by Alan Baxter
“What would that mean, exactly?” Rose asked sharply.
Crowley frowned, her reaction a bit strong to his mind, but Hamza didn’t seem to notice.
The old professor shrugged. “It means some think the Anubis Key is a spell or a device to allow a person to visit the underworld. Or to communicate with the dead, perhaps even bring the dead back.”
Rose blanched, lips pressed tightly together.
“Is there anything more you can tell us?” Crowley asked.
Hamza shook his head, more decisively this time. “No. I’m sorry, but we need to wrap this up. It’s no good for my reputation to be overheard talking about this stuff.”
“We really need to find Lily,” Crowley said. “Where might she go if she was on the trail of the Anubis Key, be it real or otherwise?”
“I don’t know. Look, I only ever mentioned the damn thing once during an interview about Egyptian legends. Ever since then my name has been scattered across message boards, and conspiracy theorists won’t leave me alone. It’s why Lily sought me out in the first place and I told her I couldn’t help. I realize you’re not crazies like some out there, I understand you’re simply trying to find your sister, but I can’t tell you any more. I wish you the best of luck, really, but I must go.”
He stood and Crowley quickly joined him, held out one hand to shake. “Thank you, Professor. We really appreciate your time.”
Rose stood and shook his hand too, though she was clearly crestfallen. “Thank you, Professor,” she said quietly. “Lily didn’t tell you anything about her plans? Nothing at all?”
“No, I’m sorry.” Hamza gave each of them a polite nod, then walked away.
“You okay?” Crowley asked Rose as they sat on their cushions again.
She smiled sadly. “You keep asking me that lately. But I’m fine. Just upset that we’ve hit a dead end.”
“I don’t think so.”
She looked up, mirrored the grin she saw on his face. “Really? What do you mean?”
“I was watching the old man closely. I’m a pretty good judge of people and he’s hiding something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Crowley said. “But we’re going to find out tonight.”
Chapter 11
Aghurmi Mound, Siwa Oasis, Egypt
The night was cool and dim, lit only by the stars and a quarter moon. It meant that Crowley and Rose were able to see once their eyes had adjusted, but the shadows were deep, pitch dark and mysterious. The breeze caused tarpaulins and tent flaps around the dig site to flap gently, occasionally slapping like restless sails. There were no guards, no people at all, as the two made their way silently through the site, looking nervously left and right.
After a tentative pass through, getting the lay of the land and ensuring they were, in fact, entirely alone, Crowley pointed to the large covered area where they had first spotted Professor Dado Hamza. “Let’s start there,” he whispered.
“What do you expect to find?” Rose was equally sotto voce even though they had established they were alone. Something about the darkness and their uninvited snooping about made them both cautious.
“No idea, really. But Hamza was hiding something, I know it. If we can’t turn up anything here, I’ll find out where he’s staying and pay the man a visit. Extract the answers from him.”
He felt Rose’s disapproval as she asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“Use your imagination.”
The covered area didn’t give up much, only tools and sketches of the different areas being investigated. As they made their way to other tents nearby, they began to relax. A tapping, like someone knocking rapidly on stone, rang out and they froze. Heart racing, Crowley scanned the darkness, Rose beside him doing the same.
“What was that?” she whispered eventually.
“No idea. Animal?”
“Maybe not!”
“Come on.”
They crept forward again, on high alert now. Crowley tried to pierce every shadow with his vision, but the darkest areas were inky and impenetrable. He thought his ears must be standing out from the sides of his head he was listening so hard. The soft crunch of sand and gravel under their careful steps, the breeze gently stropping the tent sides, the rustle of palm leaves and occasional chatter of a night bird. Though the night was cool, sweat trickled along Crowley’s spine under his shirt.
Each of the dig trenches was like a grave, filled with darkness. In some they could vaguely make out silhouettes of disturbed earth at the bottom, others seemingly abysses falling away forever. Crowley briefly entertained they idea of tripping and tumbling into one, spinning through darkness for eternity.
He sniffed, took a deep breath. The place was giving him the creeps. It’s just an empty desert settlement! he chided himself, but the thought felt hollow even in his own mind.
Something on the air tickled his nose and he couldn’t place it. But it felt wrong, out of place somehow. Fragrant, vaguely floral. Perhaps another of the night blossoms they had smelled in the town. Though it wasn’t quite the same.
A row of small tents marked one side of the dig and they approached slowly, trying to look everywhere at once. Then that rapid tapping again, or perhaps a clicking.
They froze.
“What is that?” Rose’s voice was tight in her throat.
Crowley shook his head. “Maybe a lizard? I know there are geckos in Asia and Australia that make that kind of sound.”
It didn’t repeat and, after another minute or so, Crowley moved on. He lifted one tent flap, held his breath while he flicked on the flashlight app on his phone and shone it around inside. Tools, crates, a table with some interesting small items on it, earthenware that seemed ancient. The next couple of tents were the same.
What did he expect to find here? Crowley became frustrated, the sensation of failure settling over him. Hamza had definitely been withholding something, some information about Lily or about this mysterious Anubis Key. He didn’t know what, but the man had every sign of the nervous interviewee. And he had quickly concluded their meeting once Rose and he had pressed for more about things the Professor seemed to write off as complete superstition. There was certainly some valuable detail to be found somewhere, but perhaps it wasn’t here. Maybe Crowley would have to have another, more private, conversation with Hamza. The thought made him squirm. He had used all kinds of less than civilized techniques over his army career, and more recently during his and Rose’s last adventure, but he would never like those methods.
Crowley spotted a larger tent, out away from the others. He pointed and Rose nodded. When they reached it, Crowley lifted one side of the entrance, tried to pierce the darkness, but couldn’t. He flicked on his phone flashlight again and played it around inside. The tent was completely empty but for a large hole in the center of the covered ground.
He crept nearer, shone his light in and saw ancient stone steps leading down some three or four meters to an excavated passageway. The passage disappeared into impenetrable shadow. And that aroma again, stronger now, drifting up from below. Incense, Crowley realized, being burned somewhere far along in the darkness.
He cautiously took the first few steps down, then crouched to listen. Voices, muffled and distant, singsong. He glanced up to Rose to see if she heard it too and she gave a single nod, her eyes wide in concern.
He turned out his light and descended the last few steps into blackness. He heard a soft scuff as Rose followed, then she put a hand on his shoulder. She leaned close, her breath hot against his ear. “Are you sure?”
“We’ll just go a little closer, see what we find.”
The passage sloped slowly downwards, curving subtly to the left. After a while, a weak golden glow began to light the pale sandstone blocks that made up the walls, floor and ceiling.
The voices they heard resolved into a strange chanting, the language not anything Crowley had ever heard before. The golden glow began to flicker and the passage opene
d out into a large circular room, dome-ceilinged. The flickering light came from a circle of thick candles, pushing back the shadows to writhe around the walls like silhouettes of dancers. In the circle, four men in full length deep crimson robes, hoods pulled over to hide their faces in shadow, were gathered around another figure, worshipping as they chanted.
Crowley gasped at the sight of the tall, dog-headed figure in the center, candlelight reflecting off the gold and precious stones of its long skirt and intricately-patterned broad necklace.
Anubis looked up, black head swiveling to stare directly at Crowley as he tried to duck back into the shadows of the passage. Crowley quickly realized Anubis was simply a man in elaborate costume, but he been seen.
A voice yelled out. “Intruders! Grab them!”
Chapter 12
Aghurmi Mound, Siwa Oasis, Egypt
Crowley cursed as Rose gasped in surprise and they backed up quickly into the shadows. But the worshippers were already charging forward in a ragged line.
“Game on!” Crowley said, and dropped into a ready crouch. He sensed Rose beside him, equally prepared. He’d seen her fight before; her kickboxing and other training made her fit, strong, formidable. But five against two odds were tough, even for trained professionals. However, facing the fight was infinitely preferable to turning his tail to them.
Anubis hung back while the four worshippers ran on. Crowley slipped to the left as Rose dodged right, the two of them operating on an unspoken natural sense, working as a team. Crowley shot out a fast lead hand punch as the first cultist, or whatever they were, closed the distance and his knuckles cracked into the man’s surprisingly hard jaw. But hard or not, that one crumpled like a dropped sack of rocks and lay still.
Rose engaged another worshipper, trading blows and blocks while the remaining two both turned to face Crowley. Rose delivered a devastating forearm smash to her attacker and he howled and fell to the floor, writhing but mostly unconscious as blood poured from his crushed nose.
These fools have no idea how to fight! Crowley thought as he feinted with a looping left and then kicked one man directly in the stomach. Air rushed out of the man along with a pained grunt and the man clutched his midriff and collapsed to his knees gasping.
The last of the four ducked, arms over his head, and bolted off up the corridor, heading for the outside world. The man Rose had flattened sat up, face twisted in pain and fear, and raised his hands pleadingly. Rose whipped a kick to his temple and he dropped bonelessly, out cold.
Crowley grinned. Rose was a woman who took crap from no one. He respected the hell out of that.
“You need to stand very still!”
Crowley turned to see Anubis, keeping his distance but holding a long bronze knife in front of himself threateningly.
“He’s gone to get help, you know!” Anubis said. “Best you stand still and keep your hands down!”
“Get help? You’d better hope at least a few of them know how to fight,” Rose said, one side of her mouth hitched up in amusement.
Crowley saw the adrenaline sparkling in her eyes, knew she felt the same rush he did from the action and the combat. It was especially addictive when it was this easy. He also saw the hand holding the knife trembling. “I don’t think anyone else is coming,” he said. “What’s going on down here is obviously a secret, else you wouldn’t be doing it in the middle of the night.”
He stalked toward Anubis, who hesitated briefly, then raised the knife. With a cry of fear as much as aggression, the tall man in the faintly ridiculous headdress launched forward and tried to plunge the long blade down at Crowley. But Crowley’s training, and his confidence, meant there was never any threat. He raised his forearm, blocked the clumsy downward stroke, and cranked the man’s arm over, putting painful pressure against the elbow joint. Anubis howled again.
“One more centimeter and your elbow pops and will never work properly again,” Crowley growled between clenched teeth.
The man dropped the knife and it rang like a bell off the stone floor, echoing along the narrow, dim passageway. Crowley turned the arm over, moved behind Anubis and pinned his arm tight against his back. Rose stepped forward and yanked the mask off his head.
“Professor Hamza?” she said, aghast.
“Please,” Dado Hamza said. “Let me go. This is none of your concern.”
“Oh, we’ll let you go, of course,” Crowley said. “But not until we get some real answers.”
Chapter 13
Aghurmi Mound, Siwa Oasis, Egypt
Dado Hamza quaked at the fury in Crowley’s voice. He tried to pull away, but his efforts were futile. “What do you mean by real answers?” he asked.
Crowley ground his teeth, quickly losing patience with the frustrating old man. He cranked the arm he held, made the man yelp. “You know what we asked you about only a few hours ago.”
Rose dropped the headdress to one side and stepped in front of Hamza. Her face and voice were soft. “Why don’t you start by telling us what you’re doing here. What is all this?”
“I’m a priest of the Cult of Anubis,” Hamza said, defiantly proud. “I lead this chapter.”
“And what is the Cult of Anubis?” Crowley asked.
Hamza tried to glance back and see Crowley, but his arm was held too tightly. “We worship Anubis.”
Crowley wanted to smack the fool for wasting his time stating the obvious. He cranked the arm again, about to speak, but Rose held up a calming hand. “To what end do you worship Anubis? What do you hope to achieve?”
“We commune with the dead.”
Crowley snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
But he looked over Hamza’s shoulder to Rose, remembering her strange experiences not so long ago, being hypnotically regressed through past lives, into the minds and actions of Vikings hundreds of years dead. He still wasn’t sure how much to believe of any of that, but couldn’t deny a lot of it remained well outside the realms of anything most people might consider normal. But was it really supernatural? He simply couldn’t say. He saw his thought process reflected in Rose’s eyes, felt sure she was remembering too. And her memories would be so much more detailed, first hand as they had been. Here we go again, he thought. “Is it like performing a séance?” he asked Hamza.
The man shrugged. “I suppose it could be seen that way. But we seek to bridge the gap in a more concrete way.”
“Actually talking to and seeing dead people?” Crowley said. “That’s mental.”
“Look, we harm no one,” Hamza insisted. “Everyone has suffered terrible loss, yes? Everyone is touched by death sooner or later. The Anubis Cult reaches out to close the gap between those who have died and we who remain living.”
“And have you succeeded?” Rose’s voice hardened, skepticism touching its edges.
“I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“How about just yes or no?” Crowley said, beginning to lose patience again. The man talked in circles and riddles like all carnival barkers and snake oil salesmen.
Hamza shook his head, swallowed. “We all feel a greater connection with those we’ve lost since we began these rituals. Some claim their lost loved ones have actually spoken to them.”
Crowley let the man’s arm go and pushed him back against the wall. Hamza, he decided, was not a dangerous man, only a stupid one. He moved next to Rose and Hamza looked nervously from one to the other and back again. He seemed older than ever in the low light, afraid, his scrawny bare chest rising and falling rapidly. Ribs and gray hair stood out in the candle glow.
“You really believe all this?” Crowley asked. “Do you truly think the Egyptian gods existed?”
“Yes.” Hamza’s tone was strong, dead serious. “They not only existed, I think they still exist.”
Rose frowned. “Explain.”
Hamza drew a long, trembling breath. “It started on my first ever dig in Egypt. I won’t bore you with names and places. But it was an old tomb, the sandstone weak, crumbling in m
any places. The sensation of presence was strong, I could feel something beyond the normal there. One night I worked late, alone in the depths of the tomb, and as I uncovered some bones I heard a sigh. Almost a soft wail. I looked up, ‘Who’s there?’ I demanded. But no one answered. I continued my work, and as I excavated more bones, I heard it again. I turned, looked everywhere. Nothing. I moved away from the bones and looked out the door of the small space, saw and felt nothing but the cool dry air of the tomb. When I turned back, movement made me freeze. Something like mist was drifting up from the bones I had uncovered. I was terrified, but mesmerized, as the mist slowly coalesced into the shape of a man, gossamer-like, a pale reflection, but a man nonetheless. He looked at me, raised one hand imploringly, then another shape formed from the shadows in the corner. Equally insubstantial, the shape of Anubis approached the man. In one hand, the god held a set of scales and on one side lay a heart, still beating. With his free hand, Anubis reached out and took the spirit’s palm and together they took two or three steps and faded into the darkness.
“Of course, this all happened in just a few seconds, in semi-darkness, before my very tired eyes. But I do not doubt what I saw. I could go on, I could tell you other experiences. But suffice it to say, the spiritual plane is real, and the gods exist on it.” Hamza raised his bony hands, palms up. “Maybe other gods besides the Egyptians.”
He fell silent. Crowley could not simply dismiss the man’s story as lunatic ravings, for he didn’t seem genuinely mad. Then again, what did real madness look like? Not all lunatics were raving. Hamza clearly believed in every word he said. That, or he was a hell of an actor.
“Do you know a man in Cairo?” Crowley asked. “Late middle-age, his left hand is all withered and blackened.”
Hamza winced, recognition clear. “Yes. I know who you mean.”
“What’s his story?”
Hamza pursed his lips, then shook his head. “His story is his to tell. He was part of our cult, but he left. Call it a clash of personalities.”
