The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  "Sheik Ali is a long way from here," Zufir muttered. "And we are the ones doing all the work for no reward. Is that fair?"

  "You are Hawid Badu. Where is your honour?"

  Zufir scowled and spat to one side. "We do this for our honour. Now cease your chatter Muammar al-Hadi, or we will treat you like these infidel foreigners."

  "What is it you want?" Daffyd asked. Muammar translated.

  "Only what is due to us," Zufir said. "You are paying this man..." he indicated Muammar, "...a hundred British pounds to guide you to Kharga, but it is I who do so, not him. I should be the one paid."

  "We can discuss this."

  "No discussion. You pay."

  "We can pay you the same as we are paying Muammar."

  "Twice as much. Two hundred British pounds."

  Daffyd turned his head gingerly and glanced at Dani. "Have we got that?"

  "Yes. It'll leave us very little to survive on, but if we don't get out of this we won't need it anyway."

  "All right," Daffyd told Zufir. "Two hundred pounds."

  "Each."

  "What?"

  "Why should I gain at the expense of my brothers? Two hundred pounds each."

  "We don't have anything like that much money."

  "Search them," Zufir instructed his men.

  Their baggage was ransacked and the money counted out.

  "Three hundred and twenty pounds only," Zufir cried. He grabbed the loose change and flung the coins into the darkness, the metal clinking and ringing on the rocks. "You owe us another...another thousand pounds."

  "We don't have it. You can see that."

  "What are we going to do?" asked one of the men.

  "Kill them," suggested another.

  "Have you lost your senses?" Muammar asked. "What will Sheik Ali say when you return to him with this sorry tale of treachery and deceit?"

  "Who will tell him?" Zufir asked. "You, Muammar al-Hadi? What is to stop you sharing their fate?"

  "What is going on?" Dani asked. "What are they saying, Muammar?"

  "They are angry, Dr Hanser, that you do not have more money." He hesitated. "There is talk of killing you. Me too, if I do not support them."

  "What will you do?"

  "I don't know."

  "The university has money," Dani said hesitantly.

  "What do the infidels say?" Zufir demanded.

  "They say that their university in England is rich and would pay a ransom--provided they are unharmed."

  "A thousand pounds?"

  "Yes, but they must be unharmed."

  Zufir grinned, his teeth gleaming faintly in the moonlight. "Not a hair on their heads shall be harmed--provided they pay promptly."

  The tribesmen discussed the proposition at length and the one who had suggesting killing them--Tahir by name--now raised another point.

  "How are we to make our demands? We cannot go to the university in England."

  "Of course not," Zufir said. "We must send a letter."

  "Can you write in English?"

  Zufir grunted. "I cannot write at all. Can you, Tahir?"

  Tahir shook his head. "It might be easier to just kill them. Three hundred pounds is a goodly sum."

  "We can get a thousand with a little patience. Muammar will write the letter, and we will send it from one of the towns. In a few days or weeks, we will be rich."

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  Nicholas Evans yawned and looked lackadaisically around the smoke-filled pub. It was brimming with a lunchtime crowd of students and lecturers from Midland University and the noise levels were starting to annoy him. He enjoyed a drink as much as anyone, but he preferred decent conversation while supping his ale, and he knew no one here. His magazine editor had sent him up to Chesterfield of the twisted spire to track down a story but it had come to nothing. The professor in charge of the research project had refused to talk to him, so he was now debating whether to catch a train back to London that afternoon or to spend another night up there. He hated to go back empty handed, but he could not see much mileage in the pub crowd.

  Still undecided, he drained his glass and pushed through to the bar for a refill. There was a queue and while he waited he lit up a cigarette and listened idly to the fragments of conversation going on around him. A young bearded man just along from him was chatting up a pretty brunette and she was showing signs that her present resolve was weakening. On the other side, a middle-aged man held forth to a small group of men and women on the realities of life on other planets as evidenced by the rash of UFO reports coming in from all around the world. Nick smiled to himself, retrieved his new glass of beer and edged away through the crowd in search of saner conversations.

  His seat had been taken while he was up at the bar, so Nick wandered outside to where a dozen trestle tables were set up on the grass close to the gravel-strewn car park. He found a table occupied by a group of youngsters enjoying the weak sunshine and indicated the vacant end of one of the benches.

  "Mind if I sit here? It's a bit crowded inside."

  Faces looked up at him warily and then away again. One of the men nodded. "Help yourself."

  Nick sat and raised his glass. "Cheers." Then he sat back and surveyed the road absently while keeping his ears tuned to the conversation at the table. Not that there was much, the three young men and two young women said very little, evidently talking about something of which they were all familiar, but that meant nothing to an outsider.

  "You think they're connected?"

  "Well, don't you?"

  "Could be innocent enough. She needed a break."

  "So where's she gone?"

  "Where do you think?"

  "You're guessing. You don't know."

  "With the others? What about us?"

  "We've got more to lose."

  "I really wanted to go dig in Egypt."

  "That's out of the question now. And imagine how Dani feels."

  "She'll pick up the pieces. We've lost more."

  "Rubbish. She could lose tenure."

  Nick pricked up his ears. Lecturers did not easily lose tenure at universities. Who was this 'Dani', and what was this about a dig in Egypt? The conversation faded away and glasses were drained.

  "Well, that's enough for me," said one of the men. He rose from the bench a tad unsteadily. "Coming?"

  One of the other young men got to his feet but the others stayed put. "Doris and I don't have a class for another hour," a young blonde said.

  As the two men departed, Nick turned to the remaining youths and smiled. "Look, I'm grateful for a place at your table. Can I buy you all a drink by way of thanks?"

  The young man grinned. "I could sink another pint. What about you two? G-and-Ts or wines?"

  "White wine, thanks," said the blonde. Her mousy-haired companion that Nick assumed was Doris, nodded and smiled uncertainly.

  Nick drained his own glass and got to his feet. "Back in a mo'."

  He returned ten minutes later with a tray of drinks and set them down. He lifted his own and said, "Your health."

  "And yours." The man and women drank.

  The blonde woman held out her hand to Nick. "Thanks for the drinks. I'm Angela, and this is Doris and Al." The others shook hands one after the other, Al offering a hard grip that made Nick wince.

  "I'm Nick."

  "What do you do, Nick? You're not a local by your accent."

  "Freelance journalism."

  "Jesus," Al snarled. "Another bloody reporter." He looked sourly at his pint as if contemplating pouring it out on the ground or over the offending reporter, and then thought better of it. He gulped the amber liquid.

  "We've had a lot of reporters round the university," Doris said. "We really don't want to talk to another one. Sorry."

  Angela smiled. "If you'd said so before, you could have saved yourself the cost of a round of drinks."

  Nick laughed. "As I said, they were as thanks for a seat at your
table. I'm not a reporter," Nick assured them. "Leastwise, not the sort of gutter reporter who chases scandal and gossip. I came up here to do a scholarly article on research taking place at your university. I take it you are students here?"

  "Who do you work for? Which paper?"

  "Freelance. Sometimes papers but more often journals and magazines--whoever's willing to pay me. I'm currently researching a technique by which archaeologists can detect the outlines of medieval foundations from the air." Nick saw a spark of interest in Angela's eyes, and grinned to himself. "It's really amazing what they're discovering these days. I have an interest in history myself, so don't get me started." He laughed. "I expect you're all Arts and Humanities students and I'd bore the hell out of you, so I'll change the subject. What do you think of these flying saucers everyone's talking about inside the pub?"

  "Bunch of nutters," Al muttered.

  "Don't mind Al," Angela laughed. "What about you? You must have come across many stories of saucers in your line of work."

  "Enough to write a book, but that's not really where my interest lies."

  "What are you interested in?" Doris asked.

  "History."

  "What period?"

  Nick hesitated, recalling what the youngsters had said about Dani and a dig in Egypt. He decided to take a chance. "Ancient Egypt."

  "No kidding?" Doris' eyes opened wide. "That's our field too--well, not really--I mean Al's doing the Palaeolithic and Angela and I are into Neolithic--but we came across an Egyptian tomb in Syria earlier this year and..."

  "That's enough, Doris," Al snapped.

  Angela put her hand on Doris' as the mousy-haired young woman's eyes filled with tears. "It's alright, Dor. I'm sorry, Nick, but we're not allowed to talk about it."

  Nick nodded, trying to look nonchalant, despite his heart starting to race. An Egyptian tomb in Syria and the finders sworn to secrecy. There's a story here . "I understand," he said. "I've come across enough academics to know how touchy they get while they're writing up their paper."

  "That's not..." Angela stopped and bit her lip. "The university doesn't want us talking to anyone, least of all the papers."

  "Then it's just as well I'm not from any paper," Nick chuckled. "But seriously, I respect the er...censorship that's been imposed on you. I remember when I was an undergrad back in the dark ages; the powers that be didn't like us thinking for ourselves either."

  Al muttered something and scowled before taking another swallow of his beer.

  "That's not really the reason," Angela said. "There was a bit of trouble and...and, well, the university decided it would be better if everything was just forgotten. We're just undergrads, so..." She shrugged.

  "Damn, I feel bad now," Nick said. "I've gone and upset you when all I meant to do was thank you for your hospitality and chat about innocuous things. Let me buy another round. It's the least I can do." He hurried off before they could refuse.

  The crowd inside had dissipated a little and he was served immediately. He paid for the drinks and bought a couple of packets of potato crisps as well. As the barman handed back his change, he said. "Dreadful business about Dani and her Egyptian tomb, eh? There's talk she might lose tenure."

  "Dr Hanser? Heard she got a right bollocking from the VC and professors, but she was only suspended for six months. I doubt they'll do more."

  "Well, I'm very glad to hear it. She's a fine academic."

  "You know her, do you?" The barman eyed Nick suspiciously.

  "I was in one of her classes last year." Nick grinned and pocketed his change. "Thanks."

  The three youngsters were still at the table, their heads together, talking. Nick put the drinks down and tossed the crisps onto the table top between them. He ripped a pack open and rummaged for the little twist of blue paper in the bag, sprinkling salt over the snack. "Hope you don't mind a bit of salt. I always find it goes well with beer. Cheers."

  "Wine too," Angela said, helping herself to a crisp. "Look, Nick, I'm sorry if we appeared rude, but we really can't talk to reporters...or freelance journalists," she added with a smile. "If you printed anything, we'd get into trouble and Dani might lose her job."

  "I quite understand," Nick said quietly, "But you're under a bit of a misapprehension about how these things work. If I was to write an article on the unsubstantiated word of three students, my editor would have my guts for garters." He grinned. "No offence to you chaps, but he'd ask why I hadn't got a quote from the principal character--this Dr Dani Hanser. And I'm hardly likely to get that, am I. She gets back from Syria having made a discovery that sets the archaeological world on its ears, gets a bollocking from her professors for some reason I can't begin to fathom, gets suspended, and disappears." Nick sipped at his beer, his eyes searching the faces of the young women. He had chanced everything on a story that might include bits of the truth. Dani Hanser. Egyptian tomb in Syria. Suspension and now a disappearance. There's a story here .

  "I'm guessing Dr Hanser has gone to Egypt to search for it," Nick added softly. He hoped they would not ask him what 'it' was--he had no idea.

  "I...I didn't think people knew so much," Angela whispered.

  "You see?" Al growled. "Those bloody professors threaten us with expulsion if we breathe a word of it and then let the cat out of the bag to any Tom, Dick or Harry who asks around."

  "Well, you hear things when you have your ear close to the ground," Nick admitted. "But I daresay a lot of it is just rumour and speculation. Tell you what. How about I mention a few things I've heard and you just indicate whether the rumours are true or not? Just to set the record straight. Then you're keeping your word and not telling anyone anything they didn't already know."

  Al snorted and drank half the beer remaining in his tankard. The young women said nothing.

  "I heard Dr Hanser discovered an Egyptian tomb in Syria."

  "True," Angela said. "Well, sort of."

  Nick frowned. "It wasn't Egyptian, or it wasn't in Syria?" His eyes searched for nuances in the blonde's expression. He raised his eyebrows. "It wasn't a tomb? I heard she stole valuable artefacts and that's why she was censured when she returned to England."

  "Untrue," Angela said.

  "A fucking lie," Al added. "The only thing she found was the golden scarab and..."

  "Al. Shush."

  "No, I will not fuckin' shush."

  "Then temper your language please," Angela said. "You won't offend me, but Doris here is a lady."

  Doris smiled and blushed at the same time. "Ange, I'm not..."

  "What's this journo joker going to do, huh? Who'd believe him anyway?" Al drained his beer and slammed the tankard onto the table. He belched loudly. "Tell him the truth of it, so at least somebody knows. I'm bloody tired of keeping all this a secret."

  "They told us not to," Angela said.

  "And why is that? Because they want to hide the truth of the greatest bloody discovery in Egyptology since King Tut."

  "The university's not to blame...well, yes they are, but not completely. All they've got to go on is what Bashir said--what he accused Dani of doing."

  "Who's Bashir?" Nick asked.

  "Under-Minister Ahmed Bashir, of the Syrian Ministry of National History."

  "He was the one in charge of your dig? What made you look for Egyptian artefacts in Syria?"

  Angela shook her head.

  "Tell him," Al growled.

  "Are you sure we should be doing this?"

  "Yes."

  Angela sighed and collected her thoughts. "We didn't go looking for Egyptian things. Dani was in charge and we were looking for evidence of Neanderthal migrations through the Orontes Valley," Angela said. "You know what Neanderthals are?"

  "A sub-species of man who died out about thirty thousand years ago."

  Angela nodded, and continued.

  "We found a chamber carved into the solid rock wall of this cave, all bricked up, and the walls of the chamber were covered in tiny Egyptian hieroglyphs, telling the stor
y of a princess called Beketaten. In the account, she called herself Scarab."

  "She's the golden scarab you said Dr Hanser discovered?"

  "No. That was something different."

  "What was it?"

  Angela waved a hand dismissively. "Forget it. The inscription was the important thing. It told the story of someone who lived through the events surrounding the rise and fall of the Aten heresy. You know about the Aten heresy?"

  "Remind me."

  "I thought you said you were interested in Ancient Egypt," Al said.

  "I am. Perhaps it's from a different period."

  "The Aten was the god of the sun's disc," Angela went on. "Pharaoh Akhenaten did away with all the other gods in the Egyptian pantheon and elevated the Aten to be his personal god. Then everything fell apart and the succeeding kings restored the old worship of the gods. This princess--Scarab--lived through these times."

  "Fascinating," Nick said. Damn, nobody's going to be interested in this refined stuff . Well, maybe one of the erudite archaeology mags . "I can't see why this would get everyone upset with Dr Hanser."

  Angela looked around at the people left at the outdoor tables before continuing. "One of Scarab's brothers, Smenkhkare by name, had a treasury and a tomb in an out-of-the-way place. The account describes how to find it. Perhaps that of Scarab too."

  "This tomb hasn't been discovered yet?"

  "If it had, it would be in the history books."

  Nick whistled softly. "So it's another undiscovered tomb, like King Tut's?"

  "Probably richer."

  "And the account tells you where it is?"

  "Yes."

  "Er, I don't suppose you've got a copy of this account?"

  "What? You think we'd just show you?" Al jeered.

  "No, we don't," Angela said. "Minister Bashir confiscated everything and threw us out of the country. Now he's putting it about that we discovered a minor tomb and looted it. That's why Dani's in trouble--she can't prove otherwise."

  "But this tomb in Egypt actually exists?"

  "If the account is accurate."

  "But the account still exists?" Nick queried. Angela nodded. "Then why the hell haven't you blown it sky high, held press conferences, and shown this Bashir person for the crook he is?"