“My employer, he doesn’t want mess and questions. So he says, let’s call it quits.”
“Fine!” Ahmed replied, keeping firm hold of his gun.
“Mr. Baker says, don’t bother to follow us. It’s against his principles to fight children—but you are making yourselves an awful nuisance and he is sorely tempted to give you all a good hiding. Now you sit tight here while we leave. All right? Just to make sure you keep your word like good little children, we’ll leave Bender and Ali here to cover you.”
Bender and Ali stayed behind on their camels as our enemies remounted their steeds. Ahmed had seen Ali too and glowered at the man who had betrayed his family. There was one bright spot, though. Bender had acquired a black eye in the fight! It was all we could do to stay our men’s hands as their caravanserai moved off in a flurry of trotting legs and waving guns. We watched them go, round the bend into the town of Siwa. Finally Bender and Ali followed, not before the latter had given his cousin a particularly unpleasant smirk. The villains were gone—for the time being at least.
Rachel unpeeled herself from Isaac and was mumbling something. Her dark eyes flashed above her gag as she writhed.
“Pardon?” Isaac said, looking at his sister in confusion.
“She can’t talk, idiot,” I said. I bounded toward Rachel and peeled off her gag.
Words tumbled out as soon as the material was removed. Angry, bitter words. This was a new Rachel:
“Don’t follow them,” she spat. “Let the rats go.”
Ahmed came up to her and gently took her hand in his. As he did I saw a trace of the old softness return to Rachel’s eyes. I wondered about her ordeal and hoped that it had not damaged her kind spirit.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “We won’t follow them.”
“Then where?” Rachel’s hand trembled in his.
“Our hope, our only hope now, is to get to the Book before them.”
Chapter Thirty-two
“You’re sure your ancestors hid the Book here?” I asked, hugging myself for comfort. I was unable to get rid of the strong feeling that I wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else.
“Quiet,” Ahmed murmured. “It does not do to speak of such things.”
Ancient stone walls surrounded us, cracked and crumbling. Strange hieroglyphics adorned the walls and even odder drawings: a crown, a floating limb, vases of wine, the profile of a god. The sun blazed out of a blue sky on the gaping roof of the temple, but the place was strangely gloomy. Waldo shuffled by my side, his unease infecting me.
“Do you know what an Oracle is?” Ahmed asked.
“She was a priestess in the ancient world, usually a young woman of noble birth,” I answered. “The ancients believed she was the mouthpiece of the gods. They believed she could foretell the future.”
“One of the mightiest Oracles in the world dwelled here …”
We looked around us, the desolation of glory, the odd heathen animals and gods on the ruined walls. It was easy to believe that wonder beyond imagining had dwelled here.
“Alexander the Great, the mighty Greek warrior, came here many centuries ago,” Ahmed was whispering, as if fearful of being overheard. “He begged the Oracle’s favor. She told him he was the rightful Pharaoh and he went on to become King of Egypt. The Oracle did not bless others. Over two thousand years ago, Cambyses the Persian invader threatened to destroy the Oracle because she would not tell him he was the true ruler of Egypt. He sent six thousand soldiers to ransack this place but they all vanished in a sandstorm. Were they buried alive in the desert? Did they flee from some supernatural terror? No one knows because centuries later, to this day, not a single trace of them has been found.”
“An oracle couldn’t make a whole army disappear,” Isaac said. “I mean, this place is strange, but oracles and all, it’s hardly science, is it?”
“The power of the Oracle is so great that only a fool would ignore it,” Ahmed replied.
It was just the five of us: Rachel, Ahmed, Isaac, Waldo and I. Ahmed had not wanted to let anyone else into this sacred place, certainly not Jabber. We had left our guides and camels resting. Making absolutely sure we weren’t followed, we trekked up to this temple, built on a jutting strip of rock. It was a bleak place. Ahmed told us there were two other temples devoted to the same oracle—but only a very few scholars knew of this place, a ruin on the outskirts of the village, where the Oracle had truly lived. Ordinary people avoided it, because its legend was so forbidding. No Siwan would tell an outsider of its existence on account of the curse.
“No one else must ever see this. No one else must ever know about this,” Ahmed said. He was kneeling down in the corner of the room and now we saw something truly extraordinary. He had pressed some secret lever or chanted some secret code; we did not know what. A section of ground moved away, revealing a series of steps hewn into the rock. It was very dark and impossible to tell how far the steps went.
“We’re not going down there?” I asked, my voice unusually squeaky. Despite myself I had visions of being trapped in some underground chamber.
“You can wait up here, all of you, if you please,” Ahmed answered. He took out a stick wrapped in cloth and a packet of matches. Calmly, he lit the brand, which gave off a wavering light.
“No. No. I’m coming with you.”
Rachel, who normally would have been urging caution, had set off down the steps without hesitation. Waldo followed her, then Isaac, while I followed behind, my heart in my mouth. Ahmed’s brand gave out just a faint light so we made our way by feeling with our hands and feet. The walls were cold and moist. Down, down we went till we must have descended into the very heart of the mountain. At the bottom of the shaft a tunnel turned to the left, Ahmed went first and then the others. We had to crawl on our hands and knees and there was so little air in here that every inch was painful. Something crunched under my feet, something glowing white.
I screamed and ahead of me Rachel turned.
“What is it, Kit?” she hissed.
“Nothing,” I replied. But I was lying. I knew what I had stepped on. A fragment of old skull, bleached white. So brittle even my light sandals could crush it. Who did they belong to, these ancient bones? A priest? A thief? I had no time for speculation for we had emerged into a soaring cavern, its walls and roof dripping with contortions of rock and salt. Miracle of miracles, the whole chamber was glowing yellow, as if lit by some unearthly glow.
“How?” I asked, looking around in delight.
“The ancients believed it was one of the Oracle’s wonders,” Ahmed answered. “I suppose you, Isaac, would have another explanation?”
“There must be a way sunlight is refracting off a naturally reflective surface,” Isaac mused. “I wonder where the source of illumination is?”
I looked around at the glowing cavern, here and there the walls flickered bronze, gold, a hint of scarlet. I imagined I was an ancient Egyptian, living near the dawn of man’s history. Here I might dream that I had discovered the source of the earth’s fire. Here was something to light one’s soul.
“I don’t always want to believe in science,” I said to Isaac. “I know this sounds stupid, but sometimes I prefer wonder.”
“There is no greater wonder than science. I mean science might even one day make it possible to build a time machine to take us back to the age of the Pharaohs.”
“That’s never going to happen.”
Isaac turned away. Ahmed, taking no notice of us, was looking for the Book. It was nowhere to be seen. No large chest, to protect the World’s Oldest Book from damp and dust. No marker stone to indicate where such treasure was buried. Then, at the same time, we all saw it. Sitting on a natural ledge, just a little above our heads, something wrapped in a dust-colored cloth. Something that had blended with the very color of the desert rocks. Ahmed stretched, his hand extended to take the object …
“STOP,” a voice rang out.
We had company. Crawling out of the tunnel, emerging int
o the cave’s amber glow, they came. Velvet Nell, Bender Barney, Ali and finally like two ghosts, the Baker Brothers. They all carried guns in their hands, which they pointed at us.
“You cannot bring guns here,” Ahmed said, his voice trembling with anger. “This is a sacred place.” To his cousin Ali, he added. “You of all people should know this.”
“Too much superstition,” Ali leered. “That was always your father’s problem. Now I see you have the family disease.”
“We got the guns, my dear, we make the rules,” Nell snapped.
“Shall I tie ’em up?” Bender Barney asked, clearly itching to get his hands on us.
“Pat ’em down, Bender and Ali,” Nell replied. “Make sure they ain’t armed.” Her beautiful mouth was open in a scarlet smile, showing every one of her pearly teeth. She was radiant, enjoying every minute of this. “I don’t mind admitting I wanted to off the lot of yer, but my employers, they’re wise birds. They said leave ’em be.”
They’ll take us to the Book. They’ll lead us right to the treasure if we play ’em right.’
“You are fools,” Ahmed said, then flinched as Ali who was searching him, gave him a casual blow. “You had the secret if you decoded the scarab.”
“Oi, watch yer mouf!” Bender growled.
“We could have done it,” Ali said. “I puzzled out the hieroglyphics myself but I wasn’t certain. Besides, as I said to Mr. Baker, why exert ourselves? Why get into a sweat working out where the Book is hidden when we’ve got you idiots to sweat for us?”
“ENOUGH TALK!” one of the Baker Brothers had spoken. At least, his mouth moved and words emerged into the cave.
“Take it. We want you to take the Book,” the other Brother said to Velvet Nell.
Nell hesitated and Ahmed let out a wail.
“Take it, Nell,” the Brother insisted. “Take the Book and we will be gone.”
“She mustn’t touch it,” Ahmed said. “She is a non-believer.”
Nell looked at him for a split second. A small nerve was twitching above the curve of her lip, but otherwise her face was beautiful and bland as a marble bust. Then she moved over to the ledge where the Book dwelled. We watched, powerless, as she stood before it, her hand rising. For me, at that moment, it was as if Isaac’s imaginary time machine had cast a spell over us all. Every moment was a frozen hour as Velvet Nell rose on her tiptoes and put out her shapely arm to take the Book. She had it. The precious thing lay in her hands, she was unpeeling moldering layers of cloth, shaking them impatiently to the ground. They fell, disregarded, till the manuscript was revealed.
Jewel-bright hieroglyphics, more precious than diamonds, glowing on ancient papyrus. The wisdom of the dawn—the magic of awakening thought. An age when man was closer to the great natural truths—to the language of bird and beast. Here it was, before us.
“See, nothing but a bit of harmless old paper,” Nell said with a grin.
“Drop it,” Ahmed urged. “Do not let the Book destroy you.”
“I’m a modern missus,” Nell replied. “Don’t believe in curses and all that old nonsense. Why I—”
Abruptly Nell stopped, panic on her face. Rachel clutched my arm. There was a whistling noise all around us and in the upper reaches of the vast cavern a swirl of sand.
“Khamsin,” Ahmed whispered to us.
I stared at him.
“A sirocco. Desert sandstorm. Cover your mouth and nose with your scarf else you will choke.”
He showed Rachel how to adjust her scarf while I tried my best to wrap my own around my head. I had heard of the deadly siroccos; blinding men and beasts with knives of sand. The wind could reach fifty miles an hour and build towering castles of sand which hung in the air. It could lash your skin raw. The Bakers, Ali and Bender Barney were moving toward the stairs, unaware. I made to follow them but Ahmed pulled me back.
“We could be buried alive,” I hissed. The cave was thick with golden grains, whipping and careening around us, making it hard to see more than a few feet in any direction.
“Look,” he said, pointing, and everyone turned to look at Nell.
Her body was writhing but her feet, as if glued to the earth, didn’t move. She opened her scarlet lips and spat something out. There was a trickle of sand among the spittle. We watched torn between bewilderment and horror. She spat again, more sand. How? Had she been swallowing it? She was vomiting up a stream of the stuff. As we watched, uncomprehending, the sirocco still swirling around us, more and more sand was disgorged from her lips. Was Nell the origin of it all? She choked, her voice desert-dry, struggling to utter a word.
“Help me!” she cried. At least I think that was what she was saying but it was impossible to tell with the sand throttling her words. The grip that held her feet frozen seemed to relax, for now Velvet Nell sank down to the ground, her arms swinging this way and that. She was the flailing center of a Biblical storm. Sand eddied around her, settling in flurries and mounds. Sand buried her up to her waist. Obsessively her left hand clutched the Book, held just above the rising sea of sand.
“She has insulted the spirits!” Ahmed cried. “She is a cursed thing.”
To the side, Ali urgently whispered something to one of the Bakers. The Brother moved back from the tunnel and walked up to Ahmed, one hand shielding his eyes from the penetrating sand, the other pointing his gun at our friend.
“Forget her,” The Brother ordered. “ You get the Book.”
“No. We’ve got to save the woman. The sand is going to crush her—”
The Brother clicked the safety catch off the pistol and held it to Ahmed’s throat: “Now,” he hissed.
Ahmed obeyed. He was surrounded by sinuous sand snakes that obscured him from my eyes. As for Nell, she had almost vanished. One bare arm poked out from a hill of sand, fingers curled in a death grip around the Book. Rachel ran toward Ahmed, trying to pull him back but he moved like a sleepwalker. I could scarcely see, the sand was in my eyes, stinging my bare arms, cutting my legs so I wanted to scream out.
Ahmed reached out and took the Book from Nell but her lifeless hand gripped it more tightly. He wrenched it away, prying her fingers off it one by one, till her hand flopped and the Book came loose. Gently Ahmed took the papyrus. I had expected Ahmed to be struck, as Nell had, to be suspended in a pillar of sand.
Nothing happened. He was free and now we were all running to the tunnel, stumbling into each other in our haste. Ahmed went first, Ali, the Baker Brothers and Bender Barney bringing up the rear, their guns prodding our backs. We crawled through the tunnel and then up the steps lining the rock shaft, tumbling into the temple upstairs where—another miracle—the sand had gone. The air was clear and fresh. Sunlight blazed through the ruined roof—apart from the gentlest of breezes all was still. Hard to believe that down below a devilry of sand had claimed the life of Velvet Nell.
The Baker Brothers emerged, choking, into the temple, Barney in hot pursuit. One of the Bakers walked up to Ahmed and held out his hand. The Book had somehow vanished. Had Ahmed tucked it into his robes?
“Not so fast, my little man,” boomed a familiar voice.
Aunt Hilda, dressed in red Arab pants and an orange turban, stepped around a pillar. Her pistol was pointed straight at the Baker Brother. For a moment he was at a loss and gaped at her, amazed. Trotting behind her was Gaston Champlon, dapper in his solar topee and cream linen suit.
“How did you get here?” I blurted.
“You’ve led us a merry dance but luckily Gaston here has picked up a few tricks from the trackers.” Aunt Hilda turned to the Bakers. “As for you, I must confess I’m sorely disappointed in your honesty—ouch!”
There was a popping noise and blood dripped from Aunt Hilda’s upraised hand. She stared at it in surprise, as if she didn’t understand. Her pistol lay useless where it had fallen in the sand. Ali fired again. Waldo, Ahmed, Rachel and I dropped to the ground as a firestorm of bullets ricocheted around us. Bender Barney, the Brothers, Ali and Gaston a
ll let loose. Raising my head slightly, I could see Champlon was getting the better of it. Even though it was one against four. The little Frenchman was almost dancing as he placed each bullet precisely where it would do maximum damage. His eyes shone with glee. He was shooting to wound not kill, but the others were firing more viciously.
In just a few seconds the battle was over. Blood poured down Barney’s leg and his shirt was spattered with gore. One Brother was clutching a wounded arm, all had been disarmed by the hail of Champlon’s bullets.
With a shock I realized that Ali was down. He lay crumpled against the wall of the temple, one arm shielding his face, the other still clutching a pistol. At first glance he could merely have been crouching for cover, except blood was smeared on his suit. Then I saw the entrance hole of the bullet, the size and shape of a shilling, it had scorched his white shirt. I was going to accuse Champlon but instead looked at Ahmed. He had acquired a pistol, somehow. Now he dropped it, as if it burned and turned away, refusing to meet my eye. Meanwhile Champlon was in a fury:
“Go away. Fast like ze wind,” he yelled at the Bakers, waving his pistol. “You are rotten tomatoes. I was ze fool to ever put a trust in you.”
“Does he mean rotten apples?” Waldo whispered to me. I do not think he had noticed Ali’s body. I nodded, unable to speak for the lump in my throat.
“Begone!” Champlon yelled.
The Bakers and Barney were standing quite still, as if waiting for something to rescue them, for their position was quite useless. They were wounded, unarmed, faced with a magician of pistols. I saw one Brother glance at the other. Some private signal, unreadable to the rest of the world, passed between them for without another word they retreated. Barney followed their dark figures, cringing like a whipped dog. Just as they were stepping out of the temple Aunt Hilda let out an explosive noise.
“Haven’t you forgotten something, Mr. Baker?” she barked.
Both Brothers turned round, like puppets operated by the same string.
The Mummy Snatcher of Memphis Page 18