The Ka

by Mary Deal

  “Was the voice male or female?”

  “Definitely male,” he said. “A powerful throaty intonation.” He shook his head, as if unable to accept what had happened.

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “Something about the reincarnation process of children.” Aaron smiled suddenly. “I'm glad to have you to share this with. It's mind-boggling.”

  “What exactly—c'mon, tell me?”

  “According to a spell, the children will reincarnate.”

  Chione was aghast. “Do you think he meant the mummies stored in that room?”

  “Dunno,” Aaron said, shrugging. “This is the scariest thing that's ever happened to me.”

  She smiled. “But real, isn't it? Because you heard it and you're real, Aaron.”

  “I'm real….”

  Inventory of the glut of artifacts progressed slowly. With so many pieces to be classified, each person working with the relics was provided an aide. Chione was assigned permanently in charge of records and was summoned back and forth. Her calling out instructions in imperfect Egyptian dialect at times provided a good laugh, but energy and a willing attitude eased the tedium. Men and women worked side by side and transcended the traditional Muslin attitude toward women.

  Suddenly, Kendra gasped, making sure everyone heard. “Oh, no! Another crate's missing!”

  “Another?” Chione asked. “Could it have been mislabeled?”

  “It's gone,” Kendra said, pointing to the specific pallet where all remaining inventoried items from the children's room had recently been stacked and readied for shipping. “C-23.”

  “Another crate of children's toys,” Chione said without having to check the lists. “A fairly light container.”

  “Light enough to run with,” Kendra said. “I don't remember seeing it here this morning.

  Dr. Withers joined them and they explained the dilemma. “Thieves in our midst,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Chione handed him the inventory sheet for crate C-23 and pointed to the list of contents. “Wooden toys,” she said. “Easy to sell.”

  She and Kendra set about looking under tarps and in other areas in case the container might turn up.

  Dr. Withers and Aaron stood within earshot. “She always knows what to do next,” Dr. Withers said as if she was not meant to hear the compliment.

  Chione did not like the idea of being excluded from the conversation, even if the comments about her were positive. She needed to direct the conversation away from herself and moved close again. “It's you, Dr. Withers,” she said. “You always know what's best for everyone.”

  “For the team,” he said.

  “Yeah, I noticed,” Aaron said. “You quietly withhold and let everyone else make the discoveries.”

  “Can't claim all the glory,” he said. Then came that familiar goofy grin.

  “You nudge or prod when you think things should go in a different direction,” Chione said, on to something. By now she was sure Dr. Withers was trying his best to throw her and Aaron back together.

  “So you see something in Chione you'd like to promote?” Aaron asked. “Just what special ability do you think she might possess?”

  “Aaron!” Chione had tried to move the conversation away from her. Now Aaron kept it focused on her. But why?

  “Well…” Dr. Withers said with a grin that said he would like to get out of the conversation. He hesitated.

  Chione knew he was up to something. Refraining from acting like a boss was his nature. So was innocent teasing, but withholding information was not. He was concocting something involving both Aaron and her. That would be why he suddenly drifted to the other end of the tent pretending to be busy.

  Taking a break, Chione sat down on a crate beside Aaron and asked, “Are you keeping Dr. Withers updated about us?”

  “What's your point?” Aaron asked. He was still slashing those grids in the margins of his note pages. Maybe doodling helped him think, like Dr. Withers always pulling at his mustache before he spoke, or poking one or two fingers into the air.

  “Why is Dr. Withers always hovering over me trying to find out what you and I do in the Pillared Hall in the evenings?”

  “Why don't you ask him?”

  “I did. He claims he wants to learn if I've come up with new information.”

  “So there. You have your answer.” Aaron seemed not the least bit concerned.

  “If he's looking for clues to finding the Burial Chamber, why does he always ask how you and I are getting along?”

  “How should I know?”

  Dr. Withers was curious about more than her extrasensory abilities. “Tell me you didn't put him up to this whole thing,” Chione said. “About having to stay with me inside the tomb.”

  “Ha! I had nothing to do with that. Maybe he thinks if you and I are having difficulties, it might upset your abilities.”

  “Slim chance, considering I received the original clues when I was alone.”

  “I don't know, Chione,” Aaron said. “Maybe neither one of us knows the man as well as we think.”

  She had to give Aaron the benefit of the doubt. She sighed heavily and turned her attention to the others who just happened to drift within earshot. “Must be about lunch time,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Kendra said. “Time to get some exercise.”

  Bebe watched Kendra walk out of the tent. Then she glanced at Aaron, then to her, probably wanting to see the look on her face if Aaron were to leave immediately after Kendra. Aaron quickly looked away as Bebe sneaked another glance at him. Bebe's imagination could get out of hand. Aaron knew exactly what Bebe was up to and knew leaving immediately would fuel Bebe's suspicions. Thankfully, he stayed put and looked busy. Bebe would have to find her thrills elsewhere. In the meantime, Bebe would probably make something of each time she saw him anywhere near Kendra.

  Over lunch, Chione asked, “We're making better progress than anticipated, aren't we?”

  Dr. Withers nodded and then slugged down a healthy gulp of Karkade.

  “The good weather makes it easier on the workers,” Kenneth said between bites. “Who would have expected a breeze at noontime?”

  “Don't let that fool you,” Aaron said. “The sun is up there in full force.”

  The double fly of the tent had been left wide open and a current of air wafted through with the help of electric fans powered by a generator. Aaron glanced out toward the onlookers who had thinned over the noon break. “What's going on out there?” he asked. “Why is everyone looking up here?

  The others strained to see. Just then Tarik and another young boy broke free of the crowd and ran, struggling on the uphill slant. The other boy fell back signaling Tarik to press onward. He stopped a few yards away, panting and barely able to speak. A tall worker pointed in the direction of the cook tent and Tarik covered the distance and burst unceremoniously inside.

  “An iznukum, esmaHuli!” his young voice screamed. “An iznukum—”

  “What?” Chione asked. “Enta bititkallim Inglizi.”

  “Oh, English… yes, yes,” he said between panting. “Ohrma alaya!”

  “Who? Which woman?”

  “Rr-r… Rr-r,” Tarik said, having forgotten the name. Then he pulled his hair. “Ahmar, ahmar!”

  “Red hair?” Chione asked. “Rita? Rita fainted?”

  “Iwah… Iwah!”

  Without a second thought they raced out of the tent with Tarik leading. Two men jostled past carrying one of the wooden trays. Out of nowhere came a cushion and a blanket thrown on top as they hurried ahead of everyone else.

  By the time they reached the mastabas, Rita had already been lifted onto the padded tray. Her skin was blotched with beet-red mottling and she looked hotter than the desert sands at midday.

  “Pulse is too rapid,” Clifford said in a panic as he leaned over Rita.

  She looked ghastly. Two local women fanned air across her body.

  “Hot, hot,” Rita said, muttering weakly and fla
iling a frail arm before going limp.

  “Sun stroke,” Clifford said, looking up at Dr. Withers. “Damn it all.”

  “Water, min fadlukum, water,” a workman offered. Another motioned quickly for everyone to stand aside. “Cool down,” the man said, beginning to pour the water over Rita's limp body. A dark woman grabbed the jug from the man and motioned sharply and all the men stepped away as she poured.

  Carrying Rita on the tray, the men scurried back up the hill with the entourage behind. Once inside her tent, Aaron helped Clifford lift Rita to her cot. The local woman, Siti, stayed in the cramped space and flailed her arms to keep the air moving. Chione switched on the small fan.

  “Clear the tent,” Clifford said. “Give the ladies some privacy.”

  Aaron and Clifford stepped outside so Chione and Siti could remove Rita's clothing and throw a loose sheet over her. After Clifford was called back inside, he stuck his head out the tent flap and motioned the okay for Aaron and Dr. Withers to follow.

  “How did it happen?” Dr. Withers asked as he entered.

  “Stupid mistake,” Clifford said, kneeling at Rita's bedside. “With all the tepid liquids we've had to drink, when the wind came up, she thought it would be okay to have some ice in her water.”

  “Big mistake,” Aaron said. “She had any convulsions?”

  “Ice water,” someone called from outside.

  Siti poured cups of cold water over Rita's body, naked to her underpants under the sheet. Chione dipped Rita's hand into the bucket.

  “I'll be okay,” Rita said weakly as she roused.

  Clifford's concern was written in worry wrinkles. “We need to get you checked over,” he said, stroking his wife's bony hand.

  “I'll be fine,” she said.

  “We'll get you to the clinic across the river,” Clifford said.

  “I'm getting better,” she said. “Let me rest, drink.” She took sips from a cup.

  “I'm not going to leave you lying here.”

  “I am getting better,” she said, sounding a bit stronger.

  Clifford kissed her hand but would not leave her bedside. Rita smiled then sighed heavily with labored breath as she continued to perspire profusely.

  Having left Clifford and Rita to their privacy, a short while later Aaron walked up behind Chione and pointed. “Look over there,” he said. Clifford's own frailty now came to light as he struggled to steady his wife. Siti had gotten Rita into fresh light clothes and she and Clifford were helping her toward the makeshift toilets. Aaron and Chione ran to help.

  “Leave her with Siti and me,” Chione said.

  “Okay, yes, thanks,” Clifford said as he opened the rickety blue door. “Pharaoh's Revenge, you know?”

  Afterward, they helped Rita back to her tent. Some of Siti's helpers had exchanged the wet woven cot for a dry one with fresh sheets and repositioned the fan.

  Clifford called out for permission to enter the tent. Aaron was with him. “This is serious,” he said. “You should go to the clinic right now.”

  “Let me get some strength back first,” Rita said, smiling weakly. “I'll just rest and let you know in a while.”

  “If you're not up and about in—”

  “It's happened before, over the years. Remember?” she asked. “A little rest. I'll be okay.”

  “Can you drink more water?” Chione asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “I'll be right back,” Aaron said. By the time he returned with fresh water, Siti was bending over Rita fanning and curiously studying her face. “Something happen again?” he asked.

  “No,” Siti said, smiling warmly. “Resting.”

  Rita could not drink much and they left her in Siti's capable care. Where would they be without that dedicated woman's help?

  Back inside the cook tent, no one cared to finish the meal. Except Kenneth. A couple more bites, a swipe of his plate with a piece of bread, and he excused himself to get back to work. Yafeu and Irwin gathered the plates. When Yafeu saw the food left on them that would be wasted, he shook his head. Chione had never seen any leftover food in the garbage receptacles. She guessed that Yafeu made leftovers look palatable and gave the food to the poor.

  Dr. Withers turned to Clifford. “Just why were you two down at the mastabas in this heat anyway?”

  “Kenneth mentioned he found a hole alongside one of the mastabas that looked to have something in it,” Clifford said. “We thought we'd stretch our legs and take a peek.”

  “Couldn't have waited till evening when we could all go?”

  “In the evening we'd have to use flashlights and draw too much attention.”

  “So what?”

  “I had this idea,” Clifford said “What if whoever took the toys couldn't get them out of the area right away? They'd have to hide them during the day.” He shrugged. “Sounded like a logical place to look.”

  They returned to Inventory to resume working.

  “Kenneth,” Dr. Withers called out. “Let me see you a minute?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kenneth said, making his way through the stacks.

  “What kind of hole did you see at the mastabas?”

  “Just a hole, fairly deep. Looked like a wooden crate or something was in it.”

  “Can you remember which mastaba?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Clifford thinks you might have found our stolen toys,” Dr. Withers said. “Let's go.”

  “Maybe we should take along a couple of the Guard,” Clifford said.

  Members of the Guard looked no different than laborers wearing turbans and gallibayas over trousers. Curiously, bulges at the hip disclosed something worn underneath that the others did not have. Yet, how would they reach their pistols under those long tunics if a situation predicated fast action?

  Kenneth led them up one lane and down the next as the sun beat down on them. “Strange,” he said. “I could have sworn it was this one, right here. I remember those ancient markings.”

  “Well, there's no hole,” Aaron said. He tied his handkerchief around his forehead to catch the perspiration and replaced his cap. “A lot of these mastabas are leaning, though, caving in.”

  “Watch where you step.”

  “Probably looks the same as it's been for millennia,” Bebe said.

  Chione gingerly placed her hands on a mastaba and immediately gasped.

  “What are you getting?” Aaron asked quietly.

  “A chamber, a sense of dread, of pain,” she said under her breath. She turned to the others. “Leave this place!” She spun around and swiftly walked away.

  “What is it?” Aaron asked, following. He wanted to know everything and, in this case, had the right to know.

  “We're being watched.”

  “You see someone?” He reached to touch her and stopped himself again.

  “No, I can feel it.”

  “Where?” Kenneth asked, catching up. “From which direction?”

  “Just leave,” she said as she kept walking.

  Dr. Withers began flinging both arms, motioning the group to head in the direction of camp. Everyone scampered. At least they believed in her, knew she would not say something like that on a whim. Two of the Guard summoned a few more Guard members and they began to walk the rows of mastabas.

  “I have to know what you were feeling, Chione,” Dr. Withers said as they stood on the hillock watching the Guard make a sweep of the area below.

  “We were being watched,” she said. “From real close by.”

  “Do you think the thief, or thieves, may have been hiding nearby?” Aaron asked.

  “I-I don't know,” Chione said. “I just felt threatened.” She shivered, trying to shake off the feeling.

  “In what way?” Aaron asked.

  “With bodily harm,” she said. She was still shaking.

  “Was this one of your `other sense' perceptions?” Clifford asked.

  “Yes,” Chione said. “It was strong, like someone was about to be harmed.”


  21

  Being called away from camp suggested only one thing. Dr. Withers wanted to have a conversation out of earshot of anyone else. Marlowe brought her to the outcropping where Dr. Withers waited. Something behind Marlowe's expression begged Chione not to judge him too harshly.

  “You wanted to see me?” she asked.

  Dr. Withers stood with chin uplifted and hands clasped behind his back, silently gazing out toward the glowing horizon of late afternoon. He greeted them quietly. “We need to talk,” he said.

  “For that we have to hide behind the rocks?” Chione asked.

  “The others would laugh, you know? Marlowe won't.”

  “You're expecting me to intuit something?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Dr. Withers, what is it?”

  It was another Sabbath with the site partially deserted. Occasional noises filtered up from the camp through the clear desert stillness. Dr. Withers came close and bent slightly forward as the three huddled together. “First of all, Marlowe's here because she understands your abilities better than I do,” he said with a hushed voice. “I guess there's no other way to say this.” Then he hesitated again.

  Marlowe put a hand on her husband's shoulder. “Sterling's had a couple dreams you might want to hear.”

  “You, Dr. Withers?”

  No one would hear them being that far away from camp, so no reason existed to speak in hushed tones. Marlowe went to lean against the outcropping and Chione joined her and climbed up and sat cross-legged with her back to the sun. “Weird ones,” Marlowe said. “And he usually never remembers dreams once he wakes.”

  Dr. Withers having dreams did not surprise Chione. Their entire group continued to be deeply affected by the magic and spells of the tomb. Who knew what might happen next? “Okay,” she said. “Spill it.”

  “First,” Dr. Withers said. “What I want to know is exactly what you felt while walking the mastabas. Anything and everything.”

  Chione smiled. “That's really all you brought me here for?”

  “No, that's not all,” he said. “But before we leave this hillside, I want to know what you perceived, how you perceived it, and how you think it affects us… without the others listening in.”