Silver Tomb (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 2) (10 page)

“Thank God they can be killed,” said Katarina rising.

“As long as you aim for the heart, it seems,” said Lazarus.

They headed back up the steps and out into the passageway.

“More of them,” said Petrie, pointing down the hallway.

Two of the beasts were shambling through the shadows, on the scent of those who had killed one of their number. One of them was a twin for the first mechanical mummy—a human, perhaps a priest or even a pharaoh, revived after three thousand years and assimilated into a mechanical locomotive—but the other had the fore section of a human and the hindquarters of an enormous mechanical jackal. There seemed to be no reason for this other than wild experimentation. The powerful back legs sprung the creature forward in great bounds, such as those a tiger or panther might, carrying the groping, bandaged fore section towards them at an alarming rate.

“Where the hell is the exit?” panted Petrie, struggling to keep up with Lazarus and Katarina.

“We won’t make it up the rope without one of those blasted things tearing off our legs,” said Lazarus. “We’ll have to find the real door.”

“What makes you think it won’t still be guarded?” said Katarina.

“Nothing. But I fancy our chances against some sleepy fools with rifles better than against these things.”

“Well maybe one of you two Egyptologists can figure out in what direction the door lies,” said Katarina as they rounded a corner and continued down a passage that looked just like the previous one. “This place is just a maze to me.”

They entered a chamber that had a deep trench dug into the floor, barely narrow enough for them to cross.

“We must be close,” said Petrie. “Such trenches were dug near the entrances of tombs to deter grave robbers.”

Katarina made an impressive bound and landed on the other side of the trench in a billow of skirts. The creatures rounded the corner and advanced.

“Toss me your gun and make the jump!” Lazarus shouted to Petrie. “I’ll hold them off!”

The Egyptologist did as he was bid and leaped across the pit, grabbing Katarina’s outstretched arm for support. A gun in each hand, Lazarus fired round after round at the beasts, knowing he was unlikely to hit their hearts at this range but giving it all he had regardless. The bullets did nothing to slow their pace and when the chambers clicked empty, Lazarus turned and bolted towards the trench. He leaped and landed on the opposite side, but was unbalanced and began to topple backwards. With a pistol in each hand, he was unable to grab either Katarina’s or Petrie’s hands and it was only by seizing his jacket lapels that his companions stopped him from tumbling down into the pit.

There was a whoosh of air behind his ears, followed by a loud ‘chomp!’ Lazarus was horribly aware that something had leaped up out of the pit to take a bite at him. He craned his head around and looked down. The floor beneath him seemed to be moving. Mechanical beasts of the mummified variety were squirming and rolling about, limbs thrashing and steam billowing up in clouds as they leaped and tried to scale the walls, slipping and sliding back down.

“Amazing!” cried Petrie. “Steam-powered crocodiles!”

“Will you shut up and pull me in, Petrie!” Lazarus yelled.

Katarina and Petrie hauled him towards them and he staggered forward, glad to have his balance back again. But the creatures behind them were edging towards the pit and they all knew that the one with the jackal legs would certainly be able to make the jump. They continued their flight and found themselves running up steps towards a small rectangle of blue light.

“Here,” said Lazarus, tossing Petrie his gun back. “Reload. We’re almost out of here.”

Sliding cartridges into place as they ran, they ascended the steps and felt the warm desert air in their nostrils. A figure’s head and torso blocked the light of the exit and the shape of his rifle was visible. Lazarus fired as he ran, knocking the man back with a cry.

They burst out of the entrance to the underground complex and immediately heard the crack of rifles. They ducked and slid behind cover in the form of crates and piles of earth. Bullets zinged and thudded all around them. Lazarus kept his eye on the doorway, knowing it was only a matter of time before those things would be out and upon them.

There came a cry as the guards heard the sounds of their approaching pursuers from within the doorway. With a bound, the jackal-man leaped out into the light of day and the guards wailed in terror, focusing their fire on the beast.

Seizing their chance, Lazarus and his companions were on their feet and running through the ruins, leaping over fallen columns, heading for the city’s outskirts at a breakneck pace. The rest of the Mohammedans in the camp were running to the aid of their comrades at the entrance to the catacombs and didn’t pay any attention to the three figures fleeing the city. They did not stop running until they felt the sand of the desert under their feet.

Chapter Ten

In which further arrangements are made back in Cairo

It was early morning. The sky in the east was turning a pale shade of lavender. They headed towards it, dog tired and with nerves frayed beyond bearing. Nevertheless, Katarina was in the mood for a fight.

“So, Longman, you didn’t think to tell me that you weren’t really after Dr. Lindholm at all, but his hussy?” she said with a sideways sneer.

“What difference does it make to you which one I was after?” Lazarus replied, too tired for this.

“Not a jot. I just think you could have said something. Why the secrecy? And what on earth do you want her for?”

“She’s the fiancé of Henry Thackeray, a very important fellow in London. When news came through that she appeared to have run off with an American, it became a priority to track her down and return her to Britain.”

“So all of this—infiltrating the black market, travelling up the Nile, nearly getting yourself killed in that ancient city back there—all this was for the sake of a woman?”

“You make it sound as if I’m pursuing her for my own pleasure. I have a job to do, Katarina, just as you do. If Whitehall decides that I’m to chase after some bloody politician’s lady-friend, then that is what I must do.”

“And this from a man who once went rogue in America,” she spat. “What happened to you, Longman? Why did you return to the service of a country you hate?”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Mikolavna, I don’t hate my country. There are plenty of things about it that I love.”

“And plenty of things you despise.”

“I thought she was rather pretty,” broke in Petrie. “Rousseau, that is. Very exotic looking. Dark for a French woman. I suppose that’s the Mediterranean blood. Dark and sensuous.”

“Yes, she was rather something,” Lazarus agreed.

Katarina sniffed. “I thought she was rather plain, myself.”

The stink of the city was a welcome fragrance to the three weary travelers returning from the desert. It had taken them days to reach the Nile and to find passage on a steamer returning to the capital. Lazarus was glad to hear the noise of the vendors and feel the jostle of civilization, after so nearly perishing in lonely tombs and dying of thirst in the burning desert.

They gorged themselves on meat, bread and dates in the marketplace before returning to their respective hotels, where they took long baths and slept the sleep of the dead for a whole day.

The following day they met for dinner in the restaurant Lazarus and Petrie had first dined in. Cairo had changed since they had been away. Reaction to Brugsch’s discovery of the Deir el-Bahari cache of royal mummies was a sensation in the city. The newspapers were full of the astonishing find. Over a hundred mummies in total had been stored in the tomb, including Seti I, and most exciting of all, the long sought after remains of Ramses the Great.

Petrie had been right. The mummies had been stored in the tomb of a minor priest to protect them from grave robbers. Tomb robbing being no new profession, they had probably been removed from their own tombs in the Valley of the Kings by priests, way back in antiquity.

There was a feeling of jubilation amongst the denizens of Cairo which surprised Lazarus, for a population mostly made up of Mohammedans who often poured scorn on the pagan past of their country. But the lost pharaohs had been found, and although Brugsch had tried to keep the arrival of the mummies in Cairo a secret until they could safely reach the Bulaq museum, the city had got wind of the exciting procession and had poured out onto the streets to welcome the returning pharaohs.

Petrie had devoured the newspaper articles with acute interest and not without a tinge of jealousy. After all, Brugsch had made the discovery of the century, while he had only narrowly escaped death with nothing to show for it.

“Apparently the women of Qurna came out of their homes when Brugsch was leading the mummies down to the riverbanks,” Lazarus said over dinner. “Wailing and lamenting the removal of the pharaohs from their resting place. Quite poignant, really.”

“Lamenting the removal of their source of income, most likely,” said Katarina.

“Must you be so cynical?” Lazarus asked her.

“My, my, you are quite the romantic, aren’t you, Longman,” she replied. “Who would have thought it of an Englishman?”

“I may as well have donned my mourning veil and joined them,” said Petrie, swilling his claret around in his glass melancholically.

“Come now, Flinders, I’ve already apologized for leading you away on that mad chase instead of leaving you to join in the discovery of the royal cache.”

“Oh, it isn’t your fault, Lazarus,” said Petrie. “I made the decision to come along and I can’t say that I regret it, for I saw with my own eyes a lost city that has such importance to our understanding of Akhenaten’s reign. It’s just tragic that I can never return there without some sort of army at my back.”

“Speaking of which,” said Katarina in a sour tone, “there isn’t a hope in hell of any of us getting back there, which means failure for our respective missions.”

“Didn’t Rousseau say she would come to Cairo and meet you, Lazarus?” Petrie asked. “What’s to stop you from just grabbing her and returning her to England?”

“I can’t very well nab the girl off the street,” said Lazarus. “For one thing the Egyptian police would have me in irons quicker than you can say ‘kidnapping’.”

“So this is the stuff British agents are made of,” said Katarina with a roll of her eyes. “What exactly was your plan—sweet talk her into coming back with you? Suppose she’s quite happy here in the company of Dr. Lindholm?”

“I don’t believe that,” said Lazarus firmly. “She is not in love with him. You heard her call him a monster. She’s terrified of him, so much so that she dares not run from him.”

“And all she needs is a knight in shining armor to rescue her,” said Katarina. “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you, Romeo?”

The next day, as if summoned by their words the night before, Eleanor Rousseau came to Shepheard’s Hotel looking for Lazarus. He found her in reception. She looked even more beautiful bathed in the daylight streaming in from the doors than she had down in the dusky, lamp lit tombs. She wore a skirt in the Parisian fashion, with a high-shouldered bodice in sky blue. Her hair was perfect. Not for the first time, Lazarus wondered what on earth she saw in Henry Thackeray.

“Hello, Mr. Longman,” she said as he approached.

“Call me Lazarus, please. Did you come alone?”

“Apart from the servants Dr. Lindholm always insists I take with me, yes.”

“Then we can make our arrangements to return you to England. To Henry.”

Her eyes looked down at the marble floor. “It’s not as simple as all that. Is there somewhere we might go and talk?”

“Why don’t we take the air in Azbekya Gardens?”

“Perfect.”

They left the hotel and crossed the street towards the iron gates leading in to the gardens. The morning breeze was refreshingly cool, and the leaves in the tamarisk trees danced gently.

“I wish I could spend more time in Cairo,” Eleanor said. “It is so very beautiful. I love my work, but sometimes one grows tired of spending more time with the dead than with the living. I begin to yearn for green things and the sounds of lively cities.”

“I know those feelings well,” said Lazarus. “I spent much of my youth in tombs and forgotten cities. Although, in recent years I have found myself wishing I had remained an antiquarian. The dead do not present nearly as many problems as the living. At least I thought so until I encountered your American friend’s creations.”

“Yes, they are quite abominable. But they do not interfere with my work, which is something. Lindholm and I have a mutual understanding for each other’s work.”

“The paintings I saw in the tomb of Kiya looked spectacularly intriguing,” said Lazarus.

“Petrie and I would relish a chance to spend some time examining them in closer detail without steam-powered mummies trying to unscrew our heads.”

“Unlikely at present,” said Eleanor. “You risked far too much in one visit to the City of the Silver Aten that your luck is surely used up. Another attempt would be fatal.”

“You must have some idea of this Kiya woman's tale. You’ve been there for weeks. Who was she?”

Eleanor studied him closely, as if trying to ascertain if he was really interested or merely making polite conversation. She decided on the former. “Yes, I have been making extensive examinations of the tomb of Kiya in particular. Kiya was a priestess of the Aten. She was a woman of formidable power before Akhenaten’s religious reforms. In fact, it was she who had such an influence over him that he converted to the worship of the Aten, and it was her suggestion that he build both Akhetaten and the City of the Silver Aten, the original name of which is now lost to us. He made her the High Priestess. They were lovers, you see, and he took her as his wife.”

“He married a powerful priestess of another cult?” interrupted Lazarus. “I can’t imagine that went down well with Nefertiti!”

“Not at all. The Great Royal Wife was always a jealous bitch, and she hated Kiya from the beginning. Nefertiti’s devotion to the Aten extended only as far as her compliance with her husband’s demands. She was never a true follower, but was always power hungry and could never suffer another woman to exert such control over her husband. So, the pharaoh and his family moved their court to Akhetaten in the fifth year of his reign. Tension between the Great Royal Wife and Kiya had always been high, and it broke when Kiya bore the pharaoh a son—something Nefertiti had been unable to do, despite the six daughters she had given him. The Queen was enraged and put into motion her vengeance against Kiya.

“Kiya was still recovering on her birthing bed when she struck. With lies to her husband of Kiya’s treachery, Nefertiti planted the seed of doubt in Akhenaten’s mind. Kiya’s newborn son was snatched from her arms and taken away, never to be seen again. The midwives claimed the child had been sickly and had died of natural causes more or less instantly, but Kiya knew better. She knew that the Queen would never allow the pharaoh’s son by another woman to grow up in the royal court.

“Kiya was banished. Driven near mad by the loss of her son and swearing vengeance on Nefertiti, she wandered back to her own people. Every instance of her name was stricken from Akhetaten. Her sarcophagus and canopic jars—which had been prepared for her in her lifetime—were used for others, altered to show the names of other members of the royal family. Even to speak her name became a punishable offence.

“After the High Priestess of the Aten was gone from Akhetaten, the new religion began to fall apart. People started to lose their faith in both the Aten and their pharaoh. Discontent grew between the priesthood and the army, who were neglected and restless. Trade began to drop off. Corruption was rife. The royal court only remained at the city for four years after Akhenaten’s death before moving back to Thebes. Within fifteen years the Horizon of the Aten was a ruined city left to the scorpions and the ghosts. Akhenaten’s descendants even moved his body and all the other royal mummies from their tombs to the Valley of the Kings, which is where I found the heretic pharaoh’s tomb. Worship of the Aten became a heresy, and statues and temples were defaced or torn down.

“As for Kiya, she died cursing Nefertiti and wailing for her lost son. Her family—who were now members of an underground sect—secretly buried her at the City of the Silver Aten so that the High Priestess would forever reside in the city of her god, even though her restless spirit was barred from the afterlife, her name stolen from her.”

“Perhaps her spirit haunts those ruins along with Lindholm’s abominations,” said Lazarus. “I wonder what she would have to say to them should their paths ever cross.”

“I cannot say that I have run into her myself,” Eleanor replied without a smile.

“Well, somebody in Cairo is interested in Kiya’s tale other than Petrie and I,” said Lazarus. “Did you hear about the fragment that was stolen from the Bulaq Museum?”

“Yes, why? Did that have something to do with Kiya?”

“Petrie believes so. He found a kohl container at Akhetaten bearing Kiya’s name and thinks the scraped-off hieroglyphics on the fragment is a match.”

“It’s possible. Kiya’s name and image were all over both cities during her time as High Priestess. And no matter how hard her enemies tried, they could never fully erase her memory.”

“And now you have found her very tomb containing her remains,” said Lazarus. “What will you do next? Something tells me that Dr. Lindholm isn’t interested in Ancient Egypt beyond what it can offer his country’s diabolical war machine.”

“He is no antiquarian, that I can say with certainty,” she replied. “It has only been at my insistence that Kiya’s mummy be spared the disrespectful mutilations of his experiments. I was so enthralled by her story that I felt a bond to her, which makes me very protective of her remains. She was treated so abominably during her lifetime that to treat her so in death seems like the worst cruelty.”

“How did you fall in with Lindholm?” Lazarus asked. “You two seem like chalk and cheese.”