Silver Tomb (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 2)

by P J Thorndyke

  “I know those feelings well,” said Lazarus. “I spent much of my youth in tombs and forgotten cities. Although, in recent years I have found myself wishing I had remained an antiquarian. The dead do not present nearly as many problems as the living. At least I thought so until I encountered your American friend’s creations.”

  “Yes, they are quite abominable. But they do not interfere with my work, which is something. Lindholm and I have a mutual understanding for each other’s work.”

  “The paintings I saw in the tomb of Kiya looked spectacularly intriguing,” said Lazarus.

  “Petrie and I would relish a chance to spend some time examining them in closer detail without steam-powered mummies trying to unscrew our heads.”

  “Unlikely at present,” said Eleanor. “You risked far too much in one visit to the City of the Silver Aten that your luck is surely used up. Another attempt would be fatal.”

  “You must have some idea of this Kiya woman's tale. You’ve been there for weeks. Who was she?”

  Eleanor studied him closely, as if trying to ascertain if he was really interested or merely making polite conversation. She decided on the former. “Yes, I have been making extensive examinations of the tomb of Kiya in particular. Kiya was a priestess of the Aten. She was a woman of formidable power before Akhenaten’s religious reforms. In fact, it was she who had such an influence over him that he converted to the worship of the Aten, and it was her suggestion that he build both Akhetaten and the City of the Silver Aten, the original name of which is now lost to us. He made her the High Priestess. They were lovers, you see, and he took her as his wife.”

  “He married a powerful priestess of another cult?” interrupted Lazarus. “I can’t imagine that went down well with Nefertiti!”

  “Not at all. The Great Royal Wife was always a jealous bitch, and she hated Kiya from the beginning. Nefertiti’s devotion to the Aten extended only as far as her compliance with her husband’s demands. She was never a true follower, but was always power hungry and could never suffer another woman to exert such control over her husband. So, the pharaoh and his family moved their court to Akhetaten in the fifth year of his reign. Tension between the Great Royal Wife and Kiya had always been high, and it broke when Kiya bore the pharaoh a son—something Nefertiti had been unable to do, despite the six daughters she had given him. The Queen was enraged and put into motion her vengeance against Kiya.

  “Kiya was still recovering on her birthing bed when she struck. With lies to her husband of Kiya’s treachery, Nefertiti planted the seed of doubt in Akhenaten’s mind. Kiya’s newborn son was snatched from her arms and taken away, never to be seen again. The midwives claimed the child had been sickly and had died of natural causes more or less instantly, but Kiya knew better. She knew that the Queen would never allow the pharaoh’s son by another woman to grow up in the royal court.

  “Kiya was banished. Driven near mad by the loss of her son and swearing vengeance on Nefertiti, she wandered back to her own people. Every instance of her name was stricken from Akhetaten. Her sarcophagus and canopic jars—which had been prepared for her in her lifetime—were used for others, altered to show the names of other members of the royal family. Even to speak her name became a punishable offence.

  “After the High Priestess of the Aten was gone from Akhetaten, the new religion began to fall apart. People started to lose their faith in both the Aten and their pharaoh. Discontent grew between the priesthood and the army, who were neglected and restless. Trade began to drop off. Corruption was rife. The royal court only remained at the city for four years after Akhenaten’s death before moving back to Thebes. Within fifteen years the Horizon of the Aten was a ruined city left to the scorpions and the ghosts. Akhenaten’s descendants even moved his body and all the other royal mummies from their tombs to the Valley of the Kings, which is where I found the heretic pharaoh’s tomb. Worship of the Aten became a heresy, and statues and temples were defaced or torn down.

  “As for Kiya, she died cursing Nefertiti and wailing for her lost son. Her family—who were now members of an underground sect—secretly buried her at the City of the Silver Aten so that the High Priestess would forever reside in the city of her god, even though her restless spirit was barred from the afterlife, her name stolen from her.”

  “Perhaps her spirit haunts those ruins along with Lindholm’s abominations,” said Lazarus. “I wonder what she would have to say to them should their paths ever cross.”

  “I cannot say that I have run into her myself,” Eleanor replied without a smile.

  “Well, somebody in Cairo is interested in Kiya’s tale other than Petrie and I,” said Lazarus. “Did you hear about the fragment that was stolen from the Bulaq Museum?”

  “Yes, why? Did that have something to do with Kiya?”

  “Petrie believes so. He found a kohl container at Akhetaten bearing Kiya’s name and thinks the scraped-off hieroglyphics on the fragment is a match.”

  “It’s possible. Kiya’s name and image were all over both cities during her time as High Priestess. And no matter how hard her enemies tried, they could never fully erase her memory.”

  “And now you have found her very tomb containing her remains,” said Lazarus. “What will you do next? Something tells me that Dr. Lindholm isn’t interested in Ancient Egypt beyond what it can offer his country’s diabolical war machine.”

  “He is no antiquarian, that I can say with certainty,” she replied. “It has only been at my insistence that Kiya’s mummy be spared the disrespectful mutilations of his experiments. I was so enthralled by her story that I felt a bond to her, which makes me very protective of her remains. She was treated so abominably during her lifetime that to treat her so in death seems like the worst cruelty.”

  “How did you fall in with Lindholm?” Lazarus asked. “You two seem like chalk and cheese.”

  “It wasn’t long after I discovered tomb KV55—Akhenaten’s tomb. He approached me under the guise of a wealthy American businessman newly arrived in Egypt with a wish to pursue his passion for Egyptology. I suppose some of it was true. He seemed to have a passable layman’s knowledge of Egyptology, and I have to confess that I was seduced by his wealth and the idea of a rich foreigner financing my future digs.”

  “Seduced?”

  “Oh, not like that! Goodness! But perhaps as a fellow antiquarian, you have some understanding of the constant need to fundraise. It is a daily struggle. Money simply soaks into the sand here. No, my attraction to him was purely on a professional level. Where else would I get the proper funds needed to explore my theories that a second city to the Aten was out here somewhere?”

  Lazarus felt a deep gush of relief, although he could not account for it. Before he had met Eleanor, he found the idea of Thackeray’s fiancé running off with another man highly amusing. Now that he had met her he could not see the funny side at all. “So you dislike the man?”

  “Intensely. We live up at the dig together and converse only when it is in our mutual interest. The rest of the time he works on his projects and I on mine. We sleep on opposite sides of the complex. But I am in a quandary. I wish I had never met him, but at the same time how would I have found the City of the Silver Aten without his help?”

  “What are his intentions towards you once his work is complete? It seems terribly unfair to let you make this fantastic discovery and then shroud it in secrecy so you might not even get the recognition you deserve.”

  “I suppose he will relinquish the site to me once he is done using it as his private laboratory. Then I will be able to reveal my discovery to the world, and see that the artifacts there receive the proper protection and respect they deserve.”

  “And Lindholm?”

  “He will take his monstrosities back where he came from.”

  “I was afraid of that. I can’t let him do it, Eleanor.”

  “Isn’t the British Empire on friendly terms with the Confederate States?”

  “Yes. But you’ve seen
those creatures. No sane person would allow them or the research behind them to fall into the hands of a foreign nation, friend or foe. The C.S.A. would build an army of such monsters and I can’t stand by and let it happen. Will you help me?”

  “I would dearly like to help you, Lazarus, for you seem like a fine and decent man and God knows there are few enough of those in the world. But I am tied to Lindholm...”

  “You are not his prisoner,” Lazarus stated firmly.

  “It is good of you to say so, but I fear that I am.”

  “Look around you! You are in Cairo, in my company, and he is out in the desert still. What is to prevent you from taking the first steamer back to England?”

  “I cannot leave the artifacts and the mummy of Kiya alone in his hands,” she replied. “They mean too much to me. It is only my promise that I will return to him that stays his hand from turning her into one of those abominations.”

  “You would sacrifice your freedom for a three-thousand year old mummy?”

  “I told you that I feel a bond with her. And... there’s more. If I were to go with you, you would reunite me with Henry?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Lazarus, please believe me when I tell you that there has been nothing... sordid between Lindholm and I.”

  “I do believe you, I promise.”

  “It’s just that, well, I know I should feel lucky in marrying Henry, but...”

  “You don’t want to return to him,” said Lazarus, allowing a faint smile of triumph to cross his face.

  “Do you know that he wants me to give up archaeology once we are married?”

  “He doesn’t!”

  “That is something I can never do. But what I can do right now, I have no idea. Both our families expect us to get married, how can I call the whole thing off?”

  “That’s not something you need to worry about now,” said Lazarus, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “One megalomaniac at a time, eh?”

  She allowed herself to giggle at that. “You have a history with my fiancé, don’t you? Although, he’s never mentioned you.”

  “I am as sore a memory for him as he is for me, I fear. We were once the greatest of friends.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Oh, we were never anything alike. He was so headstrong and masterful, and a fine upholder of imperialism. I was more laid back and not quite so proud of my country’s dominance of the seas. But we shared a common interest; the pursuit of ancient civilizations and lost cultures. We were working together at the ruined city of Great Zimbabwe, trying to establish its trade routes to the coast.”

  “Great Zimbabwe?” she exclaimed, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “You were part of that expedition? He never said...”

  “We had a falling out. While he was suffering from fever miles from the site, I was approached by an agent of the British government. He offered me a chance to find what he thought was the source of King Solomon’s great wealth.”

  “Yes, Solomon’s mines! Henry is convinced they and Great Zimbabwe are one and the same.”

  “The very cause of our falling out. You see, while Henry was at death’s door, I and this British agent found a much more likely site miles away. I do not believe it really was the mines of Solomon, but the nature of our business there meant that I could not speak of it or give any indication of its location. Henry was furious and felt like I was shutting him out. He thought I had found King Solomon’s mines and was keeping it to myself.

  “He got back to England before me and immediately began slandering me to the Royal Archaeological Society. He also claimed that I had promised to pay for the expedition, which was an outright lie. The costs were to be divided between us. When I returned, I was forced to pay and that cost me dear. Then we got involved in a very public quarrel. He would criticize my methods in the papers and then I would discredit his theories about Great Zimbabwe being King Solomon’s mines. It all got rather childish, I’m afraid.”

  They found a quiet cafe to have tea in and whiled away a few hours talking about other things. She quizzed him about his work for the government and he told her all he felt that he could.

  “I must say, it all sounds terribly exciting,” she said. “To think that a government would employ antiquarians and archaeologists as special agents.”

  “Anything that might help them dig up loot to finance their expansion,” said Lazarus, with accustomed cynicism.

  “It’s getting late,” she said, looking at the lengthening shadows.

  “Allow me to walk you back to your hotel,” said Lazarus. “Where are you staying?”

  “On my boat. A steam-powered dahabeah. It’s really quite comfortable.”

  They walked together down to Port Bulaq and Lazarus saw for himself her mode of transport and residence. It was the usual size for a dahabeah, only without the sails. Instead, a single funnel poked up, like on a steamship.

  She turned to him at the gangplank. “What would you say to taking an aperitif with me on board? We could go out for dinner, perhaps.”

  Lazarus was sorely tempted. “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea.”

  “Oh, my servants are on board,” she replied. “It would be quite proper, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure you know that it wouldn’t be,” he replied.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said, not masking her disappointment. “I suppose you’ll be dining with that Russian woman. Are you at all...?”

  “Katarina? Good Lord, no! We occasionally find our paths crossing in the pursuit of our respective government’s interests, but we don’t actually get on all that well at all.”

  “I see. Well, goodnight, Lazarus.” She leaned forward to kiss him on his cheek. It was only a small mark of affection but it made him burn inside. “I’m beginning to think that I fell in with the wrong one who returned from that African expedition,” she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  In which two warnings are given and both go unheeded

  Lazarus wasn’t tired, and decided to take a walk along the docks. He passed the rows of dahabeahs and steamers, deep in thought. His cheek burned where Eleanor had kissed him and he felt a churning in his gut—a churning he had felt before—and it never boded well. He had loved before, and that girl had ended up dead when the British sacked the Colombian village on the shores of Lake Guatavita. That event had broken his heart and shattered his loyalty to the empire he served. But eventually, inevitably, he had been drawn back to its service. The empire had turned him around and pushed him back out into the world with a gun in his hand and orders to serve Her Majesty. He had always supposed that his ability to love would return to him, but he had not thought it would come back so soon. He didn’t feel ready for it.

  And then there was Katarina. She was a hard woman to like and even harder to love, but their weeks travelling across America in the Santa Bella had stirred something in him towards her. He wouldn’t quite call it love—fondness, perhaps? Despite her barbed insults, scathing sarcasm and general disgust of him, they had developed a sense of camaraderie on their adventures. And on those nights, as the clouds drifted past the portholes, the space between their bunks seemed agonizingly close, and yet it might have been the Atlantic between them. For, as much as he would have relished a more intimate or even a physical relationship with her, he never managed to muster the resolve to take any kind of step in that direction.

  And so, after weeks of travelling the east coast, they had decided that they had both seen all they needed to in the United States and that their journey had run its course. They had set down in Boston. It had been raining and, without much passion, they had parted. He had doubted then that he would ever see her again and thought it probably just as well.

  His thoughts were halted in their tracks when he realized that he was near the Bayoumi Shipping Company. He decided that he had walked far enough and headed back towards Azbekya.

  He went to the Grand Hotel with the mind of calling in
on Petrie to see how he was getting along with his studies, and found some sort of commotion in the foyer.

  “Now, please, sir,” a woman was saying in a firm, foreign accent that Lazarus instantly recognized, “I thank you for your help but I really must be allowed to take it from here.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it, madam,” said another foreign voice—Prussian?—“until you are settled in your room and the police are called. I recommend a large brandy to settle your nerves.”

  “My nerves are quite in order, I assure you!”

  Lazarus had to cover his smile. Katarina’s new friend was insistent on playing the hero and was likely to get a black eye for his troubles if he persisted for much longer. He thought it best to intervene.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, walking over to them. The Prussian was a tall man with large graying side-whiskers and a monocle. He looked at Lazarus in surprise at this intrusion, and Lazarus noticed an expression of relief cross Katarina’s face.

  “This man is pressing his help on me when I clearly don’t need it,” she said.

  “Sir, do you know this lady?” the Prussian asked.

  “We, ah, we’re in the same line of work,” Lazarus replied. “And just happened to be in Cairo at the same time.”

  “Work? A New Woman, eh?” said the man, his whiskers bristling. “I might have known by her stubbornness.”

  “What happened?”

  “She was attacked down at Port Bulaq.”

  “Attacked!”

  “I was not attacked!” Katarina exclaimed. “Do I look like I have bruises? Wounds? I was merely chased several streets,”

  “Until she ran in to me who, as luck would have it, am also staying at the Grand.”

  “He practically dragged me back here like an errant schoolgirl,” Katarina said, her eyes spitting fire at the Prussian.

  “Who chased you?” asked Lazarus, knowing that it could not have been an ordinary thief, for Katarina would merely have shot them dead.