by C T Cassana
Since their return from Amarna, Charlie hadn’t been the same. He was immersed in a state of depression and had lost his usual cheekiness and good humor. But their time was running out, and now that they knew where to find Queen Nefertiti’s tomb they had to visit it and find some clue for Maggie to discover.
Apart from her brother’s gloomy mood, another thing that was troubling Lisa was just what kind of clue they needed to find so that their mother would work out where the tomb was. On the one hand, it had to be clear enough to lead her to it before the exhibition started. On the other, Lisa knew that the Egyptian government currently had exclusive power over authorizing any excavation in its country. This meant that the clue they gave their mother had to be free of any suspicion about its origin, in order to avoid a whole new conflict over the figure of Nefertiti. In any case, she thought, perhaps this was something that could be worked out later, depending on how the events unfolded and what clues they found when the moment came.
Charlie arrived at their meeting late and visibly apathetic. When she saw him, Lisa became even more worried.
“Alright,” she said, closing the notebook she had on the table. “Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me, Lisa,” he replied in a tone that was far from convincing.
“Come on, Charlie. We’re in the middle of the biggest adventure of our lives, we’ve gone to ancient Egypt, we’ve rubbed shoulders with princesses and faced real soldiers, we’ve seen an incredible city... and you look like you just got back from a funeral. I really don’t get it.”
The boy lowered his gaze and said nothing. Lisa kept her eyes on him, as if she wanted to give him time to respond.
“Come on,” she said softly. “Do me a favor and tell me what’s worrying you.”
“It’s Anki. She risked her life to take us to her mother’s tomb because she had something important to tell us. She put her life in danger, Lisa, and we didn’t understand a single thing she said.”
“No, but at least now we know where the tomb is.”
“Yes, but... what if everything she told us was important? And what if we mess everything up because we didn’t understand it?”
Lisa sat in silence, not knowing what to say.
“We should have listened to the professor and looked for all the annuli before going to Amarna,” added Charlie.
“I don’t know what the annuli have to do with all this,” replied Lisa with a shrug.
“Maybe they have a lot to do with it,” retorted Charlie in an annoyed tone. “Haven’t you stopped to think why he was so insistent about finding all of them before traveling? Haven’t you ever wondered what they’re for? We have one for traveling in space, another one for traveling in time... What do you think the others do?”
“I really don’t know...”
“Well, what if they’re for understanding other languages, other writing systems...? In his letter, Professor Conwell said that...”
“Yes, I know what he said,” interrupted Lisa, who was a little uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “That they would help us to immerse ourselves in the ages we visit.”
“And also to avoid danger,” added Charlie, growing increasingly excited. “I don’t know why you don’t want to follow his advice. You’ve always been the reasonable one and I’ve always been the rash one. I don’t know why you want to ignore me now.”
“Because we’d lose precious time...” Lisa protested.
Charlie went over to his sister and placed his hand on her shoulder.
“And what does that matter to us...? Or haven’t you realized yet that we’ve got time in our hands?”
Lisa sat silently for a moment, struggling between her brother’s quite well-founded arguments and her own desire to unveil the mystery of Queen Nefertiti before the exhibition began.
“I’ll make you an offer,” she said at last. “Tomorrow we’ll go check the tomb, just to see if we can bring back some clue for Mum that could help her find it. Then we’ll look for all the annuli, and if you want, we’ll go back to Amarna to visit Anki so she can tell us her story again. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” nodded Charlie after a brief silence.
. . .
Just before closing the door to his office, Max gave his secretary the order that absolutely nobody was to bother him.
He drained the cup of coffee on his desk and took out the keys to open a huge safe that was hidden behind a sliding wooden panel. He set the secret combination and opened the safe; he then took out a long maroon-colored velvet cape and threw it over his shoulders. He also took out a bracelet consisting of a silver cord on which were a series of ring-shaped devices, also silver, with numbers and other symbols engraved on them, and he placed it on his right wrist. One by one he turned the little dials that would take him to the time and place of his appointment.
Before leaving, he checked one last time to make sure everything was correct. Local time at point of destination: 11:30 a.m.; date: January 7, 1923; place: a discreet lane in the city of Luxor, Egypt. Then he turned the clasp on the bracelet and disappeared.
. . .
This time it was Lisa who prepared their travel pack, and she did so as painstakingly as she could. From her father’s well-stocked library she borrowed a text book on archeology that Marcus had bought to teach his children the finer points of his profession.
With the help of this small manual and the experiences from previous journeys, she drew up a list of everything she should take. A flashlight, replacement batteries, tweezers, freezer bags for any samples they collected, a hard cardboard folder to protect them, the camera with the battery charged, mint-flavored bubblegum (just in case), a notebook, a charcoal pencil in case they needed to transfer some bas-relief to paper, a pen, water and a little food...
The moment of truth had arrived, the time to enter Nefertiti’s tomb, to find some kind of evidence that might help reconstruct her story. Perhaps her daughters’ mummies were with her too, including poor old Anki. That would be a great discovery, but it was obvious that Charlie wouldn’t take it well. It was clear that he wasn’t yet mature enough, that he hadn’t really understood that any friends they made on their trips to the past would be dead—and long dead—in their own era. It was a reality that they had to face without sentimentality, with the scientific spirit of a true archeologist.
She looked through her dresser for the clothes she had worn on their visit to Amarna, or Akhetaten, as it was known then. The girl spread her yellow shirt out over the bed, running her hand over the image of the black puma that had possibly saved her life. Indeed, that shirt had brought her good luck, so she would wear it again when they went to visit the tomb. For a few seconds she wondered whether she was making an objective decision, appropriate to a scientist-in-the-making, or whether perhaps it was based on superstition and foolishness. If it was, she had no right to reproach Charlie.
She folded the shirt up, dismissing the absurd idea. It was her favorite shirt, and that was all. And if even soccer players had one, there was no reason she couldn’t have one too.
. . .
Max Wellington walked briskly through one of the most crowded neighborhoods of Luxor, wearing a cold expression on his face. Not many foreigners were seen in that part of town, so he would be a tempting target for the countless children begging for change, and for other street wanderers with darker intentions. Clearly, the sentinel had chosen this part of the city to ensure that their meeting would go undetected, without thinking that in these streets the presence of a Western man was especially noticeable. A typical mistake of a beginner, thought Max.
At twelve noon on January 7, 1923, as requested in the letter he had received in his post office box, he crossed the threshold of the Hotel Farouk, a grimy and run-down two-story building. In the lobby, small and dark, there was a wooden counter and a man who spent most of his time swatting flies.
“Mr. Jones,” said Max by way of greeting.
His in
formant had checked in with a false but extremely common name, which was as obvious to him as it was to the hotel receptionist.
“Room 111,” replied the man blandly, signaling with a movement of his head to the stairs that led up to the second floor.
Max climbed the stairs and knocked at the door of the room in question.
“Who is it?” called a voice from inside.
“It’s John Smith,” answered Max, who always used the same name when he met with his informants.
The door opened, but only just enough for a short man to stick out his pudgy head.
“You’ve come in person?” he asked. “Do you have what I asked for?”
“Of course,” replied Max coolly.
The man eyed him suspiciously for a moment, as if doubting his own good fortune, and then let him in, closing the door immediately behind him. Max glanced around the room and could see that its dilapidated appearance was in full keeping with the rest of the hotel.
“Right,” said Mr. Jones, holding out his hand. “Give me the money.”
“First, let’s see if what you have is worth the fortune you have asked for,” replied Max.
The little man hesitated for a moment, while a bead of sweat slid down his forehead and into his eyes.
“Trust is the foundation of our business,” asserted Max. “I trust that the information you give me is true; although don’t doubt for a minute that I will verify it. And believe me, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if you’ve lied to me. But I would get nothing out of tricking you, as I need you to keep me informed of any other unusual occurrences.”
The sentinel pondered Max’s words. Then he adjusted his glasses and went over to the dresser, took out a tiny package wrapped in white cloth, and began his story.
“Carter and Lord Carnarvon entered Tutankhamun’s tomb on the 26th of November, along with Lady Evelyn and Callender. The next day they went in again, this time with an electric light, and allowing a small group of archeologists to go with them. In the first room, the antechamber, there were hundreds of incredible objects piled up everywhere; treasures and marvels that the world could not even imagine. It’s not a very big room, but it’s crammed with statues, carriages, furniture, beds, pots... and everything made of gold. The gold of the pharaohs...”
Max saw how the little man’s eyes shone with avarice as he uttered these words. His contact with that wondrous treasure had ignited his greed, which was perhaps why he had asked such a high price for the information.
“Even though they had seen it the day before,” the informant went on, “Lord Carnarvon and Carter almost fainted at the sight of it; the truth is, the treasure was so amazing that we all nearly did...”
The little man looked at Max with irritation. At that moment, surely anybody should be excited to hear a first-person account of the wonders found in the tomb of Tutankhamun. The news of the discovery had spread all over the world and nobody spoke of anything else. But this man listened to him with an utterly expressionless look, without a hint of curiosity or surprise, as if he already knew everything he was going to say.
“Go on,” said Max.
“As I was saying, there were hundreds of objects piled up; it was an absolute mess. We walked around the antechamber looking at it all in a trance. I studied everything very closely, in case I found something out of the ordinary, just like you’d asked me to. Believe me, it was no easy task, because everything there was amazing...”
“Get to the point,” interrupted Max, who had grown impatient with this long-winded explanation.
The man nodded, clearly annoyed, and continued:
“Apart from all the riches, there was food, drink, and flowers. My companions barely paid them any attention, perhaps thinking them too insignificant, so they went on their way into a small adjoining chamber that was also replete with treasures. However, there was something in this collection of offerings that caught my eye: all the food was arranged in ceramic pots and dishes around a small golden chest, as if they were all intended to highlight its importance. Out of curiosity, I opened the chest, and I found a fine linen handkerchief that had something wrapped up inside it. While no one was watching, almost instinctively, I reached out and picked up the handkerchief, leaving the chest empty. I hid it in my trouser pocket, and caught up with the rest of the group. Only when I was alone in my room was I able to confirm the importance of my finding. Never before has a hunch been as spot-on as mine was.”
The little man stopped for a moment to observe Max and make sure that he now had his full attention. Satisfied with his listener’s change in attitude, he decided to extend the pause a little longer.
“It’s hot,” he said. “Would you like a little water?”
Max shook his head.
“So then, what was it that you found?” he asked impatiently.
“Although it was November, it was hot that day...” said the little man.
Max restrained himself from leaping forward and shaking him to demand that he get to the point at last.
“Of course...” he agreed calmly, in a remarkable display of self-control.
“So, when I opened it, my first reaction was dismay that I had made a mistake and that it was actually my handkerchief. It’s an old vice of mine, you know?” said Mr. Jones.
Max didn’t understand the meaning of all these explanations and he felt that his patience was reaching its limit. As if reading his thoughts, the little man, satisfied with his childish revenge, decided to bring it to an end.
“Chocolate,” he said, opening up the white linen handkerchief.
Max looked inside the cloth and saw two small, round brown pieces, somewhat shapeless and rather unappetizing to look at.
“Chocolate?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
“I know it seems impossible; but believe me, it’s chocolate,” asserted Mr. Jones emphatically. “I was so surprised that I even dared to try it, in spite of the pharaoh’s curse. And I assure you that it’s chocolate, although it has all but lost its flavor now. So, I think I’ve earned my money,” he said, holding out one hand to Max while delivering him the handkerchief in the other.
Max took the envelope out of the inside pocket of his jacket and gave it to Mr. Jones without a word. He then took the handkerchief and put it away carefully.
“Does anybody else know?” he asked. “Have you shown it or talked about it to anyone else?”
“Absolutely no one,” replied the man, who had begun opening the envelope.
“And for your own good, I trust you will not do so now,” said Max, fixing a threatening gaze on him.
Mr. Jones swallowed hard and then ran his thumb over the edge of the wad of bills, silently regretting that he hadn’t asked for more.
“Keep me informed if there is anything else to report,” said Max.
“It will be hard to bring you any more objects. They’ve established a very tight control over everything. It would be very risky, and if I managed to get a hold of anything, the price would be much higher. They’re clearing out the antechamber so they can open the burial chamber; they’re taking pictures of everything and making a detailed inventory before transporting the pieces to Cairo. Mr. Carter has been a meticulous investigator. When they open the burial chamber, I might find something else of importance. But I think it will be some time before you have any news from me; it will take months to catalog everything in there.”
“It could even be years,” said Max before leaving the room. “Keep your eyes open, and let me know of anything else.”
“Of course, Mr. Smith, of course.”
. . .
Lisa grabbed Charlie’s wrist in a fit of annoyance.
“Let me do it!” she blurted out. “It’s getting late and at this rate we’ll never get going.”
“I told you, it’s stuck,” said Charlie.
The girl ignored her brother’s words and checked over the dials on the bracelet. The coordinates that her brother had entered were correct. Then she check
ed the date. Wrong. It was wrong... It wasn’t that it was all that important, but she preferred to travel to the tomb a few days before their first visit to Amarna. That horrid chief of the soldiers had really taken a dislike to her. And although he was a brute, he also seemed quite intelligent, so he might have taken the precaution of stationing a few guards at Queen Nefertiti’s tomb to try to capture them if they came back. Pondering this possibility, Lisa decided to push back their visit to March 7, 1336 B.C., one week before they had run into Captain Senre, when he would not yet have had the slightest suspicion of their existence.
But for some stupid reason the little dials on the time annulus wouldn’t go back far enough. After several attempts to enter the date, month and year in a different order, she gave up and decided that she would have to accept that they wouldn’t be able to go any further back than March 7, 1327 B.C. The earliest date she could select was nine years after their last visit to Amarna.
“What on earth have you done, Charlie?” she snapped at her brother, while she made sure everything was ready. “Did you get it wet? I told you not to take a shower with the bracelet, but to put it away with the cape...”
“And that’s exactly what I’ve done, Lisa. It’s not my fault that it’s got stuck,” he said, trying to excuse himself.
“Well, you must have done something, because it’s not working properly,” she insisted. “It’s not a toy. It’s a serious instrument. I hope you haven’t taken it to school to show your friends...”
“Lisa! I told you I haven’t done anything! Stop telling me off and let’s go,” replied Charlie angrily. “Anyway, there’s no need to get all worked up about it. The tomb should still be there.”
Lisa decided to drop the matter so as not to make things worse. She put her arms around her brother and waited for him to turn the clasp on the bracelet.
. . .
The lab studies were conclusive. Although the sample examined had practically lost all of its organoleptic qualities, it was clear beyond any doubt that it contained sugar, milk and cocoa butter. In other words, it was chocolate.