by Overton, Max
"Come quickly," Maroun cried. "Bashir is desecrating the coffins."
Hard on the heels of his cry, a shriek of terror poured from the tomb, magnified by the throat of the passage, and echoed out over the desert.
Marc and Muammar were closest to the hill and ran for the slope, climbing upward, but Nick and Daffyd were close behind, leaving the others to follow on.
"It's the Guardian," Marc yelled. "It's got Bashir." He reached the ledge and pulled Captain Massri's gun from his belt, brandishing it as he and Muammar brushed Maroun aside and disappeared into the cave.
"Wait," Dani called. "Dafs, stop him! As far as the Guardian is concerned, Marc is just another invader."
"Marc!" Daffyd shouted. "Marc, wait!" He dashed into the cave after his friends. Nick followed more circumspectly, allowing Dani, Nazim and Zewali to catch up with him as they reached the remains of the tomb entrance. The temperature of the air dropped precipitately as they crossed the threshold, their breath showing white in the suddenly frigid air.
Dani looked in and saw only the backs of Daffyd, Marc and Muammar. They blocked her sight of the chamber except for a scattering of gold bars and ivory at their feet. Beyond them, shadows danced on the walls and ceiling of the chamber as two figures swayed back and forth. She pushed between Marc and Daffyd, gently pressing down the muzzle of the pistol in Marc's hand.
"That won't do any good now," she whispered.
In front of her, close by the open coffin of Smenkhkare, stood Bashir, neck stretched upward, his face congested and eyes bulging. The tips of his shoes scrabbled for purchase on the dusty floor of the chamber and his hands plucked at his neck where a shadow moved. Dani gasped out loud and the shadow moved again. She saw a gleam of eyes as something tenebrous turned and regarded her with cold hostility.
Bashir collapsed gasping to the floor of the chamber as the Guardian released him and moved toward Dani, a swirl of shadow hinting at a human presence rather than a definite figure, the eyes the only recognisable part. Daffyd stepped in front of Dani, arms outstretched protectively, but the Guardian never hesitated, picking up the Welshman and throwing him aside. Muammar thrust himself forward, muttering a prayer to Allah, but Marc yelled out, "No, Khu!"
The Guardian halted, its form swaying slightly as if in a non-existent breeze and turned its attention to the young man.
"Khu, remember me? You came to me when...when I died. We mean you no harm--we mean Scarab no harm. This is Dr Hanser--Dani--a...a learned woman...a scribe."
The shadow's attention swayed toward Dani again and she felt a cold intelligence scrutinise her.
"She is the bearer of the golden scarab," Marc said. "It answers her call, just as it did for Scarab."
He gasped as the chill presence rushed past him and expanded, filling the air around Dani. The temperature dropped still further and the being solidified, its formless body becoming head and cloaked body, skeletal hands and staring eyes, an expression of anger somehow conveyed by the forward thrust of its visage.
"Sh...show it...show him the s...scarab," Marc stuttered.
Dani fumbled it from her pocket and held it up. The gold gleamed in the shadowed air and the figure of the Guardian drew back, hesitating, its attention fixed on the artefact. It reached out a hand and Dani felt a brief stroking touch of bone on her fingers. Dani uttered a cry and collapsed, the golden scarab falling free from her grasp. Daffyd and Marc fell to their knees beside her, the former cradling her head, the latter taking her hand in his. The others pressed close, though their teeth chattered in the numbing cold, and the presence of the Guardian filled their hearts with dread.
"Oh my God," Nick cried. "What's that?"
Lifting like a swirl of smoke, something oozed from Dani's body, pouring up into the cold air and taking form.
"Allah protect us," Zewali muttered, "It is a spirit--another spirit."
"Is it the ghost of Dr Hanser?" Muammar asked, his face screwing up in an anguished presentiment of grief. "Has the Guardian killed her too?"
"I can feel a pulse," Marc said. He stared wide-eyed at the figure forming above them. "It looks like her though..."
"But not her," Daffyd added. "The hair is different and...and the dress is...is a dress. Dani's wearing slacks."
Nick frowned. "A ghost can have a hair style? Or wear a dress? How does that work?"
"It's not me," Dani whispered.
"Dani? You're alive. Thank God." Daffyd hugged Dani and kissed her forehead.
"It's not me," she repeated. "It's Scarab."
"It has the form of a New Kingdom lady as depicted on tomb walls," Zewali confirmed, "Though we are told that djinn and afrit can assume any shape."
"It's not a djinni. It's Scarab."
"What the hell is she doing here?" Marc wondered. "Was she inside you? Possessing you? Or was she actually you?"
"I don't think so," Dani said. "I'm still me, but..." she fell silent for a few moments, staring up at the spectral body of a woman floating in the air. "I used to...sort of feel her sometimes, even before we found the account, though I didn't know who or what it was. I don't know how to describe it, but that feeling's not there anymore."
The woman stood facing the Guardian, and as the seconds passed, the image of the one known as Khu changed. It became less skeletal, seeming to flesh out, to take on earthly substance and almost youth. The two spectres appeared to stare at one another for several minutes while their human audience watched in wonder and a little trepidation. One Guardian had proved formidable enough; who knew what two would do.
Scarab turned to face Dani, a gentle smile on her face--and then she abruptly disappeared.
"What?" Marc cried out. "Where's she gone?"
"I am here," Dani said. Her voice was normal and recognisable; being formed by her own lungs, mouth and vocal cords, but the content of what she said was not of Dani.
"I thank you for reuniting me with my beloved. For a long time I was unaware of his fate...of his service to me beyond death. That has finished, and you will see us no more."
Dani looked around the small rock tomb. "Take not what you want, but what you need, and leave this place undisturbed."
Dani staggered and would have fallen but for Daffyd's strong arms around her. "She's gone," she whispered in a stricken voice. "Gone for good. I can't feel her anywhere."
"The Guardian's gone too," Nick said. "When you staggered, he winked out like he'd been switched off."
"What do you think she meant; take what you need?" Marc asked.
Nobody answered. The air in the tomb was warming already, and people trembled with the release of pent up emotion, still trying to get to grips with what they had seen. Dani stumbled across to where the golden scarab lay on the floor of the chamber and slipped it into her pocket again. Ahmed Bashir, lying near the coffins, groaned--Nazim and Zewali went to him, knelt and examined him.
"He needs medical care," Zewali said. "I wouldn't advise moving him until we can get a stretcher."
"I think there is one in one of the jeeps," Nazim said. "I will go and get it." He walked past the others who were looking at the damage Bashir had done to Smenkhkare's coffin, and hesitated beside the jumbled pile of gold bars.
"Take what you need, not what you want," he muttered. He did a quick calculation and scooped up a handful, stuffing them into his trouser pockets. More went into his jacket pockets, bulging the fabric and weighing it down. "What I want is to live in luxury, but what I need is a deposit so I can retire to that house at Jarabulus near the Turkish border. I must not be greedy." He nodded, and then continued on his way out of the tomb.
Marc had seen Nazim's actions. "Cheeky bugger," he murmured, and then grinned. "Well, why not? Scarab said he could, and only he knows what he needs." He sauntered across and slipped four gold bars into his own pockets.
Daffyd and Nick had wrestled the lid back onto Smenkhkare's coffin, and were looking for a way to secure it, when Zewali told them not to bother.
"It'll take us a da
y to get back to Luxor, a day to prepare and another back here. Three days aren't going to matter too much. We can pile rubble in the entrance to deter jackals or casual visitors, though I doubt there will be any out here."
Dani pulled Daffyd aside. "Scarab said to leave it undisturbed. I can't allow Zewali to plunder it--even in the name of science."
"I could have a word with him. He may see reason."
"No. He needs to be unable to get here again." Dani pulled out the golden scarab again and closed her eyes. She muttered a prayer, of which Daffyd could only distinguish the names of the gods Geb, Set, and Nebt-Het.
"What was that all about?"
"I don't know exactly, but it seemed right to ask the gods of the earth, of the desert and of protection, for assistance. How they'll do it, or even if they will, remains to be seen. Now that Scarab's gone, the golden scarab may be no more than a piece of jewellery."
Nazim returned with the stretcher, accompanied by Dr Maroun, and together they helped Bashir, now conscious but groggy, from the chamber, carrying him on the stretcher over the rubble to the cave entrance. Others joined in here, and they slowly lowered him down the hill side to the camp below.
Signs of devastation and death were everywhere, though at least the bodies had been decently buried. Marc and Muammar started to tidy up, but Dani called them back.
"We're not going to be here long enough to bother. Just make sure the jeeps are functional."
Bashir sat up awkwardly on his stretcher, fingering his bruised neck. He looked around fearfully as if expecting to be attacked again. "What was that thing?" he rasped.
"The Guardian of the tomb," Daffyd told him. "Khu by all accounts."
"The farm boy? I never liked him."
"Well, he's gone now. Vanished with Scarab."
Bashir struggled to his feet. "Gone? He's not coming back?" He looked around at the shattered camp site. "Where is Colonel Sarraj?"
"Dead, along with all his men except Captain Massri."
"How?"
"Desert Bedouin attacked us." Daffyd decided he could not be bothered explaining the situation. "They've gone too."
"And Nazim?"
"He's alive, but he tells me he has left your employ."
"If he hadn't I would fire him. I cannot abide disloyalty."
Daffyd snorted derisively. "I can't say I blame him...what the hell?"
The ground shook; a mild trembling that stopped all conversation in an instant. In the silence they could hear the clatter of falling stones around them.
"Earthquake?" Nick asked. "I didn't think Egypt got them."
"Occasionally," Zewali said. "Mostly centred in the Red Sea or Gulf of Aqaba. The Gulf is part of the Afro-Syrian Rift, you know."
"Must have been a big one if we could feel it here," Nick commented.
"Is there any reason to hang around?" Marc asked. "This whole place reeks of death and violence. We've found what we came for, Dani's got her golden scarab back and we proved the truth of the inscription. I say we head back to Luxor and then on to England's green and pleasant land."
"We need to seal up the tomb again," Zewali said. "We cannot just leave it open, even for a few days."
"It won't take long," Maroun added. "My word, though, I'm excited at the prospect of examining it properly."
"What about the gold and ivory?" Nick asked. "We could take that with us. I mean, the bars aren't artefacts or anything, and some have already gone..."
"What? Where?" Zewali looked shocked.
Marc looked away as if suddenly struck by the beauty of the desert, and Nazim pushed his small knapsack a little further under his seat in the jeep.
"The Bedouin, remember?" Nick continued. "They took the gold bars that Sarraj brought out." He caught Marc's eye and winked. Marc blushed and looked down at his feet.
"By rights, I should have a share of that gold," Bashir said. "I have spent much money financing this whole expedition."
"Forget it," Daffyd said. "You'll be facing charges, not profiting from your actions."
The earth shook again, harder than before, and Zewali stumbled and fell. Maroun went to his assistance, while the others clutched hold of some support to remain upright. For a minute, everyone stood stock still, holding their collective breaths, waiting for the ground to resume its shaky dance. When it didn't, they breathed again.
"Where's Bashir?" Daffyd asked.
Nazim pointed. "He's on the hill."
Bashir scrambled up the slope, and as Marc and Muammar took off after him, entered the cave and disappeared from view.
"Take care," Zewali yelled after them. "The tremor may have weakened the rock..."
A roar like an express train drowned out his words and the desert around the green mountain turned into a dancing jumble of sand and rock, throwing everyone to the ground. Slabs of stone rose and fell, and the vibrating sand grains fell away around Sarraj's grave, the dead colonel's grisly, shattered head rising above the surface. The hill itself groaned, shaking violently and a great gout of dust and rock fragments vomited out of the cave. Marc and Muammar rolled amidst fresh debris to the bottom of the slope, but scrambled free as the tremor died away.
In the silence that followed, everyone got to their feet and stared at the ruin of the hill. After a few minutes, Marc and Muammar tried again, cautiously picking their way through the rubble to the cave mouth. They peered inside before turning and calling down to the others.
"It's chockers," Marc called. "It looks like the roof has collapsed."
"Any sign of Bashir?"
"Not a sausage."
The others joined Marc and Muammar on the shattered ledge and peered through the dusty air at the rubble choking the shaft that led to the tomb. Dust still fell from the roof, and the rock pile groaned and shifted as the whole mass settled.
"I suppose we'd better see if we can dig him out," Dani said.
"You're joking?" Marc replied. "He'll be as flat as a pancake under that lot."
"And if he's not under it? What if the chamber's intact and he's trapped in there? We can't just leave him."
"Why not? He'd have done the same to us." Marc saw Dani's expression and sighed. "Yeah, I know. We dig him out."
They started a chain, one or two at the edge of the rubble, passing chunks of rock or boulders back, throwing the freed debris down the slope. It was finicky work, prising loose rocks that tended to support others, leading to small collapses every few minutes. Despite this, the work continued and they advanced a few feet into the shaft.
When they stopped for a break, Zewali brought one of the kerosene lanterns and inspected the roof of the shaft. He pointed to several cracks and to thin intermittent curtains of sand and dust that fell from them.
"It's too dangerous," Zewali said. "The roof could collapse at any time."
"You're saying we should just abandon him?" Daffyd asked.
"I don't like it, but yes. We need to return to Luxor and get help. Get some equipment that can hold the roof up while we dig him out."
"That will take at least three days," Muammar said. "Even if he is uninjured, he will die of thirst in that time."
"We have to keep trying to dig him out," Dani said.
They resumed their labours, working even more slowly and carefully now, and gradually worked their way back another two feet. Daffyd, taking a turn at the rubble face, felt his fingers slip on something smooth when he bent to pick up a rock. He stared at the brown leather surface of a boot, almost obscured by a layer of dust and grit.
"I've found him," he said quietly.
Zewali joined him and knelt in the dirt. Working cautiously, he tugged the boot off and felt the left foot beneath it.
"It's cool." He pressed a finger hard into the flesh and saw the indentation whiten--and stay white. "I think he's dead."
Daffyd sat back on his haunches and looked at the rubble-choked shaft with one bare foot sticking out of it. "The question is, do we continue to risk our lives digging out a body, or do we lea
ve him?"
"Are you absolutely sure he's dead?" Dani asked.
"Um...ninety per cent. He's under all that rock."
"I think we have to be sure."
"I was afraid you were going to say that."
Daffyd motioned Zewali back and kept hauling out rocks, concentrating on the area where Bashir's body lay. The bootless foot led to a trousered leg, though blood had soaked the ripped and frayed fabric. Just past the knee the material was ripped clean away and Daffyd could see a deep wound in the flesh. Blood had gushed at this point, congealing into a sticky mess with the dust, but no more blood was coming from the wound. As he moved forward to examine the wound more closely, his shoulder brushed the fallen rocks. They settled, spilling a gush of loose gravel and dirt, and the whole pile groaned ominously.
"There's a deep wound in his thigh, but there's no blood coming out of it now."
"That means his heart has stopped," Zewali said. "The man is dead."
"Come out of there, Dafs," Dani said. "Slowly and carefully. There's nothing more you can do for him."
Daffyd shuffled backward, taking great care not to touch the walls, step at a time, and as he reached the place where the rubble wall had stood before they started clearing it, there was another earth tremor. A small one--scarcely more than a vibration in the stone of the green mountain, but the unstable rubble collapsed, burying Bashir's body once more and driving his rescuers back with a cloud of fresh dust and debris. They gathered on the ledge outside the cave, coughing and brushing the dirt out of their hair and clothes.
"That's it," Zewali said. "Minister Bashir is dead. We must leave his body here for now, but we will return in a few days with the equipment we need to excavate the tomb properly. We can give him a decent burial then."
"You are determined to open the tomb again?" Dani asked.
"Of course. The tomb of King Smenkhkare and his sister Beketaten will become as famous as that of their brother Tutankhamen." Zewali smiled at her expression, mistaking her thoughts. "Do not worry. I will see that you get the full credit for the discovery--all of you."