Death Sets Sail

by Robin Stevens

  It was Sunday the thirteenth of December, and Theodora Miller had one day left to live.

  And Daisy Wells had two.

  1

  We were to stay in Luxor until the evening, so after lunch (more of the sweet dark-red drink – which Amina told us was hibiscus juice – jewel-like salads of fruits and meats and herbs served on generous platters, followed by plates of tiny cakes that tasted of dates and cinnamon and almonds) we wobbled our way back down the gangplank and were led in a dusty string of carriages to Karnak Temple.

  I am not quite sure what I was expecting when we reached the temple. Ancient Egypt is always a place that has lived for me in my books. I had imagined its ruins only the size of the bigger buildings in Hong Kong, which were the largest things I could picture. But it only took one look at the cliffs of stone hanging above me to realize I had not really understood them at all. These ruins were not built for people, with human-sized windows and doors. They were built for gods, and humans were meant to cower in front of them.

  ‘This is Karnak!’ announced our guide. ‘Twenty-seven rulers took more than two thousand years to build it. The highlight is the Great Hypostyle Hall, which contains one hundred and thirty-six beautiful columns. Ladies and gentlemen, follow me and be amazed!’

  I looked and looked and looked, shocked breathless by the height of things, the blunt, staring faces of the half-ruined statues, the stark shadows and glaring bright walls. And then we slipped into the shadow of the great pillars themselves. It was like stepping into cold water, or perhaps a forest at twilight – suddenly everything was hushed, and smooth, and mysterious.

  The guide talked on, about the god Amun Ra and his wife and son, fainter and fainter as I walked away through the pillars, mesmerized. The sky was blue and far away, and the sun cast vivid streaks on the very tops of the columns. I looked at the carvings at my eye level – sharp-faced people, curving symbols, strange animals – and felt fingernail-small, so brief. This had stood for more than 3,000 years. I tried to imagine someone like me carving that bee, chiselling that goose into the stone the way I write our adventures down in my casebooks, and I could not. The thought of my words remaining years after I am dead gave me a very wobbly feeling, and I had to put it out of my mind.

  Daisy stopped in front of a half-obscured frieze of a god holding out an ankh like a gift or perhaps a weapon. She looked rather like a picture herself – and, as I looked to my left, I saw Amina watching her too. I wondered if she was having a similar thought.

  ‘I don’t know if I like this,’ said George, suddenly next to me, and I turned to him in amazement. ‘I don’t see why I should!’ he said, shrugging. ‘We’re looking at temples supposed to be built by kings for gods – but the work was really by a lot of people who’ve never been given credit for it. It’s all about the pharaohs, isn’t it, even though they didn’t lift a finger to make it?’

  I felt half exasperated and half – well, the way George always makes me feel, as though he has expanded my mind in a direction I’m not entirely grateful for.

  ‘But we can still see what they made,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that important? It’s all so beautiful, and it’s lasted.’

  ‘Just because it’s beautiful doesn’t mean it’s good,’ said George – and he looked over at Daisy too. ‘Some beautiful things are good, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that they will be.’

  ‘George, come off it!’ said Alexander, popping round the edge of a pillar and elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Enjoy it, can’t you? We’re in Egypt!’

  ‘So we are,’ said George. ‘And that’s why we’re all here, isn’t it: to look at the ruins of Egypt?’ And he looked straight at Alexander, and then me, and I felt my face burn. ‘Now I’m going to go over there and examine that interesting wall. Have fun, you two.’

  Alexander and I were left alone.

  We both stared straight ahead, at the carvings – and I felt him next to me, even though I was not looking at him, as though I had gained some sort of second sight.

  ‘I, er, I think it’s nice,’ said Alexander after a while.

  ‘Oh, me too!’ I said, and I turned my head just as he turned his to me.

  That was somehow even worse, unbearably so, and we both looked away from each other again.

  ‘I like Egypt so far,’ I said stupidly, as though I was May’s age.

  The silence between us seemed to burn and stretch like a lit thread – and then a man in a turban came round the side of one of the pillars and said, ‘Lady! I can sell you a mummy’s finger? A real finger! The best price! Here, boy, you could buy it for your girl! Maybe she will love you then!’

  ‘No thank you!’ I cried in horror.

  And then, of course, Daisy was there, saying, ‘A real finger? Can I see? Which mummy? What happened to them exactly?’ and I had to drag her away. It took a long time for the blush to fade from my cheeks – not until we were back on the boat, and Daisy and I were sitting side by side on the top deck, watching the sun race for the far horizon and turn the sky bloody orange.

  ‘D’you know,’ said Daisy, leaning against me, ‘I heard something back at the temple that I forgot to tell you about. It was just before that man tried to sell us the finger – which you should have let me buy, Hazel, really!’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t!’ I said. ‘It was disgusting! What did you hear?’

  ‘Mr DeWitt and Mrs Miller. They were staring at those … obelisks – the needle things, you know. Mr DeWitt said, “You won’t regret this, Theo.” Mrs Miller said, “Whatever do you mean?” and Mr DeWitt said, “Naming me your Thutmose. I know you’ve been ruling alone, but you don’t have to any more. I’m here to help you now, just as in our past lives Thutmose helped Hatshepsut and ruled after she was gone.” He said it so grandly, as though it was a gift to her, but then Mrs Miller burst out laughing. She said, “But it doesn’t mean anything, Narcissus, you idiot! It’s just a title. You didn’t think that I’d let you get your hands on the society, did you? No, I carry on running it, no matter who your reincarnation is.” Then she kept staring at the obelisk, but Mr DeWitt – well, Mr DeWitt looked like he wanted to murder her.’

  2

  We set off then, cutting through the darkening water and churning it white. I was bracing myself to feel sickened, like I usually do on boats – but the Nile is as calm as a bath, and there was only the gentlest rocking motion. I could eat dinner, and even pudding, without any trouble at all. It was quite night when I went outside afterwards, the moon rising red and odd-looking across the water. I could not think what was wrong with it, until I realized that it was turned sideways from the shape I was used to.

  ‘Blood red!’ said Daisy gleefully when she saw it. ‘What does that mean? Perhaps there’ll be a mur—’

  I nudged her hard, for my father was walking by us to his cabin, and giving Daisy a very suspicious look.

  After lights out, once the boat had been moored on the east bank next to a thick forest of palm trees, Daisy and I slipped bolsters down our beds in case anyone should look in on us, wrapped scarves around ourselves against the night-time chill and climbed up the steep stairs to the top deck. We had barely settled into our little basket chairs when Amina appeared, followed by George and Alexander.

  ‘Evening!’ whispered George.

  ‘You weren’t followed?’ asked Daisy suspiciously.

  ‘Miss Beauvais snores,’ said Amina, unfolding her handkerchief to reveal some extra cakes from dinner. ‘So I know she’s asleep. And I locked her in, just in case. Isn’t it useful that the keys work on both sides of the cabin doors here!’

  ‘And Mr Young is falling asleep over his notes,’ said George. ‘He doesn’t know anything about ancient Egypt, really, so he has to spend all his time in his cabin, studying things to teach us. That’s why we chose him! He’s one of Harold’s Cambridge acquaintances. He’s failing History, so I thought he’d be perfect. He won’t look in on us until breakfast tomorrow.’

  The five of us talked and talked,
the stars flickering overhead as though the world was lit with candles. The wicker of my chair prodded the skin of my arms and the cold licked at my cheeks and my fingers and I felt utterly grown-up and daring. I was out at night, with boys. I stared at the shape of Alexander in the dark and wondered whether he was really here because of me. It had not seemed likely in the heat of the day, but up here, at night, thrilling with something that was either chilly air or excitement, I almost believed it.

  The clock in the saloon below us rang the hour, and Amina giggled. ‘Two o’clock!’ she whispered. ‘Let’s do something – come on!’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ asked Daisy curiously.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Amina, shrugging. ‘Switch the numbers on the cabin doors. Get into the dining room and swap all the breakfast cutlery about. Something.’

  ‘What if we—’ Alexander began, but then Daisy held up her hand.

  ‘Shush!’ she hissed. I thought she was just being rude to Alexander, as usual, but then a moment later I caught the sound that had startled her. A soft, regular noise like a heartbeat – the sound of footsteps on the deck below us.

  Daisy rose out of her seat like a ghost and stepped to the port side of the ship. We all followed her and peered over the railings. My own heart was thumping, and I clutched at Daisy’s arm.

  The deck below us was lit softly by the moon, which had faded to creamy white and hung almost over our heads now. In its glow, we could see something drifting along the saloon deck, moving with a strange, eerie gait.

  I do not believe in ghosts, I have told myself that a thousand times, but—

  I gasped, and Daisy elbowed me.

  ‘Ghosts don’t have footsteps, Hazel,’ she whispered in my ear, and I came back to myself. How could I have been so ridiculous? What I was seeing was only a person in a white nightgown – a pale person with long, curling hair, their hands outstretched before them a little, as though they were reaching for something.

  ‘It’s Heppy!’ whispered Amina. ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘Going for a walk!’ said Alexander. ‘How weird. It’s two in the morning!’

  His voice must have carried, for below us Heppy twitched and turned her face up towards us. And we saw something that made me shudder. Heppy’s eyes glinted in the nearest lamp, but they were quite expressionless.

  ‘She’s sleepwalking!’ whispered George and Daisy together, glancing at each other in delight.

  I was too busy trying to calm my breathing to feel anything but horror. Heppy’s cold, blank face, her reaching hands – it was like watching a nightmare from the outside.

  As we stared, she drifted down the deck, paused and pushed open the door directly below us.

  ‘Whose cabin is that?’ whispered Alexander.

  ‘Either Miss Doggett’s or Theodora Miller’s,’ Daisy whispered back. ‘Oh, how strange!’

  We waited, breathing carefully, and, five minutes later, Heppy floated back out, closing the door quietly behind her. Her eyes, as she moved away, were still empty. It was one of the eeriest things I had ever seen, and our party lost its fun after it. We drifted off to bed, feeling prickly and uncomfortable.

  We had no idea how important what we had seen that night would prove to be.

  3

  In the morning, I woke to find that the sun was already high and the sky bright, although it was barely eight o’clock. Breakfast was glittering fruits and flaky pastries on the top deck, along with tiny cups of black coffee. I decided to drink one to look grown-up, but had to put it down in disgust at its gritty, thick taste.

  We were sailing again past low green palm trees and high yellow mountains, the wide river around us smooth dark blue. Feluccas drifted by, their sails billowing, ducks paddled in the water and on the shore a man in a white galabeya chased his donkeys who had got loose from their tethers. We went through Esna lock, most of our party going out on deck to watch as the ship floated upwards magnificently. Rhiannon Bartleby wandered by, wringing her hands and looking for her glasses (which were on her head), and Theodora snapped at her about it. Heppy was hard at work, fetching and carrying things for the rest of the Breath of Life. She looked tired, I thought, and I pitied her even more.

  Then we were off again, May leaning over the railing and trying to throw things into the paddle as it spun. Pik An, looking rather green (she had eaten salad on the train, and it had not agreed with her), dragged her away.

  In the afternoon, when the sun hung heavy and hot in the west, the ship moored at a dusty little town, and we jingled off in a procession of horses and carts to another temple. Pik An did not come – she was greener than ever with food poisoning, and could not leave her cabin.

  The dry heat of Egypt was dazzling, and the stark, sunlit walls and columns overwhelmed me. Everywhere I looked there seemed to be another pharaoh smiting his enemies, another god with a crocodile or jackal or lion face. This temple was covered over, and the rooms were dark. I began to get an exceedingly creepy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Of course, I am not sure whether I am only making this feeling up because of what happened later – but I really do remember standing under a vast frieze and feeling so unsettled I was almost trembling.

  ‘See here,’ Amina was saying to Daisy, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She was not afraid at all, of course. ‘This is Osiris. He was killed by his brother Set—’

  ‘What motive?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘Oh, jealousy, I think,’ said Amina with a shrug. ‘Anyway, Set cut Osiris into fourteen pieces and scattered them all across Egypt. But Osiris’s wife, Isis, went flying up and down the Nile until she found them all, and she put Osiris back together again. Then she made their son Horus go looking for Set, to get revenge for chopping up his father. See here, this is Horus. He’s got Set all chained up.’

  ‘Isn’t that marvellous!’ whispered Daisy in my ear. ‘Even the ancient Egyptians had murder mysteries! D’you think Isis was the first detective?’

  ‘She wasn’t a detective,’ said Amina, looking at Daisy a little oddly. ‘She was a goddess.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Daisy. ‘Come on, Hazel, there’s a man over there who says he can sell me a mummified snake!’

  And then dusk was falling, and it was dinner time again (that was a lovely thing about the Hatshepsut, how very much food there always was), and that was when Theodora stood up and announced that she would be holding a ritual in the saloon that evening.

  Of course, being Theodora Miller, she said it very rudely.

  ‘I want you all to clear out of the saloon this evening, do you hear me?’ she said to Mr Mansour. ‘I want to hold a ritual.’

  ‘But, madam, the other guests—’

  ‘The other guests do not matter,’ said Mrs Miller, and I felt Father bristle beside me. ‘I must hold the ritual of the weighing of the heart immediately, do you understand?’

  Mr DeWitt, Heppy and Miss Bartleby beamed – but I saw Daniel throw up his hands in annoyance, and Miss Doggett press her lips together and flare her nostrils.

  ‘Theodora,’ she said. ‘A word?’

  ‘Not now, Ida,’ said Theodora Miller. ‘The ritual will be performed in the saloon at ten tonight. As we are MISSING our sacred objects because ONE OF OUR NUMBER left them at the customs house in Alexandria’ – here she looked hard at Heppy, who flushed, shiny-eyed – ‘we shall just have to make do. We shall need a pair of weighing scales, a feather, a knife and, of course, the Cup of Life. Rhiannon, if you would be in charge of sourcing them?’

  ‘I can do it, Mo— Theodora,’ Heppy said hopefully.

  ‘No, Heppy,’ said Theodora. ‘You’ll only ruin it, as you did last time.’

  Heppy sagged.

  ‘Theo, if I could have a word!’ said Miss Doggett.

  ‘WHAT?’ snapped Theodora, and she swung her head round bullishly to glare at Ida.

  They whispered together – next to me, Daisy leaned forward like a creeping vine to listen in, but alas our table was too far a
way. We only saw Mrs Miller shake her head vigorously, Miss Doggett narrow her eyes, and then leap up and stalk out of the room.

  Everyone stayed frozen for a moment, not sure how to pretend that they had not witnessed the scene – and then Miss Bartleby clapped her hands and said cosily, ‘Now, who can find me a knife?’ and the spell seemed to be broken.

  ‘Oh, whatever did she say!’ hissed Daisy to me.

  ‘I heard!’ said a voice at our feet – and we looked down to see my little sister May, panting and rather creased. ‘I hid under her table,’ she told us, pushing her hair away from her eyes. It had got out of her pigtail again.

  ‘However did you!’ I cried.

  ‘I’m practising to be a spy,’ said May. ‘Don’t you want to hear what I heard? The bony white woman—’

  ‘— Miss Doggett,’ I translated for Daisy’s sake.

  ‘Her, she was saying to the horrible white woman—’

  ‘— Mrs Miller.’

  ‘— HER, stop being so grown-up and listen, that this was not the time for the ritual and she was making a mockery of the gods and so they would – mite her. I don’t know that word – what is it?’ May was slipping back into Cantonese, which she did whenever she was annoyed or confused.

  ‘Do you mean smite?’ I asked in English.

  ‘Probably – English is a stupid language. What’s it mean?’

  ‘It means kill,’ I said, thinking of the temple walls. ‘It’s a thing kings do when they’re cross with people.’

  ‘Ooh,’ said May, ‘I hope someone gets smit. I’m going to go and spy again. Bye!’ And she was off, wriggling away across the dining room from table to table.

  Daisy put her chin on her hands. ‘Just like we used to do,’ she said wistfully. ‘I wish we were still small enough to fit under tables. That’s the only problem with growing up.’