by Alan Baxter
The guard glanced briefly at the photo, then shook his head, looking off over Crowley’s shoulder like he was not worth the time to even engage.
“Thanks, you’ve been very helpful,” Crowley said, sarcasm dripping off the words.
As they moved along, Rose said, “Let me try next time.”
“Maybe,” Crowley admitted. “But don’t be too flirtatious. This is a Muslim country, after all.”
They passed a museum guide leading a group of four Americans along and Crowley interrupted her politely. “Excuse me, have you seen this woman lately?”
The guide looked at the picture for a few seconds, then shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t think so.”
They thanked her and moved on, frustration growing as they asked several other employees and always got a reply in the negative. There were moments of distraction as Rose enthused briefly about some exhibit or another and Crowley couldn’t help but share her joy. He was a history teacher, she a museum researcher and sometimes guide. This was excellent common ground for them both, feeding their curious souls. But the search continued and after half an hour they had got no further.
As they made their way to the first floor, another guide came along the hall toward them, this one leading a group of six. The guide was tall and thin, with a long beard and eyes large behind thick spectacles. He paused and spoke about a papyrus housed in a large glass frame on the wall, then stepped back to let his charges in for a closer look.
Crowley took his opportunity and held up the photo of Lily again. “Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen this woman lately?”
The guide looked at the picture, then at Rose and his eyes widened.
“She’s my sister,” Rose said.
“You look very alike. I remember her, she was here a lot, took my tour twice.”
“Do you have any idea where she might be now?” Crowley asked. “She’s been missing for some time.”
“Missing? That’s not good. It was a while ago that I saw her, but she spent a lot of time talking to one of the other staff members, Amisi. She works in the Royal Mummies room.” The guard pointed along the hall. “That way; she’s working today.”
Chapter 6
Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, Cairo, Egypt
Rose’s heart rate increased suddenly and she glanced at Crowley. He thanked the tall guard and headed off along the hall. For the first time there was something concrete, beyond speculation or a paper trail. These people had seen and talked to Lily directly. Rose tried to hold her nerves in check; they were still a long way from finding her sister, but for the first time she felt a spark of hope.
The Royal Mummies room was dimmer than the other parts of the museum, but constructed of the same cool white and tan stone. Rose paused in the entrance, mouth agape in surprise and excitement. Glass cases lined the walls and stood side by side in the middle of the large room, each containing an actual mummy. Not the bandage-wrapped monsters from the movies, but real people, dark skin tightened across stark bones. Most were dressed in light linen or had a linen sheet over them for modesty, but heads and feet were clearly on display, arms crossed on their chests, fingers thin and crooked.
Rose knew the collection had received mixed responses, some balking at such a blatant display of the dead, but she was enthralled by it. She saw by Crowley’s expression as he stood beside her that he shared her wonder. It was good to have him by her side again, his strength, confidence, and yes, his attractiveness. She pushed the thoughts aside, determined to concentrate on finding Lily. But the displays in front of her grabbed her attention again.
She walked slowly among the glass cabinets, marveling at the actual bodies of ancient luminaries like Ramses I, Seti I, his son Ramses the Great, Merenpath, Ramses III, and so many others. Studying on the plane from England she had read that some biblical historians, and some Egyptologists, linked several of these individuals to the alleged exodus of the Jews from Egypt, as described in the Old Testament.
The almost physical presence of age, epic stretches of time, seemed to hang over her shoulders like a cape, weighing her down.
“This is remarkable,” Crowley whispered.
Rose chuckled. “I was just thinking the same.”
They paused, looking down at a woman reclined in death, in a dress of wrapped white linen, yellowed with age. Even with her gray-black skin tight to her skull, her past beauty was evident, lips blackened, but shining, slightly parted. Her hands rested one atop the other just above her stomach, her eyes closed as if she simply slept.
“Despite the obvious degradation, she looks like she might wake any moment,” Rose said quietly.
“I often think the same.” The woman’s voice beside them made both Rose and Crowley jump.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She wore the uniform of a museum employee and a name badge that said Amisi. She frowned briefly as she met Rose’s eye.
Rose took the opportunity. “You recognize me? Perhaps you’ve met my sister Li… Iris. Iris Brown.”
Amisi nodded slowly. “Of course. Your sister?”
“Yes. Please, can you tell us where she might be?”
Amisi frowned again, looked down. “Oh, I don’t know anything…”
“Please, she’s been missing for a while and I’m trying to find her.”
Amisi met Rose’s eye again and Rose saw the sympathy there. Was her desperation that evident? “I did talk to Iris and her friend on a couple of occasions, yes. But I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have any idea where she is.”
“When did you last see her?” Crowley asked.
“I’m not sure. Some weeks ago, I think.”
“You said she was with a friend,” Rose said. “Who was that?”
Amisi raised her hands slightly, shrugged. “I didn’t get a name. Tall fellow, wispy beard, man bun. He was rather cocky. Honestly, I didn’t much like him.”
“I don’t think I ever like any fellow with a man bun,” Crowley said.
Rose and Amisi both smiled at that. Rose thought perhaps it was something they could all agree on. “How was my sister to this man,” Rose asked. “Did they act like colleagues? Lovers?”
“I couldn’t really say.” Amisi paused, thinking. “Iris did the talking. The man was… standoffish.”
This guy made Rose nervous, the description of someone maybe not entirely pleasant. Perhaps he was nicer to Lily, but perhaps not. “What did you guys talk about?”
Amisi thought again. “Well, she asked a few questions about King Tut, but then brought the conversation around to the Book of the Dead. Do you know what that is?”
“Let’s assume we don’t,” Crowley said. “I’m sure my knowledge is rudimentary at best.”
Amisi’s voice took on the tone of practiced lecturing. “Well, The Egyptian Book of the Dead is a collection of spells, designed to enable the soul of the deceased to navigate the afterlife. But that title is misleading, coined by western scholars. The correct translation of the title would be The Book of Coming Forth by Day, or perhaps Spells for Going Forth by Day. Although The Book of the Dead is an ancient compilation of texts written at different times, and finally gathered together in a single volume, it was never codified. No two copies of the work are exactly the same. Each one was created specifically for the individual who could afford to purchase it, a kind of personal manual to help them after death.
“They were in use from the beginning of the New Kingdom, around 1550 BCE, until around the year 50 BCE. The surviving papyri discovered over the years contain various religious and magical texts and vary considerably in their illustrations. They also vary in size and complexity. At this point we’re aware of one hundred and ninety-two spells, though no single volume we’ve seen includes them all. Again, it seems they were custom made to suit the client. Some spells are intended to give the deceased mystical knowledge in the afterlife, or to identify them with the gods. Spell seventeen, for example, is an obscure and lengthy description of the g
od Atum. Most everything we’ve seen has no more than one hundred and eighty-nine chapters at most.”
Amisi paused, looked from Rose to Crowley and back again. “I could go on for hours on this subject.”
Rose smiled. “And I would love to listen to you. It’s truly fascinating. But how might this help me find my sister? Was there anything in particular she wanted to know?”
“One odd question did stick with me,” Amisi said. “She was specifically interested in Books of the Dead that had more than one hundred and eighty-nine chapters. I told her there was no such thing to my knowledge. To anyone’s knowledge as far as I know.”
“Do you have any idea where she went next or what she planned, after she spoke to you?” Rose asked.
Amisi made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, no. She was focused, almost terse, but not unkind. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
“Thank you.” Hope had risen, but sunk away again. The fact that Lily had been here was good to know, but it provided them with no leads, nowhere else to turn. Unless Crowley had any bright ideas.
Amisi put one hand on Rose’s shoulder and squeezed gently, then turned away. Rose fell into step beside Crowley as they headed out of the mummies room and down the stairs in silence. They walked through the main museum, heading for the front door and Rose finally gave vent to her frustrations.
“We’ve run into a brick wall, haven’t we?”
Crowley glanced once behind them. “For now, perhaps we have.”
“For now? So what’s our next move?”
“This instant,” Crowley said quietly, “we have a bigger concern. Someone is following us.”
Chapter 7
The streets of Cairo, Egypt
Crowley took Rose’s hand, enjoying the warmth of it, but pre-occupied by their sudden tail. The man was middle-aged, iron gray hair over a narrow face, sporting a wide mustache and a light tan suit. Crowley had spotted him twice as they toured the museum and something in Crowley’s internal early warning system had shivered, but he’d written it off. It was all too easy to grow paranoid when you knew you were up to no good, or when circumstances made a person edgy. But training lived deep in Crowley’s bones and his well-honed instincts had caused him to ignore his conscious thoughts and keep the stranger in sight. While they spoke to Amisi, Crowley had realized the stranger was loitering nearby, ostensibly looking at the various mummies in their glass cases, but clearly paying attention.
As they left the mummies room, Crowley used the dim light and glass cabinets to surreptitiously watch the stranger’s reflection, and sure enough the man had tailed them at a discreet distance. Down through the main room he came. By the time Crowley took Rose’s hand at the main entrance, he was buzzing with adrenaline.
“What do we do?” Rose whispered, her grip tight.
Crowley looked both ways. He pointed to the left. “The river is that way, the Nile. We’ll potentially trap ourselves against it.” He moved off to the right, heading for the busy main road, Meret Basha, picking up his pace as he went. “Let’s get lost in the busy side streets across the way there and see how determined this guy is.”
“He’s still there?”
They reached the main road and Crowley checked the traffic, took the opportunity to cast a passing look back behind them. The man in the tan suit was taking long strides to catch up, one hand held in his suit jacket. “Yep, he’s coming. Might be armed. Let’s go.”
“Armed?”
Crowley didn’t bother to answer, but ran out across the busy four-lane road. Cars beeped and swerved, one man hanging out the driver’s window to yell a stream of Egyptian invective. Without pause, Crowley leaped the central footpath, yellow and black curb stones running along both sides, and hauled Rose directly across the two northbound lanes. More horns blared and he ran between tall buildings, past a small supermarket, narrowly missing an old woman pushing a rickety cart.
Rose shook off his hand, but kept pace alongside. “You don’t need to lead me!”
“Sorry.”
They reached another road running obliquely across their path, less busy than the last one and Crowley turned left, letting his natural hunter’s nose lead them deeper into the city. Sweat trickled down his back, his lungs starting to burn despite his fitness. The hot, dry air of Cairo made any exercise hard work. Rose panted too, but showed no sign of slowing.
The footpaths were busy with people, causing Crowley and Rose to duck left and right, often going opposite sides of some person or crowd only to converge on each other again as their flight continued. They turned at the next street, heading right past a small café. Several tables littered the footpath, one surrounded by four old men with faces wrinkled as walnuts, passing the tube of a nargileh between them. One man, aromatic smoke streaming in twin jets from his nostrils, laughed and said something Crowley wouldn’t have understood even if he’d heard it clearly.
As they made a turn, Crowley glanced back again and sure enough the tan-suited man still tailed them. His face was twisted in determination, doing nothing now to hide his pursuit, as he pushed people aside. He ignored their protestations and raised one hand towards Crowley. Not waiting to see if it maybe held a gun, Crowley pushed Rose sideways into a narrow alley.
“Hey!”
“He’s still coming.”
They burst out of the alley into a street with neat brickwork underfoot and a garish blast of color everywhere else. Yellowing buildings rose on either side and the shopfronts and footpaths were covered with awnings and market stalls. Men and women called out, selling clothing and vegetables, nargileh in a hundred shades of colored glass, rugs and baskets, trinkets and ornaments. The aroma of spice and fruity hookah smoke mingled with the petrol and exhaust fumes drifting in from nearby.
“He’s still coming,” Crowley said. “We need to change tack.”
“And do what?”
Crowley pointed. “You keep going that way, don’t look back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be ahead. You lead him, and as he passes, I’ll jump him.”
Rose’s eyes widened. “I’m the bait?”
Crowley grinned. “No time. Go!” And he sprinted ahead, praying she would follow him at a more leisurely pace.
Gasping and sweating, his lungs burning, he spotted a wide doorway leading into some kind of shady courtyard. But the archway containing the doors was deep in shadow. Crowley ducked in and crouched, taking long deep breaths to control his breathing. Peeking out, he saw Rose jogging along, less than a hundred meters away, and the stranger turned into the busy market street only another fifty meters behind her.
Rose squinted forward, her mouth twisted in annoyance. Crowley smiled. If she hadn’t spotted where he went, the stranger certainly wouldn’t. The man in the tan suit had closed the gap to twenty meters by the time Rose ran past Crowley’s hiding place. She still stared ahead, scanning the crowds shopping, no doubt looking for Crowley’s pale blue, short-sleeved shirt.
The stranger hurried past and Crowley shot out of the shadows right behind him. He reached an arm around the man’s neck, the other around his chest, pinning the left arm tight to the man’s body, and trapping that hand in the jacket pocket.
The stranger let out a yelp and tried to bat Crowley’s hands away.
“Don’t struggle!” Crowley snapped. He raised his voice. “Rose!”
She turned, face splitting into a smile, and jogged back to them.
Ignoring the sudden interest of several stallholders and shoppers, Crowley dragged the man back into the shadows he had hidden in moments before.
“I mean you no harm!” the man said, voice heavily accented, thick with fear.
Crowley could feel the trembling throughout the man’s body and the heat of his exertions. Feeling down the man’s arm, Crowley found only a withered bony hand in the jacket pocket.
The man lifted it, the skin a much darker shade than the deep tan of the rest of his skin. The fingers were crooked l
ike talons, the flesh all but gone, thin bones poking up like rails. “The result of an unfortunate incident in my youth. It has been useless for decades.”
Crowley frowned, sympathetic and mildly disgusted at the same time. “What does that to a person?”
“A long story that we don’t have time for. Nor do I have the inclination to tell you.”
“What do you want?” Rose demanded. “Why are you following us?”
“As I said, I mean you no harm. I simply wanted to warn you. I couldn’t understand why you ran from me.”
“You following us is pretty suspicious, don’t you think?” Crowley said.
The man made a face to show that was a fair point. “Perhaps, but your reaction makes you also seem suspicious. Like you’re up to no good.”
“We’re not the ones following people,” Crowley said.
“True. I just didn’t want to talk inside the museum.”
“Why not?”
“There are ears everywhere, and not all of them friendly.”
“So what did you want to warn us about?” Rose asked.
The man drew a deep breath, then sighed. “The path you follow leads to the Anubis Key... and certain death.”
Chapter 8
Kempinski Nile Hotel, Garden City, Cairo
The man they had caught in the markets refused to give them any more information. Rose didn’t like him anyway, and was glad to be out of his company, but she had tried along with Crowley to press the fellow for more details. As soon as he had delivered the melodramatic statement about the Anubis Key, whatever that was, he had clammed up and tried to leave.
They both cajoled him, offered him money even, to tell them more. To tell them what he knew. But he simply shook his head, lips together.
Eventually he said, “I have made a promise to myself many years ago, that I would do what I could to prevent others making the mistakes I made as a young man. I’ve done that now by warning you. I will not be drawn back into that which nearly killed me. That which did kill all those close to me and left me… lesser.” He raised his withered hand again and pushed Crowley aside with his good arm.
