Pyramids

by Fred Saberhagen

  "Where are we going?"

  "Up to the very top, bold youth. The capstone, I am informed, may well be solid gold. It would be very convenient to discover that the late Khufu had concentrated my fortune for me there."

  They climbed, Pilgrim taking the lead and setting a deadly pace. Scheffler, remembering his days on the high school track team, kept up with him for a while, and then allowed himself to fall back among the Asirgarh. Despite their short legs they were doing better than anyone else.

  The nature of Scheffler's companions limited conversation during the climb, though one of the creatures returned his nod of greeting. Always the capstone beckoned, in the form of a distant golden twinkle. He thanked God for his wide-brimmed hat and his full canteen.

  The ramp angled its way up, and then up some more. Presently they had surpassed the height attained by Scheffler on his first solo effort.

  At last Pilgrim's tireless figure came to a halt, at the level where the ramp ended, some forty yards or so below the top. From here the only way to climb farther lay over a fifty-degree slope of smooth, bright limestone. It would be tricky climbing on the glossy polished surface. Scheffler supposed that an agile human with good sticky shoes might make it, but for the Asirgarh it proved to be no trick at all. One of them went up quickly and with obvious confidence, reaching the golden capstone in moments.

  The capstone was a miniature pyramid, about four feet from top to base, about the same height as one of the ordinary building stones. Its entire surface if not its volume was what looked like solid gold. The Asirgarh who had climbed to it needed only a moment to scrape samples from the gold. Then he—or she—was sliding down to stand on the top of the ramp beside Pilgrim, who quickly dropped the gathered shavings into a small machine. It looked like the same pocket device with which his crew had tested the golden statues in the apartment.

  "Gold one-ninety-seven," was all that Scheffler could understand of the angry mutter that came from the little man as he looked at his machine. "What I am seeking is gold two-oh-three." When he saw Scheffler goggling at him, he added: "I speak of isotopes, my friend."

  "I've heard of them. But I'm no expert."

  "Ah. Just as well. Were you genuinely expert in the science of your century, you would probably protest at this point that gold two-oh-three is rather dangerous to handle. Also that it is doomed to a half-life of about five and one half seconds, and that therefore I have no right to expect to find any lying around loose."

  "Oh, radioactive. Five and a half seconds? All right. How do you expect to find any?"

  "Would I raise a question for which I had no answer? You see, the two-oh-three I seek is not radioactive as it must be in nature, but stabilized and therefore rather durable. I know that might sound like circular nonsense to a scientist of your period, but take my word for it. Enough of explanations for the nonce."

  Pilgrim tried the test again, when a second sample, from another surface of the capstone, was brought down, and evidently was confronted with the same result. "Not the least trace. Completely nil. Looks like there's no gold two-oh-three in that capstone at all. The damned old tyrant has put my gold somewhere else entirely. And I'm afraid that I know where." He kicked at the side of the pyramid as if to break it open.

  "I guess he thought it was his."

  "But it is mine, dear callow youth, as I have explained more than once already. It came from my ship, of which it formed an extremely vital part. It was—well, knocked loose, you might say—during a skirmish with the police, and fell into the desert, where a military patrol evidently picked it up and brought it home to Pharaoh. He had limited awareness of spaceships at the time, but he knew gold when he saw it. Some other parts of the ship were lost at the same time, but fortunately spares were available to replace them. Ask Thothmes and Ptah-hotep; they have their own version, strongly theological of course, the event. Ask Olivia whether the gold is legally mine, if you would rather take her word on such a matter."

  "I do ask her things when I have the chance. But her mind is wandering, as you know damn well. Maybe that's why she tells me to help you. I suppose it was your battle with her people that devastated the country."

  Pilgrim appeared surprised. He looked around at the horizon. "Does it appear to you that the country has actually been devastated? Oh, well, in that case I suppose one might say that… No, another time. For the nonce, my gold, my gold. If it's not here in the capstone I suppose the divine Khufu must have had it buried with his fragrant corpse."

  Scheffler grunted. He was growing angry with Pilgrim again.

  The little man nodded, talking to himself. "There is one other possibility. He would undoubtedly have had the metal worked into a hundred different kinds of ornaments before he buried it anywhere. Perhaps some substantial portion never made it past the artisans."

  Pilgrim started to lead the way back down the ramp at a rapid pace. Then he stopped momentarily to strike a pose and ask himself a question: "Would their metallurgical treatment have destabilized that isotope?" Fortunately he was able to answer the question for himself a moment later. "I don't think so. I don't think anything they could do to it at this level of technology would have done that." And he plunged down the ramp again.

  There was little conversation on the way down. When they had reached the level of the pyramid's main entrance, Pilgrim left the ramp and without a pause led the way toward the dark hole in the stonework.

  From the entrance, where Scheffler had to crouch to try to see in, a passage led straight in and down. Willis, perhaps trying to make him feel at home, crouched beside him and commented that the angle of descent here was twenty-six degrees, and that this was called the Descending Passage. Inside, it was far too low for anyone but Asirgarh to stand up in, being only about three and a half feet high, and equally wide.

  Pilgrim turned on a flashlight and led the way. Fifty feet or so along the passage, Monty met them and took over the commentary. Scheffler, proceeding in a painful crouch, learned that the Descending Passage ran straight in and down for a total distance of several hundred feet, and there was nothing but a pit choked with debris to be found at the end.

  "Ptah-hotep says that was where the Pharaoh originally planned to have his burial chamber—which accords quite well with modern theory."

  They had come down into the pyramid about a hundred feet from the entrance, Scheffler estimated. Now here was a pile of tools, and Pilgrim and Uncle Monty, with flashlights and what looked like geologists' hammers, went shuffling about on their knees, picking and probing at the overhead of the slanting passage. To Scheffler the stone surface looked no different here than anywhere else.

  "Entrance to the Ascending Passage has to be right here somewhere," Monty told him, and went on to explain that the bottom end of what pyramid authorities called the Ascending Passage had been blocked by a cunning arrangement of sliding stones, after Pharaohs burial.

  Ptah-hotep and Thothmes joined the group. Scheffler gathered that they had been here often during the past two years, but still were unable to tell just where the ceiling of this passage concealed the opening to the one above. It seemed likely that any attempt to open the ceiling with tools or explosives would bring down an avalanche.

  Some of the dynamite had already been brought inside the pyramid, and a discussion began on how best to use it. Everyone in the passage was sitting or squatting now, relieving the strain of crouching under the low roof.

  Will and Nicky, sitting well back toward the entrance, were arguing with each other in low voices.

  Will was becoming increasingly distraught over the drastic changes that had overtaken him. He demanded of Nicky that she tell him what the new world of the Eighties was going to be like to live in.

  Aspects of his character that she didn't like were coming to the foreground. She snapped back: "How should I know what it's like? I was only there for a couple of hours."

  Meanwhile, back near the temple, a dispute was developing between Thothmes and Ptah-hotep. Thothm
es was more and more inclined to return to the service of the old gods, the true gods, Osiris, Ra, and Ptah. And of the Pharaoh, whom he increasingly felt he had betrayed.

  "I dreamt of Pharaoh last night, my friend," Thothmes declared solemnly.

  "So? Many dreams come to a man during his life. Few of them mean much."

  "I have had few dreams like this one. Ptah-hotep, why do you suppose that the world was changed?"

  "The gods have their own reasons."

  "And we our own duties. If a man does not perform his duties, what is he worth?"

  "Duties? Duties? We still perform the daily rituals as best we can. And our fundamental allegiance must be to Set, as you well know."

  The argument went on.

  SEVENTEEN

  Becky hadn't done too well keeping up with the others during the first day's investigation of the pyramid. On the morning of the second day she was detailed by Pilgrim to take care of Olivia and keep her company in the temple, while the other twentieth-century people continued with the job of treasure hunting.

  Pilgrim made it seem that he was conferring a great favor upon her by giving her the nurse's job—as perhaps he was. He bowed and pressed her hands and said in his most thrilling voice: "If all goes well today, I will bring you a jewel such as you have never seen before."

  That overcame such reluctance as Becky still felt about being left behind. Besides, here in the temple, with no ramps to climb or tunnels to crawl through, she was free to get out of her wintry Chicago clothing and put on a gauzy, borrowed Egyptian gown. The only trouble with that was, there wasn't a decent mirror to be found anywhere. Nekhem, the dancing girl who loaned Becky the dress, had to make do with a dark oval of polished metal in which to see herself. With its ivory frame and handle the metal mirror was a beautiful trinket, but it didn't quite do the job. In return for the dress Nekhem borrowed Becky's Chicago sweatshirt, pulled it on and twirled around happily, despite the garment's being thick and hot, and by now none too clean.

  And then it occurred to Becky that there might be another advantage to staying with Olivia—it might be possible to learn something useful from the policewoman.

  Olivia was still unable to walk more than a few paces without help, or to use her arms steadily for longer than a few seconds. And she seemed dazed a good part of the time. Becky had a kindly nature, and was really glad that she could do something to help.

  Actually Olivia, in the periods when her mind was clear, worried about Becky and felt sorry for her. The girl was obviously becoming caught up in the financial possibilities of this adventure, alerted to the chances of mind-bending wealth.

  The older woman was reclining on one of the few pieces of furniture in the temple, a wooden couch, bedded with ancient Egyptian pillows that Nekhem had said were filled with goose down. She said: "Tell me about your young man. Scheffler. Have you known him long?"

  Becky shrugged, and toyed with a bracelet Pilgrim had given her. "I don't know that I want to think of him as my young man."

  "Well, I don't understand the rules of your society perfectly, of course. But I suspect you could do a lot worse in the matter of seeking out a mate."

  Becky shrugged again, and started asking Olivia questions about Pilgrim: How long had she known him?

  "More years than you would be likely to believe," said Olivia. Then she asked in return: "Would it do any good for me to warn you about him?"

  "What has he done that's so awful?"

  The policewoman looked as if she wanted to laugh, but had to consider whether she had that much energy to spare. "What has Pilgrim done? Ask rather what he hasn't done. Killing, kidnapping, robbery of every kind…"

  "All right. I know he kidnapped us, but he was very… gentlemanly about it. And I know you want to arrest him for other things he's done. But at the same time you're telling us to cooperate with him. You wouldn't do that if he was really terrible. Would you?"

  The older woman paused. "He can be as cunning as the Evil One. And you are but a child, Becky."

  The girl stiffened.

  Olivia sighed. "I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me, I am not thinking too clearly these days. Very well—I am very pleased if you are not a child. As for Pilgrim, I warn you solemnly that he is capable of terrible things. Cooperation with him for survival, your own and that of the other people, as I have advised you and Scheffler to do—that is one thing. Going beyond that, for example trying to get Pilgrim's help to enrich yourself—that is something else. I hope you can make the distinction."

  Despite herself Becky was somewhat impressed. "He hasn't done anything to hurt you. I mean, since he's been holding you a prisoner."

  Olivia shook her head. "He very nearly killed me in the process of making me a prisoner. But one thing I will say for him, he is seldom vindictive. Besides, I am sure he wants to keep me alive now because he thinks I may be useful to him later on."

  The party that had gone into the pyramid today included Scheffler, two of the Asirgarh, Sihathor, Pilgrim, Nicky, and the two Chapel brothers.

  Pilgrim was now crouched, flashlight in hand, near the sealed entrance to the Ascending Passage, which had at last been located by Thothmes and Ptah-hotep. It came down at an angle, Monty said, from the burial chambers in the heart of the pyramid, to intersect the Descending Passage about a hundred feet in from the entrance. The entrance to the upper passage was concealed behind one of the stones composing the ceiling of the lower one. One or more of those giant, superbly fitted blocks would have to be brought down. Pilgrim was now looking for weak spots in the masonry where it might be easy to drill a hole and insert dynamite.

  He had already sent most of his helpers down to the bottom of the Descending Passage, there to dig into the rubble that filled the Pit. That, said Ptah-hotep, was the original intended burial chamber, dug into bedrock well below the original level of the surface.

  The idea was to look for some kind of a hidden passageway in that area, and also for casually dropped treasures.

  "Not quite as crazy as it sounds," Pilgrim assured them. "We must remember that work on the whole project was abandoned rather suddenly just before it was sealed up. If you see even a small scrap of gold anywhere, bring it to be tested."

  Down there beside the Pit, as Monty explained to Scheffler, was—or would be someday—the lower end of a vertical tunnel researchers called the Well, that ran right up into the heart of the pyramid above. Investigators in the twentieth century argued about when the Well had been made and for what purpose. Ptah-hotep and Thothmes swore that they had never heard of it, that no such tunnel existed in the pyramid as it was built. Of course it could have been put in after their time on the construction site but before the burial.

  Pilgrim set Sihathor and his people, using twentieth-century steel chisels and hammers, at hand-drilling some holes for dynamite around the borders of the block that was now identified as covering the massive granite plug blocking the lower end of the Descending Passage. That plug, said Ptah-hotep, was now held in place by flanges on both sides, interlocking with the adjacent limestone blocks.

  "How about using your weapons to drill?" Scheffler suggested, indicating the rod-shaped device Pilgrim still carried at his belt.

  Pilgrim shook his head. "They are not suited for making holes in stone, at least not precise ones. And at the moment we have no other high-tech tools with us. If my ship were here, matters would be different. But I dare not summon my ship just yet. Not until I have in hand at least some of the gold needed to restore its energy."

  The preparations went on, to burrow and blast a way into the five million tons of rock erected by generations of Pharaoh's subjects.

  Nicky brought up a report from those working in the lower passage where the entrance to the Well would be—several feet of the heavy stone construction rubble had now been cleared away, and the last faint hopes for finding a concealed opening anywhere in that vicinity were fading rapidly.

  Montgomery was not surprised. "The Well, gentlemen, is n
ot to be dug until later, perhaps not for centuries. And then, in my opinion, it will be dug from the top down, by someone exploring the Queen's Chamber for a secret cache."

  Around midmorning everyone—except for Sihathor and his crew of stone-pounders, who were inured to working in great heat—came out of the pyramid and trekked back to the comparative coolness of the temple for a break.

  There Becky joined them in the common room, eager to find out if they had discovered any treasure.

  It was plain that they hadn't, from the tone of the argument in progress as they refilled their canteens from jerry cans of nineteen-thirties vintage Chicago water.

  "Easy enough to say, blast it open," Willis was saying. "Not so easy as you might think when you actually start to do it. We weren't completely sure where the Ascending Passage started, to begin with. Meanwhile there was more treasure than we could carry waiting around to be picked up�in Memphis, in the funerary chapel, in the Palace. The Palace itself is unbelievable."

  Pilgrim, who had not yet seen the Palace, glanced around once and then continued talking with his crew of Asirgarh. The diminutive unearthly people were still fully covered with protective clothing. Scheffler wondered if they were suffering as much or more than earthly humans from the heat.

  Monty was explaining some things to the later generation: "From what Pilgrim told us, Willis and I both felt reasonably sure that he wouldn't be back for half a century. In that time the two of us would be free to help ourselves to the treasure—in return we had to find his special gold for him.

  "There was plenty of treasure to be had, just for the trouble of picking it up. And we had to be somewhat cautious when it came to selling it. We didn't want to flood the market with genuine Fourth Dynasty material.

  "Actually it wasn't until the Forties that I began to have trouble with the dating methods—when doubts were cast on the authenticity of certain things. The organic materials in them were, as the tests indicated, not very old. But Willis, and Egypt, had become inaccessible to me by then. I found it necessary to sell some of the gold, which posed no dating problem."