The Soul Scarab

by C J Turner

  Once, when his underpinning had slipped again for the third time that day, he had fallen into a mad frenzy, kicking at the stones and cursing his uncle for abandoning him here in this dreadful place. Then he saw Ahmed coming towards him out of the mountainside, his features strangely blurred but unmistakably his uncle, wearing the light European suit he always wore. Mustaf groveled in the sand before the apparition, moaning and shivering with fear and pleading for rest, but he was allowed no respite and still he toiled on.

  Eventually, he had managed to shore up part of the entrance with large flattish pieces of limestone, which were almost invisible from a distance. It was through this entrance that he had dragged Amunet’s limp body and thrown her in one of the many dead end side passages. Now he sat in the central chamber and contemplated what he considered to be the final barrier between himself and Menkheperne’s treasure.

  This was an entire wall, a daunting construction of one vast slab of impenetrable black granite and on its polished surface, as smooth as a mirror, were inscribed many strange hieroglyphics. Guarding the wall on either side, were two square plinths bearing crouching statues of Anubis, the jackal headed God of the Underworld. How the old ones had managed to get the heavy slab (it must have weighed several tons) into position was a mystery, but there it was and somehow Mustaph had to get past it. The wall looked solid and immovable, but Khalid had told them that it had been designed to slide open and that there was a way in. But the old man was not so mad that he would reveal the secret of how this could be done until they had got to the tomb and then Ahmed, believing he was about to be double-crossed, had shot Khalid before he could tell them. Not that Mustaf blamed his uncle for that, he had probably thought that having come this far, they could blast their way in if all else failed. Mustaf dared not use explosives now. The surrounding ground was unstable enough as it was. There was no point in finding the treasure if he was several hundred feet underground! He shivered at the thought and hastily made the sign to avert evil.

  He was getting one of his blinding headaches again that seemed to be plaguing him more and more frequently. Perhaps he needed to relax, take his mind off things for a while. Brightening, he remembered that he had a new toy to play with.

  From the far side of the chamber, Amunet was recouping her strength, her eyes never leaving the hunched figure that squatted with its back turned to her in front of the granite wall.

  When Mustaf finally stirred and came towards her, she was ready. She deliberately stayed low so that he had to stoop down to grab her, but before he could get hold, she had gripped the wooden box beside her with both hands and swung it with all her strength at his head. The force of the surprise attack knocked him off balance so that he fell sprawling in the dust some feet away.

  The box had sharp corners and made some considerable impact but it did not knock him out and the impetus of the unwieldy weapon pulled it out of her hands and sent it flying across the small space to shatter against the granite wall.

  She had fleetingly wondered at the weight of the box of manuscript papers but now she saw why, as the false bottom smashed open and the jewel-hilted dagger was flung into the air and fell glittering onto the sandy floor right in front of the wall!

  Mustaf had seen it too and although stunned, he started to crawl towards it as fast as he could to get to it before Amunet. Hobbled as she was, he should have made it but, unhesitatingly, she launched herself into three rapid handstands. Landing neatly on the other side of the chamber, she snatched up the dagger and turned triumphantly to face him.

  Mustaf’s face was contorted in terror, his loose-lipped mouth had fallen open, and his unpleasant snake eyes were popping from his head. He was gibbering at something behind her, and despite herself, she risked a quick glance round.

  With a grinding hiss, the huge granite slab was sliding smoothly to one side and disappearing into the angle of the natural rock wall. A cold musty wind seemed to emanate from the swirling grey mists revealed behind the slab, creating little eddying dust devils that danced across the floor towards her.

  A terrible odour of rotting carrion permeated the chamber, filling her mouth with the taste of vomit. Amunet felt the warning goose-bumps rise on her skin and an icy trickle of fear slide down her spine. While she edged cautiously away from the opening until she had backed up against the opposite wall, greed appeared to have mastered Mustaf’s terror and he had crawled nearer, mesmerised by his lust and blind to all else as he was drawn right to the edge of the opening.

  Even as he looked around for a lantern to light his way into the tomb, there was a sudden agitation in the eddying darkness beyond and the tall angular figure of Khalid materialised in front of them.

  Mustaf screamed in disbelief and fell back and Amunet could hardly blame him. By whatever tortuous paths had led him back to the tomb, the old man had paid a terrible price. He looked even more ghastly now than Amunet remembered, his blackened skin shriveled and clinging to the bones so that his head looked more like a skull than a living man. His eyes were horrible, milky white with cataracts and sunk so far back in his head they looked more like empty sockets.

  ‘No!’ Mustaf whispered, and desperately tried to scuttle away from the apparition.

  Khalid ignored him and, blind or not, was looking straight at Amunet.

  ‘So, at last you have come, as you were bidden. There is no escape, this is your destiny.’ His hoarse voice grated with disuse, the hollow tones echoing in ghastly fashion against the stone walls of the cavern. The words were in an ancient tongue and Amunet, to her utter disbelief, understood them!

  ‘Give me the talisman of Tameri, or suffer the torment of my undying wrath for eternity!’

  Mustaf cowered to the floor and it was clear that he did not understand what Khalid was saying. Amunet did and she knew that he was not referring to the dagger, which she still held in her hand.

  His entire focus was directed at the point directly beneath her throat where the scarab necklace lay under her torn T-shirt. Her hands grasped the dagger even tighter and still fettered by the short length of chain, flew up protectively to press the scarab closer to her body.

  Her instinctive gesture caused Khalid to snarl angrily and his harsh voice grew stronger in venom, sapping her strength and turning her blood to ice so that she shook and trembled as if with fever.

  ‘Give it to me, girl. You know I will take it as I did once before, and there is no one to save you now, as there was no one then.’

  But the touch of the little scarab had strengthened her and almost as if someone has whispered in her ear, she understood that Khalid could not take the talisman from her by force. Not while she was alive. She could feel his enmity and the cold evil of his will beating down her defences as the mists swirled thicker and faster around him.

  She looked down at the hands clenched over her breast and then raised her eyes to look levelly at the attenuated figure of the old man. By a strange trick of the flickering light, he seemed to be growing in size and solidity; he loomed now right at the edge of the inner chamber and she knew with utter certainty that he must not be allowed to get any closer.

  The crazy light from the lanterns, guttering wildly in the ice cold draughts, cast grotesque jumping shadows over the rough rock walls of the cave like chamber and was reflected like tiny flames in her eyes. Just for a moment, they shone green as emeralds.

  ‘No.’ She said slowly. ‘The scarab talisman is not for you . . . but this is!’

  Khalid sensed her sudden resolve and swiftly flung up a twisted hand, screaming an ugly curse, but it was too late.

  The dagger was already hurtling through the air, thrown two-handed with such force that the point took Khalid full in the throat, the impact causing him to stagger and fall back into the darkness beyond.

  There was a moment of complete stillness and then the granite slab started to grind slowly back into position.

  All Mustaf had understood was that his old enemy was gone and he had nothing more to fea
r. Once the slab was in position, he might never get another chance to find his treasure. With a desperate, protesting howl of defiance, he flung himself at the wall and squeezed through the rapidly decreasing gap. He was just in time, within seconds the slab had returned to its original position, as solid and unyielding as before.

  Yet it had opened, and Mustaf was where he had longed to be, on the other side, and Amunet was alone in the empty chamber.

  Chapter 25

  Back in London, Alice woke with a start. She had been sleeping and her dreams had been dark and filled with terror, although on wakening, she could not remember what had set her heart pounding so, or made her skin clammy with fear.

  Something had happened to Amunet! Suddenly, she was sure that some harm had befallen the girl she had become so fond of. Her hands clenched in alarm, she would telephone Blake, she had to find out if everything was all right. As Alice reached for the phone, she found herself staring down in amazement. There, resting on the table in front of her was a tiny brown propeller, a sycamore seed case. She picked it up and twirled the papery little shape between her fingers, and slowly began to smile.

  * * *

  ‘I hope to God you’re right about this.’ Max gasped out, breaking the tense silence as at last the rattling, bouncing progress of the jeep across rough country jerked to a halt at the entrance to the narrow gorge.

  The last time they had been here was the night of the avalanche and Max’s lasting impression was all of noise and choking dust that had thundered in their ears and scoured their sore faces. Now all was quiet and empty, but the silence had a brooding quality and Max decided that he disliked this place even more than he had thought. He licked his lips nervously and looked around him.

  Blake raised a haggard face which showed so clearly the almost unendurable stress he was battling with, that Max wished he had bitten his tongue, for it was obvious that Blake was not, indeed could not, be certain about anything.

  When Lalage had been killed, the Professor had begun to suspect that Ahmed’s nephew might not have been killed in the avalanche along with his uncle. Not wanting to worry Amunet, he had said nothing, but his conviction that somehow Mustaf was responsible for the murder, had grown. It seemed logical to assume therefore, that the same person had kidnapped Amunet and he did not need the scrap of map to tell him where Mustaf had taken her. The tomb of Menkherperne had been the objective from the beginning.

  Blake knew that he would be walking into a trap. It did not matter, if his wife was there, then nothing less than a standing army would stop him from going to her.

  Judging by the rigid expression on his friend’s drawn face, Max did not give long odds on the chance that Mustaf would survive this night’s work when Blake finally caught up with him.

  One of his many unspoken fears proved groundless however, when they saw the other vehicle parked in the shadows under the cliff. At least they were in the right place. Blake only stopped long enough to check his gun and slip something into his pocket, before setting off at a killing pace across the rough terrain, which Max knew that he personally, would not be able to sustain for long.

  By the time they had reached the scene of devastation at the head of the gully, Max was badly winded and Blake motioned to him to keep down and back. Something was coming out of a just visible opening half buried beneath great flattened slabs of sandstone, and making a lot of noise about it as the loose shale slithered and ground precariously beneath small booted feet.

  Blake was already bounding over the unstable surface as if it was the smoothest turf and he reached the bedraggled figure of his wife just as she toppled forward into his arms. When Max came up to them, gasping with exertion and relief, the naked emotion revealed on Blake’s face as he looked down at Amunet caused the other man to quickly glance away. Closing his eyes tightly for a brief moment, Max fervently thanked God for keeping her safe.

  Well, she was safe and still alive, just about, but after Blake had carried her back to the jeep and reluctantly set her down, both men were appalled at the sight of her many injuries. She was covered in bruises, her skin scraped raw in a dozen places, including a nasty abrasion on her cheek and a cut lip, which had swollen to twice its normal size. Blood was trickling down her forehead from a head wound and oozing down both legs from grazed knees. Her wrists and ankles were badly lacerated and the way she held herself, with a painful catch in her breathing, suggested at least one broken rib, if not more. None of which, of course, stopped her from launching into a frenzied explanation of all that had happened since the morning, while Blake tried to do what he could for her with the contents of the first-aid box. It was hard going.

  ‘Do you think you could keep still for five seconds and let me clean you up?’ he fumed, exasperated, as his moving target continued to move.

  ‘Yes, of course I … no!…ouch - that stung!’ protested Amunet, but Blake had latched on to what she was telling him, he straightened up, the lump of cotton wool still in his hand and was looked back up the gully.

  ‘So you’re saying Mustaf is still in there?’ Blake asked her grimly.

  Something in his tone got through to Max, who, in a stupor of relief, had been spell bound by Amunet’s excited narrative and was gawping admiringly at the madcap figure perched on the tailback of the jeep. Now beguilingly stuck all over with various size strips of sticking plaster and bright yellow daubs of antiseptic, to Max, she had never seemed lovelier. Dragging his attention with an effort back to Blake, he guessed what was coming next.

  ‘Yes, he must be,’ Amunet said slowly, ‘There is obviously a way of opening the wall from the other side, so presumably Khalid must have found another way into the tomb.’

  ‘Mmm, I suppose so.’ Blake did not sound too convinced, as he ran his hand through his hair distractedly.

  ‘But there must be,’ Amunet turned uncertainly to Max, ‘There’s no other explanation … is there?’ she finished but there was doubt now in her own voice, and for the first time, a tremor of fear.

  ‘The thing is, we did actually see Ahmed shoot Khalid.’ Max pointed out, slowly trying to make sense out of it all.

  ‘Yes, but his body was never found – he was obviously just badly wounded, not killed and he got away in the confusion after the avalanche and then returned when the dust had settled and found another way in.’

  There was a new note of strain in Amunet’s voice now, which despite her previous horrendous situation, had not been there before. Over her head, Blake caught Max’s eye and gave a very slight shake of his head.

  ‘All I am concerned with is that the rat is still in the trap. Max, we have to get Amunet back to Hameeda as quickly as possible, she needs antibiotics and those cuts and grazes seen to before they turn septic.’

  Max looked up in surprise, but Blake had already turned away and was lifting Amunet into the back seat. He had given her some strong painkillers and reaction was setting in, she was clearly exhausted and thankfully relaxed against the seat in relief, her eyes closed. Blake slammed the door shut and turned back to Max, carefully lowering his voice as he gave his instructions.

  ‘Right, put your foot down, Max and don’t stop for anything. I’ll be right behind you.’

  ‘Blake, my dear fellow, I cannot possibly leave you here by yourself … how will you get back…’ Max’s protests trailed off as Blake nodded significantly towards the other parked vehicle and waved a set of keys under his nose.

  ‘Thoughtful of Mustaf to leave the keys in the ignition!’

  ‘No, Blake - really, it will not do, what are you going to…?’

  ‘Trust me, I’ll be along directly – but I must have Amunet away from here. Please Max, just do as I ask. I’ll probably catch up with you before you get back in any case – I just need a few minutes to check things out, but I would prefer that you didn’t hang around!’

  Max’s expression turned stubborn and he looked as if he was about to dig his toes in. Blake knew that look from old and he did not have the time to
waste arguing. He changed his tactics.

  ‘Max, for God’s sake, get Amunet away from here. You must see that I can’t leave it like this – I have to make sure that Mustaf will never be a threat to us again!’

  He was so obviously right, that Max knew he had no option. Blake had already opened the door and was almost pushing Max into the driving seat. Finding himself behind the wheel before he could think of a valid argument for staying, he opened his mouth for one last try. Blake forestalled him by raising a finger to his lips and a jerk of his head in Amunet’s direction, managing to convey in one terse gesture that Max should get away before she woke up and found that Blake was not with them.

  All he could do, Max decided reluctantly, was to take Amunet back and then return as quickly as possible. Giving in with a curt gesture of resignation, he mouthed ‘Good luck’ to his friend through the open window, savagely thrust the jeep into gear, and drove rapidly away.

  As he watched the tiny cloud of dust dwindle and disappear, Blake was conscious of an almost euphoric wave of relief washing through him. The two people that mattered most to him in the entire world were driving away to safety, whereas the one who had threatened them was practically under his hand. Smiling grimly in anticipation, he turned back towards the tomb.

  Inside the chamber, it was just as Amunet had described. There in the corner were the remains of Mustaf’s filthy bedroll and dropped on top were the fetters where she had discarded them. Lucky for Amunet that Mustaf had not taken the keys into the tomb with him and that she had had the forethought to search through his gear and find them. Blake’s mouth tightened in a hard line and his expression became even grimmer at the sight of the fresh bloodstains on the rusty manacles.