Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) (23 page)

Jack laughed. “No, I mean, if she knew you were here and she wanted you dead, there were plenty of opportunities.”

Elizabeth’s forehead wrinkled. “Somehow that’s not as comforting as it should be.”

There was nothing comforting about this situation at all. He’d been a fool to think things could run smoothly with that damned Council involved.

“She’s been one step ahead of us,” Simon said. “But her advantage is gone now.”

“Okay,” Jack said, “So, what do we do?”

Simon wanted to leave. It was insane not to. But he knew they were going to stay. Whether Vale was working for the Council or not, she wasn’t here to sightsee. “Stop her.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Elizabeth stood at the rail of the ferry. A cool morning breeze from the river blew her hair back off her shoulders as they reached the midway point of their crossing. Her fingers traced the outline of the small watch key that hung on a necklace underneath her blouse.

Last night had been a long night, but Elizabeth had faith they’d made the right choice in staying. They’d argued over what to do with the watch. If Vale was there on the same mission they were, she’d want any watch she could find, including, and maybe especially, theirs.

Elizabeth wanted to hide Simon’s watch somewhere, to keep him from being a walking target, but had been outvoted. Simon was not going to let his watch out of his sight. And Jack had agreed.

That left the key Teddy had given her. If a looney tune like Vale ever got her hands on it, and could travel at will, history would never be the same.

“Try not to fiddle with it,” Simon said as he joined her at the railing.

He was right, of course. There was no telling who was watching them. She patted it once more, smoothing the cotton placard of her white blouse and gripping the railing in front of her.

“She’s not here. We should try to relax and enjoy that,” she said looking at the western bank of the Nile and the Theban Hills beyond.

Simon grunted.

“Okay, stay tense and enjoy it.”

Simon’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he placed his hand over hers before looking back out at the horizon.

Their group had left the hotel shortly after breakfast for a day exploring the Valley of the Kings before meeting Jouvet at his dig for lunch. So far, Katherine Vale was nowhere in sight, thankfully, but that didn’t mean they could afford to let their guard down. Looking at the set of his jaw and tension around his eyes, Elizabeth could see that Simon’s guard was high and tight.

“I worry about you, too, you know,” Elizabeth said.

Simon squeezed her hand and this time his smile was genuine. “I know.”

After a few more minutes, the ferry reached the landing where they disembarked. Whiteside looked very much the great explorer in his khaki suit and Stanley pith helmet, a leather-cased canteen slung over one shoulder. Christina followed behind him, her sketchbook clutched tightly to her chest. They were followed by Jack and Diana and, bringing up the rear, the Everetts sloshed off the boat.

Carriages had been arranged for them and, after they’d bullied their way through another gauntlet of vendors and hucksters, they piled in for the ride to the valley. As they passed the cultivated land that edged the river, the earth went from rich and fertile to dusty and bone dry in an instant. Elizabeth squinted over the top edge of her smoked-glass spectacles. They cut the glare from the blazing sun and reflective sand, but they gave everything a green tint. She took them off and tucked them into the small front pocket of her blouse. Her broad-rimmed sunhat would have to do.

Whiteside, who’d happily assumed the role of tour guide, sighed in delight as their carriage came to a stop at Deir el-Barhari. Simon helped Elizabeth and Christina down the awkward carriage step.

Elizabeth looked toward the rocky cliff face. Long sloping ramps rose from one terraced level to the next, leading to an immense colonnade at the base of an escarpment.

“
Djeser Djeseru
. The Holy of Holies,” Whiteside said. “The Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut.”

They started toward the temple. “Some say she was the first leader to break tradition and not build a pyramid for her tomb.”

“She?” Elizabeth asked.

Whiteside smiled, but it was Christina who answered. “She was a Pharaoh.”

“Now, there’s no evidence of that,” Whiteside corrected her gently. “Although, title or not, she was by all accounts a great leader for many years.”

“I like that,” Constance Everett said. “A woman in charge.”

“Don’t get any ideas, darling,” her husband said as he took a swig from his hip flask.

“It might look a bit stark now,” Whiteside said, ignoring the Everetts, “but imagine the temple painted with bright reds and yellows. Lush gardens spreading out on either side of the causeway. Magnificent.”

As they got closer, Elizabeth noticed a series of dust clouds off to the right. “What’s happening over there, Professor?”

He chuckled. “Winlock won’t leave that quarry alone. Looking for temples and more tombs.” He pointed to a dust cloud at the juncture of a long steep slope and a sheer cliff face. “Those are the tombs of the nobles. Not kings mind you, courtiers and priests and such.”

Elizabeth could just make out the workers through the nearly endless stream of dust. Like a human conveyer belt, dozens and dozens of men moved in an endless loop up and down the slope. One after another they’d dump their baskets of debris at one end and hurry back up the slope for more. There were several groups of them on the hills, like colonies of ants moving in undulating circles.

Much larger groups of men worked in the flats beside the road that led to the valley. Gangs of men hoed the ground, while others gathered the debris into small baskets and took them to waiting carts that were pushed down a long track to a dumping ground.

“Quite an operation,” Simon said, impressed.

“Yes. Over 700 workers,” Whiteside said. “Sometimes it looks less like a dig for the Metropolitan Museum of Art and more like the work of a pharaoh building his tomb.”

Small boys and women, dressed all in black, walked donkeys back and forth between the men and what she guessed was a well somewhere. The women dumped enormous jars of water into an even larger one, where men dipped a cup for a drink before hurrying back to their position in line.

“They’re barefoot,” Constance said.

Elizabeth couldn’t imagine running over the sharp, rocky shale in her bare feet. Heck, she’d worried her boots wouldn’t be protection enough.

“Tough as nails, these people,” Whiteside said. “They’ll work from sunup to sundown for just a few bob a day. Of course, the more skilled laborers might earn five or six with bonuses for anything of significance they might find.”

“Slave wages,” Christina said.

“Hardly,” her father said. “Despite the wealth of its history, this is a poor country, my dear. Men line up for those jobs and are grateful to get them.”

Christina bit her tongue and Elizabeth offered her a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the girl argue for improved conditions for the Egyptians. Ahmed and his cause had rubbed off on her.

After a tour of the temples, they began the long hike into the valley. The trail they followed had been used since ancient times. It wended its way through the cliffs and up to the top of the hills. They stopped at the summit to admire a spectacular view of the Nile Valley below as it stretched out as far as they could see before disappearing in the haze.

Elizabeth took a sip from her canteen and then began to put it over her shoulder.

“I wish you’d let me,” Simon said, holding out his hand, ready to take it from her.

“It weighs like three pounds,” Elizabeth said. “And besides, you might end up carrying me and the bottle at some point, so save your strength.”

Simon laughed and shook his head. “Suit yourself.”

“Now, that’s a gentleman,” Constance said, turning to her husband. “Why didn’t you offer to carry mine?”

Everett held up his canteen and his flask. “I’ve already got two,” he said and started down the path without her.

Constance sighed and started to shoulder hers.

“Let me,” Jack said.

Constance smiled and held it out to him. “Aren’t you a dear?”

But before Jack could say she was welcome, she’d turned heel and caught up with her husband.

Jack stood dumbly watching after her and then, with a sigh, slipped the canteen over his shoulder.

Diana put hers around his neck. “Aren’t you a dear?”

A laugh bubbled up at his expression and she hurried to hook her arm through Elizabeth’s in a perfect imitation of Constance Everett.

The path led them from the top of the hills down through ruts in the cliffs until they emerged into a wide and winding rocky gorge.

“The Valley of the Kings,” Whiteside said.

They carefully made their way down the path. It wasn’t overly steep, but the footing was precarious. Every bit of it was loose. Small chunks of shale dislodged with each step, some cascading down to the bottom in a cloud of dust.

Finally, they reached the valley floor. Of the sixty or so tombs, just over a dozen were accessible. Each was marked with a number stenciled in red above the door and many had large iron gates at the entrances.

“These are unlit,” Whiteside said pointing at the sunken entrance to a few tombs. “We’ll do better ahead.”

The party followed him down the canyon and Elizabeth could hear the sounds of workmen again and see the small dust clouds that always surrounded their work rising into the air.

The narrow gorge widened and split off into several small ravines. In the midst of the main wadi, dozens of workers meticulously picked through the dirt and stone.

A short, stocky man in a tan seersucker suit waved his hat at a group of workers, summoning one with a loud, barked command in Arabic.

“Howard!” Whiteside called out.

The man turned at the sound of his name and waved, a little reluctantly. He finished giving orders to the worker and started toward them.

Whiteside met him halfway and stuck out his hand. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Howard said, eyeing the rest of the party impatiently. “Arthur.”

“Howard Carter,” Whiteside said, “I’d like to introduce you to, Mr. & Mrs. Cross, and—”

“Yes, yes,” Carter said cutting off any extended pleasantries. He belatedly realized how rude he’d been and tipped his hat, and offered a brief smile and a nod to Christina.

“Terribly busy, you understand?”

Elizabeth squeezed Simon’s arm. This was
the
Howard Carter. The man who would discover one of the world’s most amazing archaeological finds—the intact royal tomb of Tutankhamen. She looked around at the workers, knowing the magnificent tomb lay hidden just yards from where they were standing. Her fingers itched to pick up a hoe and speed history along just a little.

“Is Lord Carnarvon at the hotel?” Whiteside asked.

Carter sighed. “Yes. He’s growing restless, but damn it, these things can’t be rushed.”

Elizabeth had read up on it and by 1920, Carter had already been looking for King Tut’s tomb for five years and Lord Carnarvon had poured loads of money into the valley. In two years time, Carnarvon would give Carter one last season and it would be the one that everyone remembered. That everyone still remembered.

Carter took off his hat, wiped his forehead and barked out an order to someone who was apparently doing something not to his liking.

“We won’t keep you,” Whiteside said.

Carter grunted, his dark, brooding eyes already on another thought and tipped his hat.

“You’ll find it,” Elizabeth said, unable to stop herself. Carter paused, looked at her for a moment, before nodding curtly and going back to overseeing his workmen.

“Elizabeth,” Simon whispered.

She didn’t bother hiding her smile. “Well, he will.”

They passed around the edges of Carter’s dig and visited some of the tombs in the east valley. A few of the more impressive tombs were lit with electricity, including number 11, the tomb of Ramesses III.

Simon and Elizabeth walked down either side of the divided staircase each on one side of an inclined plane leading to the first chamber. Pilasters, a sort of column embedded deep within a wall, with rams’ heads stood at the entrance. They passed through a series of gates and corridors with reliefs of the god. Small side chambers lined each corridor with more frequency the deeper they went in.

“Each served a unique purpose,” Whiteside said. “An armory or a treasury. Everything the king would need in the afterlife was stored here.”

Whiteside stopped and pointed to a brightly colored painting on the wall. “You see, this is a sort of guidebook for the king’s journey through the underworld. They’d face twelve gates, twelve challenges.”

Whiteside explained each painting and relief as they passed it. “Enemies bound to a pillar…”

“That looks like it doesn’t end well,” Jack said.

“The king had to vanquish someone,” Diana added with a smile.

“And finally, here, is Ramesses in the presence of Osiris. And the burial chamber. Of course, the old king is sleeping somewhere else now.”

Elizabeth wandered around the four pillars of the burial chamber. Even the sarcophagus was gone.

“Many of the tombs, including Ramesses’, were plundered in antiquity. Tomb robbers.” Whiteside looked around the empty chamber. “Although, I suppose we’re a sort of modern day tomb robber, aren’t we?”

Elizabeth bit her lip. She and Simon certainly were. If everything went well, they’d slip into a king’s tomb and steal one of his most precious belongings.

“Some believe that the spirits of the dead can’t rest because we’ve disturbed their journey,” Christina said.

“Nonsense,” Everett said. “The Egyptians themselves profit the most from these tombs. If they’re not worried about the souls of their ancestors, why should we be?” He waved his hat to cool himself. “It’s unbearable in here. We’ll be outside.”

He took his wife’s arm and started back out.

“I do wonder sometimes,” Christina said. “But then no one would be able to appreciate their beauty, learn about them, if it weren’t for museums.”