The Buried Pyramid

by Jane Lindskold

  “Remember,” Neville said, balancing one of the buckets beneath the point where the basin overflowed, “that water will have attracted all sorts of creatures. There will be snakes here, as well as scorpions and spiders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Neville rose, certain his knees hadn’t creaked this much ten years ago.

  “The obelisk was over there,” he said. “Follow me.”

  Cutting away the thorny growth, they located the obelisk easily enough, but what they found was not what they sought.

  The tapering stone column had been broken into numerous jagged-edged pieces, the stone from which it had been carved pounded until only fragments of the hieroglyphic writing remained.

  Stephen bent and picked up one of the larger chunks of stone.

  “New Kingdom,” he said, his voice struggling to remain matter-of-fact, “as I believe you deduced last time.”

  Neville stared at the wreckage, toeing over a few pieces as if expecting to find the intact monument beneath.

  “This is recent,” he stated.

  “But not too recent,” Stephen countered. “We had to cut through the thorn bushes to get to it, and I believe desert plants grow slowly, even where there is some water.”

  Neville nodded.

  “Was this done immediately after Alphonse and I were here?” he asked. “The obelisk had been left fallen but undamaged since the New Kingdom…”

  “Or at least since the time of a scribe who wrote in that fashion,” Stephen said pedantically.

  “Why destroy it now?”

  Stephen tossed his broken piece of stone to the ground, looking far more mature than he usually did, “Because whoever did this hoped that you had not had time to copy the inscription. Without it, you would have no idea how to reach the Valley of Dust. Even with it, we’re taking a gamble.”

  Neville nodded.

  “So it could have been done soon after we were chased away,” he said, “and the spring modified at the same time.”

  Stephen pulled back a few bits of shrub, inspecting the rock wall for other writing.

  “It does make Miriam’s story about the Protectors all the more believable,” he said. “I wonder if it was her grandfather’s tribe who drove you away then. Did she seem to recognize anyone?”

  “No,” Neville said, “but her brother or father may have done so.”

  “Makes you wonder,” Stephen went on, “who exactly was the mysterious woman who delivered Chad Spice’s journal to Alphonse Liebermann that long time ago. Could it have been another disaffected female of that tribe, someone else who didn’t like their children being taken away as Miriam’s father didn’t like it?”

  “It is possible,” Neville admitted. “That bucket should be about filled. Let me change it for an empty one. Then I’ll check if the place we lowered water from before is still there. You can look for any inscriptions we might have missed. Be careful…”

  “I know,” Stephen said. “there are ghoulies and ghosties and, especially, long-legged beasties.”

  “I just hope,” Neville added with a faint attempt at wit, “that those are all that will go bump in the night.”

  By eve-ning, Stephen found no other inscriptions. After setting up camp, Eddie scouted the area, hunting and killing several dorcas gazelle from a small herd obviously drawn to the relative fecundity of the Hawk Rock. The water bags were refilled, and even the camels had drunk their fill.

  “There’s no real reason for us to remain,” Eddie said, wiping his lips on the back of his hand after finishing a liberal portion of gazelle steak. “We have replenished our provisions, and it seems the only thing we will find here is trouble—especially if someone else comes to use the spring.”

  “Isn’t that unlikely?” Stephen asked. “I mean, this isn’t exactly on the beaten track.”

  “Maybe not by your standards,” Eddie replied, “but the Bedouin are sure to know every watering hole for miles, and a spring of fresh water, no matter how difficult to reach, won’t have passed notice. The Protectors of the Pharaoh aren’t the only ones we have to watch out for. The Bedouin are as different from the city Arabs as you can get. About the only thing they have in common is Islam.”

  Neville puffed his pipe, remembering. “They’re proud of their ability to live in the desert, and consider it their territory. Banditry and stealing aren’t immoral, not really, no matter what the Koran says. As the Bedouin see it, if they could take it, the other person didn’t care enough to safeguard it.”

  “No more illegal than picking tuppence up off the street,” Stephen offered.

  “No more,” Neville agreed, “except that they can be a bit rough about the picking up.”

  Jenny, who had been cutting gazelle into thin strips that would dry quickly over the fire, frowned.

  “What should we do if any show up, Eddie?”

  “If they don’t see you, hide and try to get a warning to the rest of us—if you can do so without giving yourself away. If they do see you and I’m not near, try to fire off a shot, and I’ll get back as soon as I can. They may negotiate more honestly Muslim to Muslim.”

  “So if we’re in a group,” Stephen said, “we should do like we did at the village—play dumb and let you be in charge?”

  “Right.”

  Jenny said hesitantly, “What if they see us and we’re in a position to take them out? Should we try, and keep them from getting away before they can bring in help?”

  Eddie shook his head.

  “Only shoot if they’re obviously out to kill you—and believe me, they’re not going to want to kill a pretty girl. Even then, don’t shoot unless you’re sure you can win. The Bedouin believe in blood feud. If you didn’t kill every one, the rest would be back to even out the score.”

  Jenny shuddered. She didn’t need Eddie to be more blunt about what would happen if she were captured. Suddenly, that derringer tucked in her under-bodice seemed comforting.

  Stephen looked grim. “I guess we should hope we see them first and can hide.”

  “Wrong,” Eddie corrected him. “You should hope we don’t see them at all.”

  “And we likely won’t,” Neville said, something in the stiffness of his tone making Jenny think that her uncle thought Eddie had overstepped the bounds of propriety in the nature of his warnings. “Not even the Bedouin have magic to tell them where people are. This time of year, they’re more likely raiding established caravan routes.”

  “Good reminder,” Eddie said levelly. “Now, from this point forward, since we don’t know where we’re going, we’re going to need to travel by daylight.”

  “And which way do we head?” Jenny asked. “I know that the hieroglyphs from the obelisk gave what you thought were directions, but I don’t remember specifically.”

  From a side pocket of his saddlebags, Neville pulled the slim note case that held condensed notes relating to Alphonse Liebermann’s quest. The originals were safely in London.

  “Let me read the verse we found,” he suggested, “and you two can see if you agree with our interpretation. I have the original copied here, too.”

  Remember that Anubis will bring you before Osiris.

  Remember that your heart and your soul will be weighed against Maat.

  Remember that the monster Ammit waits to devour the wicked.

  The son and the self flies as the Nile and the boat.

  The mother and the wife follow as the Nile and the boat.

  Under the watching Eye of the Hawk, the homecoming is joyous.

  Stephen smiled, his delight in a puzzle banishing the moodiness that had descended when Eddie began talking about the Bedouin.

  “I agree that the first three lines are simply traditional warnings—and fairly mild ones at that. The son and the self is interesting, though.” He turned to Jenny and Eddie. “Did you know that the ancient Egyptians equated the god Horus with the living pharaoh?”

  “I think I remember something about that,” Eddie agreed.

&
nbsp; “Well, think about our Protectors of the Pharaoh,” Stephen said. “Who appeared to the men in that dream?”

  “Horus the Hawk,” Jenny answered obediently, “and it was his sign that was tattooed on the arm of the man Eddie killed.”

  “Right,” Stephen said. “Now, the son and the self could refer to Horus and the pharaoh. The mother and the wife could refer to either Isis who was the mother of Horus and the wife of Osiris—the other god with whom the pharaoh was identified—or to Hathor, who in some legends is both Horus’s nurse and his wife.”

  “I’m for Isis,” Jenny said firmly. “Because she’s the one on the other tattoo, and a beautiful woman was mentioned in the dream. Anyhow, she fits for another reason. If the ‘son’ is Horus, the living pharaoh, then the ‘self’ could be the dead pharaoh—in other words, Neferankhotep.”

  Neville shook his head. “It’s like that damned—pardon me, Jenny—Sphinx again. All riddles. I’d rather skip the first part and look at the second. That flying ‘as’ interests me. I’ve checked Alphonse’s translation using some books Stephen loaned me when he was teaching me…”

  “Ah, not just the attentive pupil,” Stephen said in mock dismay.

  “And Alphonse was right on target. It’s harder to be sure, since just like in En-glish there are words that are defined by context, but his version makes the most sense.”

  “Or you want it to,” Eddie murmured so softly that Jenny thought she was the only one who heard.

  “Now, looking at the phrase ‘Nile and the boat,’ ” Sir Neville went on with such determination that Jenny felt fairly certain he had heard but was unwilling to argue, “the Nile flows south to north. The sun—if we assume the boat referred to is the boat of the sun—moves east to west. When we combine the two, we get northwest. That is the direction I propose we go.”

  “I’ve seen pictures of the judgment of the dead,” Jenny said, almost inconsequentially, “and it usually shows a little person in the scale being weighed against a feather—the feather of Maat. Your translation refers to both the heart and the soul. Did the ancient Egyptians believe in souls?”

  “Did they!” Stephen said, beaming with plea-sure at having an excuse to lecture. “Compared to the Egyptian concept, the Christian idea of the soul is really too simple. The ancient Egyptian soul had seven parts. The ba is what is mentioned in Neville’s inscription, and that’s the part that was weighed before Maat, along with the heart. If the ba and heart weighed less than the feather, the person was granted a pleasant afterlife—or in some versions, rebirth into a higher station.”

  Jenny nodded.

  “Odd that this mentions being judged. Do you think that was to scare people away?”

  “That’s right,” Eddie said, putting a low growl into his voice. “Be good, little girl, and stay away from things that don’t concern you or the monster Ammit will eat you up. Grrr!”

  He growled, and Mozelle scampered to hide behind Jenny.

  Stephen laughed. “I’d be afraid of Ammit, if I believed in him, that is. He’s a horrible-looking creature, part-baboon, part-crocodile, and part-hippopotamus—and the worst parts of each. I’d hate to have him ready to eat me if I failed judgment.”

  “So the first part,” Jenny persisted, “basically says, ‘Be good because if no one finds you out while you’re alive, then the gods will find you out after you’re dead, and you don’t want to be caught and fed to Ammit.’ ”

  “That sounds about right,” Stephen agreed.

  “And then according to Uncle Neville, it says, ‘Go northwest, and the homecoming will be joyful.’ ”

  “Maybe,” Neville said somberly, “it would be, for those who have nothing to fear.”

  “And for how long do we continue northwest?” Eddie asked. “I refuse to go any farther than to the half-way point in our supplies. Moreover, I won’t agree to any starvation rations in order to extend that point. As far as we go, we’ll have equally far to come back, and we cannot afford being worn out.”

  Neville caught himself starting to glower, than fought back the impulse. The advice was no more than he himself would have given in Eddie’s position. True, Eddie stated matters rather forcefully, but then he was probably right to do so.

  “Fine,” Neville said. “We’ll also turn back if any one of us becomes ill or is injured. The Valley of Dust has waited this long. It can continue to wait if necessary.”

  He managed to get the words out smoothly, but they burned in his throat.

  They spent the rest of the eve-ning filling the buckets with water so that everyone could drink and wash in the morning. This time Eddie assigned himself the last watch before morning, so he could try hunting, since this could well be their last chance for fresh meat.

  He succeeded in killing another dorcas gazelle. Snares he had set up the night before yielded a brace of hares. All but one haunch of the fresh meat was already packed when the rest of the party rose, and not even Stephen commented on the novelty of fresh gazelle for breakfast.

  They left the Hawk Rock almost before the sun had risen, orienting by Eddie’s compass, eyes straining to see something—anything—on the horizon that would indicate they weren’t simply riding into emptiness.

  After traveling by night, the daytime heat and brilliance were punishing, and everyone had reason to be glad on Eddie’s insistence on supplying smoked glasses. The men adopted Arab style head wraps that provided some shelter from the sun. Jenny tied her bandanna to protect the exposed skin on her throat and by demonstration proved the efficacy of her wide-brimmed hat.

  They stopped only occasionally to stretch and to refill their personal canteens. Lunch was a dry meal, and a light breeze that otherwise would have been delightful made the repast at least half sand.

  Stephen looked back along the way they had come. The Hawk Rock had diminished behind them, but remained clearly visible.

  “Chad Spice’s journal said he could see the Hawk Rock from the Valley of Dust,” he commented. “Shouldn’t we be able to do the reverse?”

  “He saw it on an exceptionally clear day,” Eddie replied. “In any case, the reverse does not necessarily apply.”

  “No?” Stephen was clearly puzzled.

  Neville sought to explain. “The Hawk Rock stands out from its surroundings by virtue of its height, the color of its stone, and even the greenery clinging to it. We are apparently seeking a valley, so that advantage will be lost to us. If it is buried in sand, as legend says, it will blend into the surroundings.”

  “And,” Jenny added, “any greenery will be in hollows rather than growing out in the open.”

  “But Chad Spice also mentioned seeing the four statues,” Stephen protested, sounding a bit frantic. “Why wouldn’t we see them?”

  “We should,” Neville answered, “when we’re closer. From this distance, they may blend in with the surrounding natural colors. However, you’ve done well to remind us. It will give something specific to seek.”

  They pressed on until eve-ning, and not even Neville could resist Eddie’s insistence that they stop and make camp while they had light. Stephen looked ragged, and Neville had observed that he was drinking far more water than the rest of them. Jenny was drinking less, but not holding up all that much better. She might have experience with desert conditions, but the reality was that for the last year or so she had been a privileged boarding school miss, not an apprentice frontier physician.

  And Neville himself? He thought he’d prepared himself. He’d followed a detailed training regime to strengthen his injured leg and to stretch ligaments torn by his assailants. He’d ridden daily, gone steeplechasing and hunting. But there had been no way to prepare for a camel’s side-to-side gait, and he ached all over. Only Eddie looked merely tired, but then he did undertake similar—if not quite as arduous—journeys on a regular basis.

  The area in which they camped was utterly desolate. It was as if they’d entered a completely sterile realm, a thing that shouldn’t have been possible only a da
y’s journey from a source of reliable water. They saw nothing alive, not a blade of grass or a bit of shrub. There weren’t even any insects, yet Mozelle the kitten seemed preternaturally alert, as if awaiting attack. The temperature seemed higher than usual as well, the sunlight more intense.

  The next morning found Stephen feverish from too much sun. Not even Bedouin headwraps and ointment could stop his fair skin from burning. Jenny washed and anointed the places Stephen couldn’t bear to touch as gently as if he’d been her brother. Without comment or criticism, Eddie assigned Stephen an extra canteen of water. Neville, seeing their concern, knew he had to suggest turning back.

  Stephen flatly refused.

  “I’ll make it,” he said, fiercely. “Chad Spice did it in goatskin slippers and with what water he could carry. I will make it!”

  He did make another day, though Eddie insisted they rest in the pavilion when the sun was at its highest, and Stephen was clearly too uncomfortable to protest this coddling. Neville bore but impatiently with the delay. The mid-day sun was too brilliant for him to be sure, but he thought he’d seen a thin line of something shadowing the horizon to the northwest. He said nothing, not even to Jenny who he suspected had sharper eyes than his own. If they had to turn back, he didn’t want Stephen to know they might have been within reach of their destination.

  That eve-ning the westering sun made certainty impossible, but at dawn he felt sure. Even without his field glasses, Neville could see what seemed to be one towering outcrop, and possibly another.

  Eddie came to him as he was lowering the field glasses.

  “That certainly might be the statues,” he agreed. “What I want to tell you is that we’re going through water at a much higher rate than I’d planned—and I’d never planned on rationing too strictly with you three children of the land of mists and fogs in my charge.”

  Neville thought fleetingly how ten years in Egypt had colored even Eddie’s En-glish.

  “We’re at the half-way point in our supplies?” he asked.