by C J Turner
Hush pervaded the violated house; the gentle ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet of the room.
The deflated girl looked around her, still struggling to make sense of what had just happened. Well, that was … very … odd, she thought, and then noticed the ominously motionless body of their poor victim, still tied to the over turned chair.
Luckily, it took only a few anxious minutes for her to ascertain that in fact, the poor man had only passed out. She loosened his bonds, considerately pushing a cushion under his head, took a rapid look round the house, changed back into her own clothes - sans the talcum powder - and cautiously returned to the Professor’s house where she telephoned the police from the kitchen extension.
Yes, she was concerned about a neighbour. She had seen three men acting suspiciously enter the house and then shortly afterwards, drive furiously away at excessive speed.
No, there had been no answer to her knock but she knew the owner had returned, his car was in the drive and lights were still on all over the house.
Yes, she had the make of the car and number plate and was now back in her own house, 66 Highfield Avenue and would wait for them there.
Ok. There was a patrol car in the vicinity, they should be there in a few minutes.
They were.
Blake had just turned off the stereo in the study, where he had been listening to some rather robust Wagner while he worked on his notes, when there was a tentative knock on the door. He had entirely forgotten that Meredith was supposedly upstairs, but the information that Alice would be out this evening had been drummed into him by dint of exhaustive repetition. For the moment then, he had forgotten that he was not alone in the house and puzzled, went to the door to see who could be there.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you …’ began Meredith rather breathlessly (she was still trying to work out how much she would have to tell him).
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he interrupted her abruptly. ‘Your head is bleeding again, where’s your bandage?’
Taken aback, she had forgotten about the still gory head wound and instinctively, her hand flew to her forehead where she could now feel the sticky trickle of blood.
‘Don’t touch it!’ he barked, turning her round and marching her down the hall into the kitchen. ‘What on earth have you been doing anyway, your hands are filthy?’
Knocked totally off course, her eyes flew down in dismay at her grubby hands and then back to his face as she tried again. ‘Bu…, but I have to tell y…,’ she started to stammer.
But Blake was not listening as he crashed around the kitchen flinging open doors and drawers and muttering under his breath, until he found the first-aid box (which Alice always kept in the same place in the cupboard by the sink), and competently started to lay out cotton wool and antiseptic lotion.
‘Now, let me see ...,’ he cupped her chin in his hand, turning her face to the light and his eyes narrowed frowningly.
‘But this is important,’ Meredith flinched away and started again. ‘The pol…,’ she was interrupted again, this time by the front door bell.
‘Now what?’ he exclaimed irritably, throwing down the swab, ‘This place is like Piccadilly Circus tonight!’
Striding down the hall, the angry Professor flung open the front door.
‘Well, what …’ Blake barked belligerently and then, changing tone in mid sentence as he took in the startled expression of the uniformed policeman standing in the porch, ‘…can I do for you, Officer?’ he finished mildly.
For the next hour or so the police came and went and came back again, by which time they were able to assure the Professor and his house guest that their neighbour, Mr Alex Bentley, although considerable shaken by his ordeal, had suffered no lasting damage. The hospital was keeping him in overnight just to be on the safe side and his wife, who had been staying with their daughter in Bath while her husband was away on an extended business trip, had been notified.
The police had not managed to get a coherent statement from Mr. Bentley before the doctor had arrived and given him a sedative. They now needed to ask the young lady who had show such initiative, if she could oblige.
The Professor’s expression was by now looking so thunderous that she studiously kept her eyes averted from his face, but he was keeping himself surprisingly well in check. The young lady calmly answered their questions, all the while not daring to look over at Blake, who was leaning against the fireplace, his arms folded casually across his chest, the negligent pose belying the frozen set of his face.
She made no mention of the fact that she had recognised one of the men, but kept to her original story that she had noticed them in the car earlier that day and become alarmed by their subsequent behaviour, especially when they had left the house so precipitously. She had felt obliged to go over and see if all was well. When she had received no response to her knock, neighbourly concern turned to alarm and she had felt it her duty to report her anxiety to the police.
The young officer taking down her story, smiled at her warmly and commended her for acting so promptly. She smiled back demurely and risked a quick glance at Blake. Unwise, as he was gazing at her with such furious intensity that, until now perfectly cool and composed, she suddenly felt the hot blood swim into her cheeks and losing track of what she had been about to say, faltered to a stop.
Amazingly, Blake rose smoothly to fill the breach. Up until then, apart from explaining briefly how she came to be staying at his house, he had kept an increasingly wrathful silence. Now he became eloquent, explaining with touching concern to the sympathetic officers that Meredith (ground out between clenched teeth) was in convalescence, and if there was nothing further she could add to her statement - well, she was still very frail and should really be in her bed.
The two patrolmen rose hurriedly to their feet with quick concern for the young lady, who was suddenly looking very flushed, appearing now to be quite overcome by the recent traumatic events. Not surprising, as they understood from the Professor that she was still somewhat of an invalid. Behind their uniformed backs, the gentle heroine made a face and stuck her tongue out at the Professor, who blandly ignored this disrespectful gesture while gracefully receiving the thanks of the police officers on her behalf for showing such a proper public spirit. He courteously saw them to their car and after a final brief exchange of pleasantries, stalked ominously back into the house, his face stern and completely devoid of the smiling bonhomie it had worn only minutes earlier.
Just in time to see Meredith making her own hurried exit upstairs.
‘Oh no you don’t! I rather think you have some explaining to do before you disappear!’
She turned slowly, still in the middle of the stairs and looked down into the furiously angry eyes of the man below.
How much do I tell you, how much can I trust you?
Her expression spoke only too eloquently of her doubts and fears, her obvious distrust so transparent that it was the final straw. Abandoning his precarious grip on his temper, Blake leapt up the stairs two at a time, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her.
‘Do you mind telling me what exactly that was all about?’ he demanded angrily, ‘What have you got yourself mixed up in, you little fool?’ his voice was cold, low but cut like steel.
Incensed beyond rational thought, he felt a tremor rack through the thin shoulders under his hands, and unexpectedly found his anger dissipating into some altogether warmer emotion.
For a moment she faltered, raising those beautiful limpid eyes to his wrathful face, her troubled thoughts reflected clearly in their depths. He hesitated, surely eyes so blazingly innocent could not hide any serious wrongdoing? Resisting the impulse to fold her in his arms; he stared down into the stormy grey gaze, willing her to confide in him, to let him help her, but whatever might have happened, remained just that, as the front door opened again.
‘My goodness, Blake - Meredith! Whatever are you doing still up? Really, Blake, resear
ch is one thing but the child should have been asleep hours ago. I am surprised that even you can be so thoughtless, and her just out of hospital! ‘
The roll of furious scolding broke over his defenceless head as Alice pushed her way determinedly between the two of them and gently shepherded Meredith upstairs to her bedroom. Her voice, softer now and gently soothing, floated down to Blake where he still stood in the middle of the stairs until he heard the door close, with a determined finality, behind them.
Balked of his prey, his mind seething with conflicting emotions, Blake muttered an oath against all women under his breath, and turned slowly back down the stairs.
A walk seemed like a good idea to clear his mind. An hour later the weather, having turned wild and blustery enough to match his mood, had cooled his blood and his furious indignation. Returning wearily home, he let himself quietly back into the house, now peaceful again and wreathed in darkness except for the gentle glow cast by the hall table lamp thoughtfully left alight for him.
This small gesture on Alice’s part had a mollifying effect, and a little calmer, he went into the study and poured himself a stiff scotch. Mentally, he was not at all tired, indeed his mind was still churning furiously, but suddenly a great lassitude seemed to hit him all at once and with a deep sigh, he stretched out on the sofa and allowed his head to fall back onto the cushions. There was something he was missing; something he felt he should know but could not put his finger on. His mind was still filled with the vision of those beautiful grey eyes as she had looked down at him, extraordinary eyes … hiding secrets? … He closed his own eyes, just for a moment.
Upstairs, the girl they called Meredith was also in a state of shock. All her resources of natural courage, quick wits and arduous training had sustained her over the last few hours, but now reaction set in. Grief returned as she remembered Ghalida, but that was not all. Her returning memory included other events that had not actually happened to her at all. She appeared to have picked up someone else’s life!
However, compared to the bizarre situation she now found herself in, that was almost incidental. She knew now that she had come to England to seek out one particular person and by a strange set of circumstances, here she was, actually living in his house. The one person in England who should have been able to identify her, but obviously for reasons of his own, had not.
Sleep was going to be a long time coming that night.
Deep in the ancient fastness of the silent hills, the Lady turned restlessly in her long sleep. The shadow of a forgotten evil had touched her dreams and she was disturbed. She stretched out reluctantly, but the Lady had never forsaken her own and now she roused, and from under half open lids, came a gleam of emerald light.
Fourth Year of the King Horemheb
Egypt 1312 BC
The unsavoury lot of disposing of Kenna’s body had fallen to a young soldier called Sobek, who was mortally frightened when he discovered the scarab necklace still clenched in Kenna’s hand. Even worse, the dagger itself remained in the boy’s body.
Sobek knew that both of these items had come from Lord Menkheperne’s tomb and that his ka would surely come looking for them when it discovered that they were gone. If Sobek threw them in the river, the dead priest’s ka would be very angry at this irreverent way of disposing of its property, and Sobek quaked and quailed at what might befall him. This was not his only worry. Kenna himself might seek vengeance on Sobek for inflicting on him such an ignominious end, deep in the belly of a crocodile.
The Captain of the Medjet had made them swear not to tell anyone what had happened in the tomb, for they would forfeit their very lives if it were known that they had allowed the prisoner to disfigure the magician’s mummified corpse. But the Captain was a Nubian and the wrath of the Egyptian gods did not worry him; he had told Sobek to give Kenna’s body to the crocodiles and take the dagger as payment for keeping his mouth shut, but Sobek was very frightened. What to do? Oh, Hathor, Lady of the Western Hills, what should he do?
There were already rumours in the village. Report of the mysterious damage to the mummy had inevitably been whispered and could only have some magical explanation. They remembered that the High Priest’s death had been sudden. Some said that Tameri’s ghost was responsible and not content with merely killing the Priest’s earthly body, had fought with the magician’s ka, so he could never enter the after life.
This version of events had been encouraged by the Captain of the Medjet, who swore he had seen the ethereal figure of a young girl hovering in the entrance to the tomb, a dagger raised threateningly in her hand. The Sem priest in charge of Menkheperne’s funeral rites had believed the soldiers story; he had bourne no love for his former master and secretly rather liked the idea that Menkheperne’s soul would not be allowed to enter paradise. Instead, his black heart would be thrown to Ammit, the crocodile headed, to be devoured, thereby condemning the deceased to oblivion.
But that was all very well for priests and magicians, they could protect themselves against the dead; Sobek was a simple soldier and could not.
There was one thing he could do, he decided; he must guard the treasures from the magician’s tomb against the day when his ka would undoubtedly come to claim his property. Automatically making the ancient sign to ward off evil, Sobek contemplated the bright turquoise and enamel work of the necklace and wondered how he could best accomplish this.
It was a pretty thing. Cupped in the palm of his hand, the rich gold setting sparkled in the sun, giving the illusion of animation; almost the little scarab looked alive, and about to take wing.
‘No, no, my treasure, murmured Sobek, closing his hand over the glittering jewel. ‘You cannot fly away, you must stay with me and I will keep you safe until your master comes for you’.
Sparkling droplets of water fell like tears into the broad, indifferent bosom of the Nile and disappeared as if they had never been. Was it just the sound of the wind in the papyrus beds, or the tremulous echo of a sigh, as the promise of the talisman was lost to the lovers forever?
Frantic with worry, Sobek took his problem to his elder brother Paneb, who had heard the rumours and was appalled at Sobek’s dilemma and willing to help. Paneb was an overseer, an important man in the village, and had been given a grant of land recently on the other side of the valley, where he had already started work building his family tomb. He proposed creating a tiny secret chamber there, where they could hide Kenna’s body with all decency and respect. Sobek agreed that this was a good plan and was pathetically grateful to his brother.
In case there came later any confusion or retaliation for what they planned, Paneb decided to decorate the walls of the little room with the true circumstances of Kenna and Tameri, as a testament to their innocence and his honest intentions.
He would invoke the protection of his patron Goddess - Hathor, Lady of the Sycamores, had a reputation for looking after her own.
However, when the hiding place was ready, Sobek placed the dagger in the secret chamber with the body to ensure that if the shade of Lord Menkheperen came looking for his lost property, his search would lead him to Kenna and not to Sobek. Meanly, his gratitude to Peneb did not prevent him from treacherously giving the scarab jewel to his brother ostensibly as payment for all his trouble, but in reality for the same cowardly reason.
Paneb was a good man who had known Kenna and respected him as a fellow artist. This was why he had agreed to help his brother, for whom he had less respect and even fewer illusions. He had recognised the scarab at once for what it was and silently vowed that he would keep it safe, and one day he would return it to Sheriti as a token of her parents abiding love.
Paneb inscribed certain signs on the amulet to ensure that the hidden locality of the priest’s tomb would always be remembered; in this way, each successive generation would keep the tomb safe from disturbance and be reminded to make offerings that would placate the evil priest’s ka.
In time, to console the little girl as she grew older and
had not even the solace of a shrine for either parent to comfort her, Paneb gave Sheriti her mother’s necklace and told her to keep it as an heirloom of her house, a talisman to invoke her mother and father, which would protect her line for ever.
Chapter 4
Several hours later, Blake awoke stiff, cramped and in thoughtful mood. There was no sign of Meredith and he showered, changed and came to the breakfast table just as Alice was bringing in a large plate of eggs, bacon and mushrooms.
‘I heard you in the shower, knew you wouldn’t be long,’ she said briefly, putting it down in front of him. She left the room briefly, almost immediately returning with toast, cafetiere and two cups. Pouring the deliciously aromatic coffee for them both, she placed Blake’s cup and saucer by his plate and sat down opposite, drawing her own cup towards her.
She said nothing, merely gazing steadily at him across the breakfast table expectantly. His thin, intelligent face looked strained, she thought, as she watched him sweep an impatient hand through the unruly thickness of his dark hair.
He glanced at her grimly from beneath lowered brows and carried on stoically eating his breakfast, but under her continued calm observance, suddenly threw down his knife and fork.
‘Well, did she tell you what happened last night? What did she say?’ he burst out stormily, pushing his plate away so violently that it knocked the toast rack off the table.
‘Meredith told me exactly what happened, as she apparently told the police. You were there, didn’t you listen?’ she retorted sharply, automatically bending down to pick up the scattered bread.
‘Why are you so angry with her? She may have acted a bit impetuously, I grant you, and I have told her myself that she should have come to you at once when she thought something might be wrong, but she said everything happened so quickly that she did not have time to think and she was worried about making a fool of herself. There was certainly no need to frighten the poor child again like that when she had already been so upset.’