Empire of Ruins (28 page)

“But there’s no way back,” Lizzie observed calmly. “We’ll have to hope we find them by going on.”

So they followed the passage. It narrowed and they were forced again onto their hands and knees. Suddenly the tunnel turned into a smooth slide and Lizzie slipped down it at great speed, acrobatically turning so she was traveling feet-first, holding the lamp away from herself with one hand.

Modo slid down next, digging in his hands but gaining more speed than he would have thought possible. Going so fast face-first wasn’t smart, so with all his strength he pushed his legs apart until he’d slowed down enough to swing his body around. Then he heard Octavia, right behind him, screaming, “Ooooohhhhhhhh!”

Next thing he knew he was falling a few feet and smashing onto a rock. Lizzie was moaning on the ground next to him, her lantern somehow still burning a few feet away.

Lizzie was on her feet first, and she gave Modo a hand up as Octavia came shooting out of the tunnel. She managed to land on her feet, then tumble to the floor.

“Well, that was more excitement than I was looking for,” Octavia said, letting them both pull her up.

Another obsidian chamber, this one at least fifteen feet tall. On either side of them were golden statues of Horus. The room seemed even more majestic than the one with the sphinx, and the walls had numerous brass torch holders, perhaps indicating that some sort of ceremony was performed here.

“We’re getting closer,” Modo said.

Then they heard a birdlike screeching from behind them that sent a chill down Modo’s spine. Lizzie spun the bull’s-eye around, the light catching the clockwork falcons as they swooped down, talons gleaming.

M
r. Socrates followed Tharpa down the passage, carrying the elephant gun in his right hand. The engineering of the temple’s burial tomb was stunning and indicated that the city outside must once have been thriving with trade and teeming with laborers. Perhaps at one time there’d been farms and villages surrounding the temple—the beginning of a new Egyptian empire. He had no idea what had become of the Egyptians—disease, failed crops, war—there were many things that could reduce an empire to ruins. Perhaps they had just grown tired of jungle life and had returned to Egypt in their barques.

He had more important things to think about than long-dead Egyptians. There was, of course, the problem of Modo. The young agent was growing too much of a spine and at the same time was too soft. Worried about the lives of a few savages? Had it been a mistake to have Mrs. Finchley raise him? Had Modo had contact only with men
throughout his youth, perhaps he wouldn’t have turned out this way. Mr. Socrates thought Modo had been taught that sacrifice was what had brought the British Empire to greatness. Clearly a review of the lesson was in order. Showing sensitivity toward the tribesmen was not how empires were built.

As the tunnel narrowed, Mr. Socrates wondered briefly if Modo had been right to refuse him.
Perhaps the chance to launch a surprise strike on Miss Hakkandottir blinded me
, he thought. The blow could have cost the warriors, and all of them, their lives.

At least Modo had come up with this second plan. The boy’s brain was worth something. With luck and a bit of pluck, they could remove the God Face and be gone before Miss Hakkandottir was any the wiser. But it was bothersome that she hadn’t already secured the artifact. What was holding her back? Perhaps it was as simple as not finding the right tunnel. He couldn’t imagine what else would have delayed her.

Tharpa stopped and held the lantern up high so that Mr. Socrates could see a smooth wall, handholds carved deep into the stone.

“We will have to climb, sahib,” Tharpa said. “Would you like to wait here?”

“Are you suggesting I’m too old to climb, Tharpa?”

“I would never suggest that, sahib. I should have said, would you like me to go first?”

“Yes, lead the way.” Mr. Socrates handed him the elephant gun. “You carry the gun. Do try to resist firing it in a small space or we’ll go deaf. All right, let’s see if these two-thousand-year-old footholds will take our weight.”

Tharpa slung the gun over his shoulder, took the lantern
in his teeth, and began climbing easily. Mr. Socrates was impressed—such agility. Tharpa didn’t seem to age.

He followed, slowly, digging his hands and feet into the holes. After about twenty feet he had to stop to catch his breath. Too many days behind a desk!

“Are you well, sahib?”

“Just keep going, Tharpa!” Mr. Socrates snapped. “Are you teasing me? Or genuinely concerned about my health?”

“I am always concerned about your health, sahib.”

It was another ten minutes before they found a ledge to climb on to. Mr. Socrates accepted Tharpa’s help to get over the edge and lay on the smooth, cold rock, wondering if his heart would burst. He wheezed a few deep breaths until he saw that Tharpa was staring at him.

“Don’t say a word,” he said raggedly. “I’m in perfect health. Now, where are we?”

Tharpa lifted the light and they could see that the ledge was just outside an opening into a small corridor that descended farther into darkness.

“Carry on,” Mr. Socrates said, then followed Tharpa.

Soon Mr. Socrates was crawling on his hands and knees, cursing his rheumatism. The Egyptians must have had knees of stone. Or they didn’t live long enough to develop rheumatism.

The passage led into a large square chamber, and Mr. Socrates was relieved to stand again. Tharpa waved the lantern around, and there in the center was, of all things, a chariot, surrounded by clay jars, shields, dry flowers, and an ostrich-feather fan. A few of the jars had been broken; he and Tharpa weren’t the first to enter this room. Perhaps Alexander King had been here. If so, that was good news.

“They kept the pharaoh’s intestines in a jar,” Mr. Socrates said.

“A good place for them,” Tharpa answered, making Mr. Socrates laugh. It was so rare to hear humor from Tharpa that it always came as a surprise.

They walked through the room to a short passageway ending in a flat stone doorway. Tharpa easily pushed the door aside and it moved silently into a gap in the wall.

“Brilliant engineers,” Mr. Socrates said.

They stood side by side as Tharpa held the lantern high, the light reflecting off rows and rows of what seemed to be mirrors, which had the effect of multiplying light many times over till it was almost as bright as day in the chamber. Mr. Socrates saw then that what he’d thought were mirrors were in fact rows of white sapphires reflecting the light in all directions. In the center of the room was a gold-plated sarcophagus.

“The king’s chamber! We’ve made it, Tharpa!”

And at that moment, he heard the echo of pistol fire.

M
odo stood completely still in the dark. On their first attack the clockwork falcons had knocked the lantern from Lizzie’s hand, smashing it on the floor. The only light in the room was emitted by the glowing red eyes of the birds.

“Their beaks or talons are poisonous!” Octavia yelled.

A falcon dove at her. Modo followed the blur of its ruby eyes, then heard her grunt.

“Ah, one got me.”

“Octavia!” He swung his hands out and followed her voice until he found her. “Are you bleeding?”

“Yes,” she hissed, “but my helmet saved me from the worst of it.”

She was still speaking, so she hadn’t been poisoned. Yet Mr. Socrates had said there was a vial inside the creatures; maybe it took time for the poison to work.

A falcon screeched again and Lizzie let out a shriek, then swore like the blazes. The birds could see in the dark!

Without warning, a falcon’s talons slashed Modo’s head. The bird flapped away and Modo held the wound, his fingers wet with his blood. He felt as though half his scalp had been torn off.

“We have to get out of here!” Modo shouted. But how? Which way was which?

Then a light appeared at the far end of the chamber. Mr. Socrates! But a second and third light came around the corner. Six Guild soldiers approached and stopped about twenty paces away, pistols raised. Two were struggling to control mechanical hounds. Modo had nearly lost his arm to one of those hounds and had no desire to tackle one again.

A soldier aimed his lantern so that Modo had to cover his eyes momentarily. When he looked again, the falconer was rounding the corner, making a clicking noise with his tongue. The mechanical birds darted back and landed on his arm.

Miss Hakkandottir strode between the soldiers and pointed at Modo. “You’re alive!” she exclaimed, staring incredulously.

“So far,” Modo offered, feeling a tinge of pride.

“You do amaze me, but I doubt you can survive bullets through the heart. It would be best if the three of you surrendered now.” Her voice grew softer. “We will not harm you. I promise.”

“Her promises are worth nothing,” Octavia spat out.

“Ah, but they are. My word is my bond. We will feed you and make you comfortable. It will be a peace treaty between us.”

Lizzie, behind Modo, whispered, “Whatever you do, don’t move a muscle.” He felt something slide between his arm and his body. His heart skipped a beat as she continued, “Prepare to run. There’s a tunnel behind us.”

He heard the smallest of clicks. The hammer on a pistol was being pulled back. Good Lord, she was using him as cover.

“I want your answer right now,” Miss Hakkandottir said.

“Have your men lower their guns,” Modo said.

“You are not in a position to make demands! Give me your answer or we shoot Octavia first.”

Octavia stiffened.

“Enough talk,” Lizzie whispered, and there was a
pop
right beside Modo.

The bullet ricocheted off Miss Hakkandottir’s hand. She had raised it in time to deflect the bullet! Lizzie’s second shot smashed one of the lanterns a soldier was holding.

“Ah, blast the luck!” Lizzie said. “Run!”

Modo grabbed Octavia’s hand, ducked to the ground, then darted to the tunnel.

Behind them, Miss Hakkandottir shouted, “Shoot them! Shoot them! Release the hounds, you fools!”

Bullets zipped, but none found its mark. Lizzie paused at the tunnel’s opening to push Modo and Octavia onward, bellowing, “Go! Go!”

He looked back to see her reload her two-barreled derringer. The gun was tiny, meant only for shooting someone across a card table, so he knew it wouldn’t do much damage.

“Go!” she screamed again, and let off a round.

Modo took Octavia’s hand and pulled her along the passage, thankful that it was wide enough and tall enough for
them to run upright. He glanced back again to see that Lizzie was only a few steps behind them, but closing in were the mechanical hounds, their metal claws clicking on the stone.

“Faster!” Lizzie screamed.

They burst into another chamber and Modo stopped, turned, and eyed the pillars on either side of the doorway. Just as Lizzie passed through the entrance, he put his back against a pillar and, straining mightily, pushed it over to block the door. He had just enough time to push the second one into place before he saw the glowing eyes of the hounds through the space between the pillars. The beasts threw their massive bodies against the pillars and moved them an inch.

“Keep going!” Octavia gasped. “They’ll be through that in no time.”

It was nearly pitch-black, though the passage ahead seemed to harbor the faintest bit of light.

“This way!” Modo ordered. “And hope it’s not a dead end.”

“Yes, Modo, a dead end would be bad,” Lizzie quipped, then laughed.

As they ran, the light up ahead grew brighter. Was it possible that Miss Hakkandottir had somehow circled around them? They had no choice, in any case, so they dashed on into a grand chamber, where they were blinded by the brightness.

When his eyes adjusted, Modo found himself looking at a large golden sarcophagus. Behind it stood two familiar men.

“Ah, Modo, you are late again, I see!” Mr. Socrates said.