The Case of the Golden Greeks

by Sean McLachlan

  “No, those over there are British tracks. The boots there are different.”

  Moustafa compared the two sets.

  “I guess you’re right,” he conceded.

  “I’m glad you finally believe me about something. Do you also believe me that going down here is a really bad idea?”

  “Yes,” Moustafa said with a sigh. “Sadly, I do believe you about that.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Once again, Faisal found himself doing something for the Englishman that he really, really didn’t want to do.

  Why did that always happen? Ahmed got to do fun things, like take care of the motorcar. Why did Faisal always have to break into houses full of scary masks and servants with guns, or walk down tunnels full of djinn and Senussi?

  It wasn’t fair.

  He felt a bit better having Moustafa along, although he’d never tell the Nubian that because he’d start thinking he was more important than he was. Moustafa walked in front, gripping a rifle and with a pistol hanging from his belt. He also had that big Nubian sword strapped to his back. Faisal came right behind holding an electric torch, and Ahmed took up the rear with another electric torch.

  Faisal would have felt even better if some of the soldiers had come with them, like Claud or Mark. When he had suggested it, the Englishman only shook his head.

  “The fewer the better. That way you can move more silently.”

  Silently? Ha! Moustafa made more noise than a herd of camels.

  He wasn’t too bad while they were walking on the sand that filled the tunnel for the first few minutes, but then that disappeared and they walked through water like in the other tunnels. Faisal tried to show Moustafa how to move his legs to make the least amount of splashing and noise, but the big Nubian was too clumsy.

  The aqueduct carried on straight for a long way. They passed an intersection but kept going straight because that was in the direction of the old temple the Englishman thought the Senussi would come from. Once Faisal had Moustafa stop, not to try and get him to be quieter—he had already done that several times—but because he thought he heard something behind them. They shone their torches in that direction and stood silently for a minute. The sound didn’t repeat. Probably a djinn and not a Senussi. Faisal clutched his charm and they kept on going.

  Not long after that, they came to a break in the wall. A little above Faisal’s head was a hole big enough for a large man to pass through, roughly hacked out. Standing on his tiptoes, Faisal could just see that it led to some sort of chamber.

  Moustafa peered inside and took in a sharp breath of air. Ahmed did as well.

  “What is it?” Faisal asked.

  “It’s amazing,” Moustafa said.

  “What?”

  “I wish Claud could see this,” Ahmed said.

  “What? What?”

  “Let’s go explore,” Moustafa said.

  Before either of them could do anything, Faisal hopped up and gripped the bottom edge of the hole. He was the explorer in this group.

  He hauled himself up, and paused.

  It was a tomb. It looked a bit bigger than the others they had been in, and in better condition. The walls were painted with pictures of djinn that had human bodies and animal heads. Faisal spotted the djinn with the crocodile head from the Englishman’s house, the very same djinn Faisal had turned to stone with one of Khadija umm Mohammed’s charms.

  Faisal yelped and dropped back into the tunnel with a splash.

  “I’m not going in there!”

  “Keep quiet,” Moustafa said. “I want to have a look.”

  “Me too,” Ahmed said.

  They started climbing in. Faisal stood there uncertainly. A moment later he jerked his head in the direction of the way they had come. Had that been a splash he had heard? He peered in that direction as far as the light of his torch would allow. The sound did not come again.

  The others had already climbed inside. Ahmed poked his head out of the hole.

  “Coming?”

  Faisal looked from the hole to the tunnel to the hole again. Should he face djinn with Moustafa and Ahmed or face djinn alone?

  “I’m coming,” he grumbled. “And I deserve a lot of moving picture shows for this.”

  He hopped up to the lip of the hole and crawled through.

  The hole was right at the level of the floor. Faisal stood up and made a slow turn, his eyes wide.

  This tomb was a bit different than the others. It was a large room with four round pillars holding up the ceiling. All the walls and even the pillars were painted with pictures of djinn and people and birds and thrones and baboons. On two walls there were little portals to small side chambers that didn’t have any paintings but had some old stinky mummy wrappings.

  “This tomb is older than the aqueduct,” Moustafa said. “See how the aqueduct clips the very edge of it? The workmen must have discovered it and looted it centuries ago.”

  “Yes, this is ancient Egyptian, not Persian or Roman,” Faisal said.

  Moustafa cocked his head and looked at him.

  “You can tell because there’s picture writing on the walls,” Faisal explained.

  “Well, yes. That’s correct.” Moustafa entered one of the side chambers and looked around.

  Faisal wrinkled his nose and followed. At his feet he saw some bits of old pottery and picked them up.

  “Do you think the Englishman could sell these in his shop?”

  “Um, no.”

  “The Senussi broke that Roman wine thing,” Faisal said, feeling glum.

  Moustafa shook his head. “Idiots.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Some people have no respect for the past.”

  “It didn’t have any wine in it.”

  “It’s not about that. Some people are so uneducated they hate anything that’s different, especially different ideas. They see ancient things and all they think is ‘Paganism! We must destroy it!’ But really they’re destroying their own heritage.”

  “We’re Roman?”

  “No, you’re Egyptian, and don’t forget it. But the Romans were part of our past too, just like the Greeks and the ancient Egyptians. I’ve seen temples where the villagers have hacked the faces off all the depictions of the gods just because they are afraid of them. As if some fake god could hurt them! They say they do this in the name of Islam but if they truly had faith they wouldn’t have anything to fear from some faded old paintings.”

  “I wish they hadn’t broken the jug. I kind of liked carrying around something two hundred years old.”

  Moustafa laughed. “More like two thousand!”

  Faisal gaped. “Two thousand?”

  “Oh yes. Many of the things I handle in the shop are twice as old as that.”

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll break them?”

  “No, because I’m careful and attentive to my work. You should learn that and stop being so lazy.”

  “What’s the oldest thing you’ve touched?”

  Moustafa smiled, his eyes going dreamy. For the moment he seemed to have forgotten all about the danger they were in. “A little alabaster statue from the Pre-dynastic period. At least five thousand years old. Maybe even six thousand. No one really knows much about that time.”

  “Wow.”

  Moustafa picked up a small lamp sitting in the corner and showed it to him. It was ceramic, with a design of a pair of palm fronds on the triangular top around the hole into which the oil was poured. The tip of the spout still carried the black of many fires that had gone out long ago.

  It was all in one piece. Not even a crack.

  “That’s a funny lamp,” Faisal said.

  “It’s from what we call the Late Period. About 2,500 years ago.”

  “That’s … a long time.” Faisal said, trying to grasp the idea.

  “That 250 of your lifetimes.”

  Faisal’s jaw dropped. “That’s even older than the jug!”

  “Yes it is,” Moustaf
a said. “I’m surprised you remember. Here.”

  He handed the boy the lamp.

  Faisal held it gingerly, glancing at Moustafa for reassurance.

  “They’re sturdy,” Moustafa told him. “Just keep it out of the hands of the Senussi.”

  “Oh yes. They smash everything.”

  “They do bad things but for good reasons.”

  “Like when I break into a house for the Englishman?”

  “Um, I suppose. The Senussi believe some silly things, like smashing ancient artifacts, but they have pride too. They want to rule themselves, not have an Englishman or an Italian ruling over them.”

  “What’s so wrong with that? They have motorcars and aeroplanes and all sorts of good things.”

  Moustafa looked like he about to snap at him again, but controlled himself. Taking a deep breath, he explained, “Yes, the Europeans are very clever, but they are not Egyptian or Nubian. Only Egyptians and Nubians understand our problems, so they would make better rulers.”

  “But the Europeans treat me better than the Egyptians.”

  “What are you talking about, boy, they gunned us down in the streets!”

  “That was the chief of police’s fault. He’s a bad European. Most Europeans are good.”

  Moustafa groaned. He glared at Faisal, who cringed back thinking he was going to get hit. After a moment Moustafa took a breath and said,

  “You’re right that most Europeans are good, at least good to one another. But they see us as inferior.”

  “The Englishman doesn’t think that way, and neither does Claud.”

  “Stop calling him that. He’s Captain Williams to you. And you’re right, a few don’t think that way, but most do. And the colonial government is set up on that belief. As long as the English are in charge we will be servants in our own country.”

  “But if the English leave, we’ll just be servants to rich Egyptians.”

  Moustafa smacked him upside the head.

  “Don’t talk nonsense!”

  “Oh, what a lovely tomb!” Jocelyn’s voice came from the front room. “And do stop giving the child anti-colonial lectures. He is quite correct that for someone of his station it makes absolutely no difference who is in charge.”

  Moustafa sputtered and looked too embarrassed to speak. Faisal went to the main room, where Ahmed was helping the beardless Englishman crawl through the hole. Jocelyn stood and looked around.

  “Yes, this is quite impressive. But I don’t think there are any Senussi here.”

  Moustafa finally got his mouth working. “W-what are you doing here? This is no place for you.”

  Jocelyn looked at him for a moment.

  “My place is wherever I am.”

  Moustafa looked away.

  “Did the Englishman send you down?” Faisal asked.

  Jocelyn smiled. “Not exactly. The soldiers are busy preparing for the Senussi attack.”

  “There was a sentry at the entrance to the aqueduct,” Moustafa said. “How did you get past him?”

  Jocelyn’s smile widened. “I sent him on an errand and slipped inside. The men of the garrison, while showing an aching formality, are yet still quite attentive.”

  “We’re taking you back to the surface,” Moustafa said, heading for the hole.

  “There’s no time,” the beardless Englishman said.

  “We’ll make time.”

  “We have to scout out the tunnels before sundown. That leaves us little more than an hour. You’ll waste half of that taking me to the surface and getting back here.”

  Moustafa balled his fists and for a moment Faisal thought he was going to hit something. Faisal backed off in case that something turned out to be him. Finally, the Soudanese got himself under control.

  “All right, but at the first sign of trouble you run back to the base.”

  They all continued along the aqueduct toward the temple.

  “It might be best if you give me your revolver,” Jocelyn said.

  “Absolutely not,” Moustafa grumbled.

  “Two guns are better than one.”

  “No.”

  Faisal got up behind Moustafa and eased the revolver out of his holster without the Nubian noticing. He handed it to Jocelyn, putting a finger to his lips. Jocelyn winked at him.

  Faisal didn’t understand why Moustafa was so angry. Why shouldn’t the beardless Englishman join them?

  “Thank you for the lamp,” Faisal said to cheer Moustafa up.

  “Don’t mention it,” Moustafa grumbled.

  “I really like it. Late Period, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is that before or after the Old Kingdom?”

  “Long after. Now be quiet and look out for Senussi.”

  Faisal wasn’t kidding. He loved the lamp. He didn’t have one at home. It would be good to have.

  Oh, but won’t the neighbors see the light and wonder who was up on the Englishman’s roof? Well, he would use it only inside his shed, and with the doorway covered with a mat. And even if they did see the light, it wasn’t like the Englishman ever talked to his neighbors anyway.

  A European fork, spoon, and knife, and now an ancient Egyptian lamp. The shed on the Englishman’s roof was the best place he ever had.

  He hoped he would live long enough to get back to it.

  “Hey, look,” Ahmed said.

  He pointed to some picture writing on the wall.

  “It’s the same that we saw before,” Faisal said. “We’re almost there.”

  Faisal had thought the tunnels had begun to look familiar. It was hard to tell, though, because all these tunnels looked more or less the same.

  Suddenly his heart leapt. He switched off his electric torch and made Ahmed turn off his too.

  “What are you doing, Little Infidel?” Moustafa demanded.

  “Shhh,” Faisal said.

  In as quiet a voice as he could use and still be heard, he explained why he and Ahmed hadn’t recognized the tunnel until they saw the picture writing. The heaps of sand had been cleared away, and the hole they had crawled out of had been blocked up again.

  The Senussi had been here, preparing the tunnel for their attack.

  They were probably close.

  Moustafa and Jocelyn must have realized that too, because they fell quiet. For several minutes they listened.

  And then they heard a noise that made Faisal want to run screaming down the underground aqueduct all the way back to the army base.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Everything was prepared. The majority of the troops were positioned in hidden spots along the perimeter. A few stayed inside one of the barracks with all the lights on and making a great deal of noise as if the bulk of the soldiers were inside having a party. A pair of scouts hid near the temple of Alexander watching to see when the Senussi would enter. Once they did, the scouts would send up a flare.

  Augustus worried that the main Senussi force, the one he presumed would attack the base from the surface, would spot the flare and warn their fellows, but Major Belgrave put him at ease.

  “Even if they do see it, it’s not so simple calling off an attack. This will be their one chance, and they think Allah will watch over them. I just hope your party down in the aqueduct is successful. We need to know what sort of surprise the Senussi are bringing us.”

  “I have faith in Moustafa. Besides, we have our own surprise.”

  Major Belgrave’s men had set up a trench mortar ranged on the opening of the aqueduct. Anyone coming out of there would enter a deadly field of shrapnel. Its arcing fire could lob shells right behind the mound that hid the tunnel from view of the base.

  Unfortunately, there was no way to get rid of the mound itself. Just below the sand was an outcropping of limestone and would take days to remove with picks.

  They had an additional worry. Other than the trench mortar and a Lewis gun, they had no other heavy weaponry except for the armored car, and Major Belgrave let Augustus in on a secr
et.

  “The motor isn’t working and there’s no way to repair it with the facilities we have at hand. We radioed for a spare part from Cairo a month ago, but they still haven’t sent it to us. Red tape at the Quartermaster’s Office. Once it’s fully dark and there are no prying eyes to see, we’ll push it out onto the parade ground. It will have a partial field of fire between the buildings at all four sides of the base.”

  Augustus nodded, “And that will funnel any attackers to the spaces in front of the buildings where the armored car can’t shoot, and the men at the windows can fire on them as the Senussi bunch up. Good thinking.”

  Major Belgrave may have been a bit long in the tooth, Augustus thought with admiration, but he knew a thing or two about fighting.

  Augustus felt in surprisingly good spirits. Why did the threat of battle make him so chipper?

  He checked his watch. Shouldn’t Moustafa and the others be back by now? It was nearly dark, and they had promised to be back well before then. Faisal had been quite clear on the issue and Augustus felt confident that the urchin would pester Moustafa until the Nubian either returned or went mad.

  To take his mind off things, he went to the small cabin reserved for Jocelyn’s use.

  She didn’t answer his knock.

  “Oh dear,” he muttered. “You didn’t.”

  He found the door unlocked and opened it, something he would normally never do to a lady, but he fully expected this particular lady to have absconded.

  And he was right.

  A quick search through the base confirmed it. She was gone.

  Damn that woman! Of all the times to be wilful!

  What to do? Go hunt for her? But he had no idea where she had gone. Back to her cottage? Somewhere else in the oasis? Surely not down into the aqueduct?

  Then a horrible, uncharitable thought crept into his mind.

  What if Jocelyn was a spy for the Senussi? She had come through their territory unmolested, drank tea with their women, and walked through their villages without trouble and seemingly without fear.

  No, he would not believe it! Firstly and secondly, she was a foreigner and a woman. The Senussi would never trust someone like her.