“No it wasn’t!” I protested. “It was fabulous. Anyway, we had to see for ourselves. And it was pretty cool anyway. So small, so secret. It’s what kept it safe all these centuries.”
She did not look convinced.
“Now where to?”
I consulted a pamphlet I’d picked up in the visitor center. “Seti I. This way.”
We passed a couple of openings and joined a line of tourists who were inching forward toward a rectangular opening in the side of the white rock.
Kyla clicked her tongue impatiently. “Why this one? There are a couple over there without the tourist hordes.”
“There’s a reason for that. This is the longest tomb in the valley and has the most and best paintings. Besides, it’s Seti I.” I grinned.
“How do you know this shit? And who the hell is Seti?”
“You know, the pharaoh from The Mummy. The guy who got stabbed? The fat dude who had his concubine painted so no one could touch her?”
She gave me a pitying look. “You are so pathetic. I would honestly be ashamed if I knew what you were talking about.”
“So you do remember.”
A group of Germans lined up behind us, and behind them Alan Stratton stepped quietly into line. As usual, he was alone, although I’d seen him talking with DJ and Nimmi earlier. I turned back, quickly enough to alert Kyla.
She leaned out of line, saw Alan, and waved. “Come up here with us,” she shouted, earning disapproving glares from a dozen Germans.
“Thanks, I’m good here,” he declined.
She turned back with a little pout. “You know, sometimes I think that man is completely antisocial. Or gay. Do you think he’s gay?”
I did not. “Maybe he just didn’t want to cut into the line.”
“We could go back and join him,” she suggested, but I grabbed her arm.
“No! Just leave it alone. He’s a big boy. He can stand in line by himself.”
“Do you think he’s following us around?” she asked thoughtfully.
I looked at her in exasperation. “Is it hard carrying around that big an ego? I mean, do you have trouble getting through doors or does it fold up for traveling?”
She just grinned. “I have a healthy amount of self-respect and I’m not ashamed of it. But I didn’t actually mean that for a change. I meant, literally, do you think he’s following us around. He’s sort of … there, every time we turn around.”
“All of us are there, every time we turn around. We’re on a fucking tour, for God’s sake.”
She raised her eyebrows. “What kind of language is that in a cemetery? Anyway, you’re so busy trying not to have the hots for him that you’re not paying attention. Look around. No one else from the group is in line here. They probably figured out shorter lines were better.”
“Fiona and Flora are up there ahead of the Japanese.” I pointed to a pair of garish floral polyester shirts. “Besides, this tomb will be worth it,” I promised, although I had no idea whether it would be or not.
“That’s not the point. We have to stand in line for some creepy hole in the ground. It might as well be this one. What is the point is that ever since Millie got murdered, neither of us can swing a dead cat without hitting Alan Stratton. Which would be okay, except I don’t think he’s interested in hitting on me. Us, I mean,” she added hastily.
I had a hard time choosing which statement to be most outraged over. “Creepy hole in the ground?” But was she right about Alan? Ordinarily, I’d have to say Kyla’s instincts were spot on when it came to men. I thought about the few moments we’d shared on Elephantine Island and my little gold pyramid. Had the small spark I’d felt then been only on my side? Probably.
The line inched forward until we could see the entrance, a rough rectangle cut almost horizontally into the gentle slope of the hill. A steep stairway descended into blackness and I felt a shiver of excitement. I wished I could push all these pesky Germans aside and rush down the steps.
However, we eventually reached the doorway, and once inside, our eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The stairway transitioned from modern concrete to ancient stone, cut and smoothed by hand and now a little worn, not by sandaled feet, but by the Nikes of countless tourists. A steep corridor followed the steps, walls lined with paintings of red-and-black vultures holding large feathers in their claws beneath cartouches and glyphs that offered protections and instructions for the dead. The cryptic and beautiful symbols had existed in darkness for over three thousand years until the early 1800s, when an Italian archeologist named Giovanni Belzoni made a discovery that was as famous in its time as the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamen would be a century later. Of course, archaeology wasn’t quite as sophisticated back then, and many of the friezes had been damaged by water and smoke. Some were even cut off the walls and sent to museums across Europe. Nevertheless, what remained was breathtakingly beautiful.
The tomb grew hotter and stuffier the farther we went. Did the fierce Egyptian sun make its presence felt even through yards of limestone and sand, or was it the body heat and breath of countless tourists that gave the air the humid, unpleasant feel of a cheap sauna? We moved on. I wished my memory were better. I’d studied what I was going to see, but now, confronted by the fading paintings, I could no longer remember which was the Book of the Dead, the Book of Gates, or the Litany of Ra.
At the bottom of another short flight of stairs, we passed through an archway and unexpectedly found ourselves stepping onto a wooden bridge. The floor fell away into darkness on either side. I balked and clutched my purse. Saying I did not like heights was sort of like saying mice did not like snakes.
Kyla moved forward without me, then turned back. She took one look at my face and rolled her eyes. “Oh, get a grip,” she said. “It’s only about fifteen feet high.”
I gingerly took a step forward and peered over the edge. She was right. Fifteen or twenty feet to the bare stone below, although that was bad enough. The bridge was a wooden plank walkway lined with a flimsy railing atop matchstick posts that were supported by a couple of very thin cables. A murmur from the people behind me shamed me into taking a hesitant step forward. The bridge seemed sturdy enough. At least it didn’t move. I stayed right in the middle, sweaty hands fastened on my bag.
“I wonder what this room was for,” said Kyla, leaning over the railing with careless ease.
“They call it the well chamber.” I was pleased that my voice sounded only slightly squeaky.
“Dear God, did you memorize the guidebook? Besides, it doesn’t look like there was ever any water here.”
I made the mistake of glancing down again to see and felt almost sick. I quickly focused on the back of Kyla’s shirt and took a deep shaky breath. I heard her snort.
“You’re doing fine,” she said, encouraging, if somewhat patronizingly.
We were just passing the midpoint of the bridge, my eyes already focused on the far side, when the lights went out. I froze with terror. Someone, I hope not me, gave a little scream, and everyone else began talking at once. I couldn’t remember how far the edges were. At first, everything seemed pitch black, the kind of black you see only in caves when the guide turns off the lights and tells you to try to see your own hand in front of your face. I shut my eyes and couldn’t tell the difference. Gradually, however, I could make out the dimmest of dim lights behind us, streaming down from a higher corridor. People were passing the word back, and soon we heard shouting in Arabic. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest.
“Well, this is fun,” said Kyla. She sounded more annoyed than anxious.
People were starting to shift and move around. Probably no one was thrilled to be stuck on the bridge, suspended over a dark chasm. A couple of people moved past me back toward the light, and I was forced to inch a little closer to the rail to let them pass. Just then, someone pushed me hard.
“Hey!” I gasped as I fell back against the rail. It was more solid than it looked, thank goodness. Besides the
fear of falling, my main emotion was outrage that anyone would be rude enough to shove.
But I knew I was in trouble when that same someone grabbed my purse and almost yanked it off my arm. I was able to clutch it to me just in time, mostly because my arm was threaded through the strap. I jerked back hard. A second later, I heard an odd ripping sound and felt a small sharp pain along my forearm. My purse instantly felt empty, and I heard the sound of small objects falling to the stone. I let go of the bag and struck out as hard as I could. My fist caught someone with a glancing blow. It was promptly returned and with far better aim. A sharp punch connected solidly with my stomach. I staggered back against the rail again, gasping for breath.
“Jocelyn!” I heard Kyla shouting a few paces away.
The attacker kicked my feet out from under me, and I spun and fell hard. The cables that made up the lower part of the railing bowed alarmingly, and my feet slid off the bridge. I screamed. In the utter darkness, I clutched at the cables, all my attention focused on not sliding under the wire into the dark pit below. My attacker kicked again, narrowly missing my face.
Kyla began shouting for help. People behind us milled about in the darkness as the tourists farther down the passage decided to panic and run up toward the light. On the plus side, the flood of people pushing past swept away my attacker. On the minus, they jostled me even farther toward the drop. My feet dangled helplessly in thin air, and I struggled to pull myself up, clawing at the planks. Someone stepped on my hand, and I almost went over the side, but I managed to grab at a cable. I screamed again.
The lights came on, revealing pandemonium. A stream of legs and sneakers passed before my eyes as people charged toward the exit. No one noticed me. I struggled to get my knee back over the edge. The cable was cutting into my palms. I didn’t think I could hold on another moment.
And then Alan appeared. With one smooth motion, he grabbed me by the arms and hoisted me back to safety.
I clung to him. He folded me in his arms and held me tightly while I trembled. The rest of the people behind us streamed past, until the two of us were left alone in the middle of the bridge.
“Are you all right? What happened?” he demanded, tipping his head to peer into my face.
“Someone stole my purse and then tried to push me off the bridge,” I managed. I was trying hard not to burst into tears. “And they hit me,” I added, lip quivering.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Who did? How many were there?”
I wanted to say five or six. A dozen. All heavyweight wrestlers.
“Just one,” I admitted. “I think. I couldn’t see anything.”
I heard footsteps and turned my head to see Kyla hurrying back down the steps. She looked pale even in the dim light.
“They pushed me right up the stairs,” she said indignantly. “I had to run with them or they would have trampled me.” She scanned the two of us up and down. “Are you all right? One of you is bleeding,” she announced.
Startled, I looked down. Sure enough, there was blood on Alan’s nice white shirt. Had he scraped his hands when he pulled me up? I reached for his hand and then saw my sleeve. Neatly slit from elbow to wrist, it was stained bright red. I pulled the fabric aside and saw a hairline slice across my skin. I hadn’t even felt it, but now it began to hurt at once.
“A knife did that. Or a box cutter,” said Alan grimly, holding my arm and examining the wound. “And razor sharp. They must have tried to cut your purse. Thank God it’s not deep. But we need to get you to a doctor.”
“But my stuff,” I protested. “Look!”
The contents of my purse lay scattered down in the bottom of the well chamber. Alan leaned over the rail and I resisted the urge to pull him back. We could see my bag lying crumpled on the stone below, surrounded by scattered small items. My wallet lay a couple of feet away, unopened. But everything was well beyond our reach from the bridge.
Alan looked grim. “I know it was dark, but did you notice anything at all? Could you tell what he was wearing? Was he tall or short? Did he say anything?”
I thought hard. “He didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t see him. But I don’t think he was very big,” I said at last. “I tried to hit him, and I’m pretty sure I caught his shoulder. He just didn’t seem very solid. But it happened so fast. I’m just really not sure.”
He pulled me close again, his arm wrapped around me protectively. To my dismay, I felt a big tear well up and trickle down my cheek, followed closely by another. I pulled away abruptly, turning so he wouldn’t see. I pulled up the bottom of my shirt so I could wipe my eyes. He pulled me back gently and pressed my head to his chest. He smelled so good. I couldn’t help myself, I started bawling.
The Egyptian authorities arrived at last. Alan took charge, pointing first to my arm, then to my scattered belongings fifteen feet below. He started explaining, first in English, then in broken Arabic. Before long, he and the three Egyptians were talking at the same time, gesticulating wildly.
Kyla tried to lead me away. “Let Alan handle it,” she said. “Let’s go find you a Band-Aid. A big one.”
Alan looked over his shoulder. “Wait just a minute and I’ll go with you.”
“Well, at least let’s go sit down on the steps,” Kyla urged.
I knew she was right, but I felt unaccountably stubborn. “But I haven’t seen the burial chamber yet.”
Her jaw dropped a little. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “Look, once we leave, you know they won’t let us back in. Let’s just dash down there while nobody’s looking.”
It was true. None of the men were paying any attention to us at all. And we were so close. “You’re insane,” she hissed under her breath, but she followed me to the other side of the bridge.
We hurried through two more chambers, down a short flight of stairs, and at last came to the burial chamber with its arched ceiling, painted midnight blue and decorated with hundreds of characters in white. A miniature zoo of hippos, lions, crocodiles, and oxen mingled with people. All stood in profile, some fully human and some with the heads of animals. Stars and glyphs dotted the grid etched on the surface, full of undecipherable meaning. I’d never seen anything so beautiful.
The walls were just as fabulous, painted from floor to ceiling in reds, golds, tans, and blues. A beautiful woman floated on a boat with two trees and two attendants. Guarding all, the goddess Isis spread her great wings protectively near the ceiling. The striking colors glowed like jewels on dark velvet. I could not take it all in. It would be impossible to see and appreciate everything in a month, much less a few stolen moments.
“Well,” said Kyla finally. “All right. You were right. There, I said it. It was worth the wait. And very clever of you, I might add, getting rid of all the other tourists, so we could have a private viewing.”
I grinned. My arm was stinging, but it had almost stopped bleeding and I didn’t care. She was right. It was worth it all. We moved together into one of the little side chambers where one wall was decorated with a figure of an enormous cow surrounded by tiny people.
“The Book of the Heavenly Cow,” I announced.
“You’re kidding, right? A holy cow?”
We laughed together, and I scrubbed my cheeks to wipe away any remains of tears. Sounds echoed down from above, thumps and clanks, voices, sometimes in a low murmur, sometimes raised as though shouting orders. The air was still stuffy and humid, even without the crowd. Now that I was over the first shock, my mind was racing, and I didn’t like my own thoughts.
“You know,” I said slowly, “whoever tried to take my purse had to be someone who was fairly close to us in the line.”
“Well, duh. Oh, I see. You mean one of the tourists? Or maybe a thief disguised as a tourist?”
“Maybe. Probably. But what if it was one of us? What if it was Alan?” My voice broke as I said it. I didn’t want that to be true.
Kyla looked at me, appalled. “But he was help
ing you. He pulled you up. And you said yourself the person was short.”
“Yeah, I know. But that was just an impression. It was so dark, I just can’t be sure. And Kyla, who else could it be? It had to be someone fairly close in line. A common thief couldn’t have been hiding on that bridge. And that someone picked me. Out of all the people on the bridge, they picked me.”
“I’m sure it was just random. You were there, you had a purse. It could have been any other woman just as easily.”
“Maybe. But I bet I’m the only one in the entire valley who owns an extremely beautiful, very mysterious Egyptian necklace.”
Her eyes widened. “Your necklace! Did they steal your necklace?”
“No! I’m not retarded,” I snorted. “I wasn’t carrying it in my purse—I left it in the safe. You saw me put it in,” I reminded her.
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what did they take?”
We looked at each other. “I guess we’ll see when the Egyptians gather everything up. But it looked like the wallet was down there in the well, and that was the only thing that had anything valuable, if you call about one hundred dollars worth of Egyptian pounds valuable.”
“Well, it might be valuable to someone. I mean, the thief can’t have meant to drop it over the edge. He probably didn’t expect you to fight back.”
We stood in silence for a few minutes and then slowly moved back into the main chamber with its arched ceiling. My arm was aching now for real.
“It’s ridiculous to suspect Alan,” said Kyla finally. “I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t want to believe it either,” I agreed. But the doubt lingered. “Let’s go back. They must be done by now.”
We were just starting up the low steps in the next chamber when we heard footsteps drawing closer, and Alan appeared, looking harried. He stared at us in disbelief.
“We thought you’d gone up to the surface. Everyone has been looking for you.”
I searched his face, but all I saw was concern and maybe a little exasperation.
Kyla gave him a brilliant smile. “You told us to wait for you. You didn’t expect us to just stand there doing nothing.”
Death on Tour Page 17