she needs to be rescued.”
Tennyson was the English ambassador to Morocco, a short, overweight middle-aged man with bull dog jowls and small weasel eyes, who had an absolute boorish demeanor, and a reputation for cornering young lovelies and not letting them go. It appeared that this young woman was his latest victim.
At that moment she turned again and shot Alex a desperate look.
“Well, it certainly appears to be a silent cry for help, at least from my vantage point,” Carver said. “And she’s not looking at me. Did you see her before Tennyson cornered her?”
“You mean when she was dancing out on the floor? I believe everyone in the room saw her.”
“Quite true, old boy, but as far as I could tell she only had eyes for you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
“—Wait a minute—there she goes again. She’s looking right at you. If you don’t go and rescue that girl, I will.” Terrance grinned like a fool.
Alex eyed his friend before picking up his drink and downing it in a single swallow. He left the table without another word and crossed the room feeling his heart batting at his ribs. He climbed the stairs to the mezzanine.
“Ah, yes,” Tennyson said, eyebrows arched, as Alex approached. “Young Alex Whitehead, son of my favorite nobleman, Sir Charles Whitehead. What a pleasant surprise. By the way, how is the old chap these days?” He extended his hand and Alex took it and shook it.
“Father is getting along quite nicely, I suspect,” Alex replied. “Not that I would actually know. Haven’t seen him in months.”
“Yes, yes,” Tennyson said blandly. “Heard through the grapevine that you might be down this way. Tell me, what brings you to North Africa?”
Alex knew perfectly well that Tennyson already knew the answer to his question. “Please,” he said, shifting his eyes from Tennyson to Camille. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely friend?”
“Yes, of course, Tennyson said looking pained. “How rude of me. May I introduce Mademoiselle Camille St. Clair? Mademoiselle St. Clair, Alex Whitehead.”
“Pleasure,” Alex said taking the proffered hand and brushing the top of it with his lips.
Camille smiled. “I am pleasured as well,” Camille said in her charming French-accented English. Alex was enchanted.
“Mademoiselle’s father is the French ambassador,” Tennyson offered.
Alex nodded. “Most charmed,” he said. “And does mademoiselle live here in Casablanca?”
“Oh, no, Monsieur Whitehead. I only arrived today.”
“Please, call me Alex.”
Camille smiled. “So, tell me, what brings Alex Whitehead to Casablanca?”
“I am preparing for an expedition into Egypt with my uncle, the great archeologist, Winston Smith.”
Camille’s eyes widened. “An archeological expedition?”
“Exactly.”
“Sounds very romantic.”
Alex laughed. “I’m not sure about that. Uncle Winston assures me that it’s not a game, and more work than I can imagine. However, I am looking forward to it.”
“So this will be your first expedition?” Camille asked, her soft blue eyes sparkling, a small teasing smile on her full, red lips.
Alex felt his face flush. “I’m afraid so.”
“So, the rumors are true?” Lord Tennyson interrupted. “The bloody old fool is still at it, chasing around the desert searching for his elusive pharaohs.”
The cynical tone of Tennyson’s voice immediately angered Alex. “Yes, indeed. Actually Uncle Winston is in Cairo now ironing out the details.”
“I would think he’d had enough defeat over the years,” Tennyson said.
“Can’t keep a good man down,” Alex replied tonelessly. He could feel his face flushing. He knew that Winston and his many misadventures had become somewhat of a joke in professional circles from London to Cairo. But they didn’t know Uncle Winston the way he did. They didn’t understand his tenacity.
“And when do you plan to embark upon this expedition?” Camille asked.
“Oh, not for quite some time, I’m afraid. Logistics and all. You understand.”
Camille smiled warmly. “Yes, very well. Will you being staying long in Casablanca?”
Alex frowned. “Afraid not. I’m off to Cairo in a fortnight. There’s much preparation to be done before we embark.”
“Yes, of course.” Camille frowned. “Perhaps we shall meet again before you leave.”
“I certainly hope so,” Alex replied.
“The old boy after any particular treasure this time?” Tennyson asked, speaking of Smith, and Alex could hear the taunt in his voice.
“He has a goal in mind, I should think,” Alex said, the heat of his anger making his face flush. “Actually he has a line on Akhenaten.” Alex knew he shouldn’t be talking about any of this, but his anger, fueled in part by the liquor, was now guiding his tongue.
Tennyson chuckled. “Haven’t you heard, my good man, Akhenaten’s tomb was discovered nearly twenty years ago in Armana by German Archeologists. Unfortunately grave robbers beat them to the punch and except for just a few artifacts including a bust of Nefertiti, all was gone.”
“Winston knows the story,” Alex replied blandly. “He doesn’t believe Akhenaten was ever buried in that tomb.”
“Oh? And why is that, dear Alex?”
“The evidence doesn’t bear out the story. Why would robbers leave a beautiful bust of Akhenaten’s queen and take all evidence of the king? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“I’ve heard that Smith has some sort of theory about all this,” Tennyson said. “Wouldn’t care to elaborate, would you?”
“He believes it was all a clever deception.”
“Yes, of course he does,” Tennyson said with another condescending chuckle. “Clever deception is, after all the story of Winston’s career, isn’t it? Ah but I’m afraid his investors were the ones deceived.”
“Well,” Alex said, his anger now palpable. “No matter. He has his mind set, and I’m afraid nothing will sway him.”
“Well, give the old boy my best, won’t you?” Tennyson said. “And may I caution you to keep an eye out for Nazis. Word is the buggers are crawling all over the desert these days. Don’t know what we’re going to do about them but surely something must be done.”
“Please, Alex, would you mind escorting me back to my hotel?” Camille asked suddenly. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well.”
“Oh dear me,” Tennyson said, his fat face falling into despair, his bull dog jowls quivering. “Hope it’s nothing serious.”
“No, no, Monsieur Tennyson,” Camille said. “Just tired from the trip. Nothing to worry about. I should be fine by morning.”
“Of course,” Alex said, happy for an excuse to get away. He looped his arm around Camille’s and together they departed Tennyson’s company leaving him with a dour look on his face.
“Thank you,” she said softly as they descended the stairs.
“For what?”
“For getting me away from that dreadful man.”
“Think nothing of it,” Alex replied. “By the way, how is your health now?”
“I believe I’ve had a full recovery, thank you.”
“Would you really like to go to your hotel?”
Camille looked up at him and smiled sweetly. “I think not, Alex.”
“I know a little club not far from here where we can get a private table.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Camille said.
Alex gave the astonished-looking Clarence Carver a wink as he and Camille passed by his table arm in arm heading for the door.
Later, after much drinking and close dancing, Alex escorted Camille back to her room. As they climbed the stairs they were both navigating carefully. There was a fire inside Alex that he would very much have liked to extinguish. But he checked himself. Though he’d had his share of escapades with beautiful women, sadly his reputation as a carouser was far greater than his actual accomplishments. He was an English gentleman, after all, and he would act accordingly. He was preparing to bid goodbye when Camille said, “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”
Alex hesitated.
“Oh, come on, Alex. I won’t bite you.” Camille’s eyes flashed wickedly.
“Well, if you insist,” Alex said. “I suppose one drink won’t hurt.”
Inside there was a silent moment in which Camille merely looked at him, marveling perhaps, her lovely eyes fixed on him, as if she were seeing something inside him that even he was unaware of.
Camille moved close to him wrapping her arms around him, her breasts pressed tightly against his chest. She sighed deeply, a contented sound, and he felt a shiver run through her. Then, unable to stop himself, he kissed her, his mouth opening over hers. The heat was immediate and utterly consuming. He felt her fingers slipping into his hair as he drew her body closer, kissing her harder. He drew back suddenly, astonished. For a moment he could not speak. He closed his eyes knowing that if he touched her again, it would be over. He would end up making love to her right here and now.
“It is all right, Alex,” she whispered breathlessly, her body pressing into his. It was as though she’d read his thoughts. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Are you sure, Camille? We’ve just met.”
“I am certain, Alex. I don’t know why I feel this way but it is as if I’ve known you forever. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.” Her blue eyes implored him. “When I first saw you . . . I . . . I felt . . .” Camille hesitated with a loss for words.
“What did you feel, Camille?”
“I cannot explain it. Tell me, did you not feel something?”
“Yes,” he said. “I absolutely did.”
“Do you believe in destiny, Alex?”
“Odd,” Alex said, “I never have until this very moment.”
They made love that night. And for the next several weeks they made love again and again, as if obsessed. And then Alex was off to Cairo, feeling an emptiness inside him that was like a hunger.
Unable to satiate his hunger, Alex eventually brought Camille to Cairo. During the days he worked with Winston on the multi-faceted logistics of putting together an archaeological expedition, but at night he went home to Camille. The two of them were blissfully happy together. Three months into their love affair, Camille announced that she was pregnant. They were both ecstatic. But as Alex went off to seek adventure in the Egyptian desert, a feeling of unease began to settle over him like a darkness creeping i
nto his soul.
Alex was brought back to the present by the sound of concussive explosions rocking the ground he kneeled on. He stood up wiping tears from his face before rifling through his belongings, coming back with two handguns, one which he handed to Anwar. “Stay here,” he told his assistant. “Do not allow anyone near the child.”
“Yes, Alex, but—”
“Kill anyone who comes near the child! Do you understand me?”
“But why do you say this, Master Alex?”
“He must be protected at all costs.”
“Yes, of course, I understand, he is just a child—”
“—No, Anwar, it is more than that! He is . . . special. I know that now. It is why all of this happened . . . me and Camille, I mean. The expedition. All of it. He was meant to be here.”
Anwar nodded, his eyes as large as brown jewels, and Alex knew in that moment that Anwar his friend, man of great wisdom, understood it all perhaps better than he did.
Without another word, Alex slipped from the tent like a wraith. A hot and stinging wind hit him and he was nearly knocked down by it. He stood by the flap of his tent waiting for his watery eyes to adjust to the conditions outside. As they did so, he could not believe the world he’d just stepped into.
Chapter 18
“It is not a Nazi symbol,” Winston said, his voice rising in anger.
“But you were as surprised as I was to see it, master. Do not forget, I know you.”
Winston frowned. “I was momentarily shocked, that’s all. Let me explain this to you, Joseph. This is something most people don’t know because they just don’t give a bloody damn. The Swastika symbol represents the Sun. The Egyptian center for Sun worshipping was the City of Anu. The Greeks called it Heliopolis. Helio meaning halo or sun disk. Are you getting what I’m telling you, Joseph?”
Joseph nodded. His master was becoming irrational, talking nonsense. He was far too agitated, his chest puffing in and out, his breathing deep and labored.
Servants of Darkness (Thirteen Creepy Tales) Page 17
