The Eye of the Serpent

by Philip Caveney

  Madeleine made a sound of revulsion. ‘It looks as though ’e was still alive when ’e was entombed,’ she said.

  Ethan was shaking his head and gazing around the room. ‘This is nuts,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not sure what I expected to find in here, but it was nothing like this.’ He looked at the other two. ‘Have either of you ever seen anything like it before?’

  Alec looked puzzled. ‘It isn’t like any other burial chamber,’ he said. ‘I’ve studied books on all the tombs, but this . . .’ He struggled to find the word. ‘It’s so . . . plain,’ he said.

  Madeleine too seemed taken aback. ‘It is very strange,’ she said. ‘I cannot believe this is the tomb of a pharaoh. Where are the murals, the nested shrines? It is almost as if these people ’ave been placed ’ere . . . as some kind of punishment.’

  Alec had returned to the main sarcophagus and was directing the light of his torch into the opening. ‘This thing is lined with metal,’ he said. ‘Looks like . . . copper.’ He studied the manacles once more. ‘I’d say those manacles are copper too.’

  ‘Really?’ Madeleine moved over to join him. ‘Yes, I think you are right, Alec. That is interesting. Many Egyptians believed that copper ’ad protective qualities. Placing it around something would keep whatever was inside from harm.’

  ‘Yes, but’ – Alec thought for a moment – ‘if that was the case, wouldn’t they have put the copper on the outside of the sarcophagus?’

  ‘An interesting point,’ she admitted. ‘Could that be it, Ethan? ’Ooever was buried in there was considered evil. Nobody wanted ’is spirit to escape.’

  Ethan frowned. ‘Could be, I guess. Alec, you said something before about how Akhenaten was unpopular . . . how people tried to destroy all record of him.’

  Alec nodded. ‘Well, yes, that’s true. And after his death his son Tutankhamun even changed his name to reflect the god Amun. He wanted to distance himself from his father’s beliefs because they’d proved so unpopular. But . . . surely this can’t be the resting place of one of the greatest pharaohs in history? This . . . black box? It just doesn’t seem right.’

  ‘I don’t think this is Akhenaten’s tomb,’ said Madeleine flatly. She looked at Alec apologetically. ‘I know that is what your uncle was ’oping to find, Alec, but I really don’t think that is what we ’ave uncovered. Remember what I saw on the outer door seals? “By order of Akhenaten”. I believe ’e ’ad these people buried ’ere. All the artefacts you found in the antechamber must ’ave been their belongings, but in this chamber there are none of the things you would expect to find in the tomb of a pharaoh. It is so bare . . . almost like a prison chamber.’

  Alec looked around the tomb and nodded. ‘And yet there were so many artefacts in the antechamber . . . more than were ever found in Tut’s tomb. But no tomb robber ever came in here. You have to ask yourself why.’

  ‘The Ancient Egyptians were superstitious people,’ said Madeleine. ‘Maybe they were afraid to take this man’s possessions.’ She pointed to the grimacing face in the sarcophagus. ‘It is almost as if this was a man that Akhenaten feared. One of his rivals for the throne per’aps?’

  ‘Let’s see what we’ve got in here,’ said Ethan. His torch beam had just revealed a large storage jar standing against one wall. He kneeled down, lifted the lid as gently as possible and set it on the ground. Inside the jar he could see several papyri, tightly rolled into tubes. He extracted one and carefully unrolled it to reveal closely written text on what looked like a well-preserved sheet of papyrus.

  ‘Maddie, this is your territory, I think,’ he said. He handed her the sheet and she took it gently, handling it like the priceless relic it was. ‘What does it say?’ he asked her.

  She gave him a scornful look. ‘I cannot read it just like that,’ she protested. ‘It is not like reading a page in the New York Times! It is going to be a while before I can tell you anything.’

  ‘How long?’ he asked her.

  ‘I don’t know. There are so many scrolls ’ere, it could take weeks to translate them all.’

  Ethan frowned. ‘Well, I suggest you get straight on to it. We need some answers and I’ll bet my bottom dollar that this is where we’re going to find ’em.’ He gestured around the room. ‘There’s nothing else here that’s going to give us a clue. Mickey, get some pictures of these scrolls in position, will ya? Then Maddie can take them away and study them in detail. Maybe they’ll tell us something more about this place.’

  Alec had moved back to the central sarcophagus and was directing his torch onto the grimacing face of the mummy within. He still could not shake off the conviction that the creature was looking at him.

  Who are you? he thought. And what made people hate you so much that they buried you like this?

  Sonchis sat in the back of Mohammed’s car as it trundled down the road to the Valley of the Kings, marvelling at his newfound ability to venture forth by daylight. Beneath his shirt, his temporary skin still shifted and squirmed, but the combined power of the two talismans he now wore on a thong around his neck ensured that it would not burst asunder. His eyes still felt sensitive to sunlight and he had put on the dark glasses he had found in Llewellyn’s room. Now he needed to get closer to the people at the dig and there was an obvious way to do that.

  The Ford bumped along the winding road, passing occasional groups of tourists on the way. Some of them were mounted on donkeys; a couple of wealthier travellers, a husband and wife, perched ludicrously on the backs of two camels, clinging on for dear life.

  Sonchis allowed Llewellyn’s lips to curl in a sneer. When he was back to his full power, no foreign travellers would dare return to this valley, for he would rule it and deal with such fools accordingly.

  Up at King Tut’s site there was the usual crowd of gawping imbeciles, currently watching as a rather ordinary-looking chair was brought out into the daylight. From the reaction of the crowd, you’d have thought that they had just brought out a heap of precious jewels.

  As they cruised by, the newspaperman, Biff Corcoran, stepped forward and raised a hand for Mohammed to stop. He regarded Sonchis with interest.

  ‘Professor Llewellyn, ain’t it?’ he said. ‘You finally decided to head back to your friends at the dig, huh?’

  Sonchis decided that Biff had a gift for stating the obvious but refrained from commenting on it.

  ‘I thought I’d see what progress they’ve made,’ he said.

  ‘Me and Charlie was up there yesterday,’ said Biff. ‘They got some swell little pieces of pottery for you to look at. Bet you can hardly contain your excitement, huh?’

  Again, Sonchis said nothing.

  ‘By the way, what museum did you say you were with?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Sonchis assured him.

  ‘It’s just for the record. You wouldn’t want me to get it wrong, would ya?’

  ‘Well, Mr Corcoran, just for the record . . . it’s the British Museum.’

  ‘Hmm. Beats me why an institution as important as that would send somebody all the way out here to look at a few scraps of pottery. Or is there something else they’re not telling me about?’

  Oh yes, there’s something else, all right, thought Sonchis. Something that your tiny brain couldn’t hope to comprehend; but he smiled thinly and said, ‘They may be little pieces of pottery to you, Mr Corcoran, but to a man such as myself, they are the building blocks of history.’

  ‘Is that right?’ muttered Biff. He pulled the stub of his cigarette from his mouth and blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘And there was me thinking that they were just broken vases.’

  The woman called Charlie appeared from out of the crowd and walked towards the automobile. As she approached, she raised her camera.

  ‘One for the family album,’ she said. And she snapped a photograph of Sonchis, who raised his hands to cover his face an instant too late.

  ‘Please don’t do that!’ he snapped angrily. For a moment he had felt the creatures that made up his flesh poised to s
catter in all directions. He concentrated and they settled down.

  ‘Hey, keep ya shirt on,’ said Charlie. ‘I never met such a bunch of prima donnas. First that French dame and now you! Don’t you wanna be famous, Professor?’

  ‘Oh, I shall be famous,’ he assured her. ‘But not for the reasons you think.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see the cover now,’ sneered Biff. ‘Professor deciphers code on ancient pot.’ He lifted a hand to frame an imaginary piece of text. ‘A GIFT FROM MACEY’S!’ He sniggered and Sonchis had to quell an impulse to throttle the life out of him.

  ‘Hey, Biff, you’re missing all the excitement over here,’ said Charlie. ‘They just brought out a chair. Imagine that, a chair! I got half a dozen in my apartment back home.’

  ‘Yeah and I bet they’re nearly as old as King Tut’s too,’ said Biff and then laughed at his own poor joke. He turned back to Sonchis. ‘Say, Prof., if you see Ethan Wade, tell him he’s to let me know if he finds anything new.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ said Sonchis, and he tapped Mohammed on the shoulder. ‘Drive on,’ he ordered. Mohammed put the Ford into gear and started to move off, but Biff walked alongside for a moment.

  ‘Say, Mohammed, that’s another thing,’ he said. ‘I’m running a little low on provisions, if you know what I mean. I could do with another bottle.’

  Mohammed nodded. ‘Leave it to me, Mr Corcoran,’ he said. ‘I’m a little busy right now, but I’ll get what you need just as soon as I can.’

  Biff lifted a hand and the Ford accelerated away. It rounded a bend in the road and began to climb the hill beyond, the ancient engine protesting all the way. Sonchis became aware that Mohammed was studying him in the mirror again.

  ‘How is your search progressing?’ asked Mohammed after a decent interval.

  ‘My search?’ growled Sonchis.

  ‘For Mr Hinton. Did you find out anything at the bazaar last night?’

  Sonchis shook his head. ‘I found nothing,’ he said.

  ‘And we shall return there tonight?’

  ‘No. I’ve decided to concentrate my efforts in another area.’

  ‘But . . . I could have sworn that was Mr Hinton we saw, the night before.’

  ‘You are mistaken. There were some similarities, for sure, but—’

  ‘I know Mr Hinton very well and I would be willing to swear—’

  ‘Mohammed, why don’t you stick to driving and leave the detective work to me,’ said Sonchis, loading enough venom into his voice to make the insolent driver close his mouth.

  They drove on in silence, and soon came to Wade’s camp. Few people were around. A group of native workers were standing around drinking cups of tea, and the cook, the man called McCloud, was wiping down the large dining table with a filthy-looking wet cloth. He looked up as Mohammed’s automobile ground to a halt.

  ‘Ah, Mr Llewellyn,’ he said. ‘You’re back, are you?’

  ‘So it would appear. Where is everybody?’ asked Sonchis, climbing out of the vehicle and taking a quick look around.

  ‘Depends who you mean by everybody,’ said Archie evasively.

  ‘Mr Wade?’

  ‘He’s, er . . . not around at the moment. I think he went into Luxor with some of the others.’ He was lying, that much was obvious. Both Wade’s automobiles were parked nearby. Wade must be up at the tomb, Sonchis decided, but of course there was no way Archie was going to mention that.

  ‘I was hoping to get a look inside the tomb,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What tomb would that be?’ asked Archie.

  ‘I think you know. Oh look, it’s quite all right – Mr Wade told me I could have a look at it any time I liked.’

  ‘He didn’t say anything to me about that,’ Archie told him.

  Sonchis considered his options. He hadn’t anticipated this. ‘So who else is around?’ he asked.

  ‘Mr Coates is in the mess tent preparing lunch.’ Archie rolled his eyes despairingly. ‘And Doc Hopper’s in his tent.’

  Sonchis evaluated the situation quickly. He had already thought about claiming Wade as his host, putting himself in control of the dig in one fell swoop; but since the American wasn’t around, perhaps he would settle for the big shambling Lancastrian doctor, who would probably prove to be just as useful. As a valued member of the team, he would be granted full access to the tomb; and of course, everybody trusted a doctor, didn’t they?

  ‘I’ll just have a quick word with the doctor,’ he said. ‘Something I forgot to ask him before.’

  He started walking towards the medic’s tent.

  ‘Aye. Well, you must stick around for luncheon, Mr Llewellyn. Mr Coates is preparing a soufflé.’ Archie shook his head. ‘I ask you, a bloody soufflé. He must think he’s working at the Ritz or something!’

  Llewellyn ignored him. There was no time to waste on this. He had to be quick and quiet. One scream from Doc Hopper could ruin everything. Wilfred Llewellyn had proved useful for a while, but clearly there was no way the rest of the team would allow him near the tomb. As Hopper, he could live right here at the dig and go in and out of the burial chamber at his leisure.

  He looked in through the open flap of the tent and found the doctor sitting at his improvised desk, writing in what looked like a journal.

  ‘Excuse me, Doctor. I hope you will forgive the intrusion . . .’

  Doc Hopper looked up from his work a little wearily. ‘Mr Llewellyn,’ he said. ‘You again. What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s a rather delicate matter,’ said Sonchis, stepping into the tent. ‘I’ve been bitten by an insect and the bite is looking rather nasty. I wondered if you might be kind enough to cast an eye over it.’

  ‘Of course.’ His professional instincts aroused, Doc Hopper turned away from the desk to find that his patient was closing and buttoning the tent flaps. ‘There’s no need for that, surely?’ he said.

  Sonchis moved closer. ‘I wanted a little privacy,’ he said. He took off his jacket and threw it into a corner, then began to unbutton his shirt. ‘I was bitten in an awkward place, on my back, somewhere very hard for me to inspect.’

  ‘I see.’ Doc Hopper stood up. ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Here,’ said Sonchis. And his left hand grabbed the doctor around the neck, exerting prodigious pressure. Meanwhile he clamped his right hand across the man’s mouth. Hopper’s eyes widened in surprise – a surprise that deepened immeasurably as Sonchis’s hand suddenly came apart and swarmed outwards to cover his entire face.

  Doc Hopper tried to struggle but Llewellyn’s grip was too powerful, and now he felt hard-bodied things skittering across his face and into the openings of his ears and nostrils, followed by a blossoming of incredible pain as tiny jaws went to work on the soft flesh within. He opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to drag in some air, but more of the things spilled down his throat, making him retch. His head was spinning; he could no longer breathe and the pain was rising within him like an unspeakable tide from which there was no escape.

  He sank slowly to the ground, his body quivering, and when death finally came, it was a merciful release.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Luncheon is Served

  ALEC, ETHAN, MADELEINE and Mickey walked back from the tomb, carefully carrying the papyrus scrolls between them. Ethan spotted Mohammed’s car by the roadside and sent Mickey on ahead to distract him, while the rest of them took the scrolls straight to Madeleine’s tent and laid them out on her desk. She found a towel and draped it protectively across them to shield them from sight and from harm.

  ‘It is very irregular doing it like this,’ she told Ethan. ‘These are very fragile documents – they could easily be damaged.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be gentle with them,’ he reassured her. ‘I need answers, and everything around here seems to move like molasses in winter. But listen, both of you, let’s not say a word about this until we know what we’ve got. I’ve already warned Mickey to keep his trap shut. I don’t want everybody getting all exc
ited and then we find we’ve got nothing more interesting than Akhenaten’s shopping lists.’

  ‘Madeleine doesn’t even think it is Akhenaten,’ said Alec gloomily. ‘And I’m sorry to say I agree with her. What a shame if Uncle Will searched all those years for nothing.’

  ‘Not for nothing,’ Madeleine assured him. ‘’Ooever that tomb belongs to, it is a very exciting find that is going to set the world of archaeology on fire. Nobody ’as ever found something like this.’

  From outside there was the sound of a gong being struck.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ muttered Ethan. He stuck his head out of the tent to see Coates standing by the dining table, looking faintly ridiculous in a white apron and tall chef ’s hat.

  ‘Luncheon is about to be served,’ he announced dramatically.

  Madeleine gave a tut of irritation. ‘Per’aps I skip the food,’ she said. ‘I would rather get on with my translating.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Ethan stared at her. ‘Coates is in charge of the cooking now. This could be the first decent meal we’ve had since we started this dig. Come on, Maddie, what difference will another half-hour make?’ He took her arm and led her out of the tent. Alec followed, marvelling at the fact that Madeleine, who not so long ago could have been counted on to shout at Ethan for being so forward, just smiled and went obediently after him.

  The three of them took their places at the table.

  ‘Archie, you appear to have prepared an extra place setting,’ shouted Coates.

  ‘Aye, that’s for Mr Llewellyn.’ Archie came out of the tent, carefully carrying a huge soufflé. The smell of it caught Alec’s nostrils, reminding him that he had skipped breakfast that morning because he was so eager to enter the burial chamber.

  ‘Where’s he got to?’ asked Ethan.

  Mohammed approached the table with Mickey. ‘He wanted to ask more questions. I think he went to talk to Doc Hopper.’

  ‘Oh yeah? I bet the doc was delighted about that.’

  Mohammed moved closer. ‘Actually, Mr Wade, I wanted to talk to you about Mr Llewellyn. There’s something very strange going on—’