Sands of Time (Out of Time #6)

by Monique Martin

  “Mrs. Vale?” he said, hoping no one but her heard the loathing in his voice. “You’ve remarried. Again.”

  She stifled her amusement at his jibe and sighed dramatically. “Sadly, my dear husband is no longer with us.”

  Simon was disgusted, but hardly surprised. She’d killed her first husband, and who knew how many others.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Elizabeth said, her tone and words compassionate, and only Simon hearing the false note.

  The offer of sympathy was unwelcome and her gaze shot to Elizabeth. The mask of calm composure slipped for just a moment and her pure, unadulterated hatred showed through. Elizabeth flinched, and then instinctively, Simon edged forward slightly, putting himself in front of Elizabeth.

  The brief flash of anger subsided and Vale’s icy self-assurance returned. She wound her arm through Jouvet’s. “We really should mingle, Henri.” She turned her attention back to Simon and Elizabeth. “It’s so nice seeing you again. I do hope we have a chance to catch up later. I’m just dying to hear what you two have been up to.”

  Henri, if he’d been aware of any of the subtext, hid it well and blithely escorted Vale toward another group of guests.

  Once they’d moved a fair distance away, Elizabeth clutched at Simon’s arm, her eyes wide with the same alarm he felt. “Holy crap.”

  Simon watched Vale and Jouvet across the room. “Yes,” he said absently, his mind racing. “Come on.”

  He quickly led her from the room, ignoring a greeting from Whiteside as he did. Once they reached the main hall, he turned back to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

  “What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked.

  Simon looked around the busy vestibule. It wouldn’t do. They needed somewhere they couldn’t be seen. “Getting us the hell out of here.”

  He took Elizabeth’s arm, but she resisted.

  “Elizabeth,” he said and pointed back into the salon. “That woman is insane.”

  “Believe me, I know. But we’ve been through this. We can’t go.”

  They had, but that was before she’d come along. He gave up looking for a place downstairs. Their room would do. “The hell we can’t.”

  “Hey,” Jack said, as he hurried to their side. “What’s going on? You ran out of…” His expression darkened. “Jeez. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He paused and then looked anxiously around. “You didn’t, did you?”

  “Worse,” Simon said.

  “Zombies?”

  Simon sighed impatiently. “We’re leaving.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  Simon glared down at Elizabeth and took a calming breath. It didn’t work.

  Jack stared at them both in confusion. “Maybe someone should tell me what’s going on.”

  Simon sighed. “Upstairs.”

  Jack nodded and followed them up to their room. Once Simon had locked the door behind them, he moved to close the drapes.

  “Okay,” Jack said. “What the hell happened back there?”

  Elizabeth sat down in a corner of the sofa in the sitting room and played nervously with the piping of one of the throw pillows. “Do you remember what I told you about San Francisco?”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, he was being a controlling jerk,” he said, nodding toward Simon, “and you went alone to try to stop some Council guy from dying.”

  Simon scowled at Jack’s interpretation, accurate though it might be, and pushed ahead. “The antecedent of a Council member.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Charles Graham, a Council member from our time had abandoned his partner in 1888 London. She went a bit mad and ended up in Bedlam, the mental hospital.”

  “Right,” Jack said, as he took a chair opposite her. “She escaped the looney bin, pretended to be a psychic and tried to kill the guy’s great, great grandfather or something.”

  “Did kill him,” Simon corrected. He walked over to the seating area, but remained standing. He stared down at Jack. “She tortured the man with the ghost of his dead child until he went mad and killed himself.”

  Jack nodded, his usual casual flippancy gone now. “But his wife was already pregnant so your Charles Graham lived. What was her name? Madame—”

  “Petrovka,” Simon finished for him. “But she’s going by the name of Katherine Vale now.”

  Jack sat up in alarm. “Now? You mean she’s here?”

  “And seriously scarier than I remember,” Elizabeth said. “And she was pretty scary then.”

  Simon had to agree. There was always an unhinged nature to the woman, there had to be considering what she’d done, but now, the way she’d looked at Elizabeth…It was absolutely terrifying.

  He put that thought aside and refocused. “She’s Henri Jouvet’s mysterious benefactor.”

  “But wait,” Jack said, sitting forward. “Didn’t you trick her into going back to the asylum with a rigged watch?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I did.”

  “We did,” Simon corrected her. Elizabeth had always harbored guilt about that, although he couldn’t fathom why. The woman was a cold-blooded killer, and one that hated them with a passion. They’d deceived her into using a watch, but instead of granting her freedom, it had landed her back in Bedlam, her prison for twelve years.

  Simon tried to put the pieces together. “Somehow she’s managed to escape. Again.”

  “Or somebody got her out,” Jack said.

  Elizabeth looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

  Jack shrugged. “She was a Council member, right?”

  Simon nodded and sat down next to Elizabeth.

  “That Travers guy said there was a Shadow Council made up of, well, evil Council members,” Jack said. “I’d say she fits the bill pretty well.”

  Simon’s anxiety rose at the thought, but it made sense. Or it was starting to.

  “If I were up to no good, working for the Shadow Council,” Jack continued, “I’d recruit people who had experience with time travel and maybe a grudge or two against the good guys for added inspiration.”

  Elizabeth whistled softly. “She’s got those. In spades.”

  Simon took hold of Elizabeth’s hand and remembered something Travers had told them. “And not just against us. No wonder Charles Graham is running for his life.”

  “Do you think she tried to kill him?” Elizabeth asked and then rolled her eyes at what she saw was a silly question. “Of course, she did. She’s…”

  “Insane,” Simon supplied.

  “Well, true,” Elizabeth conceded. “But clever, too.”

  “That’s a bad combination,” Jack said.

  Simon’s frown deepened. “She knew we were going to be at that party.”

  “Maybe she just found out?” Jack suggested.

  “No, the look on her face, that was from a woman who’d anticipated this, savored it,” Simon said. “I don’t know when she knew or how she knew but…maybe Jouvet mentioned us.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Speaking of whom you will not be spending any more time with.”

  Elizabeth didn’t argue but, Simon noticed, she didn’t agree either.

  He was about to remind her of the dangers when she said softly, “Maybe she found out we were coming here and all of this is for us?”

  “No,” Simon said. “I don’t think so. I think she’s here for the watch. Why else would she fund Jouvet’s dig?”

  Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “And the Cult of Sekhmet? They must be working for her. They killed Mason, stole his watch from Jack and have done everything they can to keep us from finding out where Shelton’s watch was.” She looked at Simon curiously. “But why would they help her?”

  “She can be very convincing, can’t she?” Simon said, wishing he could spare her the truth of it, but knowing he couldn’t. “And I’m sure the cult was not an arbitrary choice on her part. Sekhmet is the goddess of vengeance.”

  “Against us,” Elizabeth said.

  Simon arched his eyebrows and shook his head. “Perhaps.”


  “Well, the good news is,” Jack said, scratching his chin in thought, “that you’re not dead.”

  “Yes, I like to think that’s good news,” Simon said blandly.

  Jack laughed. “No, I mean, if she knew you were here and she wanted you dead, there were plenty of opportunities.”

  Elizabeth’s forehead wrinkled. “Somehow that’s not as comforting as it should be.”

  There was nothing comforting about this situation at all. He’d been a fool to think things could run smoothly with that damned Council involved.

  “She’s been one step ahead of us,” Simon said. “But her advantage is gone now.”

  “Okay,” Jack said, “So, what do we do?”

  Simon wanted to leave. It was insane not to. But he knew they were going to stay. Whether Vale was working for the Council or not, she wasn’t here to sightsee. “Stop her.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Elizabeth stood at the rail of the ferry. A cool morning breeze from the river blew her hair back off her shoulders as they reached the midway point of their crossing. Her fingers traced the outline of the small watch key that hung on a necklace underneath her blouse.

  Last night had been a long night, but Elizabeth had faith they’d made the right choice in staying. They’d argued over what to do with the watch. If Vale was there on the same mission they were, she’d want any watch she could find, including, and maybe especially, theirs.

  Elizabeth wanted to hide Simon’s watch somewhere, to keep him from being a walking target, but had been outvoted. Simon was not going to let his watch out of his sight. And Jack had agreed.

  That left the key Teddy had given her. If a looney tune like Vale ever got her hands on it, and could travel at will, history would never be the same.

  “Try not to fiddle with it,” Simon said as he joined her at the railing.

  He was right, of course. There was no telling who was watching them. She patted it once more, smoothing the cotton placard of her white blouse and gripping the railing in front of her.

  “She’s not here. We should try to relax and enjoy that,” she said looking at the western bank of the Nile and the Theban Hills beyond.

  Simon grunted.

  “Okay, stay tense and enjoy it.”

  Simon’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he placed his hand over hers before looking back out at the horizon.

  Their group had left the hotel shortly after breakfast for a day exploring the Valley of the Kings before meeting Jouvet at his dig for lunch. So far, Katherine Vale was nowhere in sight, thankfully, but that didn’t mean they could afford to let their guard down. Looking at the set of his jaw and tension around his eyes, Elizabeth could see that Simon’s guard was high and tight.

  “I worry about you, too, you know,” Elizabeth said.

  Simon squeezed her hand and this time his smile was genuine. “I know.”

  After a few more minutes, the ferry reached the landing where they disembarked. Whiteside looked very much the great explorer in his khaki suit and Stanley pith helmet, a leather-cased canteen slung over one shoulder. Christina followed behind him, her sketchbook clutched tightly to her chest. They were followed by Jack and Diana and, bringing up the rear, the Everetts sloshed off the boat.

  Carriages had been arranged for them and, after they’d bullied their way through another gauntlet of vendors and hucksters, they piled in for the ride to the valley. As they passed the cultivated land that edged the river, the earth went from rich and fertile to dusty and bone dry in an instant. Elizabeth squinted over the top edge of her smoked-glass spectacles. They cut the glare from the blazing sun and reflective sand, but they gave everything a green tint. She took them off and tucked them into the small front pocket of her blouse. Her broad-rimmed sunhat would have to do.

  Whiteside, who’d happily assumed the role of tour guide, sighed in delight as their carriage came to a stop at Deir el-Barhari. Simon helped Elizabeth and Christina down the awkward carriage step.

  Elizabeth looked toward the rocky cliff face. Long sloping ramps rose from one terraced level to the next, leading to an immense colonnade at the base of an escarpment.

  “Djeser Djeseru. The Holy of Holies,” Whiteside said. “The Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut.”

  They started toward the temple. “Some say she was the first leader to break tradition and not build a pyramid for her tomb.”

  “She?” Elizabeth asked.

  Whiteside smiled, but it was Christina who answered. “She was a Pharaoh.”

  “Now, there’s no evidence of that,” Whiteside corrected her gently. “Although, title or not, she was by all accounts a great leader for many years.”

  “I like that,” Constance Everett said. “A woman in charge.”

  “Don’t get any ideas, darling,” her husband said as he took a swig from his hip flask.

  “It might look a bit stark now,” Whiteside said, ignoring the Everetts, “but imagine the temple painted with bright reds and yellows. Lush gardens spreading out on either side of the causeway. Magnificent.”

  As they got closer, Elizabeth noticed a series of dust clouds off to the right. “What’s happening over there, Professor?”

  He chuckled. “Winlock won’t leave that quarry alone. Looking for temples and more tombs.” He pointed to a dust cloud at the juncture of a long steep slope and a sheer cliff face. “Those are the tombs of the nobles. Not kings mind you, courtiers and priests and such.”

  Elizabeth could just make out the workers through the nearly endless stream of dust. Like a human conveyer belt, dozens and dozens of men moved in an endless loop up and down the slope. One after another they’d dump their baskets of debris at one end and hurry back up the slope for more. There were several groups of them on the hills, like colonies of ants moving in undulating circles.

  Much larger groups of men worked in the flats beside the road that led to the valley. Gangs of men hoed the ground, while others gathered the debris into small baskets and took them to waiting carts that were pushed down a long track to a dumping ground.

  “Quite an operation,” Simon said, impressed.

  “Yes. Over 700 workers,” Whiteside said. “Sometimes it looks less like a dig for the Metropolitan Museum of Art and more like the work of a pharaoh building his tomb.”

  Small boys and women, dressed all in black, walked donkeys back and forth between the men and what she guessed was a well somewhere. The women dumped enormous jars of water into an even larger one, where men dipped a cup for a drink before hurrying back to their position in line.

  “They’re barefoot,” Constance said.

  Elizabeth couldn’t imagine running over the sharp, rocky shale in her bare feet. Heck, she’d worried her boots wouldn’t be protection enough.

  “Tough as nails, these people,” Whiteside said. “They’ll work from sunup to sundown for just a few bob a day. Of course, the more skilled laborers might earn five or six with bonuses for anything of significance they might find.”

  “Slave wages,” Christina said.

  “Hardly,” her father said. “Despite the wealth of its history, this is a poor country, my dear. Men line up for those jobs and are grateful to get them.”

  Christina bit her tongue and Elizabeth offered her a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the girl argue for improved conditions for the Egyptians. Ahmed and his cause had rubbed off on her.

  After a tour of the temples, they began the long hike into the valley. The trail they followed had been used since ancient times. It wended its way through the cliffs and up to the top of the hills. They stopped at the summit to admire a spectacular view of the Nile Valley below as it stretched out as far as they could see before disappearing in the haze.

  Elizabeth took a sip from her canteen and then began to put it over her shoulder.

  “I wish you’d let me,” Simon said, holding out his hand, ready to take it from her.

  “It weighs like three pounds,” Elizabeth said. “And
besides, you might end up carrying me and the bottle at some point, so save your strength.”

  Simon laughed and shook his head. “Suit yourself.”

  “Now, that’s a gentleman,” Constance said, turning to her husband. “Why didn’t you offer to carry mine?”

  Everett held up his canteen and his flask. “I’ve already got two,” he said and started down the path without her.

  Constance sighed and started to shoulder hers.

  “Let me,” Jack said.

  Constance smiled and held it out to him. “Aren’t you a dear?”

  But before Jack could say she was welcome, she’d turned heel and caught up with her husband.

  Jack stood dumbly watching after her and then, with a sigh, slipped the canteen over his shoulder.

  Diana put hers around his neck. “Aren’t you a dear?”

  A laugh bubbled up at his expression and she hurried to hook her arm through Elizabeth’s in a perfect imitation of Constance Everett.

  The path led them from the top of the hills down through ruts in the cliffs until they emerged into a wide and winding rocky gorge.

  “The Valley of the Kings,” Whiteside said.

  They carefully made their way down the path. It wasn’t overly steep, but the footing was precarious. Every bit of it was loose. Small chunks of shale dislodged with each step, some cascading down to the bottom in a cloud of dust.

  Finally, they reached the valley floor. Of the sixty or so tombs, just over a dozen were accessible. Each was marked with a number stenciled in red above the door and many had large iron gates at the entrances.

  “These are unlit,” Whiteside said pointing at the sunken entrance to a few tombs. “We’ll do better ahead.”

  The party followed him down the canyon and Elizabeth could hear the sounds of workmen again and see the small dust clouds that always surrounded their work rising into the air.

  The narrow gorge widened and split off into several small ravines. In the midst of the main wadi, dozens of workers meticulously picked through the dirt and stone.

  A short, stocky man in a tan seersucker suit waved his hat at a group of workers, summoning one with a loud, barked command in Arabic.