Phantoms of the Pharaoh

by Jason Blacker

  It was a very warm afternoon on that particular Wednesday, October the 1st, as Lady Marmalade and Florence Hudnall debarked from their boat onto the docks of Alexandria.

  "It's amazing what difference a day makes," said Florence, smiling at Frances with her hand on her wide brimmed hat to keep it on. Though why she did that, when there was hardly any wind in the harbor was perhaps more out of habit than necessity.

  "What do you mean by that, Flo?" asked Francis.

  They walked over to the side of the dock where a porter was unloading the suitcases from the boat for the travelers.

  "Well, I noticed yesterday, or perhaps an even better example is when we left Athens. The weather was pleasant, just on the warm side wouldn't you agree?"

  Frances nodded.

  "And yet, yesterday afternoon on the boat, and now here especially, in Alexandria, it feels so much warmer. At least a couple of degrees warmer, wouldn't you agree?"

  Florence watched the porter with the bags. He was straining with a couple of heavier ones, dragging them across the path to where the others were.

  "I quite agree, Flo. I see now what you mean. But it's not unpleasantly hot though, is it?"

  Florence turned to look at her friend, and nodded.

  "No, not at all, I did not mean to suggest that. In fact, I find the weather just about perfect. Not too hot, and not too cool."

  "Good, I chose October for just that very reason. There shouldn't be too many tourists, though I see plenty about, but it's not achingly hot like it can be in August and even the early part of September."

  "I can't imagine," said Florence.

  "I was here in July, many years ago," said Frances, "when I was a much younger woman, and it was well into the high thirties. Unbearable really. I didn't get to see much on that occasion."

  "You don't say?"

  Frances nodded.

  "What on earth brought you here in the height of summer?"

  "I was here with Eric, at that time he was looking at some business opportunities. It didn't work out that way, thankfully. I wouldn't have wanted to visit Egypt again in the middle of summer."

  "I can't blame you," said Florence.

  Frances looked over at some of the other passengers who had joined them on the boat ride over. There was a couple who looked like they might be married. Both were fat and dressed inappropriately for the weather. He had on a three piece brown suit and hat, and she had on long woolen dress with a matching jacket, that was gray. He helped her off the boat and they came and stood not far from Frances and Florence.

  Frances looked around and saw that there were many other young Egyptian men looking to offer their help in carrying bags and fetching taxis for those just debarking from the boat. But the porter was not finished with unpacking the bags yet.

  Frances and Florence were both somewhat seasoned as travelers, but more than that, they were considered frugal woman. As such, they had both only brought the bare necessities. No need for extraneous clothes that weren't suited to the climate or for more makeup than the bare necessities. They were here as intrepid explorers, hoping to enjoy some sightseeing and learning about the history of the ancient Egyptians and Pharaohs.

  Ancient Egyptology had held a special fascination for Florence ever since she had been a schoolgirl with Frances at St. Mary's. Frances on the other hand was not as interested in ancient Egypt as she was in the weather. As much as history, and especially Egyptian history intrigued her, she took any reason to explore parts of the world that were warm.

  She had visited Florence up in Puddle's End in the early part of summer and their conversation had somehow turned to ancient Egypt. Florence had been reading a book on the subject and wanted to share some of the interesting bits with her.

  At that time, Frances had thought about a trip to Egypt with her friend and had expressed that thought. Florence had thought it a wonderful idea, though she could by no means afford such extravagance. At least not without saving for a few years first.

  Frances had decided then and there that she would pay for a trip for the two of them. Florence had politely tried to refuse but had eventually acquiesced, because she knew that arguing with Frances when her mind was made up was a futile effort.

  And so they found themselves at the beginning of October standing in Alexandria and watching their bags get unloaded from the boat that had brought them here from Athens. A boat that had been quite full, much to Lady Marmalade's surprise. The tourist season didn't really start in full force until towards the end of October, and there was no reason that she could think of as to why tourists would be arriving earlier. Perhaps it was just an anomaly.

  Florence noticed a military man step off the boat, helping a young woman who might have been his wife. He had the confident and crisp deportment of an officer, and he was dressed in his dress khakis including peaked cap. His wife was extraordinarily beautiful, though perhaps several years older than him. She was dressed in white summer clothes, a long dress and she carried a parasol to protect her brown curly hair and pale complexion from the sun.

  "That's a clever young woman," said Florence, looking over at her and her military companion.

  "Indeed," said Frances, following Florence's gaze. "Good thing we packed ours too. I'm sure we'll need them for the remainder of the trip."

  The two of them, the military chap and his companion, walked over to where the rest of the passengers were now gathered, not far from the bags that were still being unpacked.

  Soon, a clot of passengers from the boat were huddled around waiting for the rest of the cases to be unloaded. Lady Marmalade and Florence found a porter who took their bags, one each, and carried them over to an awaiting taxi. They were soon on their way to one of the finest hotels in Alexandria. A five story hotel, whitewashed, which had rooms facing the Mediterranean Sea.

  Its name was 'The Palace', at least that was what Lady Marmalade had been told its name meant in translation. When they arrived, a bellboy from the hotel, smartly dressed in his dark blue uniform with red tassels and piping, opened the door as the taxi came to a stop, and he took their bags out of the trunk.

  The inside of the hotel's foyer was large, with tiled floors that were off-white and streaked with the natural minerals of the stone. The walls held elaborate painting and art from Egypt and there were a few statues of pharaohs and sphinxes around the foyer. The center contained a fountain. The front desk clerk was a handsome Egyptian with dark complexion and warm, brown eyes. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a red tie and white shirt.

  "Welcome to The Palace," he said, in perfect English.

  "Thank you," said Frances. "I'm Lady Marmalade and I've booked a suite on the fifth floor, for my friend and I."

  The young clerk looked at his register and smiled.

  "Yes, my Lady, we have you in our finest suite. The Royal two bedroom."

  The clerk looked up and noticed that the bellboy was hovering close by with their two bags. He nodded at him. The clerk reached around and grabbed two separate keys for the suite and handed them to Lady Marmalade.

  "Do you wish us to open an account for you, my Lady?" he asked.

  "Not this time, thank you. We're here only for the night, and I wish to pay by cash."

  "Very good," he said.

  Frances signed the register and paid for the room. Florence watched quietly as Frances signed a traveller's check for one thousand Egyptian pounds. The clerk smiled upon receiving the check and issued a receipt.

  "I do hope you'll enjoy your stay. I am Ahmed, and if there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to contact me. Abdul will show you to your room."

  Ahmed put out his arm towards Abdul, the bellboy with their bags, and he escorted them to the elevator. It was not long before they were comfortably ensconced in their suite, and Abdul had left with an Egyptian pound that Frances had given him for his efforts.

  "That's a very generous tip you gave the young lad," said Florence.

  "Well, I believe i
n greasing the cogs of human goodwill," said Frances, smiling.

  "I must say again, how very dear and kind of you to take us on this trip. I think I shall always remember this tour as a highlight of my life."

  "Not at all, my dear Flo," said Frances. "I have the means, and I'm happy to do it. Besides it wouldn't be the same spending four weeks and not having anyone to share it with."

  Florence sat down on the couch next to Frances and pulled out the itinerary for their cruise.

  "This is such a treat," said Florence. "We're going to hit all the spots I've ever dreamed of. The pyramids, Amarna, Abydos, Dendera and then Luxor, and finally Aswan. This is truly, Fran, a dream come true."

  Florence's eyes twinkled as she read some of the highlights about the excursions they would be taking. Frances sat back and enjoyed the enthusiasm of her friend. It was calming and freeing to be away from the increasing noise and busyness that had become London after the war. This respite was exactly what she needed. A carefree and relaxing holiday away from busyness and chaos of any sort.

  France got up and walked out onto the balcony. It was a long balcony that took up half the top floor, and wrapped around the one side. It looked out onto the sea, and off to the west she could see more boats coming into the harbor and others resting on the soft blue belly of the water. It was a picturesque and serene scene. The air was warm and humid with the salty scent of sea and fish. Frances breathed deeply.

  Florence came out and joined her on the balcony. They both leaned against the wooden top of the metal railing. They were in the shade, and the weather was perfect. The noise was a dull hum of human activity. After a while, Frances turned to her friend.

  "It doesn't seem to have changed much, since the last time I was here."

  "When was that?"

  Frances looked off across the sea and towards Greece, which could not be seen.

  "I think it was with Eric, back in '37. Must have been March or April I think, as the weather was a bit cooler. Now that I think of it, it must have been in March sometime, because I remember our anniversary from that year was in India."

  Florence looked over at her friend, and smiled sadly.

  "He was a great man, Eric," said Florence.

  Frances looked back at Florence and smiled at her, and rested her hand on her friend's forearm.

  "He was, Flo. I still miss him after all these years."

  "As you should, you were married, what, forty years wasn't it?"

  "Almost," said Frances, looking back out across the sea, and thinking how it never seemed to change. Never seemed to grow old and die. The sea just consistently blue, and rippled upon its back as if the idea of life's constant change sent shivers across its soft skin.

  "We were married in '03 as you probably remember, considering you were my maid of honor."

  Frances looked at her and winked. Florence chuckled.

  "I do remember, I'd never seen you so nervous about anything at all, before or since."

  Frances nodded, and looked back over the sea, smiling at it, as if they alone shared the sad secret of life's death march into the quicksand of time.

  "He passed on the 25th of September 1939. The following April, the 1st of April would have been our fortieth anniversary."

  The withered winds of time had long ago dried her tears, but the memories still ached and squeezed her hearth and got caught in her throat. Florence squeezed Frances' hand.

  "I'm sorry," is all she said.

  And what could you add to that. Platitudes? They were as useless as dry desiccated leaves, long dead and rotting at the severed stump of a long ago chopped down tree. After some time, Frances turned back to her friend and put on the bravest smile. A smile that only the British had perfected after the centuries of difficulties both self-imposed and externally imposed.

  "We should freshen up and get ready for dinner. We are after all on a vacation and not on the ferryman Charon's boat crossing Styx."

  Florence laughed, and that helped Frances chuckle too. They walked back into the living room of the suite, arm in arm and smile by smile.

  Three

  "Are you ready?" asked Trenglove.

  "I am," came the answer from Vipond.

  It was just after eleven at night, and the two of them left their bedroom in one of the cheap hotels on the outskirts of Giza. A good thing it was on the outskirts for they wouldn't have to walk far to get the camels that Trenglove had arranged with one of the local discreet thieves he had managed to find. Birds of a feather did, after all, stick together, or at least recognize their own kind.

  They crept down the stairs which creaked and groaned as if the two thin men might have weighed twice what they actually did. It was comical to see them, prancing down the stairs as if they were ballet dancers on their tippy toes. The clerk at the front desk was already asleep. His head bobbing up and down as if attached to some ironic puppeteer. Next to him was a flask of cheap wine, and a glass that held but just a splash of the dark red liquid.

  They crept along stealthily until they were just about to cross the front desk, when the clerk's head which he had been perching on his fist flopped off and he jerked awake knocking his glass of wine and almost sending it to the floor. Trenglove and Vipond stuck themselves as flat as they could against the wall and column just to the side of the desk.

  The clerk looked around sleepily. Picked up his glass and finished its contents. He had a round face, which was likely ruddy except for his dark brown complexion. He was probably in his fifties and at least fifty pounds overweight. His head was rimmed with a salt and pepper ring of hair leaving his bald shiny pate brown and somewhat freckled on top from too much sun. He yawned and put his head back down onto his crossed arms which were across the hotel's register.

  Trenglove and Vipond waited for several minutes until they started to hear the clerk snoring. Without saying anything to each other they walked across the dimly lit front desk and out the main doors of the hotel.

  There was no reason for them to have to sneak out, except that neither of them wanted to be seen leaving. Questions might be asked if they ever found the blasted secret chamber and were able to pilfer its contents. And they'd rather be far away with nobody the wiser about their whereabouts to cast any suspicion their way.

  The evening was still warm and humid as they travelled down the mostly empty streets of Giza. It was a weekday and most everyone was indoors if not already asleep. Only the occasional group of men could be seen on balconies or gathered around closed shops smoking shishas and drinking coffee. They paid no attention to the two lanky Brits.

  Down the last dark alleyway at the very edge of Giza, they found their man. He was a small, thin Egyptian with a wide grin and furtive eyes. The practiced vigilance of a career thief. He saw Trenglove who he recognized not only by his height but by his khakis and safari hat. The Egyptian lit a cigarette to indicate that he had seen them.

  "That's our man," said Trenglove.

  "And you trust him?" asked Vipond.

  "I do. All he knows is that we wanted to visit the pyramids privately for a better look."

  "And you think he believed it?" asked Vipond, a dash of incredulity in his voice. Trenglove looked at him.

  "Doesn't matter, that's the only story he's getting. Besides, he only knows our first names. Don't worry about it, I'll handle it."

  "Ahlan," said Trenglove, as he stepped up to the small Egyptian.

  "Ahlan wa sahlan," said the Egyptian in return.

  "This is Alfred," said Trenglove, turning to his friend.

  "Hello," said Alfred, shaking the Egyptian's hand.

  "Ahlan," said the Egyptian, "I am Khaemhet."

  "Do you have the camels as I asked?"

  Khaemhet turned back to Trenglove.

  "They are just around the corner."

  "And the other supplies?"

  "They are all there."

  "Take us to them."

  Khaemhet turned and walked down the rest of the alley and then turned
right. They followed him along a dirt path that was dark and unlit, except for the full moonlight. A few minutes later, under a large and tall Sycamore tree was another man with two camels. Khaemhet and the other man greeted each other. He was just as small as Khaemhet but younger.

  "This is my brother, Menna," said Khaemhet.

  Trenglove and Vipond looked at the younger man and nodded at him. Trenglove then went up to take a look at the kneeling camels. They were not the healthiest he had seen. Flies buzzed and dived against their ratty, and in places, flea bitten fur. But he had not expected much more for the price he was paying.

  Attached to the camels' saddles were two long poles that trailed out behind them which ended on a wooden sled on top of which contained a large wooden box about four feet on each of its three dimensions. Attached on top of these boxes with strings were blankets and an average sized rucksack. Trenglove walked back to Khaemhet.

  "Everything is in there? Torches, kerosene lanterns, twine and rope, tools. You got everything on the list?"

  Khaemhet nodded.

  "I did, but some of it was more expensive than what we originally agreed on. I have to ask for more money."

  Khaemhet grinned salaciously like a weasel who had blackmailed many an innocent tourist. Trenglove didn't smile back. Instead he fiddled with something in his front trouser pocket and pulled out an Enfield revolver, pointing it at Khaemhet's chest.

  "Are you sure you didn't miscalculate?" asked Trenglove.

  Khaemhet shrugged his shoulders and smiled even wider.

  "Yes, Mr. Howard, now that you make me think about it, I think you are right. I miss calculated."

  "Good," said Trenglove, and he put the revolver back in his pocket.

  Vipond looked as white as a sheet. He had not known about the revolver. In fact he had insisted that this mission was strictly about robbing a Pharaonic tomb. He most certainly was not interested in violence, let alone murder in cold blood. He looked on in horror until Trenglove had put the revolver back in his pocket, but Vipond was still unsteady.