Daughter of the God-King (16 page)

Hattie could immediately sense the antiquity of the place, the indescribably musty smell that resulted from centuries of isolation and airlessness. The dancing lantern light revealed a narrow entry hall carved from the rock that slanted downward for perhaps two dozen yards or so, and then made an abrupt turn to the left, presumably into the burial chamber. The men were forced to bend over to navigate the low-ceilinged entry hall and no one spoke at first, the weight of history having put paid to any trivial thoughts. Hattie grazed her hand along the wall as she walked and then withdrew it, thinking of the countless hands that had done the same.

They confronted the burial chamber at the end of the entry passage, and Hattie saw that the excavators had mounted the stone door to the chamber onto a wooden frame with leather handles so that it could be slid aside more easily. Hafez did the honors, and the group entered the chamber, where the ceiling was higher and the men could now stand erect.

Once within, Hattie paused and the others were also silent as they gazed around the sanctuary, the men holding the lanterns aloft. The soft light revealed a chamber perhaps fifteen feet by thirty, the room dominated by a free-standing sarcophagus that stood at the far end. Hafez swung the lantern to illuminate the walls and Hattie could hear Bing’s delighted intake of breath. The chamber was bordered at the bottom by a pattern of brightly colored lotus blossoms and palm leaves, and the upper walls revealed illustrations and hieroglyphics, the vibrant hues presumably chronicling the life of the decedent. Bing walked toward one, leaning to scrutinize it with her hands clasped behind her back. “Horus,” she pronounced, “—borne on the horns of the bull, Apis. And here is Priapus, being carried in triumph to the underworld.”

“Preserved in the same condition as the day they were drawn,” agreed Hafez with reverence. “It is of all things remarkable.”

“Are there illustrations of the princess?” asked Hattie, trying to make sense of the fantastic renderings that covered the walls.

“None that are labeled as such,” Hafez explained. “Although oftentimes in these tombs the deceased is drawn in, consorting with the gods.”

“Edward believed there was no likeness portrayed,” Bing noted. “He was greatly disappointed.”

Looking about her, Hattie realized the sarcophagus was the only remaining artifact in the sanctuary. The heavy reliquary was not gold-gilt as so many others were; instead it was plainly decorated, of carved rose-colored stone.

“Unusual,” mused Bing as she walked to stand beside it. “The sarcophagus is alabaster, which was used at a later time, not at the time of Seti. And it seems a bit plain for a beloved princess; perhaps there was a reason for haste, or there was fear of contagion.”

“Perhaps,” the minister agreed. “Or tomb raiders have stripped whatever precious metals and gems adorned it—I’m afraid we will never know its original condition.”

“She has lain here for so long,” said Bing in a quiet tone, standing in contemplation of the stone sarcophagus. “It does give one pause.”

“It was built to withstand eternity.” Hafez indicated the drawings on the ceiling with his hand, tilting the lantern’s shield so as to provide illumination. “The Book of Heavens often decorates the ceiling—it depicts the journey of the sun god through the darkness. The emphasis is upon the eternal, not the worldly. It is ironic that the Book of Heavens looks down on the tomb raiders, who will gladly risk eternal damnation for worldly goods.”

To cut short such tedious philosophizing, Hattie produced her sketchpad and pretended to begin a sketch of the ceiling, hoping Bing would take her cue and create a diversion.

Alive to her role, Bing turned to the minister. “Edward mentioned in one of his letters a trap door near the entry, but I did not notice one. Do you know of it, Mr. Hafez?”

Hafez turned to stare at her, much struck. “Did he? Why—I have never heard of such a thing.”

“I have my parasol,” Bing indicated, brandishing it. “Shall we do some prodding?”

While the minister indicated an eager consent, Hattie demurred, “I shall stay and sketch, I believe.” Hafez was too distracted to think of chaperoning duties and in short order she was left alone with Berry in the burial chamber. Wasting no time, they both leapt to the sarcophagus, Berry testing the weight of the lid. “It is heavy,” he warned. “Step back and mind your fingers.”

Straining, he pressed upward with his palms and shifted the stone lid to one side while Hattie held the lantern aloft. A dark cavity within the sarcophagus was revealed, and Hattie felt a moment’s qualm at thus desecrating a grave site. I beg your pardon, she offered; but it will only be for a moment and the stakes are quite high.

With the lid balanced off-kilter, Berry took the lantern from Hattie and lowered it into the sarcophagus, Hattie, on tiptoe, leaning in to see. It was completely empty.

Berry cursed softly and fluently in his own strange language.

“I don’t understand,” said Hattie in bewilderment. “Who would take her? Who else would know of the disk?” Nonplussed, she looked across at him, and saw that he was frowning, thinking.

“I know not.”

Hattie was doing some thinking, herself. “Even if the disk were the object, there seems little point in taking the entire mummy.”

When he did not respond, she tried to find some encouragement to offer. “I suppose we could make a hit-and-miss attempt, to guess which way is intended to be north on the senet board—there are only four possibilities.”

But he was not to be consoled and bent his head between his arms in frustration. “You are assuming it is that simple—the reference may not be to points on a compass.”

Gauging the level of his frustration, she inquired softly, “Is there so little time, then?”

“There is little time,” he agreed, his jaw line rigid.

Ominous to think the Corsican Monster would soon make another attempt at world domination, but she did not doubt Berry’s mysterious sources and stood in sympathetic support while he contemplated this latest catastrophe. “Surely no one else knows of the senet board,” she consoled him, “—even if some unknown rival has secured the disk.”

He looked at her but she could see his mind was elsewhere. “It makes little sense.”

After waiting for a few moments in respectful silence she ventured, “We’d best put it to rights. I imagine Robbie will appear in short order.”

The topic, however, seemed only to exacerbate his foul mood as he shoved the lid back into place with an angry gesture. “You must not allow him to touch you.”

Hattie was surprised. “Does he touch me?”

“Yes.” The syllable was bitten off. “He does.” He aligned the lid so that it was straight and wouldn’t look at her.

“I love you,” she said simply, the words echoing in the stone chamber. “You have no reason to be jealous—he is like a brother to me and nothing more.”

He was not happy with his own loss of composure, she could see, but he seemed unable to stop himself. “It is you who were jealous of Madame Auguste,” he reminded her.

This, of course, was undisputable, and seemed as though it had happened a hundred years ago. Calmly, she replied, “That was before I met you—when I just wanted to marry someone and start my life. I love you. I will never love another.”

They faced each other in the flickering light across the empty sarcophagus for a long moment. “Good,” he said.

Voices could be heard echoing in the entryway; Bing and Hafez speaking to Robbie with Bing’s level of volume raised so as to give them warning. Berry moved quickly to stand by the door while Hattie went to the opposite corner with her sketchbook. She made a half-hearted attempt to sketch the bull, but an observer could be forgiven for thinking her rendering nothing like the original. The bull’s name was Apis, Bing had said, so she dutifully wrote the name down so as to give more credence to her questionable endeavors. It was undoubtedly some god who turned into other things—as did the Greek gods, who were constantly causing problems for humankind by such maneuvers. A ridiculous religion, truly, that tried to convince one that one’s king was, in fact, a god. Wellington had famously said that no man is a hero to his valet and it could be presumed that the pharaoh’s servants were very much aware their master was not, in fact, a god—it was only a farce to enforce a hidden agenda. Her hand stilled. A farce, she thought, gazing up at nothing in particular. Why, I believe that is the solution to this puzzle.

Distracted, she didn’t even notice that Robbie had come into the chamber until he was next to her. “Hattie,” he apologized with some ruefulness. “I’m afraid I overslept.”

Aware that he had placed a hand beneath her elbow, she carefully withdrew it—no point in inciting fisticuffs—not with Berry in his current mood. “Small matter, Robbie—we are only just getting our bearings, and Bing and Mr. Hafez are looking for hidden trapdoors.”

“Capital,” he said with some enthusiasm. “Perhaps there is one in the entryway.” He looked about. “I need some sort of a prod.”

“I have a knife,” offered Berry, and pulled one out of his boot.

“Excellent,” said Robbie, taking it. “But what will you use?”

“I have another,” said Berry, and pulled a wicked-looking, narrow dagger from a sheath at his waist, which earned him a long look from Hattie. She wandered after the two men as they exited into the entry hall to discuss who would cover which area. Both then knelt to prod the packed earth with their knives, moving along slowly, foot by foot. Robbie would occasionally direct Berry, who would obey him in his best imitation of a subservient. Her mind filled with her new theory, Hattie squeezed by them so as to rejoin Bing but she took the opportunity to run a caressing hand down Berry’s back as she passed him by—it seemed like years since he had held her in his arms, and she was growing impatient.

She found Bing and the minister near the entrance, discussing the likeliest location for a hidden underground chamber. Hattie explained the search that was underway in the entry passage and with much enthusiasm, the minister took Bing’s parasol and went to their aid.

When he was out of earshot, Bing pounced on Hattie. “Well?”

“Nothing—no mummy in the sarcophagus.”

Shocked, Bing’s brows drew together. “How extraordinary. And it seemed so promising.”

“I don’t know, Bing—I am thinking there never was a mummy to begin with.”

“Are you indeed?” asked Bing, crossing her arms. “Well.”

Hattie explained, “Remember what Edward wrote—that he thought the find was inconsistent with what my parents believed?”

“He did,” Bing agreed. “But he deferred to your parents and kept his doubts to himself.”

In a low tone, Hattie continued, “Don’t you see? If my parents determined this was the tomb of Seti’s daughter, no one would dare question it. Not even Edward, who could see for himself that this was actually—I don’t know—probably only some sort of minor official.”

Bing considered, one hand on her chin. “It is true the sarcophagus does not match the dateline. But to what end, Hathor?”

Brought up short, Hattie tried to think of a non-treasonous explanation to relate to Bing. “Perhaps to have a secret place to store something valuable? Museum pieces,” she suggested vaguely, “—or something.”

“But why wouldn’t Mr. Hafez be aware of this deception, if this were the case?”

“Perhaps they didn’t trust him.” Glancing at her companion, she then suggested, “Or perhaps they were doing something unlawful.”

“Unthinkable,” Bing protested. “On the other hand, Monsieur Berry warned us not to speak of the chamber to Mr. Hafez.”

“It does not look well for Mr. Hafez,” Hattie agreed tentatively. “Say nothing as yet—allow me to speak to Monsieur Berry about it.”

And so Hattie waited in a fever of impatience while the men made their painstaking way to the end of the entry hall with nothing to show for it. Dusty and disappointed, they conferred about what should be done next and came to the conclusion they would make inquiries among the locals to determine when and where Hattie’s parents were last seen. As little could be accomplished during the midday heat, they agreed to return to the
Priapus
until the afternoon, and make some inquiries at the government offices at that time.

As they descended the stairs, Hattie murmured to Berry, “I must speak with you.”

“With pleasure,” he responded, but his gaze was on a fine horse that was tied under the shade of the guards’ awning—apparently Robbie had managed to come by it somehow between the barge and the tomb.

“Beautiful animal,” Robbie agreed as they all walked over to admire it. “A party from the French embassy came to meet with the minister, and I explained that he was here and borrowed the horse to fetch him back—I confess I forgot to mention it, in all the excitement.”

“Very good,” said Hafez, but it seemed to Hattie that the minister was less than enthused about the coming meeting.

Berry drew a casual hand over the animal’s glossy neck but Hattie knew that the news of the visitors was no ordinary happenstance—she could sense it in his posture. He was wary; and she surmised it meant more enemies among them—apparently they were plentiful in this god-forsaken place.

After the men had discussed the horse’s finer points with the guards, Robbie mounted up and the rest of the party loaded onto the cart to make the return journey. Bing, bless her, turned her back on Hattie to engage Mr. Hafez in conversation so that Hattie could speak in a low voice to Berry. “Tell me about these Frenchmen from the embassy—what have they to do with all this?”

But he remained unwilling to give her any insights, and only said with all seriousness, “You must not ask questions, Hattie; I cannot answer them.”

She took this in good part, mainly because she was bursting to tell him her news. “Well then, I have some answers for you, for a change.” At his look of inquiry, she said without preamble, “I think it is all a feint—a farce. I don’t believe there was a mummy—it was all to allow the storage of the weapons without remark, and to create a curse so as to keep the curious away.”

He listened without reaction, his gaze scanning the horizon. “Why do you believe this?”

“Edward had some doubts, but no one would question my parents’ conclusions—do you see? They were the experts and so could create whatever reality they wished. It explains why there are few artifacts and no references to the princess—in actuality, it was probably only a minor find—perhaps not even a tomb at all but an adjunct of some sort.”

Berry turned his head to her, considering. “But if that is the case, why does the false disk refer to the princess in the sarcophagus?”

But Hattie had already considered an explanation and was unable to suppress her excitement. “I imagine Bing made an assumption—the clue probably did not specify the sarcophagus, but the god-king’s daughter, instead. Bing assumed it meant the mummy—”

“But it actually referred to you,” Berry concluded for her, his own eyes mirroring her excitement. “I think you may be right—there must be a clue on your golden disk that is not apparent at first. Do you have it?”

She made a subtle gesture toward her breast. “It is pinned to my shift.”

“Lucky disk,” he said with a smile.

“When are we going to be alone?” she demanded in annoyance. Honestly; it had been far, far too long.

“Soon,” he soothed. “But let us stay focused on the task at hand, if you please. Wait for word from me in your cabin—above all, do not show the disk to anyone.”

“What will you be doing?” she asked with some impatience. She couldn’t imagine what could be more important than an immediate examination of the golden disk or an equally immediate examination of her anatomy.

“Listening.”

“Oh.” She had forgotten that the new visitors from the French embassy were apparently a cause for concern. “May I do anything to assist? Perhaps I could listen, too—they would not guess I was spying.”

Bringing his face very close, he locked his gaze upon hers and said in all seriousness, “Hattie, you must stay well out of it, and do as I ask. It is very important that you do not travel about alone, or speak to anyone who is here—anyone at all. Wait for me to accompany you, always.”

“I will,” she agreed, resenting the implied rebuke when all she had done was offer assistance. “You have already warned me, remember?”

“It is of extreme importance.” After a pause, he continued in a more conciliatory tone, “There is much you do not understand, and I am not at liberty to explain. I must ask that you trust me. Can you do this?”

She nodded, chastened, but felt much better when he clasped her hand, hidden between the folds of her skirt, and they remained thus most of the way back to the river.

Upon arrival back at the
Priapus
, they were met by the sight of several horses tethered to the palisade, along with the one Robbie had borrowed. Hattie noted with interest that Berry’s assessing gaze rested on them, and she teased, “So—it appears the dogs have horses.”

“They do,” he confessed, and rested his gaze on her lips. “More than a few.”

She primmed her mouth to keep from laughing and said with mock severity, “That only counts as one piece of information.”

“We shall see,” he said with meaning, which brought the color to her cheeks just before they approached the gangway. Hattie noted that Robbie stood on deck, watching them approach, and accompanied by several other men in French uniforms. With some surprise, she recognized Monsieur Chauvelin among them, the Baron’s henchman whom she had met at the Prussian embassy, back when this strange sequence of events first began. Dropping her gaze, she murmured to Berry, “The second from the left—he broke into the townhouse in Paris and I had the felicity of shoving him down the stairs.”

Berry, though, did not seem overly surprised by this revelation and in reply simply said, “Say nothing, Hattie, and go straightaway to your cabin.”

Further discussion was curtailed as they came to the gangplank, the assembled Frenchmen openly watching her, every step of the way, as she came on board. Embarrassed, she lifted her chin and ignored them as Robbie strode toward her, sunburnt and dusty from his ride. “Come, Hattie, let’s go inside and call for lemonade—it is dashed hot.”

But Bing intervened, “I’m afraid I must insist Miss Blackhouse lie down in her cabin—I believe she feels a bit faint.”

As Bing was well aware Hattie was not a fainter, she inferred there was an ulterior purpose and thus did her best to appear wilted. “A good idea, Bing.” Smiling weakly at Robbie, she demurred, “I will meet up with you in a bit, Robbie.”

However, Monsieur Chauvelin moved to impede her progress, stepping forward to make a polite bow. “Ah—we meet again, Mademoiselle Blackhouse. Monsieur Hafez, I confess I had the honor of meeting this young woman in Paris; a true pleasure.”

Thus reminded, the minister dutifully introduced the gentlemen to the ladies while the Frenchman held her hand overlong, and she sensed that his intent was to make her uncomfortable. But Hattie was not one to be intimidated, and only nodded politely as she resisted an urge to snatch her hand away. A bully, she thought with some disdain; and undoubtedly here hoping to find the strongbox and thus the weapons and the treasure. For two pins I would give it all to the poor beleaguered Egyptians, who surely deserve it more. Hard on this thought she felt Bing’s hand on her elbow, urging her toward their cabin. Willingly, she allowed herself to be steered, wondering how soon she could retrieve the disk and study it. The sooner they could solve the puzzle, secure the trove, and be away from all this unholy scrutiny, the better.

“Monsieur Berry asked that I escort you directly to your cabin,” Bing noted in an apologetic undertone.

So; I am to be sequestered well away from whatever intrigue is going forward, Hattie thought. Aloud she said crossly, “I have half a mind to climb out the window again.”

“I cannot swim,” Bing replied with much regret.