Bast had been able to convince Quentin to go back with her to his hotel in Cairo. She managed this on the promise of taking him to an as yet undiscovered something, though just what that something was she had left vague because, as yet, she had no idea. She was not too worried though, because only a tiny fraction of the ancient treasures of Egypt had been discovered. She would have to speak to Ramses II on a good day, and a good day for Ramses was after several glasses of his favourite red wine.
She had everything under control and nothing under control. Bast was worried for her friend, her exceptionally special friend, Rose, who had never gone off like this before. Bast had placed three guards, one on each of the young adventurers, though the way they had left the hotel had rendered her guards less than useless. She knew that Alex, Emmy and Cairo were on their way to Tanis, but she would have to be careful who, if anybody, she could send there to protect them.
To all in the afterlife Tanis was regarded as a Greek city: which Greek ancients preferred to call Thebes of the North. It did not matter that the location for Tanis had been chosen early in the Twenty-First Dynasty, a truly Egyptian dynasty, or that the Twenty-First Dynasty pharaoh Psusennes I – a very minor pharaoh by Egyptian standards – had made the city his own, in the afterlife deals had been struck.
Bast would have to ask Ramses for his advice. Being an ancient Egyptian god, this was a city she knew almost nothing about. Greek gods stayed with Greeks, and Egyptian gods stayed with Egyptians. It was not just gods. Tanis would be an impossible place for an Egyptian as powerful as Ramses to turn up to uninvited, unless, of course, if he wished to start a war between ancients.
In the end, after much agonising, Bast contented herself with doing what she could do, and that was to keep Quentin safe.
“Where you learn to drive?” Cairo asked Alex after he had bodily left the seat for the umpteenth time. On one occasion Alex had had to stop in order for Cairo to run back and collect two of their water bottles. These had thrown themselves from the back seat of the buggy after a particularly heavy landing.
“I have never learned to drive.”
“It shows,” thought Emmy as she continued to grip onto the roll cage for all her worth.
“Never had a driving lesson. Turn the ignition key, D for drive, one pedal for go and one for stop, Rose’s instructions seemed simple enough.”
“What about steering?” Emmy asked over the noise of the engine.
“Out here I am fine.”
“You are anything but fine,” Emmy thought, and Cairo thought something similar.
Getting to the hotel last night, along Television Street, without hitting anything had proven difficult. “This thing is a bit of a beast. That’s one reason why I had Mohammed move the buggy for me.” There was a pause in conversation as they hit another pothole in an otherwise flat desert. It was as if Alex was drawn to them. “Also, something like this leaving Luxor in daylight would have been bound to have drawn unwanted attention.”
“Your driving would have drawn unwanted attention even amongst the crazed drivers of Luxor,” Emmy thought. “Should the engine be making all that noise?” she asked. “Sounds as though it is working really hard.”
Cairo looked at the blue light on the instrument panel. It was glowing DL, not D, though it was not that easy to read in the brightness of the Egyptian desert. He pointed over Alex’s shoulder. Alex had overshot D for Drive and had selected DL for Drive Low. This was a low gear, a slow gear, for when the buggy had to make steep climbs. No wonder the engine was screaming as they were going flat out on a totally flat desert in an incredibly low gear. Well, not now as flat as it was. There were approaching ridges, though not of sand, of rock, and they were about to go through a gap in the rock right now. It looked as though there was a low brick wall to their left and to their right. It appeared and disappeared as, in the desert winds, sand had piled up against it. Alex aimed for the gap, and as he did he shifted to D, causing the speed of the buggy to increase dramatically. He lost control. The buggy veered to the right, hit the low rock ridge and was immediately thrown violently to the left. They were now up on two wheels. Wobbling, swerving and at high speed, the buggy remained on two wheels. Alex instinctively knew that he had to turn the steering in order to push the buggy back down to the ground. What he did not instinctively know was which way to turn the wheel. Fifty-fifty chance to be a hero. He chose the wrong fifty and the buggy rolled, and rolled, and rolled.
Chapter 15
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Could It Get Any Worse?
“Seriously, Quentin, try not to worry about Alex and the others,” Bast said as they waited for their coffee and canapés to arrive.
Quentin looked up from his book. He wanted to say that he seldom worried about Alex in a truly worried way, because Babs had worried enough for the both of them. Of course he wanted Alex to be safe and to have a good life, but Egypt was Quentin’s true love. When his head was full of Egypt there was little room left to think about Alex, let alone worry about him, and his head was full of ancient Egypt the vast majority of the time.
What had initially excited him about Mademoiselle Bast was her flattery of him being the great Quentin Cumberpatch. He loved to impress people with his knowledge, but he also always craved to know more about ancient Egypt. Long before he had been made aware that Mademoiselle Bast was in fact the ancient Egyptian cat goddess of the mighty Ramses, her knowledge of, and her interest in, ancient Egypt, had intrigued him.
Her stunning good looks had also more than impressed him. Despite now knowing of her great age, they still impressed him. He always preferred the company of older women, because they tended to have much more interesting conversation, though even Quentin considered that enjoying the company of Bast, who was well over three thousand years old, could be regarded as taking this to the extreme.
Regardless of knowing her true age, the vision of beauty he could see before him won the battle over the logic of his mind. He was only male after all, though he knew that should they ever end up in the bedroom together, an extremely unlikely proposition, he would do nothing more than talk about ancient Egypt and would, most likely, order a fresh pot of coffee as he jotted down notes of their conversation that he would wish to research further.
As far as Quentin was concerned a bedroom, any bedroom, was there for sleeping in. Nothing more than that. He did not even read in bed, because, like now, he had to have his note book to hand along with several authoritative reference books. This was so that he could cross-reference anything he wished take issue with in the book he was reading, either directly with the author, or, when he sat with fellow academics. He considered Bast to be a most pleasant change from the fusty old academics he was usually in discussion, some would say argument, with. Sharing coffee and canapés while overlooking the mighty River Nile, and out beyond Cairo to the pyramids of Giza, was a great improvement over the smell of stale tobacco and formaldehyde in a room in some archaeologists’ club; where there was never enough light or fresh air, regardless of the country it was in. “And where is my order?” he thought fleetingly.
He did not know how to put his feelings into words, and he was not sure that he wanted to. He had been rather enjoying his academically dry book. The author of which had extensively documented the size, and also calculated the weight of, individual cut granite blocks used in the building of ancient Egyptian temples. This had been the author’s life work, which showed in the size of the publication. It covered temples built during each different dynasty of ancient Egypt, and where granite had not been used the author gave examples of mud brick sizes. A mighty tome, though the data was far from complete, much to the frustration of Quentin. That said, he was still finding it absolutely gripping, so he said nothing, gave Bast a slight nod, and returned his attention to the book.
The buggy had at least ended its roll the right way up. All four wheels were on the ground, but so were its occupants. Alex was rolling around on the sand and moaning. He was in pain, real pain. The
sand was also extremely hot. He needed to stand, yet he could not stand. Slightly concussed, he was unable to focus on anything or get his limbs to respond, as he wished, to even basic commands. Suddenly hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him upright. He screamed a scream that Kate would have been proud of. He had no idea what was going on, but he screamed again when his arms were pulled behind him, in a very rough fashion, and tied tightly at the elbows and wrists.
White swirly images with shades of grey were all he was able to make out. There were voices, though not those of either Emmy or Cairo, or at least he did not think they were. Even his hearing was not functioning as it should. He then felt something being put over him and his world went black. He attempted to say something, he was unsure as to what he was trying to say, but whatever it was it came out as utter gibberish. Any further attempt to speak was stopped abruptly; the wind was knocked from him and he fell to his knees. The blackness of his vision now combined with the blackness of his mind as he passed out.
Bast sat with her own thoughts. She left Quentin to read his book, while she looked out over the vast city that was Cairo. It was as if it were a model village, a very vast model village, but, sitting with her feet up as she looked out from their room on the thirteenth floor, even the mighty River Nile was dwarfed by comparison. Bast felt truly god like as she viewed the city beneath her and was enjoying her crazy thoughts.
The room door opened behind them. Bast registered the welcome sound of clinking china, as the waiter pushed his trolley over to them. Now looking at Quentin, she failed to understand how he could be so relaxed over the very distinct possibility of Alex heading into life threatening danger. She decided that she was going to push for an answer now that they had been interrupted. The only problem was that Quentin had not been interrupted. He was so engrossed in his book that he was blissfully unaware of the waiter’s presence.
Suddenly, for a reason unbeknown to her, Bast sensed danger. Spinning around in her seat she took in the waiter for the very first time. A beaten, battered and bloodied body stood silently, arms locked and hands grasping onto the serving trolley for support. Leaning well forward, the head was bowed. Blood dropped freely over the canapés from a bloodied nose. The room door was wide open. Beyond it Bast could make out the body of their usual waiter face down on the thick carpet of the corridor. A fire extinguisher, obviously the weapon used to fell him, lay in a pool of blood.
Bast, while retaining her human form, let out a dreadful ear-piercing scream; that of a cat in extreme pain. She now had Quentin’s full attention. His book hit the floor as he spun around to see what appeared to be blood on the canapés. His eyes were drawn to the corridor and the felled waiter. He watched in shock as Bast slid from her chair, curled around, and gently hugged her now collapsed friend, her one true friend. “Oh, Rose, who did this to you?” she whispered as she used her hand to gently brush Rose’s matted hair from her face.
Alex came to, to the sound of a raised and aggressive voice. “What do you mean you can’t find them?” was being bellowed just beside him. “I told her that we had everything under control. Three kids, they are just three kids, and you only have this one here. Unacceptable!” Alex now heard mumbled aggression. Somebody was replying from some distance away, and they were not at all happy. He was unable to make out what was being said, though he had no difficulty with understanding the reply. “Find them now or I will personally remove you and your pathetic family from the afterlife.”
“Ancients,” Alex thought, “and they cannot find Emmy or Cairo.” He was immensely relieved. Dead bodies would have been easy to find. He had not killed them. “They will be able to rescue me. They will be working on a plan right now. YES!” His almost euphoric thoughts did not last long. Shouts and cheers surrounded him. They had found either Emmy or Cairo, perhaps both of them. His adrenaline levels dropped and pain kicked back in.
Quentin picked up the carafe of iced water that was served with every order, though usually left untouched, and tipped it over the face of Rose. Her hair turned pink, as did the carpet beneath her. She was a mess, but at least now she was awake. The pink was all too quickly turning back to red as her nose continued to bleed profusely. Aided by the water the blood appeared to be flowing both faster and further than before.
“Take this and get out,” Rose said very weakly as she struggled to withdraw a note from her pocket. Bast helped her and Rose’s hand rested upon hers. “The note will explain everything. Get out now, while you can.” Rose coughed up some blood and started to cry, but she did manage to splutter out, “Cleopatra is about to arrive.”
“How the hell can Cleopatra come up here? We are on the thirteenth floor. Nothing in ancient times reached anywhere near this height.”
“Quentin, Quentin, calm down. It is a code phrase we use. It means that we are in imminent danger and must leave quickly, but without drawing attention to the fact we are leaving quickly. It means that we are outnumbered.”
“Well then, let’s go.” He bent down, but before he could attempt to lift Rose to her feet, Bast stopped him.
“Rose is in no condition to be moved by us. With that much blood coming from her nose, and now from her mouth, she needs a hospital, and she needs it quickly.” Bast switched into high gear. She replaced instincts of compassion with those of survival. The shock of seeing Rose in such an appalling condition was now behind her. She had to face the facts, because she could not change them.
Bast stood and Rose pulled herself into a foetal position. It took all of the resolve that Bast could muster not to break down and weep. Quentin started to speak, but Bast stopped him with stern hand gesture. She had to think quickly, and she was now thinking quickly. Rose had used the code phrase ‘Cleopatra is about to arrive’. There were several other phrases she could have chosen, so what had made her choose this one? Seeing the condition of Rose, it was fairly obvious that they were in imminent danger without the need for any code phrase to be uttered. So it was obviously the second part of the code which was important – must leave quickly, but without drawing attention to the fact we are leaving quickly. All became clear to Bast. It was ancients who had done this to Rose, which is why they were not under attack on the thirteenth floor.
Ancients, not an ancient, were obviously waiting downstairs to capture, or kill, Quentin. Bast knew that it was impossible to capture her, though some troubling thoughts did go through her mind. She opened Rose’s note in the hope of enlightenment; she learnt nothing. It looked as though it had been written in blood, and it was now soaked in blood.
“What do we do?”
“We must get out of the hotel, but we must get out without being seen. Ancients will have had plenty of time to get all the exits covered.”
“Well, piece of cake then!”
Ignoring his sarcasm, she headed into the corridor. “Quickly,” she called back to Quentin. Between them they dragged the unconscious waiter into their room. Bast used the fire extinguisher to disperse the pool of blood. Apart from a very wet patch, they were happy that anybody arriving in the corridor would be totally unaware that anything was amiss. The heavily patterned dark carpet allowed for the line of blood droplets to only be noticed by somebody who was really looking for them. Quentin grabbed a duvet and placed it over Rose. It looked as though she might be going into shock, but he was no medical expert.
Bast chose a door at random, a few rooms down from theirs, and knocked on it. Happy not to receive an answer she used the pass key she had ‘borrowed’ from the waiter. Quentin had joined her in the corridor and she ushered him inside. “Stay in here, do not use the phone, any phone, no TV, do not open the door, and do not make any noise at all. I will not be long.”
“But I will have to open the door for you when you come back.” Bast waved the pass key as she left.
“Oh, yes,” Quentin said, and felt rather embarrassed. However hard he tried, he could not work out how they were going to be able to get out of the hotel without being seen. You did n
ot have to be a genius to realise that the land which surrounded the hotel was, near enough, at ancient ground level. Any attempt to leave would make their situation so much worse. No ancient soldier could come up to where they were. Once downstairs, the ancients would have the upper hand.
Quentin had never ‘seen’, though he knew all too well of ancients and just how barbarous they could be. He had not needed the visual confirmation of a beaten and bloodied Rose to know this for a fact. He went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He needed to be more alert than he was. Both the cold and hot water came out warm. “Mini bar,” he thought. Miniature whiskey, gin, vodka and brandy were in the door. Top shelf beer, bottom shelf he found what he was looking for. He raced back into the bathroom and poured two bottles of ice-cold water over his head. He was now alert, very alert.
Alex thought he could hear Cairo’s voice. Cairo was shouting, if it was indeed Cairo. He listened. As soon as Alex had heard “I too young to die,” he knew for certain it was Cairo. He was pleading for medical attention and water. Apparently he had given himself up because his leg and arm were badly broken, and without water and medical attention he would die in the desert. Several voices shouted questions at him at once. All Alex could make sense of was that they were asking where the girl was.
“She over there. I did my best to drag her into shade, but she died.”
This was too much for Alex to bare. He began sobbing inconsolably. He had, after all, been the cause of Emmy’s death and had also seriously injured Cairo.
“Please give me water,” Cairo begged.
The ancient standing right beside Alex made the situation very clear. “For this weeping boy I get paid double if I deliver him alive.” He kicked Alex. “As for you, look at you. Pathetic! I get paid the same if I deliver you dead or alive.”
Gold of the Ancients Page 11
