by Wilbur Smith
Nicholas's blood welled up and oozed from the corners of Helm's mouth.
The log was still floating beside them, inches from the back of Helm's
head. Nicholas seized his ears, one in each hand, and twisted him around
in the water. He could see over the top of Helm's head, while Helm's
vision was blocked. There was a nub of raw wood sticking out of the tree
trunk where an axe had hacked away a, ride branch.
The cut was at an angle, leaving a sharp spike. Through tears of agony
Nicholas lined up the spike with the back of Helm's head. He could feel
Helm's teeth almost meeting in the flesh of his face. They had cut
through the lower lip so that blood was starting to fill Nicholas's
mouth. Helm was worrying him like a pit'bull in the arena, wrenching his
head from side to side. Soon he would come away with a bloody mouthful
of Nicholas's flesh.
With all the strength of pain and desperation, Nicholas hurled himself
forward, and, using his upper body and his grip on the sides of Helm's
head, drove him on to the sharp wooden spike. The point found the joint
between the vertebrae of the spine and the base of Helm's skull, going
in like a nail and partially severing the spinal cord.
Helm's jaws sprang open as he went into spasm. Nicholas pulled away from
him with a flap of loose flesh hanging from his chin, and blood
streaming and spurting from the deep ragged wound.
Helm was impaled upon the spike, like a carcass on a butcher's hook. His
limbs twitched and the muscles of his face convulsed, his eyelids
shivered and jumped like those of an epileptic, and his eyeballs rolled
back into his skull so that only the whites showed, flashing grotesquely
in the gloom of the chasm.
Nicholas pulled himself up on to the tog beside the Texan's body, and
hung there panting and bleeding in gouts down his chin on to his chest.
Slowly the log revolved un er the eccentric weight distribution, and
Helm began to slide off the spike. His skin tore with a sound like silk
parting, and the vertebrae of his spine grated on wood.
Then the corpse, at last quiescent, flopped face down into the water and
began to sink.
Nicholas would not let him go so easily. "Let's make sure of you, dear
boy," he grated through his swollen, bleeding mouth. He spat out a
mouthful of blood and saliva as he stretched out and grabbed the back of
Helm's collar, holding him face down in the water under the log. They
icked up speed rapidly down the last stretch of the canyon, but
Nicholas held on doggedly, drowning any last spark of life from Helm's
carcass, until at last it was torn. from his grip by the current and he
watched it sink away into the grey, roiling waters.
"I'll give your love to Tessay," Nicholas called after him as he
disappeared. Then he gave all his concentration to balancing the log and
staying aboard for the ride through the tumbling, racing current. At
last he was spewed out -AL
through the pink rock portals into the bottom reach of the DandeTa
river. As he was swept beneath the rope suspension bridge he slid off
the log and struck out for the western bank, very much aware of the
terrible drop into the Nile that lay half a mile downstream.
Sitting on the bank, he tore a strip from the tail of his shirt. Then he
bound up his wounded chin as best he could, strapping it around the back
of his head. The blood soaked through the thin wet cotton, but he
knotted it tighter and it began to staunch the flow.
He stood up unsteadily and pushed his way through the strip of thick
river in bush which bounded the river, until at last he struck the trail
that led down to the monastery and hobbled down it on his bare feet. He
only stopped once, and that was when he heard the sound of the
helicopter taking off from the top of the cliff above the chasm far
behind him.
He looked back. "Sounds as though Tuma Nogo made it out of there, more's
the pity. I wonder what happened to von Schiller and the Egyptian," he
muttered grimly, fingering his injured face. "At least none of them are
going to get into the tomb, not unless they dam the river again."
Suddenly a thought occurred to him.
"My God, what if von Schiller was already in there when the river hit!"
He began to chuckle, and then shook his head. "Too much to hope for.
justice is never that neat." He shook his head again, but the movement
started his wound aching brutally. He clutched his bandaged jaw with one
hand and started down the trail again, breaking into a trot as he
reached the paved causeway that led down to the monastery.
ahoot Guddabi ran full into von Schiller around a corner of the maze,
and in a peculiar way the old man's presence, even thoug he was of no
conceivable value in this crisis, steadied him and kept at bay the panic
that threatened at any moment to boil over and overwhelm him. Without
Hansith the maze was a weird and lonely place. Any human company was a
blessing. For a moment the two of them clung together like children lost
in the forest.
Von Schiller still carried part of the treasure that they had been
examining when Hansith had panicked and run.
He had Pharaoh's golden crook in one hand and the ceremonial flail in
the other.
"Where is the monk?" he screamed at Guddabi. "Why did you run off and
leave me? We have to find the way out of these tunnels, you idiot. Don't
you realize the danger?"
"How do you expect me to know the way-' Nahoot began furiously, and then
broke off as he noticed the chalk notations on the wall behind von
Schiller's shoulder, and for the first time realized their significance.
"That's it!' he exclaimed with relief. "Harper or the Al Simma woman
have marked it out for us. Come on!" He started down the tunnel,
following the signposting. However, by the time they came out on the
central staircase almost an hour had passed since Hansith had left them.
As they hurried down the staircase into the long gallery the sound of
the river rose to a pervading hiss, like the breathing of a sleeping
dragon, Nahoot broke into a run and von Schiller staggered along behind
him, his aged legs weakening with fear.
"Wait!" he shouted after Nahoot, who ignored his plea and ducked out
through the opening in the plaster-sealed doorway. On the landing the
generator was still running smoothly, and Nahoot did not even glance at
it as he hurried down the inclined shaft in the bright dazzle of the
light bulbs along the roof.
He turned the corner still at a run, and stopped dead 41, as he realized
that the tunnel below him was flooded, right back up to the level of the
ancient high-water mark on the masonry blocks of the walls. There was no
sign of the sinkhole or the pontoon bridge. They were submerged under
fifty feet or more of water.
The Dandera river, guardian of the tomb down all the ages, had resumed
its duty. Dark and implacable, it sealed the entrance to the tomb as it
had done these four thousand years past.
"Allah!" whispered ahoot. "Allah have mercy on us." Von Schiller cam
e
around the corner of the tunnel and stopped beside Nahoot. The two of
them stared in horror at the flooded shaft. Then slowly von Schiller
sagged against the side wall.
"We are trapped," he whispered, and at those words Nahoot whimpered
softly and sank to his knees. He began to pray in a high, nasal
sing-song. The sound infuriated on Schiller.
"That will not help us. Stop it!" He swung the golden flail in his right
hand across Nahoot's bowed back. Nahoot cried out at the pain and
crawled away from von Schiller.
"We must find a way out of here." Von Schiller's voice steadied. He was
accustomed to command, and now he took charge.
"There must be another way out of here," he decided.
(We will search. If there is an opening to the outside then we should
feel a draught of air." His voice became firmer and more confident.
"Yes! That's what we will do. Switch off that fan, and we will try to
detect any movement of air."
Nahoot responded eagerly to his tone and authority, and hurried back to
switch off the electric fan.
"You have your cigarette lighter," von Schiller told him. "We will light
tapers from these." He pointed at the papers and photographs that Royan
had left lying on the trestle table by the doorway. "We will use the
smoke to detect any draught."
For the next two hours they moved through all levels of the tomb,
holding aloft the burning tapers, watching the movement of the smoke. At
no point could they detect even the faintest movement of air in the
tunnels, and in the end they came back to the flooded shaft and stared
despairingly at the pool of still black water that blocked it.
"That is the only way out," von Schiller whispered.
11 wonder if the monk escaped that way," said Nahoot as he slumped down
the wall.
"There is no other way."
They were silent for a while; it -was difficult to judge the passage of
time in the tomb. Now that the river had found its own level there was
no movement of water in the shaft, and the faint and distant sound of
the current running through the sink-hole seemed merely to enhance the
silence. In it they could hear their own breathing.
Nahoot spoke at last. "The fuel in the generator. It must be running
low. I did not see any reserves-'
They thought about what would happen when the small fuel tank ran dry.
They thought about the darkness to come.
Suddenly von Schiller screamed, "You have to go out through the shaft to
fetch help. I order you to do it., Nahoot stared at him in disbelief.
"It's over a hundred yards back through the tunnel to the outside, and
the river is in flood."
Von Schiller sprang to his feet and stood over Nahoot threateningly.
"The monk escaped that way. It's the only way. You must swim through the
tunnel and reach Helm and Nogo. Helm will know what to do. He will make
a plan to get me out of here."
"You are mad." Nahoot backed away from him, but'von Schiller followed
him.
"I order you to do id'
"You crazy old man!" Nahoot tried to scramble to his feet, but von
Schiller swung the heavy golden flail, a sudden unexpected blow in
Nahoot's face that knocked him over backwards, splitting his lips and
breaking off two of his front teeth.
"You are rnad!" he wailed. "You can't do this-' but von Schiller swung
again and again, lacerating his face and Is of the whip cutting
shoulders, the heavy golden tai through the thin cotton of his shirt.
"I will kill you," von Schiller screamed, raining blows on him. "If you
don't obey me I will kill you."
"Stop!, Nahoot whined. "No, please, stop. I will do it, only stop."
He crawled away from von Schiller, dragging himself along the floor of
the tunnel until he sat waist-deep in the water.
AZT',, "Give me time to prepare he pleaded.
"Go now!" Von Schiller menaced him, lifting the whip high. "Very likely
you will find air trapped in the tunnel.
You will find your way through. Go!'
Nahoot scooped a double handful of water and dashed it into his own
face, washing away the blood that poured from one of the deep cuts in
his cheek.
"I have to take off my clothes, my shoes," he whimpered, pleading for
time, but von Schiller would not allow him to leave the water.
Do it where you are standing, he ordered, brandishing the heavy whip. In
his other hand he held the heavy golden crook. Nahoot realized that a
blow from that weapon cou Id crack his skull.
Standing knee-deep "at the water's edge, Nahoot hopped on one foot as he
pulled off his shoes. Then, slowly and reluctantly, he stripped to his
underpants. His shoulders were deeply scored by the lash of the flail,
fresh blood welling up and slithering like scarlet serpents down his
back.
"He knew that he had to placate this crazy old madman.
He would duck under the surface and swim a short way down the tunnel,
hold on to the side wall down there for as long as his breath lasted,
and then swim back again.
"Go!" von Schiller shouted at him. "You are wasting time. Don't think
that I will let you get out of this,, Nah6ot waded deeper into the shaft
until the water covered his chest. He paused there for a few minutes as
he drew a series of deep breaths. Then at last he held his breath and
ducked below the surfAce. Von Schiller stood waiting at the edge of the
pool, staring down into it but unable to see anything beneath the black
and ominous surface. In the lamplight Nahoot's blood stained the
surface.
A minute passed slowly, and then suddenly there was a heavy swirl
beneath the waters, and a human arm rose through the dark surface, hand
and fingers extended as though in supplication. Then slowly it sank out
of sight again.
Von Schiller craned forward, "GuddabW he called
"I -. "What are you playing at?" angrily There was another swirl below
the water, and something flashed like a mirror in the depths.
"Guddabi !'von Schiller's voice rose petulantly.
Almost as if in response to the summons, Nahoot's head broke out through
the surface. His skin was.waxen yellow, drained of all blood, and his
mouth gaped open in a dreadful, silent scream. The water around him
boiled as though a shoal of great fish were feeding below. As von
Schiller stared in incomprehension, a dark tide rose up around Nahoot's
head and stained the surface a rose-petal red. For a moment von Schiller
did not realize that it was Nahoot's blood.
T
Then he saw the long, sinuous shapes darting and twisting beneath the
surface, surrounding Nahoot, feeding upon his flesh. Nahoot lifted his
hand again and extended it towards von Schiller, pleadingly. The arm was
halfdevoured, mutilated by deep half-moon wounds where the flesh had
been bitten away in chunks.
Von Schiller screamed in horror, backing away from the pool. Nahoot's
eyes were huge and dark and accusing.
He stared at von Schiller and a wild cawing sound that was not human
issued from his straining throat.
/> Even as von Schiller watched, one of the giant tropical ee Is thrust its
head through the surface and its teeth gleamed like broken glass as it
gaped wide, and then locked its jaws on to Nahoot's throat. Nahoot made
no effort to tear the creature away. He was too far gone. He stated at
von Schiller all the while that the eel, twisting and rolling into a
gleaming ball of slimy coils, still hung from his throat.
Slowly Nahoot's head sank below the surface again.
For long minutes the pool was agitated by the movements in its depth and
the occasional gleam of one of the serpentine fish. Then gradually the
surface settled as still and serene as a sheet of black glass.
Von Schiller turned and ran, back up the incline shaft, past the landing
on which the generator still puttered quietly, blindly trying to get as
far away as he could from that dreadful pool. He did not know where he
was going, but followed any passageway that opened in front of him.
At the foot of the central stairway he ran into the corner Of the wall
and stunned himself, falling to the agate tiles and lying there
blubbering as a large purple lump rose on his forehead.
After a while he dragged himself to his feet and lurched up the stairs.
He was confused and disorientated, his mind starting to break up -in
delirium, driven over the edge of
652 it's sanity by horror and fear. He fell again, and crawled along the
tunnel on his hands and knees to the next corner of . Only the was he
able to regain his feet to the maz stagger onwards.
The steep shaft leading down into Taita's gas trap opened under his feet
without him seeing it. He fell down the steps, jarring and bruising his
legs and chest. Then he was on his feet again, reeling across the store
room past the ranks of amphorae, up the far staircase and into the
painted arcade that led to the torrib of Pharaoh Mamose.
He had tottered dowh half the length of it, dishevelled and wild'eyed
and demented, when suddenly the lights dimmed for a moment, fading to a
yellow glow. Then they brightened again as the generator sucked the last
drops of fuel from the bottom of the tank. Von Schiller stopped in the
centre of the arcade and looked up at the lights with despair. He knew
what was coming. For another few minutes the bulbs burned on, bright and
cheerfully, and then again they dimmed and faded.