“What’s your plan?” Sullivan asked, setting down an already half-empty glass.
“When I’ve drunk this beer, I’m going to see the manager and get to the bottom of this. Lizzie definitely stayed here. Her mother was quite specific about it. I can only think she didn’t make herself understood. Long distance telephone calls can be tricky. All that interference. Then, first thing in the morning, I’m going to the police to report Lizzie officially missing.”
Sullivan nodded. “It’s certainly an odd business, but you’re probably right. Her mother could have spoken to someone whose English wasn’t terribly good.”
Charters drained his glass. “I needed that.”
Sullivan finished his beer. “Ready?”
The professor nodded.
* * * *
The manager invited them into his office and shut the door. After they had seated themselves, he began. “What can I do for you gentlemen? I trust everything is to your liking?”
“The rooms are fine, thank you. We are here about a guest of yours. My niece, in fact. Miss Elizabeth Charters.”
Not even a twitch. “I’m sorry, the name is not familiar to me.”
“Perhaps if you check your records? I believe she checked in on or around July first and, as far as we know, she is still booked in, although she spent part of the time onsite at an archaeological dig not too far from here.”
“Excuse me one moment, gentlemen, I shall check the hotel register.” He left them.
Sullivan lit his pipe, blowing out clouds of fragrant smoke. “What do you make of that?”
“He’s hiding something.”
“I didn’t see any reaction. I suppose he can’t be expected to remember every guest’s name.”
“Her mother told me Lizzie had met with the manager on at least one occasion. That was another reason she knew Lizzie had been staying here.”
The door opened and the manager returned. He sat down before he spoke.
“Gentlemen, I have checked the register, going back to the third week in June. There is no record of a Miss Elizabeth Charters.”
Charters stared at him. “What about Dr. Emeryk Quintillus? You surely have a record of him staying here. In fact, he should still be here as well.”
“Dr. Quintillus was here but left two weeks ago. I believe he has returned to his home in Vienna.”
“Vienna? He lives in Oxford in England.”
The manager’s expression didn’t change. “Perhaps I am wrong, but I am sure he listed his address as Vienna, Austria. I can check for you, if you like.”
“No. Not now. Maybe later.” Charters was aware of Sullivan’s eyes on him. He felt suddenly stifled, as if someone had turned up the temperature. He needed to get out of this office.
“Thank you for your time.” He stood. Sullivan did so as well.
“I am only sorry I could not be of more assistance. May I wish you both a most pleasant stay.”
Back in the lounge, Sullivan bought Charters another beer. “Something tells me our manager friend is not being entirely honest with us.”
“Oh, he was lying all right. The question is, why? And what’s all that about Quintillus having a home in Vienna? Did you know about that?”
Sullivan shook his head. “I suppose there’s no reason why he shouldn’t. It did cross my mind he might be Austrian, or Hungarian. Or do they call themselves Austro-Hungarians since they became a dual monarchy?”
Charters shrugged. “It seems wherever we turn, we find something else about this man we didn’t know. He was supposed to stay here for the entire summer. At least. Now it seems he’s gone swanning off to Austria without informing any of us of his whereabouts.”
“In breach of his contract.”
“Precisely.”
“Maybe now you have the excuse you need to oust him.”
“Would that I could. While you were away, I approached Sir Henry, but as soon as I mentioned Quintillus by name he told me he was tired of what he called the vendetta against ‘such a gifted and pioneering archaeologist.’ The man has the provost in his pocket.”
“He seems to make a habit of that.”
“Sullivan, what if he has done something to my niece? If he has, how will I ever face her mother?”
Sullivan patted him on the back. “Try not to worry, there’s a good chap. I’m certain she’ll turn up. As you said, she’s a feisty young woman. I’m sure she’s very resourceful and sensible.”
“I can only hope you’re right. We’ll see what the police say tomorrow.”
At nine a.m., Sullivan and Charters arrived at the Alexandria police station and asked to see the captain. They were shown into his office, and a smartly uniformed officer welcomed them.
“I understand you are reporting a missing person. A Miss Elizabeth Charters?”
“My niece,” said Charters. “She was staying at the Hotel Regal Imperial, although they deny all knowledge of her.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I have no idea, but you can imagine how concerned that makes us.”
“Of course. You have a photograph, I understand?”
Charters fished out one of the precious few photographs he had of her. This one showed her in typical studio pose, dressed in a lacy white gown and standing next to an elaborate flower arrangement.
“A most attractive young lady, Professor.”
“She came here as assistant to the archaeologist, Dr. Emeryk Quintillus.” Did he imagine the sudden flash of the captain’s eyes? He wondered if Sullivan had noted it. “You know him, I should imagine?”
“Only by reputation. He is successful at finding artifacts and tombs.”
“Indeed. Are you aware of his whereabouts now?”
“Not at this time. I wasn’t even aware he was in Egypt.”
He was lying. Charters was sure of it.
After agreeing to alert his officers to look out for the missing girl, the captain bid his guests farewell. As they emerged into the bright sunlight, Sullivan spoke. “Lying through his teeth.”
“That’s what I thought. Has Quintillus bought everyone in this city?”
“It certainly looks like it, doesn’t it? Whatever is he up to?”
Charters put his head in his hands. “I honestly don’t know where to turn now.”
Sullivan fell quiet for a moment. “Fancy a trip to Taposiris Magna?”
Charters thought, then said, “I don’t suppose it could do any harm.”
“Let’s hire a carriage.”
* * * *
The two men barely spoke on the journey, each wrapped in his own thoughts and fears. Silence greeted their arrival at the site, except for a breeze whistling around the old ruins, blowing up sand and dust. The place looked deserted. No sign of any camp, or fire. No timbers, buckets or sledgehammers.
“I suppose we’re in the right place,” Sullivan said.
“Definitely. Look at it.”
Both men surveyed the ruins in awe. “It certainly looks like a place a person of importance would want to be buried in,” Sullivan said.
“Indeed. A number of tombs have been found, but not the one he is looking for.”
“If he had found it, don’t you think we’d know about it? He’d be bragging about it from the rooftops.”
“Perhaps. Unless he found it expedient to keep the discovery quiet.”
Charters shot him a look. “What sort of expedience?”
Sullivan sighed and stared down at his boots, dusty with sand. “If he wanted her all to himself. Cleopatra, I mean, not your niece.”
A dark cloud passed over the sun, obscuring it. Heavy drops of rain fell on the two men.
“What the devil?” Charters looked up, rain splashing his eyes. “Not a cloud in the sky a couple of minutes ago. Now look.”
&nb
sp; Sullivan’s attention had been drawn elsewhere. “No, Charters, you look. Over there.” He pointed to a cave entrance the professor hadn’t noticed when they first arrived. In the gloom, Charters could make out the shape of an animal. A large, black cat. It prowled back and forth. Then it opened its mouth and growled. Sharp incisors flashed brilliant white. It hissed at them before disappearing into the cave entrance.
“Come on. Don’t ask me why, but we have to follow it.” Charters was already off after the beast. Sullivan hurried after him.
The rain stopped as they reached the cave entrance. No sign of the cat.
Charters picked his way carefully over the stones and assorted rubble on the cave floor.
“We really need a torch,” Sullivan said, his voice echoing. Fortunately, the entrance was wide enough to let in a fair amount of light, but it grew darker the more they penetrated the interior.
A shuffling in the distance. Charters put his finger to his lips and the two men froze, listening.
A flickering torch flame danced shadows on the wall as a figure appeared around a corner at the back of the cave.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Quintillus!” Charters exclaimed. “What are you doing here, and where is my niece?”
Quintillus didn’t reply. With an infuriating lack of urgency, he secured the torch in a bracket attached to the cave wall, took out his cigar case, and lit a cheroot, letting the smoke drift out of his nostrils.
“In answer to your first question, I am here on official archaeological business, and to your second, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Never had Charters wanted to hit a man more than at that moment. Sullivan sensed his fury and held him back.
“Leave this to me, Charters. Quintillus, we demand you take us to Miss Charters at once.”
“That would be extremely difficult since I don’t know where she is.”
“Well, when did you last see her, man?” Charters was barely restraining himself.
“Two weeks…maybe more. She left.”
“Left? To go where?”
Quintillus spread his hands wide. “I have no idea. It is really none of my concern where your niece’s whims take her.”
“None of your concern?” Charters shrugged off Sullivan’s restraining arm and advanced toward Quintillus, his finger pointing threateningly at him. “If you have harmed one hair of that young woman’s head…”
“I advise you not to come any closer. You may regret it.”
Charters took a step closer. “Where is she? I know you’re hiding something. Out with it, man!”
The blow to his stomach came from nowhere. Charters doubled over, winded and in agony.
“What have you done to him?” Sullivan demanded.
“Nothing he would not do to me, if I let him.”
“He hasn’t laid a finger on you. That attack was completely unprovoked.”
“Attack? I saw no attack. I merely saw a man suddenly double over in apparent pain. Surely that is what you saw, too?”
“I didn’t see you actually strike the blow, but if not you, then who?”
Quintillus did not reply. Charters gasped for breath.
“You’ll pay for this, Quintillus,” Sullivan said, his voice rising. “I’ll have you out of that university and your name blackened forevermore.”
“I hardly think that’s likely,” Quintillus said.
Sullivan made a strangled, gurgling noise and clutched his throat.
“Let him go,” Charters said, finally recovered enough to speak. “Whatever force you’re using. You’re killing him.”
Quintillus laughed. “I am doing nothing. He is doing it to himself.”
Charters looked again and saw that Sullivan’s own hands were strangling him. He tried to move but couldn’t. Sullivan’s face had turned beetroot red, his eyes bulging, tongue protruding.
“For pity’s sake, Quintillus. Stop this.”
Quintillus stood watching the struggling man. “He can stop any time he wishes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Do you think he’d be doing that if he could help it?”
Charters exerted every effort of his own will to free himself and help his friend. Sullivan had dropped to his knees. He collapsed. Charters lurched forward and fell next to his friend. He ignored the shards of pain that shot up his legs from the sudden impact with the stony ground.
“You’ve killed him.”
“I doubt that. He is merely unconscious.”
Something snapped inside Charters’s head. All reason rushed out and sheer blind anger took control. He lunged at Quintillus, who stood his ground.
“Don’t take another step,” he said.
Charters took another step.
He didn’t see the cat until it landed on top of him, felling him to the ground. Its massive jaws locked onto his neck. He felt teeth tearing through his flesh. Blood spurted from the punctured carotid arteries and darkness descended like a veil.
The last thing Charters heard was Sullivan calling his name.
Chapter 13
Lizzie’s spirit slipped through space and time. She floated above a scene of carnage. Two men lay mutilated and dead on the floor of a cave—their wounds so great, she could not distinguish their features at first.
Tendons, sinew, gore, and shattered bone littered the ground around the ruined corpses. She willed herself to look past the blood-soaked sand around them.
Her soul wept as she recognized Uncle Andrew. His companion must have been a friend of his, she guessed from Oxford. They must have come looking for her and now…
The bodies lay alone, but not for long. She sensed another presence. And more than that, she had a sense of herself, but not as she once was. She felt a tug, and the unmistakable figure of Quintillus came around the corner. But not alone. With him came the woman on whom she had gazed in the temple of Isis. Her face as enigmatic as before, she wore a floor-length gown of the purest white silk. Her eyes had been exquisitely made up in classical Egyptian fashion, and no trace remained of the filthy, stinking bandages she had been swaddled in.
With a stab of regret, Lizzie realized he had done what he set out to do. He had reincarnated Cleopatra, but he had used her to do it. Somehow, he had squeezed her spirit out of her body and replaced it with Cleopatra’s, transforming her features into the image of the queen herself. Now he had his heart’s desire and Lizzie’s soul would be left to wander.
She tried to scream out, but she had no voice. She tried to will herself back into her body, but it was as if a steel door had slammed shut. Impenetrable.
Yet she somehow remained attached to her body, and she wondered if Quintillus even knew of her presence. As long as her physical self remained, it seemed her spirit accompanied it.
She had no connection with the spirit that had taken possession of her body, but the woman’s eyes betrayed a bitter resentment. How long before this manifested itself? So far, the queen hadn’t spoken. Maybe she couldn’t. Perhaps she didn’t know how to speak through someone unfamiliar with her language.
She saw too how quickly the woman tired. Only a few steps and she had started staggering already. Quintillus put his arm around her to steady her in a tender, loving gesture. He caressed her smooth cheek but she pulled away.
“Time enough for that,” he said. “We have all the time we need.”
Another flash of anger in those exquisite eyes. This time, the queen opened her mouth, but all that emerged was a strange clicking sound—like the tapping of claws—before she closed it again.
Quintillus half carried the woman out to the carriage that was waiting to take Charters and Sullivan back to the hotel. Lizzie’s spirit followed them. A rapid exchange of Arabic ensued. The driver shrugged and Quintillus pressed British currency into the man’s hand.
Of course he had sent his own carriage away so that the two men wouldn’t suspect his presence.
* * * *
Over the next few days, Lizzie’s spirit traveled with Quintillus and his increasingly reluctant and unstable queen, on board a steamer from Alexandria back to Brindisi and then by a succession of trains to Vienna. In all the time they traveled, the woman inhabiting Lizzie’s body never spoke a word. Quintillus catered to her every need, except the most intimate. That she managed for herself, although she needed Quintillus to support her as she limped down the corridor.
Wherever she went, Lizzie inevitably followed. Not always immediately. She had lost track and could tell the passage of time only by the day turning into night. She was unaware of the temperature falling as they traveled farther north, although it obviously bothered the queen. Cleopatra shivered constantly and made that strange clicking noise.
On a stopover in Milan, Quintillus booked rooms in a hotel in a quiet district of the city. He treated his companion with reverence, never suggesting anything improper, and ensured she had the best room in the establishment. The first morning they stayed there, he left the woman resting and returned a couple of hours later, laden with bags from some of the most exclusive shops the city had to offer. He persuaded her not to use makeup, as her exotic appearance had begun to attract too much attention. In the beginning, he had provided her with a kohl pencil for her eyes, but now he took it away from her.
She responded by picking up a hand mirror and smashing it against the far wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. The clicking noise became much louder, angrier, and echoed round the room. The inability to speak seemed to cause her more frustration, and a small vase soon followed the mirror. Quintillus quickly put all other breakable objects out of reach on the top shelf of the wardrobe, which he locked, dropping the key in his pocket.
They took their meals in her room. Quintillus served her but she ate hardly anything. The food seemed to disgust her, although to Lizzie it looked delicious. Quintillus ate heartily and did his best to encourage her, but she would throw her fork on the floor and upended more than one plate of food.
Eventually, they arrived in Vienna and the house in the exclusive district of Hietzing. Lizzie marveled at its magnificence, to which the queen seemed indifferent. The elegant marble hallway, large library stacked with books and adorned with a sumptuous ceiling painting, room after room filled with treasures. If only Lizzie could have touched them, sat on the ornate chairs, drunk from the crystal wineglasses…but it was not to be. Another woman used her body for those purposes. But each day, little by little, something was changing.
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