Ghosts of Karnak

by George Mann

  “Good for you,” he said enthusiastically. “Best to keep your senses about you, what?”

  “Something like that,” said Ginny.

  He tugged on the reins of his camel, drawing closer to her. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, which she presumed to be the beast and not the man. “Listen, you seem like a good sort of girl, so I’m going to give you a little bit of advice.” He lowered his voice. “Just keep your wits about you around Amaury. That’s all. You might want to think about going off to visit the Luxor Temple tomorrow, after all.”

  Ginny frowned. “Are you driving at something, Mr. Landsworth?”

  He sighed. “No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just… oh, never mind.” He gave a dismissive wave, and then yanked at the reins again, and his camel pulled away.

  She watched him clomp away, moving up the caravan to speak with their Egyptian guide. She glanced over at Amaury, but he didn’t seem to be paying her or Landsworth any attention—the dig site had suddenly hove into view over the crest of a dune, and the sight was enough to take her breath away.

  The guide pulled his camel to a stop, raising his hand and issuing a low, braying sound that seemed to mean something to the other camels, which all juddered to a halt, forming a small group on the top of the dune.

  The excavations had clearly been going on here for some time. Amaury had given her a clear impression they’d discovered a tomb, but had failed to mention the vast necropolis that surrounded it. It was the size of a small town, and a veritable army of Egyptian workers crawled all over it, armed with trowels, brushes, and spades. From up here, she could see the broken stumps of a vast colonnade, the ruins of several buildings, the top half of a toppled statue; she hardly knew where to look. Onyx figures stood in a series of recesses sunk into a wall: one with a bird’s head, another a lion’s, and a third with a jackal’s. A plaza, partially unearthed from its sandy grave, displayed great symbols carved into the ground—a series of nested shapes, a circle inside a square, inside a triangle, inside a larger circle.

  These were things that no human eyes had seen for millennia, their true meaning lost to posterity. She thought again of Shelley’s words, although it was not despair she felt, but elation.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” said Amaury, from beside her.

  She turned, surprised, to see him standing by her camel. The others had dismounted, too, while she’d been surveying the dig.

  “It’s… well, it’s not what I expected,” said Ginny.

  Amaury smiled and held out his hand. “You haven’t seen the best bit yet. Here, allow me to help you down.”

  Ginny took his hand, and lowered herself down from the saddle. Amaury handed her the parasol. “You might want to hold on to this,” he said. “It gets hot down there when the sun’s beating down.”

  “It’s hot now,” said Ginny, with an exasperated sigh. How much hotter could it get?

  “Come along, and watch your footing on the way down,” said Amaury, starting off down the side of the dune, his feet splashing in the loose sand like water. The guide set off behind him, and Ginny glanced over at Landsworth, who she noted was regarding her with a curious expression. She’d decided she really didn’t like him much, and that his “warning” back there had probably been some sort of veiled pass at her, trying to put her off Amaury in the hopes he could move in on her himself. She shuddered at the thought of it. She’d be on her guard around him from now on—around them both. If either of them did try anything, she knew how to look after herself—especially against a podgy little Englishman like Landsworth.

  He beckoned down the slope, as if politely inviting her to go first. Ginny painted on a polite smile, and set off after Amaury and the others.

  * * *

  After stopping to greet the dig supervisor—another Frenchman, named Fabrice, whom Amaury spoke to in urgent Gallic tones—they walked the perimeter of the dig, sipping at their water bottles and marveling at the new discoveries.

  Even Amaury, whom she’d imagined to be immune to the effect by now, was like a little boy at Christmas when one of the diggers showed him the head of an enormous statue that had been partially unearthed that morning. Much of it was still buried beneath the sand, but she could see it had the upper torso of a man and the head of an ibis. Remarkably, the long, curved beak was still largely intact, and the blank, staring eyes still showed traces of the thick white paint they had once been daubed with.

  The head was on its side, but standing down in the pit, it still towered above Ginny, casting her in its eon-long shadow. She ran her hands over its smooth surface, awed by the age and majesty of the thing.

  “Thoth,” said Amaury, coming to stand beside her. “God of knowledge and science, father of language and architect of the heavens. Without Thoth, the stars and planets would no longer traverse the night sky, and we should all be doomed.” He grinned. “This site was largely dedicated to him.”

  “It seems a shame that all the old religions have died,” said Ginny. “There’s poetry in such ideas.”

  “Who says they’re dead?” said Amaury. “Belief systems change and develop over time, just like languages. Thoth is not forgotten, despite the fact that people no longer congregate to worship at his temple. Every time we marvel at the heavens, or scratch a word in our notebook, we remember Thoth, and honor him.”

  “That’s a beautiful sentiment,” said Ginny. “I like that idea very much.”

  “I am glad,” said Amaury. “I believe very much that the old gods still deserve our attention. Only now, they are sleeping, one day to live again.” He beckoned for her to follow him. “That is why I dig.”

  “I thought you were a treasure hunter, or a tomb robber,” said Ginny, laughing.

  “That too,” said Amaury, with a sly grin. “But see the work we are doing here. We are waking the old gods, so that modern man might come to gaze upon them.”

  “There’s certainly something honorable in that,” said Ginny.

  “I like to think so,” said Amaury. “Now, to the main event! I promised you a tomb.”

  He took her by the arm and hurried her along the colonnade to the very edge of the dig site, toward a large mound, where a small group of diggers were very carefully removing bucketfuls of sand. When they saw him coming, they downed tools and began muttering to one another in Arabic.

  “You must be a fearsome employer,” said Ginny, “to engender such an effect on your workers.”

  Amaury laughed. “It’s not that. They’re a superstitious bunch, you see, and believe the tomb to be cursed. I’m the one who cracked the seal, the first one to have gone inside, and so now they are waiting for me to succumb to the curse and drop dead at their feet. The longer I live, the better for them, as the curse will spread to any and all associated with the dig.”

  “Well, now I’m thinking twice about going inside,” said Ginny.

  “Oh, it’s too late for that,” said Amaury. “Your card’s been marked. You’re here at the dig.”

  “Ah, well then, I suppose I’ve nothing to lose.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Amaury. “The entrance is just over here. I hope you’re not claustrophobic…”

  He led her down into the excavation pit, taking her hand and guiding her across a wooden gangplank that had been tenuously balanced across two blocks of stone. When he reached the other side, he dropped into a crouch, indicating a small cavity in the side of the trench.

  It was no taller than three foot high, and about the same width, but she could see sandstone blocks were supporting it. “In there?” she said.

  “Yes. We need to wriggle in on our stomachs,” said Amaury. “The seal has been broken, and there’s a small drop into the tomb on the other side. You can stand up in there, once you’re in.”

  “And how do we get back out again?” Ginny could hear the tremulousness in her own voice. She hadn’t expected to go crawling about underground. The idea didn’t immediately appeal to her.

  “The same way,” sai
d Amaury. “Don’t worry. One of the workers will help us back up. I’ve done this plenty of times.”

  “Why haven’t you fully excavated the entrance?” said Ginny.

  “These things take time. They have to be done slowly. If we haven’t shored it all up properly, the sand will just spill back into the tomb.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me, Ginny. You’ll be fine.”

  “All right,” she said. She tried not to think of Landsworth’s bizarre warning. “You go first, I’ll follow behind you.”

  Amaury nodded. He dropped down onto his front, reached into the opening, and pulled himself through. A moment later she heard him land on the other side, and after a moment of scrabbling about, his voice echoed through the hole. “Come on. I’ll catch you.”

  “Here goes nothing,” muttered Ginny, lowering herself onto the warm sand and wriggling forward like a snake.

  No sooner had her fingertips reached the edge of the lip than she felt Amaury’s hands take her wrists, sliding her forward. She couldn’t make out much in the darkness, and for a moment, panic threatened to overcome her. What on earth was she doing here, in the middle of the Egyptian desert, climbing into a dark tomb with a Frenchman she barely knew?

  Then she was falling, tumbling head first into the void on the other side of the hole, and Amaury was catching her, gathering her up and preventing her from hitting the floor.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

  She righted herself with a gasp, smoothing the sand from the front of her blouse. The only light in the tomb was leaching in through the small hole she’d just entered by, and she could make out nothing beyond the silhouette of Amaury, standing close by.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine,” said Ginny, a little hastily. “But it’s so dark in here. Aren’t you going to light a torch?”

  “I was waiting for you,” said Amaury. “The effect is quite spectacular.” He took a matchbook from his pocket and struck one, the flare momentarily under-lighting his face and giving him a sinister aspect. He stooped and collected a wooden torch from a pile just by the door, and put the flame to it. A moment later, the stench of burning pitch filled her nostrils.

  As the flame began to take, however, she soon forgot her discomfort; the light from the torch seemed to stir the room to life, as if summoning it from the depths of time.

  The walls were covered in gold; more gold than she’d ever seen, or could have possibly imagined. It had been beaten into sheets and affixed to the walls of the tomb, then engraved with row upon intricate row of hieroglyphs. It seemed to absorb the light, taking on a warm, radiant glow. Amaury held the torch aloft, stepping further into the room. Even the ceiling had been paneled in the stuff.

  Ginny was breathless, unable to speak. She realized she had raised both hands to her mouth in shock. “It’s… oh, thank you, Jacques,” she managed to stammer. “It’s magnificent.”

  “I knew you’d love it.” He laughed. “Better than the pyramids, no?”

  “Oh yes,” agreed Ginny.

  “No one has walked in this tomb for over three thousand years,” he said, “aside from you, Landsworth, Fabrice and I.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Ginny. “What does it all mean?”

  “It’s the story of Sekhmet,” said Amaury. “She is the daughter of the sun, and a goddess of war and might.” He pointed to a large image of a lion-headed woman on the far wall. Her arms were outstretched, and she was basking in the rays of the sun. “That’s her, there.”

  “So the person who’s buried here is paying tribute to Sekhmet?”

  “The person buried here is Sekhmet,” said Amaury. He met Ginny’s gaze. “At least according to local legend. Her astral form still walks in the underworld, of course, but her avatar was buried here, to rest in the sands for eternity.”

  “And you believe that?” said Ginny.

  Amaury shrugged. “I believe it’s the find of a lifetime,” he said. He pointed with the torch to a small opening in the wall. “There’s more, through there.”

  Ginny stepped aside to allow him to pass.

  The adjoining chamber was not lined in gold, but was brimming with funeral goods: a glorious chariot, so well preserved that it looked as if it might still be ridden into war; neat rows of Canopic jars; effigies of Horus and Osiris; a bed, a chair; a box overflowing with jewelry and tributes. The walls here, too, were covered in hieroglyphs, painted this time, and beginning to flake away. She could see they charted the journey of a soul through the afterlife, as it passed through the physical world and onwards into the fields of the dead.

  A passageway stemmed from here, leading deeper underground, and Amaury seemed anxious to show her. Ginny had to duck her head beneath the lintel of the doorway, and hunch over as the passage narrowed and dipped.

  “It’s a bit of a squeeze,” said Amaury, from up ahead, “but it’s worth it.” She could hear his ragged breath in the confined space, and the stench of the burning pitch was almost overpowering. Nevertheless, she pressed on, anxious not to miss anything.

  The passage opened out a moment later into a third chamber, and once again, Amaury was proved right. Here, a statue of the lion-faced Sekhmet presided over what could only be described as a stone table—although the top of it was concaved, like a large dish, and adorned with a headrest. The statue had its hands spread above the table, as if bestowing some absent figure with its blessing.

  “This is as far as we’ve excavated so far,” said Amaury. “There are more rooms branching off from that passageway. We’ll open them up soon.”

  “It’s fascinating,” said Ginny. “Is this where they prepared the body?” She crossed to the table, running her hands over it. It had been chiseled from stone, but was exquisitely smooth and cool beneath her fingertips.

  “We’re not entirely sure,” said Amaury. “We believe it’s where the Egyptians thought Sekhmet would raise a new avatar. The layout of the tomb is unlike anything we’ve ever seen. It’s almost as if it’s been built to a specific plan, as if they thought the alignment might somehow bring her power.”

  “And the body,” said Ginny. “Where’s that? I didn’t see a coffin.”

  “We haven’t found one yet,” said Amaury. “It may be behind one of those walls in the other chambers. Yet I have a suspicion we’re not going to find a body here.”

  “You don’t honestly believe that a goddess was buried here, do you?”

  “Christians believe that Jesus, the son of Yahweh, was buried in a cave, only to rise again and transcend to the heavens,” said Amaury, as if that explained everything.

  “So what you said, about waking the gods…?”

  “Perhaps,” said Amaury. “Or maybe I’m just taken with the romanticism of it all. I am French, after all, and it’s a nice story.”

  Ginny laughed, but the room had suddenly grown cold. “Thank you, Amaury, but I think I need some fresh air now. It’s a little stale down here.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said. He smiled hopefully. “But it was worth it? You canceled your plans to be here. I hope you found what you were hoping for?”

  “Oh, without a doubt,” said Ginny. “You have my gratitude. It’s been quite the experience.”

  “Indeed it has,” said Amaury. “Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you out of here and find somewhere where you can shelter from the sun while we finish up our work.”

  He turned and dipped into the tunnel, leaving Ginny momentarily standing in the shadow of Sekhmet, an envelope of darkness closing in around her. She looked up at the implacable face, and shivered, then turned and hurried after Amaury, anxious to return to the light.

  TEN

  “Now look here—it’s quarter past eight in the morning and I haven’t even had breakfast yet. This is no time to be answering questions.”

  “I would say I understand, Mr. Landsworth, but I’ve been up since three dealing with yet another brutalized corpse, and so you’ll hav
e to forgive me. This won’t wait, even for you.” Donovan flicked ash on the hotel carpet, and took a swig of his coffee to underline his point. He was standing on the threshold of Landsworth’s hotel room, while the rather rotund Englishman tried his best to finish doing up the buttons on the front of his shirt. At least, Donovan considered, he’d put his pants on before opening the door.

  “Yes, well, I suppose you’d better come in, then,” he said, finally relenting and throwing the door wide for them to enter.

  “Thank you,” said Donovan. He tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, and failed. He ushered Mullins through, and followed after.

  He was feeling rather worse for wear. What he’d told Landsworth wasn’t strictly true—it was closer to half three when the call came through, but at that time in the morning, Donovan tended only to look at the short hand of the clock. Eggs is eggs, as his old mom used to say.

  Uniform had turned up another body, this time a male, found in a trash cart down in the Village. The third in as many days, and this one had been cut up too, although it didn’t seem to bear any resemblance to what had happened to Autumn Allen. This was a simple cut and run job.

  As best as Donovan could tell, his attackers had cornered him in the mouth of the alley and sliced him up with a couple of short blades. Vettel—happy as ever to be dragged from her bed—had counted fifty-two wounds on the scene, and judging by the state of his clothes, Donovan thought that number would probably double by the time the autopsy was over. Many of them had been to the hands and forearms as he’d tried to fight them off, and his best guess at the moment was that there’d been two killers, working in concert.

  The dead man’s name had been George Alexander, a Cypriot, and whoever had done for him had left his wallet and all his effects untouched, just like in the Autumn Allen case. There was another similarity, too—Alexander had a tattoo, a small one on the underside of his left wrist, depicting an Egyptian cartouche. The very same cartouche that had been carved into Autumn Allen’s back just a couple of nights before, and the same cartouche that Donovan was there to question Landsworth about. He needed answers, and he was determined that Landsworth was going to give them to him.