The Khamsin Curse

by Anna Lord

  That honest confession tempted him to draw her in to his arms but he didn’t think he’d be able to leave off after one kiss and she needed time to dress for the party. Her costume was laid out on the bed - a strapless red tunic and a green lioness headdress. His costume was waiting for him on his bed too. Someone, presumably Mrs Baxter, had decided he was going as Ra. He had a falcon headdress topped off with a solar-disc. Not that he was about to complain. At least he wasn’t Anubis, the embodiment of all her fears.

  “Did anything happen that I should know about?”

  She turned her back to him. “Undo my pearls for me, s’il vous plait. Colonel Hayter sold me four permits at five times the going price.”

  “Bastard.” He freed the clasp and she caught the string of pearls as they slipped down her bosom. She smelled of eau de toilette, not scent. He preferred the muguet and made a mental note of the name of the bottle of French parfum she favoured.

  She wrapped the pearls in an old sock. “Mrs Baxter bought a kilim rug in Kom Ombo. I thought it might be a good way to pass secret codes and I wondered if she gave it to Colonel Moran since it appears they are lovers, but she still has it. Do you know what this glyph is?” She located her compendium and drew a symbol on paper. “This was featured on each corner of the kilim.”

  “It’s the symbol for a scorpion.”

  “Of course! Now I see it! It’s obvious when it’s pointed out!”

  The kilim rug theory was far-fetched as far as he was concerned. “How has Herr Graf been acting since he came aboard?”

  “Ingratiating himself with everyone; overflowing with bonhomie.”

  “Overdone?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And Ursula Graf?”

  “She’s a thinker rather than a doer. She has spent most of the time reading The Book of the Dead either in a deck chair or in her cabin, although she has struck up a bit of a friendship with Daisy.”

  “Mmm, they’ve probably got a lot in common.”

  “Yes, both orphaned, taken in by uncles, plus Hypatia overshadows them both. That bright peacock feather suits her. She will be in her element tonight as the star of the show.”

  He watched her pull the hairpins on her luxurious chestnut mane, watched the baroque brilliance tumble around her shoulders, and felt a wave of desire wash over him. “I better let you dress for the party.”

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  She was always catching him by surprise. “No,” he said, looking back over a broad shoulder that refused to droop, “not until after you’ve spoken to Jim.”

  Her heart skipped a beat and it showed. “Is he here, now, on the island?”

  “He knows there’s a party for the daughter of Mr Jefferson Lee tonight. He will have guessed you’ll be there. I think it’s safe to say wild horses won’t be able to keep him away. Ali Pasha is in Aswan too. My bet is he will bribe a fisherman to ferry him to Philae and leave him stranded so that he’ll be ‘forced’ to stay for the party. Moran is here too. He arrived ahead of me. He set up camp just beyond the Temple of Augustus. There’s a rock formation and a stand of palm trees, six in all, at the northern tip of the island. Keep clear of it.”

  “I thought you said he wasn’t involved in this espionage business?”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s not involved in something else illegal and dangerous. Give his camp a wide berth, especially after dark. By the way, I had a chance to speak to Willcocks, Aird and Baker before the Sekhmet arrived. Someone sabotaged some equipment while they were in Cairo. It has set them back about three weeks. They’re not coming to the party tonight. They’re worried about leaving all the responsibility for security on the shoulders of the construction foreman, a man by the name of Sharif. They’re taking personal responsibility for guarding the explosives.”

  “They still don’t know who you are?”

  He shook his head. “As far as they’re concerned I’m a bean-counter for Mr Cassel.”

  “It’s just as well they decided not to come to the party. It could have been awkward. They weren’t going to be invited anyway. Hypatia didn’t want them upsetting Mallisham.”

  “That will suit the lothario very nicely.”

  “I didn’t think there was any trysting going on but Mr Lee seems to think Daisy has been covering for them. Hypatia gave quite a skilled performance of wrapping Daddy around her pinky with a flood of crocodile tears. It makes me think there’s definitely something going on.”

  All this talk of trysting was distracting him from more important things. There was only one thing for it. He crossed the room in less than five strides and kissed her with as much passion as he dared; his fingers tangling in some long scandalous tresses. By the time she gasped for breath he was waiting. “That’s something to think about for when you meet up with Jim tonight.”

  Dr Watson was waiting for the Countess outside her cabin. He was wearing an ibis headdress with a long thin beak that curved out and finished just between his eyes. “Thoth,” he grumbled, trying not to go cross-eyed. “Never heard of him! Why is it that we live in an Age that loves playing dress-ups? I was hoping the new century would usher in some maturity – alas! We travel to the end of the earth and what do we find – another bloody fancy-dress party!”

  “God of wisdom, inventor of writing, patron of scribes, divine mediator,” she reeled off. “I think Mrs Baxter got you in a nutshell. Cheer up!”

  “Oh, that explains the scribal palette and reed pen.” He suddenly felt much happier with his costume and switched his focus to her red tunic. “Sekhmet – rather appropriate going by that statuette on your bedside table. I’m not sure what to make of that green lioness headdress.”

  Anubis was coming toward them and the Countess was surprised she hadn’t noticed how much Colonel Hayter resembled the god of the underworld. He had a thin doglike face with an overbite and a thin smile that showed the top row of his teeth when the lips pulled back in a grimace. He was wearing a black headdress featuring pointy canine ears.

  “Bloody costume dramas!” he whined peevishly, echoing the sentiments of Dr Watson. The two men still had a lot in common, despite one apple turning rotten and the other remaining untainted. “I thought I had finally escaped childish costume galas when I left school!” He jerked the headdress back into place when it began to slide off. “I’m going to ditch this thing in the Nile as soon as dinner is over!”

  “Here! Here!” said the doctor gruffly, dumping his scribal palette and reed pen on a deck chair to save carting them around all night and fretting about where he’d put them. “Shall we make our way to Trajan’s Kiosk? The others will eventually catch up to us.”

  “Yes, let’s go,” barked Anubis. “I need a stiff drink. I saw the Grafs and Miss Clooney going that way about ten minutes ago. I have no idea what Herr Graf is meant to represent. He’s wearing a black tunic and black trousers and looks like a black pudding on legs.”

  “Khepri,” supplied the Countess. “My guess is he is the scarab beetle. Mrs Baxter really has a knack for this sort of thing.”

  Hayter laughed out loud but it sounded strained. “Khepri! That makes sense! A little fat ball of dung! Nothing like his lithe fair-haired niece. My guess is that she has dressed as Hathor – goddess of sky, beauty, light, music, dance, and foreign lands. Quite an attractive young lady. I’m not surprised Mallisham has set his lusty sights her way. Not that Miss Lee isn’t attractive. She’s a looker too. I was partial to blondes in my younger days. Oh, do beg pardon, Countess!” He suddenly realized he might have given offence and tried to cover his tracks, compounding embarrassment. “The two young ladies have struck up an unlikely friendship. What a half-caste American-Indian and a German fraulein would have in common beats me. Miss Clooney looks catlike with lots of khol around her cat-eyes. She is wearing black too, but it sits well on her coffee coloured skin. I wonder what goddess looks like a cat?”

  “Bast,” supplied the Countess coldly.

  Dr Watson was becoming inc
reasingly annoyed with his ex-army chum. The man was not only corrupt but a social idiot. He began walking quickly, forcing the other two to keep up with him or fall behind. They eventually fell back because the colonel became short of breath and needed to rest up for a bit. The Countess decided to stay with him, despite the fact he’d rubbed her the wrong way several times in a matter of minutes. Someone was walking swiftly toward them. The last rays of the sun gilded a solar-disc headdress that crowned a striking blond head and she knew it was the golden god of her dreams.

  “Are you all right, Colonel Hayter?” said Gideon Longshanks when he caught up to them and found the Acting High Commissioner perched on a stone block near the ruin of a Coptic church, panting for breath like a thirsty dog; his skin was the colour of dirty parchment.

  “I just need to rest my legs for a bit, old boy. Old war wound. It plays up every now and again. You two go on. I’ll catch you up shortly.”

  Reluctantly, they left him behind. It was about six hundred yards from the Arc of Diocletian to Trajan’s Kiosk, plus an extra two hundred yards if you counted the incline from the makeshift jetty up to the Arc of Diocletian.

  The major waited until they were out of earshot. “Do you have your muff pistol on you?”

  She nodded. “I have the double-barrelled Derringer you gave me for my birthday.”

  “Good. It pays to be prepared. That attack in Kom Ombo came out of the blue. If it was Ali Pasha’s houseboy and he was following me, then Ali Pasha may wish to avenge his death. He might even hire someone to do the job properly tonight.”

  “Are you thinking of Colonel Moran?”

  “Well, he’s a gun for hire, and just because he’s working for Mallisham doesn’t mean he wouldn’t take another commission on the side.”

  “Moran reminds me of a cobra – thin wiry frame, long neck and reptilian head rearing up, ready to go on the attack. If Ali Pasha set out to kill you then he is our man.”

  “So it seems.”

  “How did he know you weren’t who you said you were?”

  “After I left your rom that night I went to the well where Rossiter died. I wanted to read the message inside the well for myself. He was an agent I knew quite well. We had crossed paths several times. I wanted to make sure there was nothing else scratched into the stone.”

  “You think Rossiter gave you up while being tortured?”

  “No, he didn’t know I was in Egypt. Mycroft and Mr Cassel are the only two people who know I’m here. I think Ali Pasha’s houseboy or someone associated with Ali Pasha might have been watching the well. They might have passed my description to Ali Pasha and he narrowed it down to me. Like you said – broad shoulders, straight back. I should have known better.”

  “You said in Kom Ombo you weren’t sure if Japhet had been following me or you?”

  “I thought about it later. It had to be me. It was probably Japhet who coshed me on the head and dumped me by the railway line because the Khamsin was coming. He probably thought the windstorm would take care of the rest and came back later to check. When he found no trace of me he must have guessed my next port of call would be Kom Ombo. So he waited at the temple until I turned up.” He glanced off to the side. “There’s Ursula Graf standing in the shade of those palm trees. I might go over and tell her how lovely she looks. Don’t get jealous when you see me cutting in on Mallisham’s territory.”

  “Jealousy implies poor self-esteem. It’s not in my nature. From that you should not infer that I don’t love you. I love you, but I’m not in love with you. Being in love is a type of infatuation driven by emotion. I realized that about six months into my marriage.”

  “Hold that thought. I want to continue this conversation later tonight. Right now we’ve both got a job to do. I can see Jefferson Lee and Lorna Baxter heading this way. You wait for them. I’ll join Ursula. Don’t go wandering off anywhere alone tonight. There’s safety in numbers.”

  Mr Lee was wearing the tall conical headdress of the Pharaohs known as an Atef crown. A fake Pharaonic beard graced his chin. In his hands were the crook and flail of Osiris.

  Mrs Lorna Baxter was wearing a scorpion headdress. That meant she was Serket or Selket, the goddess of fertility, medicine, magic and the healer of venomous stings and bites. She who tightens the throat; she who causes the throat to breathe – a bit ambiguous. She was also the guardian of Apep the serpent of evil.

  The sun went down and the torcheres were lit as they gathered inside Trajan’s Kiosk and waited for the birthday girl to arrive. It didn’t take long. Professor Mallisham, dressed as Khnum the ram, had been chosen to escort Hypatia to the ‘surprise’ party, and it had caused yet another bitter rift between father and daughter.

  Hypatia was Ma’at.

  11

  Krokodilus

  A copy of an ancient prayer had been found by Professor Mallisham and painstakingly copied on papyrus in beautiful calligraphy by Daisy. Everyone was given a personal copy before the birthday girl made her way to the place of honour and they began to chant:

  Ma’at is honour and justice

  Goddess of goodness everlasting

  Since the day of creation

  She walks the path of fairness

  Wearing the feather of truth

  We declare: Heavenly Being Bless Us.

  This chant replaced the traditional birthday song and was repeated several times throughout the dinner, between courses, during various toasts, and whenever the mood called for it. By the end of the night they had memorized the words and no longer needed to refer to their papyrus.

  Ali Pasha had blundered into the Kiosk prior to the commencement of the feast, exactly as envisaged by Major Nash, pleading to be allowed to stay since his ferryman had dropped him off and deserted him, claiming the island was Unapproachable and all who trespassed would come to an evil end. He had no costume, but since he already resembled Sobek it hardly mattered. His distinctive headdress was the green fez.

  Colonel Sebastian Moran hovered here and there, his snakelike shadow passing in and out, alert to every sound and movement in the undergrowth. He partook of food and drink but did not join the party. It was understood he was part of the hired help and had a job to do.

  The night sky was awash with an electrum of gold and silver stars spread out on a purple faience sky until about half way through the feast when someone noticed the astrological vault had become obscured by a dirty copper-coloured cloud. Sand swirled through the air but they were protected by the twenty foot high walls of the Kiosk so it was not until much later that someone commented that they thought the Khamsin was making a return.

  Within minutes of that statement the wall of heat hit with a vengeance and the heavens roared as if a thousand sistrums were being rattled simultaneously. As the windstorm swept across the broad expanse of water it was the breadth of the Nile that spared them the worst of it.

  That’s when panic set in. Though it was still an orderly type of panic. The sort where everyone says things like: “No need to panic.”

  Followed by well-meaning platitudes such as: “We’re safe here. The walls are solid stone. They’ve been standing for thousands of years. The wind will blow over our heads. It’s heading for Cairo.”

  Then someone screamed.

  That set off a frenzied chorus: “Watch out! Crocodile! There! Quick!”

  Panic turned into pandemonium.

  The ground was suddenly crawling with armoured reptiles. Baby crocodiles were making horrid chirring sounds like terrified baby birds who sensed they were about to be devoured by a raptor. There were about a dozen or more doing belly runs under the low tables, slender snouts snapping; shredding silk cushions with razor-sharp teeth that looked all the more frightening because the razors sat on the outside of their ferocious little jaws.

  The terror was palpable. Everyone screamed, even the men, as they leapt onto the divans to save bare feet and toes, strapped in sandals, falling prey to jaw-clamps designed for snapping shut and never letting go. N
o creature had more jaw power than a crocodile. Their snouts were bone-crushing muscle that was more bone than muscle.

  More crocodiles appeared; greyer in colour, darker, larger, more mature. They were making aggressive coughing noises as they rushed between the tables, flipping them over with flailing tails, and tearing voraciously at the cushions and food, smashing the beautiful porcelain and the finest crystal glassware. Short stumpy legs were raised, lifting lithe reptilian bodies off the ground as they hissed and seethed with anger, violently lashing out at everything in their path.

  Now, it is often thought that reptiles lack intelligence and that sub-aquatic creatures are less dangerous when removed from their natural habitat. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  Crocodiles are nocturnal hunters. They have no problem seeing in the dark. Their night vision is on a par with cats. Lymphatic membranes in their skin give them excellent hearing. And worst of all, their highly developed olfactory sensors helps them pinpoint prey by smell.

  Any man who had a gun on him, now retrieved it and began emptying bullets into the fearsome creatures that attempted to mount the divans and drag down what they deemed was helpless prey in the form of trembling bipeds, similar to small four-legged deer, though not as meaty as a herd of thirsty buffalo at a waterhole. And if anyone was of the opinion crocodiles could not climb, they were in for a rude surprise. Crocodiles could climb trees and often chose to bask in low-spreading branches.

  Dr Watson had fumbled for his Webley. Gideon Longshanks had done the same. Colonel Hayter managed to unstrap his weapon from its leather holster then someone bumped him and he dropped it. It was snapped up, crunched and swallowed whole. The Countess was unable to access the double-barrelled Derringer strapped to her thigh because she was desperately clinging to Ursula Graf with both arms who was hanging onto her uncle for dear life. She grabbed a flaming torchere at the first opportunity and used it to fend off rapacious teeth. Mrs Baxter did the same. Herr Graf used a silver salver to beat back long sharp snouts. Any weapon that came to hand was better than nothing.