Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2)

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  They weren’t here to kidnap her. They were here to kill Rowan.

  She bit the hand that covered her mouth and tried to scream but it only came out as a squeak. The man holding her swore but held his hand more tightly over her mouth. The seconds dragged by but Rowan did not appear.

  Marvel began to tremble. Scarface and his confederates conferred in tense whispers. Rowan should have come by now. What had happened? Did he turn back? The armed men turned to look at Marvel and she realized in one dreadful moment that they were thinking of another way to use her to ensnare Rowan. Where is he? He should have been here by now.

  Suddenly, the front door behind Marvel burst open. The accompanying sound of gunshot erupted in the vacant storefront and Marvel watched the man next to Scarface grab his throat and collapse to the floor. She twisted in her captor’s hands to see Rowan holding his Colt-45 in one hand. Ra appeared and barked something in Arabic to Scarface, who slowly lowered his gun to the ground.

  Rowan took two steps toward Marvel. But before he could reach her, she felt the cold deadly steel of a thin blade at her throat. Scarface laughed and spoke to Ra. “He says, your weapon, please, effendi. Or the woman dies,” Ra said. Marvel watched Rowan lean over to toss down his gun. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Scarface raising his gun at the same time. Before she knew what was happening, Rowan lunged at the man holding her and swung him around at the very moment that Scarface fired his gun. Marvel could feel her assailant tense and then he dropped his hands from her and collapsed to the floor. In the time it took for him to hit the ground, Rowan snatched up his gun and shot the stunned Egyptian who had just killed his own man. Marvel’s knees finally gave way and she sank to the filthy floor next to the dead man. Rowan holstered his weapon and ordered Ra to go fetch the car and then he squatted down next to Marvel.

  “Next time, you want to go shopping,” he said, his eyes glowing with deep emotion. “I’ll damn well dress you myself.” She looked up at him with her bottom lip quivering and burst into tears. He scooped her up into his arms and walked out through the broken and splintered front door.

  * * * *

  At first, when it became clear to Ella that the doctor had been drugging her, she feared that Halima would betray her. That first morning after Ella had refused her breakfast, Halima had sat in Ella’s bedroom until late in the night and told her everything: how the river villagers had found Ella and her camel and how the doctor had intervened to claim her. They had sailed a week down the Nile until they reached the road to Goldener Palast, the doctor’s Egyptian palace, ten miles inland from the river.

  Ella had been placed in Halima’s care until the child was born. Halima had been told that Ella had no people and had attempted to kill herself. She was told to feed her the calming drug at breakfast in order to keep her pacified and malleable.

  “If I promise not to escape or hurt myself,” Ella had said to her that first night, “will you keep my secret about not taking the drugs?”

  Halima had agreed. In the days that followed, she let Ella know when she would need to feign sleepiness or vapidity, and Ella told her the whole improbable story of how she came to be in Egypt.

  “Can you believe something so crazy?” Ella said.

  “It does not sound mad to me,” Halima said. “There is much about the world that is magical.”

  “Well, I could really go for a flying carpet about now.”

  “And you believe your husband has followed you to this time?”

  “I do. I see him in my dreams. I know he’s here.” She placed a hand on her swollen abdomen. “Although I have to admit, the bigger I get the less enthused I am about the idea of scaling castle walls and escaping on galloping camels. I’m getting to the point where it’s hard enough just to turn over in the middle of the night. I’m afraid I’m past the time I could handle an escape.”

  The next morning, Horus again showed up while Ella was bathing and again she forced herself to ignore him as he stood alternately glowering and slathering as he watched her. He barked out an incomprehensible phrase that made her look up in spite of herself to see him grabbing his testicles and grinning at her. She returned to soaping between her toes until he left.

  “What the hell is his deal?” she asked Halima when they were alone. “Why does he hate me?”

  Halima shook her head. “He was a powerful, virile man once, known throughout the region as a renown cocksman. When he was accused, rightly or not, of raping a wealthy merchant’s daughter, he was castrated without trial. His past of bragging meant he had few friends to speak on his behalf. The loss of his manhood has affected his mind.”

  “He’s threatening to rape me, right?”

  Halima nodded.

  “And there’s no way he can?”

  “I am told he is incapable,” Halima said.

  “Do you believe it?”

  Her friend shrugged helplessly. “I do not know.”

  “Why is he allowed in here while I bathe?”

  “Because he is guarding you, effendim. That is his job. And because he is believed to be harmless, he is allowed everywhere.”

  “Halima?”

  “Yes, effendim?”

  “Please call me Ella.”

  In the weeks that followed, a deepening friendship grew between the two women. It was a friendship forged and enriched by shared secrets and of a bond of sisterhood. Ella calculated she had a month before giving birth, after which she would be forced into the doctor’s harem. If she couldn’t manage to escape before childbirth, she would have to be ready to run with the baby immediately afterward. She had no doubt that Halima would do anything and everything to help her—even at risk of her life.

  One day, when they had come in from the garden and Halima had poured tea for them, she surprised Ella by depositing next to her teacup the little bracelet that Ella had found on the mummified hand.

  “Oh! I forgot about this,” Ella said, picking up the bracelet. She handed it to Halima. “You’re welcome to have it, Halima.”

  “No, Ella. I fear I must give it to Dr. Zimmerman. He will wonder why I did not give it to him when you were first put in my custody.”

  Ella frowned. “Why didn’t you give it to him when you found it on me?”

  Halima reached into the folds of her tunic and drew out a tiny scroll of paper and handed it to Ella. “Because I found this papyrus hidden inside it,” she said.

  Ella picked up the tiny curl of paper and could see that it was covered with hieroglyphics.

  “Is it important?” she asked, handing it back to Halima.

  “For the person for which it was created, it is the most important thing in the world. It is from the Book of the Dead.”

  “Wow. Very cool,” Ella said. She reached out for the tiny scrap of papyrus again. She could see just one or two lines visible. “I was told about a Book of the Dead in 2013. The woman told me I needed to give it to Rowan.”

  “I’m sorry, Ella. In the morning I must give this papyrus to the doctor.”

  Ella’s fingers closed around the paper. “Why must you do that?”

  “Because lately I see that he looks at me with doubt in his eyes. The papyrus will remove his concern. But do not worry, my friend. This papyrus is fragile and easily lost or taken from you.” She reached over and touched Ella’s forearm. “We will transfer its magic to your body so that, like you protect the child who lies safe within you, your body may guard its power.”

  That night, they waited until the palace was deep in slumber before Halima rose and set out her instruments near the bed. There were three long needles and four small pots of dye: rose, ochre, brown and green. Ella sat in front of Halima with her friend’s legs wrapped protectively around her. Halima took Ella’s inside left arm and stroked the soft, vulnerable skin. She dipped the first needle into the pot of rose dye and began to speak as she touched the needle’s tip to Ella’s skin.

  “Try not to pull away from me,” Halima said. “And do not scream.”


  Ella nodded. She felt Halima clench her legs around Ella’s hips to steady them both.

  “You will be presented with three tasks,” Halima said as the needle burned its way under Ella’s skin. Ella bit her lip, startled at the intensity of the pain. It felt like an adder’s bite. An adder that struck and wouldn’t let go. Ella closed her eyes and focused on the sound of Halima’s voice.

  “When you read the first incantation aloud it will prompt you to do the opposite of what your instincts instruct you to do. Ignore all that you believe and follow the prompt without hesitation.”

  Ella grimaced and forced herself not to move her arm which was humming with pain. A hell of lot to go through for a good luck charm, she thought.

  “The second incantation will prompt you to give life to replace life. Again, you will be tempted to resist but you must have faith and do as you are told to do. No matter what.”

  Ella listened to the velvet in Halima’s voice and the images that her words created in her minds’ eye. As much as her arm hurt, Ella was aware of a strong feeling of Rowan’s presence. It was so strong that she felt if she opened her eyes at any moment she would find him in the room. Somehow she knew, as she felt the needle draw down her arm, that she was doing this for him.

  “The third incantation will provide the final test. The sling. The lamb. The coffin.”

  Ella waited while Halima dipped her needle into another pot, and gritted her teeth against the pain. “I will follow the prompts,” she said, praying they were almost done.

  “No, Ella,” Halima said. “This time you must trust yourself. The incantation will show you the choices but there will be no prompts. You must choose wisely or all three of you will die.”

  Ella’s arm was throbbing as Halima stuck the needle into her arm again. “Okay,” she said, breathing hard.

  “There will be no one but you, Ella. You must trust yourself. ”

  “Okay,” Ella said. “I will try.”

  The next morning Ella slept later than usual. When she awoke, Halima was bandaging her forearm.

  “Morning,” Ella said, struggling to sit up. “You let me sleep late.”

  “Dr. Zimmerman is coming this morning to examine you.” Halima handed Ella a cup of tea. “How does your arm feel?”

  “Burns a little.”

  “I will tell the doctor that you wandered too close to the steaming kettle.”

  “My arm smells nice. What did you put on it?”

  “Salve of azalea and sandalwood. It will soothe the wound but you must keep it away from your face. It is fatal if inhaled.”

  “Won’t people see when the bandage is removed?”

  “The dyes are faint,” Halima said. “They will only be noticed by someone who looks for them.”

  Ella sipped her tea. “Thank you, Halima,” she said. “I will always think of you when I look at them.”

  “You must prepare yourself now,” Halima said. She reached out for the teacup as Ella heard the door to her bedroom chamber swing open and the sound of leather booted footsteps pound into the room.

  Dr. Zimmerman was an Austrian physician in his late sixties. With a sallow complexion and a pointy van dyke beard, he resembled a Freud-wanna-be to Ella. His foppish coat, tie and wool trousers seemed more fitting for a café in Salzburg than for the Egyptian desert. A brown leather knife sheath hung from his belt with the hilt of an ornately painted knife protruding, looking more ornamental than practical. Now that she was alert and knew to the fullest extent that she was this man’s prisoner, it took all the guile she possessed to continue to behave like a drugged or addled child in his presence.

  While she had no detailed memory of her previous exams with him, now that she was fully aware, she realized that what he was doing, while not completely inappropriate, was not entirely professional either. He examined her slowly, almost tenderly and although Halima remained in the room with them, Ella knew she would not intervene if the good doctor decided to fling down his speculum and mount Ella on the exam table. Fortunately, he didn’t try.

  “And all is well, Halima?” He spoke to Halima as she re-draped Ella, the two women getting eye contact as she did so.

  “Yes, effendi,” she replied. “Except for my continued worry about the eunuch, Horus.”

  “Yes?” he said, turning to her and frowning as if he had not had this conversation with her many times before.

  “He continues to threaten the effendim with rape,” Halima said.

  “You do know that Horus is a eunuch, do you not, Halima?”

  “Yes, effendi.”

  “They are only words that cannot be acted upon and she is too weak from the drugs and the blood the baby is stealing from her brain to care what he says.”

  “Yes, effendi.”

  “Is he threatening to rape you, Halima?”

  “No, effendi.”

  “Just so.” He turned to look at Ella who was sitting on the table, her head hanging as if dozing. “The baby is growing strong. Is she eating?”

  “Yes, effendi. Her appetite is good.”

  “That is sehr gut. She continues to take her medicine?”

  “As you see.”

  “The Shah wants to see her before she delivers. He will be coming to the palace next week. Perhaps you could do something with her hair?” He gathered up his jacket and medical bag and left the room.

  Slowly, Ella lifted her head. She looked at Halima who hadn’t moved.

  “The Shah?”

  Halima cleared her throat. “He is a very great sultan,” she said. “He is revered and respected by his people.”

  “I am being sold to him?”

  Halima took in a long breath. “When the child is born.”

  “And the baby?” Ella climbed off the examination table and wrenched her robe tightly around her.

  Halima looked at her with a face full of pain.

  “Tell me, Halima,” Ella said. Her stomach was roiling in fear and anticipation.

  Halima took Ella’s hand and led her back to the bed. There, she sat down with her but she looked out the window as she spoke. “After you deliver, you will be taken to the Shah. If your child is a girl, she will become his property, but she will stay here until she turns seven. Then she will be sold.”

  Ella began to tremble. “And if it’s a boy?”

  “He will be castrated or killed immediately.”

  “How long have you known this?”

  “Always it has been this way.”

  “Do you know anything else you haven’t told me?”

  Halima turned to look sadly at Ella. “I know you carry a son, dear one.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “All I’m saying is that someone knew we were going to the bazaar.” Rowan and Marvel sat on the terrace of the Shepheard’s Hotel. Marvel was wearing a beautiful hand-tatted blouse buttoned up to her chin.

  “Who would know we were going?” she asked. “My maid, I guess. The doorman …my driver. But who would care?”

  “Well, that asshole Digby would care. He knows I’m trying to find Ella and when I do I’ll find out what happened to his wife too. If he did kill her—or set things up so she got lost in the dessert—the last thing he’d want is for me to find out the truth.”

  “You really think he had something to do with Lady Digby’s death?”

  Rowan frowned at her. “You mean because he’s an opportunistic fortune hunter and his bride disappeared in the desert under mysterious circumstances?”

  “So you think he hired those men to kill you?”

  “It was definitely an ambush. With you as bait.”

  “But Rowan, if Digby did hire those men, we’ll never know. And it still doesn’t tell us how they knew we were going there. I hate thinking there’s someone working for me I can’t trust.”

  “Yeah, well, short of firing everyone and hiring new people who would be just as susceptible to being bribed, you probably can’t do anything.”

  Marvel sipped her lemonade an
d squinted at the perimeter of the garden where Ra waited patiently for Rowan to join him. “I don’t like your boy,” she said.

  “Who? Ra? He’s okay.”

  “He’s shifty looking.”

  “Did I ever tell you how he sold me out for a handful of coins at Carter’s?”

  “Well, then I can see why you keep him.”

  Rowan laughed. He enjoyed Marvel’s sarcasm—her very American-ness. He would tell her how much she reminded him of Ella but he knew she wouldn’t be flattered. He knew she wanted something more between them—and had gone to considerable lengths to make that happen. He was grateful that the close call in the bazaar had cooled her jets somewhat. She knew very well that it was her silly behavior that had nearly gotten them both killed. If he hadn’t seen her dropped bag seconds before he was about to turn that corner, he would’ve walked right into the trap.

  “Ra has practically killed himself to make it up to me. There’s nothing like guilt and the desire to please to turn a job into a calling.”

  Marvel raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Don’t read anything into that,” Rowan said, shaking a finger at her and grinning.

  “God forbid. Did you see Digby at breakfast this morning?”

  “You know I did.”

  “Well? Were you not astounded that he’s openly courting Lady Bowerman? And his wife not cold in her grave five months?”

  “We don’t know for sure that she is in her grave,” Rowan reminded her.

  “That’s even worse, of course. But in any case, it’s a scandal. If I were Lady Bowerman,” Marvel said, “I wouldn’t be feeling too sure of myself.”

  “Don’t forget that her husband also died under mysterious circumstances.”

  “You’re right. Now that I think of it, it’s a match made in heaven. Maybe they’ll kill each other.”

  Not for the first time, Rowan was struck by how twenty-first century Marvel was. She seemed so ahead of her time. He decided she was an original in any age. He had to admit he had developed strong feelings for her. He hoped very much that they could continue to be good friends if and when he found Ella.