by Mary Deal
“You just confirmed things I saw you doing in the vision I had. You were with Tutankhamon!”
“You said you sat in front of me… on the floor, where Pharaoh sat.”
Aaron looked to be in disbelief. “It's late. We should get out of here.”
“Not so fast,” she said and grabbed his arm firmly. She knew she had no right to pry into his messages since she did not wish to share hers. Or did she? “What else did you see?”
“Nothing that spectacular.”
She knew him too well, knew he was hiding something. “C'mon, Aaron. If you want to share, then share.”
“Okay. In my vision, I had gone some place to find a young woman. I did this in secret. I led her by the hand to a chair to sit and talk.” He looked around the area and the dim light cast strange shadows across his face. It did that to everyone, except Aaron's face always seemed to change the most. His eyes got darker, his chin more proud.
“Who were you in the scene?”
“Just a guy.”
“You said you dreamed of King Tut.”
“I-It was all too confusing,” he said quickly. “I saw a lot of confusing scenes.”
“Where did King Tut fit into your dreams?” She was seeing a pattern emerging that told her she must allow Aaron to share meditation with her again. Curious, too, despite needing to maintain separate lives, the longing to share with him had intensified and sorely clouded her judgment.
“I'm really not sure,” he said quietly.
“In your vision, you were Pharaoh, weren't you?”
“Maybe,” Aaron said, shrugging. “Somehow, all this seems contrived.”
“That's what I mean, Aaron.” She deftly tied up her mat and prepared to leave. “No one believes in trances. Till they begin to have a few themselves.”
“Which seldom happens and that's why people won't believe.”
“And your rationale won't allow you to totally admit it either, right?” she asked. “Now I'm really curious. How is it that you, as Pharaoh, led a young woman to sit in a chair to talk, coincidentally, all too similar to my vision?”
Aaron only shrugged and went to retrieve his mat. By the time they exited the tomb the moon was high.
The next morning came too soon. In the rapidly changing temperature and humidity of the Egyptian dawn, the encampment was in the process of being moved farther away from the front of the dig site. The area was a swarm of activity. She had to smile. Even at a distance, she knew by Aaron's arm movements and body language that he was explaining to Clifford that she needed to assure her yurt and the head of her sleeping pallet polarized to the north. Aaron would not be explaining if he did not also believe it. She didn't have to guess which direction his cot faced inside his yurt.
Tarik's young friends walked the new areas where yurts were being erected. They looked for scorpions and other creepy things that might need to be removed before the yurts were anchored again. All the footers around their beds had to be emptied and refilled with fresh water before they were put back in place. Tarik volunteered for more paid work, to keep the footers cleaned and filled. He was going to get rich.
Nearby, Royce yelled, “Where the hell is my laptop? Anyone seen my computer?”
“Oh, dear,” Chione said as Aaron and Clifford approached. “Royce without his portable office is like a fish in the sand.”
“I'd say that's exactly the case,” Clifford said. “Given the desert that surrounds us.”
“There you are,” Marlowe said, walking up with Bebe. “Must have been a thief in camp last night.” How could Marlowe always look so perfect? Bebe's new hairdo needed a bit of touch up. And Chione was always concerned about the sand in her braids.
“Actually, Kenneth gets up before dawn,” Bebe said. “He noticed the flap on the inventory tent waving in the wind and went over to fasten it. That's when he noticed some containers scattered around.”
“Not in the same orderly stacks Sterling demands at day's end,” Marlowe said.
Chione's heart skipped a beat. “Anything missing?”
“C-22. A crate of children's toys.”
“Now Royce's laptop, too?” Aaron asked.
“That's hard to believe,” Chione said. “Is that all they took? One box of toys?”
“Masud said whoever took them will try to get more.”
“Oh, great,” Aaron said. “While Dr. Withers was concerned about what might happen to us inside the tomb, this was going on out here.”
The robbery seemed calculated. All any thief had to do was sneak into camp and take what he wanted once everything was neatly crated.
“Speaking of taking,” Aaron said. “How is it they took a crate of toys that are easy to sell, and not a container of children's mummies or larger artifacts?”
“That's right,” Chione said. “The boxes are only numbered. How would a thief know what's in each one?”
All gathered around a late breakfast of dry cereal in the open air while waiting for the cook tent and kitchen equipment to be moved. Siti spread out mats in the sand. They would eat quickly because a meal in the hot sun would be no picnic.
“I call your attention to the layout of our new camp,” Dr. Withers said to everyone. “From now on, artifacts and inventory, the cook tent, and all supplies will be in the center beside the tech shack. Our yurts encircle the periphery—the team's, the photographers and engineers—everyone's. That one passage between the tomb and our camp,” he said, pointing, “is the only way in or out of the business section. Our yurts are close enough now. When you're in your respective tents at night, keep your ears open for anyone passing between.”
“Good idea,” Clifford said. “These guys must be able to walk on egg shells, considering they stole something from inside Royce's tent with him and Kendra in it.”
“That's my fault,” Royce said as he sat down and straightened his clothing. “I left the laptop lying on my trunk near the tent flap. All anyone had to do was reach in and take it.” His voice was apologetic as he spoke to Clifford. Royce had an intimidating way of looking into a person's eyes when he spoke to them, as if he had to be right about everything.
“Inadvertently made available,” Kendra said.
“I've still got my back up DVDs,” Royce said. “Now I'll have to purchase another computer. I'll go into Cairo for a few days.”
“A few days?” Kendra asked.
“Yes, Darling,” Royce said, smiling with those cold eyes. “I need to stay in touch with my company.”
Kendra pouted but Royce ignored her. She glanced at him sideways. He continued nonchalantly sipping coffee. Bebe watched them both and glanced at Marlowe who raised an eyebrow. Then Bebe took another bite of cold toast.
15
Four days passed. During that time, the fingerprinting equipment arrived by air along with two technicians from the Madu Museum. Nearly a dozen impressions had been lifted from the golden statue alone. Other items with printable surfaces were scrutinized and many more prints gathered.
Additional help was assigned to Kendra and Clifford. Removal of the many small relics in the First Chamber had been accomplished quickly though the work was tedious. Allowing Kendra reprieve from the odoriferous Second Chamber, Clifford now oversaw removal of artifacts from the mummy's room. Kendra would oversee removal of objects in the Pillared Hall and annexes till Clifford caught up.
Quaashie and Naeem were kept busy running up and down the passageway translating and directing the laborers. Their instructions in Arabic resounded off the walls. Peace and quietude of the Underworld had been irrevocably disturbed. Chione felt saddened and decided to leave the tomb while the others worked.
She also needed to stay out in the air for a while. Perhaps the perfume inside was the reason for her bouts of dizziness. How could anything like a delectable scent maintain such a grip?
Later, Rita and Marlowe found her outside the tech shack. Marlowe still looked like she stepped out of a beauty shop. Rita looked wilted. Lately, her red curls al
ways drooped. It seemed the climate had gotten to her. With as much time as she and Clifford spent in Egypt, she should have been better prepared in handling the climate. But she was excited. “You've got to see what's coming out of the Pillared Hall,” Rita said.
“Good stuff?” Chione asked with rejuvenated enthusiasm. “Bebe and I have been busy interpreting glyphs.”
“It's beyond belief,” Marlowe said. “Let's get over to Inventory.”
“Yes, let's,” Rita said. “This heat makes me woozy.”
A string of village women, wearing colorful local garb and head wimples, helped carry artifacts that had not seen daylight for thousands of year. Other workers wore functional jeans and cotton shirts, more conducive to climbing and hoisting than skirted gallibayas.
Chione, Bebe, and Rita, entered Inventory alongside the continuing procession. Inside, Chione said, “The crowd of gawkers is growing out there.”
“Word of our discovery has spread throughout the world,” Dr. Withers said as he poked a pencil over his ear. He and Aaron sat head to head finalizing inventory records.
“Yeah,” Aaron said. “Crowds gather as if reaching Egypt was as easy as driving across town.”
“The guards will keep onlookers on the far side of the descending pit,” Dr. Withers said. “Until we can get that retaining wall finished.”
Sentries had already been posted at the portcullis opening. The curious were kept off the hillock. Everyone was to keep a sharp lookout for those stealthy young children who might dart about trying to slip into the burial complex or inventory tent. Their main objective would be to find some trinket, even a painted piece of fallen ceiling plaster, that they might sell for a few piasters. Others had their hands out, begging baksheesh in exchange for small meaningless favors, like sweeping the sand smooth in front of the yurts. Some begged simply to earn a living.
Clifford brought more inventory records and handed them to Aaron.
“It's about time,” Dr. Withers said as he stood and stretched. “We must do what everyone else and their uncle has done when visiting Egypt.”
“And that is?”
“Break out that case of writing implements that Clifford suggested we bring.”
“How about that humongous box of chopsticks Irwin brought?” Clifford asked.
The Institute had long ago received a huge donation of plain writing pencils with plump erasers. Cases of those had been brought along with a case of ballpoint pens, favored by the beggars. Dr. Withers hoped the gifts would stave off those who made it past the guards with hands outstretched. If the younger locals would help keep the site cleaned of garbage and other leavings, they, too, would earn the prized writing tools. Within minutes, word of the pens and pencils brought a horde of beggars with opened palms. Not much clean-up work existed to keep them all busy. Not that all sought work in exchange.
Requests were being received from universities and colleges from around the world asking for accredited tours and work status. So far, the team had only approved two such requests. An elementary school in Cairo had requested that a group of young students, all gifted in studies of Ancient Egypt, be allowed an extended tour. They would arrive by bus with Dakarai and Randy and chaperones. Additionally, students of Museum Science and Antiquities at Kamuzu University were to work study tasks at Clifford's discretion.
Realizing he had not been following protocol, Dr. Withers reluctantly sent responses to major universities and museums around the world telling them they may schedule their resident archaeologists to examine the find.
Reporters from the Institute's hometown paper, the Stockton Journal, which originally had not requested a presence due to the expense of such a venture, now wished to produce their own publication for San Joaquin Valley residents. They would arrive to meet with Aaron and the other journalists about rights. Every television network around the world made demands. Some of their representatives had begun showing up, not waiting for approval to do so.
The fax machine worked overtime, when electrical power was strong enough. The world was impatient to hear about the discovery. The intention to open the tomb and collect the relics, leaving cleanup to the Antiquities Restoration Society, had been a simple dream due to meager funding. Now the endeavor was ballooning into nightmarish proportions, stretching thin the tethers of a tight budget.
Farther down the valley on both sides of the only crude road into the area, the tent camp had swollen. The guards were forced to constantly monitor the size of the spectator crowd and to hold them back.
Standing out on the hillock, Chione said, “Evidently beggars think it worthwhile to stay and panhandle tourists.”
“Camel rides are novel,” Clifford said facetiously.
Sightseers arrived on horses and donkeys, some in jeeps and van buses that occasionally sputtered and coughed to a standstill. Hawkers brazenly offered guaranteed genuine artifacts from this and other burial sites. Their activities kept visitors entertained.
“That glut of curiosity seekers is way out of hand,” Dr. Withers said as he passed on his way to the portcullis shaft.
Tarik was given permission to supervise other local boys to remove the smelly camel dung and other manure from the site. Farther out in the hot desert sand, they laid the patties in rows to bake and dry. Then they sold them to the workers and families in the Theban village who used them as fuel.
“I can't believe we've become such a spectacle,” Chione said. She had never been a part of something so important, so grand.
“Wait till the paparazzi arrive,” Rita said with disgust.
“Not them too,” Chione said. Peering past their yurts to the crowd, thankfully, their encircled universe seemed far removed from the rest of the goings-on in the circus-like tent camp.
“Sterling's accepted aid of the Egyptian Armed Guard,” Marlowe said.
“The area police?” Chione asked. “But why?”
“The paparazzi will be after you, Chione,” Rita said. “More than any of us.”
They began walking back to Inventory.
“That and with people swarming around, Sterling's afraid of more thefts happening before we can get everything to Cairo.”
With the growing numbers of people, it would be difficult to keep track of who was a hired worker and who might just slip into the work area to try to steal something.
“Do you really think these people would—” Suddenly Chione took a long deep breath. “Would you look at that!”
Two men carried an exquisite carved chair. Sunlight beamed off solid gold foil. Inlaid semi-precious stones twinkled. The roar of the crowd told of their elation. With smiling laborers singing happily, Chione put her hands together and bowed her head as the chair was paraded past.
“Why did you do that?” Marlowe asked.
“You mean this?” Chione said, touching her hands together again.
“Yes, why?”
“Can't really say. I feel a strong connection with certain things. I honor them, I guess.”
“You mean certain things really touch your heart?” Rita asked.
Chione smiled. “Yes, like you and Clifford.”
Women and men struggled down the hillock awkwardly managing large wooden trays of colorful trinkets and artifacts labeled and partitioned off with thick gauze and bubble wrap. Then came more furniture and trays. Faces of workers along the rutted pathway reflected various moods, some smiling, some proud, and some somber, as if this was just another job among many in a string of dig sites.
Chione and the others stepped inside the now crowded inventory tent. Every available table, bench and chair had been pressed into service. Trays were stacked high in the aisles. Chione sighed, dismayed at the sight.
“What's the matter?” Rita asked, fanning herself and sipping water from her hip flask.
“This stuff doesn't look the same in here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bunched up like this?” Chione asked. “Suddenly all these artifacts seem common place.�
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“Not the same as being strategically placed inside the tomb?” Marlowe asked.
“Moving them from their original placement has surely disrupted their purpose,” Chione said.
“Do you think anyone will want to dig us up after a few millennia?” Rita asked as she retrieved some of Clifford's paperwork and began to double-check the lists.
“Now that's something to think about,” Marlowe said.
“Wonder if they'd be able to tell I had this horrible headache.” Rita managed a weak smile. As she gestured toward her temple, her hand trembled.
“You still having that?” Chione asked.
“I don't believe in taking lots of medicines,” Rita said. “It's another reason I got out of nursing. But I think I'm changing my mind.”
“These are items from only the First Annex,” Masud said as he entered the tent and greeted them in the Egyptian way of keeping his eyes distracted. His clothes were pretty limp. He must have needed a break from the stuffy Hall.
“What happened to the columns, the busts and all that other furniture in the Pillared Hall?” Chione asked, not looking into his eyes.
“Too large,” Masud said. “Too heavy. We build crates inside the tomb; pack the large items down under, as you call it. Easy for lifting out.”
“We're no different,” Rita said.
“Ma'am?” Masud asked, always polite.
“We're tomb robbers just like the worst of them.”
“But in the name of science and history, don't you agree?”
“Perhaps, Masud,” Rita said, still staring at Clifford's lists. “How do you feel doing this in your own country?”
“If not us,” he said politely and shrugged. “Someone else.”
“We were meant to discover this tomb,” Chione said. They looked at her and said nothing. “There's a reason for everything.”
“You will indulge me, O Little One?” Masud asked, turning his attention away from the others. “I hear of your dreams.” Still, he did not try to look into her eyes. “Do they foretell everything?”