Carnarvon had been listening intently. Like most of the others he was intrigued by Breasted’s story. He had always held a healthy respect for all things occult. He was interested in the possibility that something of a supernatural nature was actually present at and about their excavations. Even little things were of significance to him.
“Did you notice the lightning storms last night?” added Evelyn. “But there was no rain. And they stopped dead at daybreak. And then there were dust storms all day. Funny weather.”
“The lights went off in the tomb when I entered it yesterday,” said Mace. “After I got them working they went off again. Kept blowing a fuse. Couldn’t work out where the short was. Left the place at closing time that night with the cause of the problem still unresolved and the damn things came back on by themselves! Then found I couldn’t turn them off until I pulled the plug.”
Carnarvon was not impressed by these particular stories and found himself unable to resist... “When I was in Jamaica a few years ago I met a witch doctor who read my tealeaves. A brand of Fortnum’s I believe they were. He told me then that the coincidence of a dead canary, storms, noises off, in, under or beneath, and inexplicable electrical happenings would be portents of disaster! I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now you come to mention it...”
Evelyn whispered to her father, “Your joke is in very poor taste, Porchy.
It’s not fair to the others.” She thought her father’s sarcasm inappropriate in such scholarly company.
Carter momentarily grinned in approval, but continued to pretend he was ignoring the conversation.
Then Breasted added a comment. “All joking aside, I have told you chaps this before but up to now you have not taken the time to listen. I am absolutely sure that on most occasions when I visit the tomb, some of the objects have been moved from their original positions to some other. Not by much. Not that the casual observer might notice. But moved nevertheless. Even Howard has mentioned that he thought something appeared to be strangely situated. Do you recall, Howard?”
There was no response. Carter remained absorbed in his thoughts and refused to recognise the enquiry.
“That’s an easy one to check,” added Callender. “We can pull out Hall and Hauser’s records.”
Carter remained silent.
The story that finally did the trick was Alan Gardiner’s. He hesitated before he spoke. “I... er... I wasn’t going to mention this. Dismissed it as a figment of my imagination, or memory loss more likely at my age, I confess that is until the fellahs mentioned having the same experience.”
He had everyone’s attention but Carter’s.
“The crates on the cars of the Decauville railway. They take a long time to move, do they not?”
“That’s a gross understatement. Damn ridiculous state of affairs giving us only thirty metres of line to play with,” groused Breasted.
“Not the only reason for delay, I fancy. If my recollection is correct, that is. Now bear in mind that I cannot prove what I am about to tell you. But that is the essence of the supernatural, is it not?.. Just two days ago, I was overseeing the transportation of three crates towards the river. We had just started and had got them to the end of the initial length of laid track and, in the usual fashion, we were about to disassemble the upstream portion and relay it ahead of the cars. It was the hottest part of the day. Wetting the rails so they were cool enough to handle was becoming an exhausting chore in itself and the fellahs reminded me of the hour and that we should take advantage of some shade and rest awhile. This we did and, leaving the cars where they were, we retired to Tomb Seven... Imagine my surprise when later I emerged from the tomb entrance to find that the cars were once more back at the beginning of the track! As if we had not moved them an inch. They had returned, or had been returned, to the beginning of the track against the gradient!” Gardiner emphasised this last observation by stabbing at the air with his forefinger.
The group sitting around Gardiner were silent. But they all looked directly at him, even Carter.
After a brief pause, Gardiner continued, “I recall my thoughts at the time.
It was as if... as if someone was telling me these treasures should not be moved not be removed, I should say from their original resting place. A gentle message to us to replace that which we were taking. For just a moment I really felt I was being watched. Crazy, I know, but I truly did feel a presence about me, and not just one being several. It was a most curious and somewhat disquieting experience. I am glad to say it has not occurred since.”
Carter drew a long, slow, deep breath. “Alan, did anyone else experience this?”
“Actually, yes. As I said, some of the fellahs who were with me at the time. If it was imagination or forgetfulness, it was not only mine. At least three others recollect the same phenomenon. They are impressionable souls, I know, so it’s not what I would call real proof. But ask them all the same, if you will.”
Carter knew he didn’t have to ask. Gardiner’s word was sufficient. ‘Damn difficult to believe,’ he thought, ‘but there has to be a rational explanation.’ He shrugged his shoulders. “No time to dwell on these phenomena. A monumental task still lies before us. Back to work everybody.”
Reality is a simple fact; superstition and conjecture are not.
On the night of April the third, over four months later, the Earl of Carnarvon lies sweating in a hotel bed in Cairo, suffering from a terminally debilitating case of pneumonia. His eyes are open. They are wet with tears. Tears of hopeless frustration that his frail body is unable to resist the disease. Frustration that he is to be prevented from seeing his great triumph through to its glorious conclusion.
As he stares at the ceiling, mixtures of gold, black, blue, red, green and white begin to sparkle in the haze of his fading eyesight. The fragments slowly coalesce into an image. It is a woman. She is slim; quite small. A great golden collar broadly encrusted with red, blue and green glass hangs over her shoulders and about her narrow neck. Her dress is white gossamer, pleated below the waist. Each of her bare arms is enclosed by golden and jewel encrusted bangles; her feet with golden slippers. She wears a black wig. The plaited ropes uniformly drape her sweet face. Heavy gold earrings hang from each ear lobe. There is a perfume cone on her head. The wax appears to glow as it runs in tiny rivulets over her cheeks. Her eyes are heavily outlined in black.
Her arms move towards him. There is the merest suggestion of a beckoning...
Chapter Twenty
Something Bad
Carter, Carnarvon, Lady Evelyn and Callender had finished their soup. It had been a long and eventful day, truly the ‘day of days’, and much of the night to boot. A light supper was quite sufficient. Their minds were racing with the sights they had beheld, each with a different perspective, each with different memories.
“We must to bed,” Carter ordered. “There is much to do. Much to prepare. We may not feel it at present because of all the adrenalin, but if we stay up any longer we will regret it in the morning. You will overnight here, of course, your lordship, m’ lady, Pecky, old boy. Far too late to return to the east bank. A bit cramped, but I believe we’ll all fit okay.”
Each member of the party nodded and took it in turns to use the limited facilities.
Carter lay in bed staring at the ceiling. It was tinged a light shade of blue in the reflected moonlight. Damn all chance he was going to get any sleep for what remained of tonight and he knew it. His jacket hung on the chair next to his bed. He leaned over, took a pad and pencil from one of the pockets and began committing to paper the great list of tasks that presently tumbled through his sleepless mind.
The earl, in the spare room with his daughter, was also staring at the ceiling. He sat up and pulled his jacket from the end of the bed. He also withdrew something from the side pocket. He lay back into the pillow and slowly opened his fist in front of his face. The small ivory figure of a pony at full stretch rolled onto his palm. He felt the thrill of possessio
n and, at the same time, the temerity of deception. But both were enjoyable. He studied it for a minute or two, then turned over and tucked it under his pillow. He felt the passive comfort of its gentle contours beneath his head and easily fell into a deep, contented sleep.
He was not the only one. Next to him the diminutive figure of an ivory gazelle was being examined. In the hall behind them, Callender’s trousers hung by their braces from a hook on the wall. A tiny, seated bronze dog with a gilded collar, its smiling head looking over its shoulder, reclined snugly in the right-hand pocket.
That night each of them held their personal secret close, but by breakfast it had all become far too much to withhold. At the start, each of them was silent. Little more could be heard than the shuffling of the servant and the drinking of the coffee and of the tea and the crunching of the toast. Each held the group’s guilty secret. Each held a personal guilty secret. With the sole exception of their host, each of them was bursting to tell a colleague.
Carter helped break the silence. “Lady Evelyn. Did you sleep all right? I am unused to so many guests, so I hope you will forgive these congested surroundings.”
“Most soundly, Howard. A most restful night’s sleep.” She lied. But it was not the heat or the insects or for want of a comfortable bed. For her, like the others, it had been a night full of thoughts, full of pictures, full of memories, full of the most wonderful memories.
Abdel left the room to replenish the coffee.
Evelyn could stand it no longer.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “I cannot contain my guilt for another moment.”
The three men stared directly at her, wide-eyed.
“If I do, I shall not be able to concentrate for the rest of the day.” She picked up her handbag and placed it on the table. Parting the clasp, she put her hand inside and, with some ceremony, drew out the tiny carving.
Evelyn looked at each of their faces, from one to the other around the table. She anticipated the most awful scolding, particularly from Carter. In the event, the response was totally unexpected. Carnarvon smiled... Callender smiled... Then, at last, Carter smiled. They all smiled at one another. Evelyn smiled back nervously in relief. And they all laughed.
They shared the three small objects and passed them around.
Examining the ivory pony thoughtfully Carter turned to the three with a stern expression on his face. He whispered above the noise of Abdel’s returning footsteps, “This much oh, I almost forgot, and the head shall we take, but no more. These precious things are plenty enough to remind us of the thrill of our first moments inside the sepulchre. But there can be no more. Swear this to me, my good friends. Swear this to me.”
“We swear, Howard!”
Carter’s serious composure persisted. “Later, for my private records, you must tell me exactly now where you found these objects.”
By now Abdel had returned to the room to replenish their coffee cups. The conversation ceased.
Carter felt for the bulge in his jacket’s outer pocket. He would keep that particular secret to himself.
“Your lordship, I am sure it has not escaped your attention that we have here the best of all possible worlds particularly in view of the political situation current in Egypt at this time?”
“Don’t follow your drift, Howard,” said Carnarvon, puzzled.
“The new rules of your concession, sir. All discoveries from an ‘unplundered’ tomb are the indisputable property of the State. All discoveries from a ‘plundered’ tomb are to be shared equally between the concessionaire and the State. Now do y’ follow?”
The earl smiled broadly. “Letter of Egyptian law, Howard. Don’t forget that. Not the ‘Laws of the Realm’. Not quite the same, I’m afraid.”
“Well, all the same, a good basis for argument, wouldn’t y’ say?”
“Today, m’ lady, gentlemen, is a planning day,” he continued. “We must prepare for the recording, preserving and emptying of the tomb, and we must prepare for the people. All those people. All those people who will want to gaze at what we have found and what we are doing, while we are doing it... My good, good friends. This is a most crucial time. Before we set foot in that place again, we must be entirely prepared. Last night I jotted down some thoughts on these matters. Let me share them with you and get your comments.
“First, we must get a proper steel door made to secure the tomb whilst we are away. Within the next few days I will go to Cairo and organise its manufacture.
“Second, there is a team of experts to be assembled the like of which, I fancy, the world of archaeology will not have seen before. I have thought long on this and know exactly who we will need. Some of these men will be familiar to you Percy Newberry for instance others less so. We need an experienced chemist. While in Cairo I will try to enlist the services of Alfred. Inscription interpreters Alan Gardiner and Jim Breasted. And from the Met Mace, Arthur Mace. He is a great authority on conservation. We need accurists in draughtsmanship. I would like to get hold of Lindsey Hall and Walter Hauser. Charles Wilkinson I will need to assist me and Burton, of course. It is essential he continue the photographic recording. I will cable the Met with these requests today.”
Carter referred to his list again.
“Third, we need to select and obtain permission to use a tomb or two for stores. We need a darkroom on site and a workshop, laboratory or whatever. Somewhere where we can work on the preservation of the artefacts in the cool and out of the public’s prying eyes.”
He turned towards the earl. “Sir, your position and influence will best facilitate this provision.”
Carnarvon indicated his acknowledgement with a nod.
“Fourth, the stores themselves. We need packing cases, packing materials, chemicals... I have assembled a long list here. More for me to attend to in Cairo.”
He looked back at his patron. “This will all take quite some time. While these preparations are under way, we will need to reseal the tomb.”
“But first you must have an official opening,” observed Carnarvon. “How and when do you plan to do that, Howard?”
“Yes...” Carter sighed. “Just the first of many unhelpful digressions, I suppose.” He pulled at his moustache thoughtfully. “Allenby?”
“Of course. And the local Egyptian officials and members of the Antiquities Service. Watch the protocol. I shall make a list first to ensure we don’t miss anyone of importance. If we make any thoughtless omissions it could hurt us later. Get the invitations out. That had better be our first order of business today. I’ll do that, Howard, with Evelyn’s help. You deal with the stuff you’re good at the technical stuff and your technical pals.”
“All right.” Carter drained his coffee cup and pushed his chair back. “Let’s to it.”
Carter would never feel more fulfilled than he did that first fortnight following the initial penetration. Showing the place to the first few visitors and VIPs was a novelty and a consummate pleasure a total fulfilment of his life’s ambition. It would not be long before it became an almost unbearable chore, he knew that. But right now, this minute, it was immensely satisfying.
Harry Burton sat on a boulder on the flank of the valley that lay opposite the tomb entrance photographing the visitors with his cine-camera. Carter, passing by below, noticed Burton wave to attract his attention. Like a precocious child, without reservation or embarrassment, he willingly cavorted for the camera.
Things just could not get any better.
Arthur Mace arrived on Christmas Day. That evening, at the Metropolitan Museum house, the assembled team participated in traditional seasonal celebrations. Within two days Mace was hard at work in the laboratory tomb, painstakingly removing the decayed pieces of embroidery and leather articles from the first box to leave Tutankhamen’s tomb in three thousand years.
Each man in Carter’s team knew the limits of his own particular expertise and to whom to go for help when he needed it. The team worked extremely well together and, had they been left to th
emselves, perhaps a cross word might never have passed between any of them. As it was, however, their leader was not used to working alongside his peers alongside anyone for that matter and to varying degrees Carter found it at times most difficult, and sometimes downright impossible, to avoid interfering with their work. Unfortunately, this happened so often and without Carter’s recognition that at times he was taking a step too far that two of the team, the draughtsmen, ultimately would reach the limit of their tolerance, down tools and walk off the job.
Adamson turned restlessly in his canvas bed. It was a clear night and the full moon filled his tent with a pale lilac light. He had had way too much brandy before turning in for the night but, as things were to turn out, this would serve him well.
Outside, unknown to the sergeant, the sentries had left their posts. They had been well paid. The inevitable loss of job would be inconsequential to them. Others, many others for there was much to achieve in one night fearful of their tasks but paid sufficient to overcome any feelings of insecurity, were about to busy themselves with the business of grand larceny.
They had watched the British soldier on previous nights. His schedule was regular; his movements predictable. He would always retire at eight o’clock. Music would soon be heard coming from his tent. The alien noise would go on for at least an hour. Any sound they would make would be inaudible above the scratching of his gramophone. Besides, they had nothing to fear, they had weapons and he was only one.
Holst’s ‘Mars’ hit another crescendo and Adamson rolled over a little too far. The collapsible bed tipped over, spilled the sergeant to the ground and jarred the gramophone, causing the needle to score across the record to the spindle.
The robbers’ lookout noticed that the music had suddenly stopped and gestured to his colleagues to be quiet for a moment.
The sergeant sat up and shook his head. He turned to look for another record. Unable to read any label in the darkness, he grabbed for the hurricane lamp hanging from the ridge pole. He lifted the glass, struck a match and lit the wick. Replacing the lamp on the hook, he resumed his examination of the record labels.
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