by Overton, Max
The road continued on into the desert for a mile or two before ending in a flattened area that obviously served as a car park, though no other vehicles were in sight. Another sign pointed to one side, a curving row of stakes delineating the path to the temple. They got out and followed the stakes, trudging along a path that in places was deep with blown sand. Stone blocks came into view, half buried, and farther along, a truncated column and a fallen one. Another sign stood in their path and Hafiz translated the flowing Arabic script.
"This temple dedicated to Isis was built in the days of Queen Hatshepsut, circa 1460 BCE, and remained as a centre of worship for nearly two thousand years, only falling into disrepair after the Council of Chalcedon, 451 CE, and the taking of control of Egypt by the Coptic Church."
"I had no idea," Daffyd said. "I though Muslims were in control after the Romans."
"That came later, Mr Rhys-Williams."
They walked past the sign and came upon the ruins of the temple, masses of fallen stone and upright columns in rows. The sun beat down on them, making them seek the meagre shade between the standing stones.
"There is not much to see," Hafiz observed.
Dani frowned, looking all around at a desolation of sand and rock, tawny hues covered by a vault of washed out blue and a molten sun high overhead.
"It's not what I thought," she muttered.
"Did you expect to find it lying out in the open, lass? It can't be here. We know B...he has it." Daffyd laid his hand gently on Dani's arm. "It was a dream, lass, nothing more."
"We haven't looked yet."
"Forgive me, Miss Hanser, but what do you seek in such a lonely place?"
"Something lost." Dani shook Daffyd's hand off and walked off in the direction the sanctuary must once have been.
"She has lost something in these ruins?" Hafiz enquired. "You have been here before?"
"No." Daffyd went after Dani, and after a moment, Hafiz followed along.
She heard the chanting and wondered if she was hearing things that could not possibly exist. There was no sign of humans in the vicinity, no sign that anyone had walked into the ruins ahead of them, yet Dani could plainly hear a female voice speaking--singing almost--in an unfamiliar language. She stopped and listened. The words were unintelligible, yet they made sense somehow. Advancing, she saw movement in the shadows within the sanctuary, a robed figure facing eroded sculptures on a sandstone wall, hands aloft as if in supplication, husky voice rising and falling in strange cadences.
Dani waited, watching the woman, interpreting her movements, and realised that the woman was old--very old--her motions shaky and her voice trembled, as if each syllable cost her a great effort. The song cut off abruptly and the woman turned, milky white eyes in a lined and sun-browned face questing for the source of the disturbance. A claw-like hand grasped at the air and the old woman gasped, her head moving from side to side as if attempting to see Dani with blind eyes.
The old woman spoke, and it was Dani's turn to gasp, for although it was not English, Dani understood her. It was not Arabic either, but bore a close resemblance to the hieratic language of ancient Egypt. Only one person had ever spoken like this to her--her grandmother. Dani struggled to remember the words and phrases of the Coptic language, now all but extinct.
"So you have come in answer to the call of the goddess. What is it you seek?"
"Th...that which is lost," Dani stuttered in a mixture of Coptic and English. "The star fell and I...I followed it."
"It is not here."
"No." The cry was ripped from Dani's throat. "Why did it lead me here then?"
"You must seek the organiser."
"What?"
"The man of power is your undying enemy. Ask instead of the organiser."
"Dani, are you all right? You shouldn't wander off like that."
Dani turned and saw Daffyd trudging toward her, Hafiz a few paces behind. "I'm fine, I was just talking to the old woman. She said..."
"What old woman?"
"The old blind woman." Dani half turned toward the sanctuary, stared and looked around wildly. "There was an old woman here just now. Where has she gone?"
"Are you all right, lass? You look a bit...distraught."
"You must have seen her. As you approached. I was talking with her when you called out."
Daffyd frowned. "I didn't see anyone with you. You were just standing there and turned around when I called out."
"That is true, Miss Hanser," Hafiz added. "I was farther back, but you were alone."
"Perhaps you imagined it, lass. You've been under a lot of strain, and after your dream and finding nothing here..."
"The heat can play tricks with the mind, Miss Hanser."
Dani shook her head. "There was an old woman and she spoke to me in Coptic. She told me that the...the thing is not here but that I must..."
"You speak Coptic?" Hafiz asked. "I did not think anyone could any longer."
"My grandmother was an Egyptian Coptic Christian. She taught me a little. Anyway, as I was saying, she told me to seek the...thing elsewhere. She said the man of power was my enemy."
Daffyd snorted. "Well, we all know who that is. I'm sorry, Dani, but that's your own memories speaking."
"Yes, the warning seems superfluous," Dani agreed. "But she was here, nonetheless. If he has the...thing, we must still approach him." She pondered for a moment. "The old woman did say something curious--she said I must ask the organiser, but didn't say what I must ask him. Or her. Or even who the organiser is," she added.
"Organiser?" Daffyd asked. "What does that mean? Organiser of what?"
"That was the word she used."
"In what language?" Hafiz asked.
"In Coptic but my mind translated it into English." Dani paused a moment in thought. "You know, I can't remember the Coptic word she used."
"It doesn't matter," Daffyd said. "We knew what we had to do anyway, before we came out here. We have to get to Luxor somehow and see...you know who."
"He's likely to have us arrested on the spot," Dani said. "Perhaps we should try and see Nazim first and see if he..."
"What is that name?" Hafiz asked.
Dani stared at Hafiz. "You know him? Nazim Manouk?"
"Never heard of him, but the name Nazim, in Arabic, means 'organiser'."
"Bugger me," Daffyd muttered.
"You see?" Dani asked. "How could I know that? The old woman told me to seek the organiser--Nazim--not the man of power, who can only be Bashir..."
Daffyd tried to hush Dani but it was too late. He saw a flicker of something in Hafiz's eyes at the mention of the name and wondered what it meant. "What now then, lass?"
"Luxor. We might be able to get a ferry from Edfu."
"Not from Edfu," Hafiz said. "There is one from Esna, however. As it happens, I have a business appointment in Esna tomorrow, and I would be happy to drive you there."
Daffyd glanced at Dani, concern furrowing his brow at this unexpected turn of events. "That is generous of you, Mr Hafiz..."
"And we'd be happy to accept," Dani finished. "Thank you."
Hafiz smiled and strode away toward the parking lot, Dani and Daffyd following on behind.
"Are you sure that's wise, lass? We hardly know the chap and here he is offering to take us halfway to our goal. I don't altogether trust him--there was a look in his eyes when you mentioned Bashir's name."
"He's just what we need, Dafs. It's about time we had a little bit of luck running our way. And besides, how would a businessman in Edfu have ever heard of a Syrian Minister?"
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Chapter Twenty-Five
Early the next morning, Nazim Manouk sat in his room and leafed through the bundles of photographs taken in the chambers of the Orontes Valley in Syria. The photographs encompassed every piece of artwork on the walls on the three chambers and a good many were of the inscriptions. He was looking for one in particular, and hoped that he had made a mark on it at t
he time, sufficient to identify it now. The bundle slipped off his lap and cascaded to the floor. He sighed and lowered himself to the carpet, sorting the spilled glossy prints into piles, discarding some and re-examining others.
Ah, is this it ?
The print looked like a hundred others, but a scrawled notation on the back read 'tomb'. Nazim put it aside and went through the piles again.
I know there was more than one .
Another photograph bore a red-pencilled exclamation mark on the back, and a third had an India-ink circle drawn roughly over the lines of hieroglyphs. He laid the three prints alongside one another and studied them, comparing them. There were minor differences, but a central portion of the columns was identical. If one was a description of the tomb, as the notation indicated, they all were.
Nazim nodded in satisfaction and slipped the two clearest copies into his notebook, gathering up the other glossy prints and dumping them back into their cardboard box file. He crossed to the chest of drawers and opened the top drawer, feeling under his socks for his hidden treasure. He took out the sandstone rock and, closing his eyes, felt it with his fingertips. Despite his knowledge of its smooth surface, he once more felt the ridges of its carved wing cases, the delicate tracery of wings and antenna. Opening his eyes again, he marvelled at the difference between his visual and tactile senses.
I will crack your disguise. I will learn how to use you .
Nazim returned the rock to its place of safety and picked up his notebook with its precious photographs. He exited his room, and locked the door behind him, deciding to skip breakfast and head straight for the museum. Minister Bashir was already in the lobby and looked surprised to find Nazim up and about.
"Getting an early start on the search?" Bashir said. "I like to see enthusiasm, but where is Al-Din--joining you at the docks, perhaps?"
"He'll be joining me later, Minister."
"In that case, I'll walk down to the docks with you. I feel like a little exercise."
"I would be delighted, sir, but I have to go to the museum first..."
"Eh? Why? Your place is on the launch, scouting out possible sites."
"Indeed, Minister, but our excursion yesterday showed me that our maps are not all they could be. I hope to be able to find better ones in the museum library." Nazim hesitated, wondering if Bashir accepted his story. "It means a lot of poring through files, sir, so I'd be glad of your help."
Bashir grimaced. "Another time, perhaps. But there's another option. Colonel Sarraj has access to army maps. Why don't you just ask him for copies?"
"I would, sir, but it might take several days to get hold of them, whereas the museum is right here."
Bashir grunted. "Well, don't let me keep you."
Nazim hailed a taxi out in the street and a few minutes later was dropped outside the stone-stepped entrance of the Luxor Museum, which was just opening. He went in and found the receptionist yawning at his post.
"I need an expert in hieroglyphs."
"That would be Dr Wodzicki," said the receptionist. "Unfortunately, he is on leave."
"So who might be available today? It is a matter of some urgency."
"There is Dr Zewali, but I'm not sure if he is in yet."
Nazim stood looking at the young man who showed no interest in continuing with his revelation. "Well, could you see if he's in?"
The receptionist looked as if he had just bitten into a lemon. "Just a moment." He picked up the telephone and dialled a number. It rang for several seconds before he replaced the handset. "Dr Zewali is not in yet."
"But he is expected?"
"Yes."
Nazim opened his mouth to ask when, but decided there was no point. "I'll look at the exhibits while I wait," he said.
He spent the next hour wandering around the exhibits, looking at but not really taking in the statues, the jewellery, the papyrus texts and tomb panelling. The information was interesting enough, but his desire to talk to someone about the hieroglyph translation kept him glancing toward the doorway in a constant anticipation of the receptionist coming for him to tell him Dr Zewali had arrived.
A cabinet of carved scarabs distracted him, and he scanned his eyes eagerly over the tiny objects in the hope of finding another golden one. He was disappointed--the majority were of carved wood or stone, some of ivory or bone, and a few of crystal or copper.
A little later, Nazim glanced at his watch and saw that just over an hour had passed. With a snort of annoyance, he cut short his tour and walked back to the reception desk.
"When will Dr Zewali be coming in? Perhaps I can make an appointment."
"He came in half an hour ago," the receptionist said, smirking.
"And you didn't think to tell me?" Nazim controlled his temper and took a deep breath. "Please ask him if he'll see me."
The receptionist took his time in putting a telephone call through to Dr Zewali's office, and spoke in low tones. "A man to see you, Doctor. He wants some hieroglyphs translated." He listened for a moment and turned to face Nazim, a sly expression on his face. "I'll tell him." More time was taken up replacing the handset and straightening his jacket. "Dr Zewali is in a meeting, but if you would care to wait outside his office, he will see you as soon as he can."
"Did he say how long?"
"No. Do you wish to wait?"
Nazim nodded. "Where's his office?"
The receptionist pointed the way and offered terse directions before turning away and ignoring him. Nazim wandered off, taking his time, and eventually came to a corridor and a wood-panelled door inscribed with the name 'Dr Karim Zewali'. He sat down on one of the two upright chairs outside the office and settled down to wait.
An hour later he was still waiting, and seriously considering giving up, when Dr Zewali's door opened and a short, thin man stepped out, a pair of spectacles in his hand. The man rubbed the lenses absently with his handkerchief and stopped abruptly as he realised someone was sitting right by him.
"Hello." The man carefully arranged the glasses back on his face and peered at the sitting man. "Is someone looking after you?"
Nazim stood. "I was waiting to see Dr Zewali. I was told he was in a meeting."
"Eh? No meeting. I'm Karim Zewali. Whatever gave you the notion I was in a meeting?"
"The receptionist."
"You're the man with the hieroglyphs? I told Tahir to send you right up. When you didn't arrive, I thought you must have changed your mind."
"He told me you were busy."
"Hmm, well, probably a misunderstanding. My apologies if you have been inconvenienced." Zewali cocked his head to one side, his eyes twinkling. "You have some hieroglyphs?"
Nazim started to take out his notebook and Zewali stopped him.
"Where are my manners?" Zewali tut-tutted and ushered Nazim into his office and sat him down in an armchair, sitting in another opposite him. "Well, first things first," he said, offering his right hand. "I'm Karim Zewali, Director of the Luxor Museum. You are...?"
"Nazim Manouk." He hesitated a moment. "Forgive me, Director Zewali, but I did not expect anyone so important to help me."
Zewali smiled. "I have some knowledge in this field and, after all, my job is to help members of the public. Now, I know your name, Mr Manouk, but not why you have hieroglyphs in need of translation."
"I am secretary to the Under-Minister of National History in Syria. My employer is here on holiday and I am accompanying him--to facilitate his stay."
"Under-Minister Ahmed Bashir?"
"You know of him?"
"One hears things."
"May I ask what things, Director Zewali?"
Zewali frowned, and sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and pressing his fingertips together. "How exactly would my expertise with hieroglyphs facilitate his stay in Luxor?"
"My employer is a politician, not a man of learning." Nazim offered the Director a disarming smile. "He has no academic qualification but being an Under-Minister of National History
, he likes to think of himself as at least an amateur scientist. Recently, he happened upon an Egyptian inscription. It was translated for him, but we have reason to believe the Minister was misled. I had hoped that someone here at the museum could verify--or not--the inscription."
"You have a copy? An accurate rendition?"
"Better. I have a photograph of the relevant portion." Nazim took out his notebook and slipped one of the photographs from beneath its cover. He passed it to Zewali who glanced at it and put it aside.
"Relevant to what, may I ask?"
Nazim hesitated, ordering the words in his mind before speaking. "There was a passage in the inscription that pertained to a tomb. We were told that the pictographs indicated the whereabouts of the tomb, albeit in very vague terms. My employer seeks, in his amateur fashion, to find this tomb, but this would be impossible if the description has been translated incorrectly and we cannot find a correct interpretation."
"I believe Dr Hosni Maroun, here at the museum, has already made it clear that we cannot countenance any excavation unless authorised by the Department of Antiquities."
"He has, Director, and let me state again that our only desire is to find the tomb using the description we have, purely as an intellectual exercise. Opening and investigating the tomb would be left to the appropriate authorities."
"So, to be clear, why have you come to me?"
"To examine the description."
"And you want me to offer my opinion?"
"If you would be so kind."
Zewali made no move to look at the photograph. "Translation is seldom simple or straightforward, Mr. Manouk. A lot depends on the context, and even when all the symbols have been deciphered, there is still the matter of arranging them into an order that makes sense. I tell you this so you may understand that I can give you no guarantees."
"Should I return at a later date and enquire of Dr Wodzicki? The receptionist said he is the expert in such matters."
Zewali smiled. "Yes, Tahir would tell you that. Well, you may wait until he returns--some eight days' time, I believe--but I doubt his translation will be any more accurate than mine."