The Eye of the Serpent (26 page)

‘You did,' Alec assured him, helping him to drag Charlie to a safe distance. He was all too aware of the smell of petrol coming from around
the Ford. ‘Madeleine. They took Madeleine. They were driving away in the Crossley and Mohammed's car came down the hill—'

‘Who was driving away?' yelled Ethan.

Alec could see that Coates and Mickey were pulling Biff Corcoran from the wreckage now, his face a mask of blood.

‘Sonchis,' he said. ‘Sonchis took her.'

Ethan looked at Alec. ‘Have you any idea how crazy that sounds?' he said.

‘Oh yes,' said Alec. ‘Absolutely.' He ran back to the Ford and ducked down to reach for Mohammed, who was conscious but clearly in pain.

‘My Ford!' he groaned. ‘My beautiful Model T!'

Alec grabbed him under his arms and tried pulling, but Mohammed gave a shriek of pain. ‘My leg . . . my leg is caught.' Alec glanced nervously at the large puddle of fuel that was spreading beneath the wrecked automobile. He took a firmer grip and renewed his efforts. Ethan dashed over to help him.

‘I think the car's gonna blow,' he said quietly and his voice was surprisingly calm. He went down on his chest and reached in past Mohammed, trying to manoeuvre the man's leg out from where it was caught.

‘Leave me,' gasped Mohammed. ‘Leave me with my automobile. Without it I cannot make a living!'

‘Aw, we'll get you a new one,' Ethan assured him. ‘And this time we'll buy you something decent.'

‘Who was that maniac in the Crossley?' groaned Mohammed. ‘I caught a glimpse of his face but he looked . . . he didn't look . . . human . . .'

‘Is that right?' Ethan glanced at Alec.

Alec looked at the spreading pool of petrol, noting with a sense of dread that it was beginning to smoke.

‘Ethan . . .' he said.

The American followed his gaze and nodded. He gripped Mohammed around the waist and braced himself for one monumental effort. ‘All right, Mohammed,' he said. ‘I'm going to count to three—'

‘Forget the count!' yelled Alec. ‘Do it now!'

Ethan pulled with all his might and Mohammed bellowed in pain, but suddenly the foot came free and they were able to pull him out onto the road.

‘Did the foot come off?' gasped Mohammed,
too afraid to look himself. Alec looked for him and saw that it was bloody and possibly broken at the ankle, but still attached to his leg.

‘It's all right,' he said, and he and Ethan began to pull him across the road. ‘I think you're going to be—'

And then there was a flash and a great blast of heat and Alec was thrown backwards as the Ford exploded in an orange burst of flame. He crashed into Coates, who flung his arms protectively around him as he fell. A great wave of hot air soared over them and then there were just the huge flames blossoming beneath the night sky, and Alec heard Mohammed bellowing that his Ford, his wonderful Ford, was gone for ever and a curse on those who had caused it to crash. Then he heard Ethan telling him to shut up and he knew that the three of them had survived. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath, until Ethan's face came into view. He was looking down at Alec with an expression of disbelief on his face, and said, ‘Alec, just run it by me again, will ya? Who did you say took the Crossley?'

Seated at the wheel of the speeding car, Sonchis had time to marvel at the ingenuity of the
people who had created this amazing horseless chariot, while the part of him that was still Doc Hopper went through the routine of actually driving the thing. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the woman's pale face between the shrivelled, decomposed bodies of her two captors, and for a moment he almost felt sorry for her. When he spoke, he chose to use the gentle, cultured tones of Tom Hinton, thinking that this would be the most appropriate voice for her to deal with.

‘I'm sorry we had to be so rough with you back there. It was necessary to get away as quickly as possible.'

She continued to stare at him as though she was in shock – which, he reflected, she almost certainly was.

‘Who are you?' she asked at last.

He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was deeper, strangely accented. ‘Oh, come, I think you know who I am. Weren't you just reading about me?'

She shook her head. ‘I was reading about a man who died three thousand years ago!' she protested.

‘Ah no, that's where you are mistaken. I was
imprisoned
three thousand years ago . . . but I did not die. That is to say, my
ka
did not die. I had long before that time conquered the concept of death. I had already made myself immortal.'

‘What nonsense is this?' protested Madeleine, not wanting to let herself believe the evidence of her own eyes. ‘You . . . you cannot be Sonchis.'

‘But I am; and I am more than that. I am in fact the sum total of four spirits.' His eyelids flickered and then the voice was back to its earlier cultured tones. ‘I am Tom Hinton, in whose voice I am speaking to you now.' He paused for a moment and then spoke in a broad Lancastrian accent, the voice she had heard back in the tent. ‘I am the man you knew as Doc Hopper,' he said; and then, after another pause, his voice emerged as an oily Welsh burr. ‘And I am one Wilfred Llewellyn, private detective of London, formerly of Carnarvon. An odd choice, but who knows, he may come in useful for something.' He laughed and his voice slipped effortlessly back into the deep tones he had used before. ‘So you see, I am many things, but one thing I most definitely am is
alive
!'

Madeleine glanced sideways and then looked
away with a gasp of revulsion. ‘And these . . .
things
?'

‘My most devoted servants. Fine men once, all of them . . . but don't expect a meaningful conversation from them. I gave them just enough life to aid me in my next task. I did not want to drain my own reserves. Ah, now, if memory serves me correctly . . .'

He slewed the car sideways off the road onto a rough dirt track that angled away across the desert. The Crossley started juddering and bucketing across the uneven surface, shaking the occupants of the car.

‘Where are you taking me?' protested Madeleine.

‘My dear
mademoiselle
, have you not guessed? We are going to the Gates of Apophis to awaken the great serpent!'

Madeleine laughed. ‘Then you are clearly as mad as you ever were,' she said. ‘Even if there were a great serpent, do you really think 'e would still be alive after three thousand years?'

Sonchis laughed again, a cold, heartless sound. ‘Apophis is a
god
!' he said. ‘Gods do not die because of the passing of a few millennia. Of course he is alive! He sleeps beneath the
sand, waiting to be called back to the world. We go to do exactly that. And, of course, on such occasions it is customary to offer a suitable sacrifice.'

Madeleine stared at him for a few moments and then her eyes widened as she understood his meaning. She began to struggle with renewed ferocity. ‘Stop this automobile!' she bellowed. ‘Let me out at once!'

‘I don't think so,' he said.

‘I am warning you, if you do not stop now, you will be sorry!'

Sonchis gestured to the bandaged thing that sat to her right. ‘She's beginning to be tiresome,' he said.

The creature nodded. It released her for an instant, lifted its arm and punched her hard across the face, the impact causing bits of withered flesh and dried bone to fall from its hand. But it did the job. Madeleine slumped forward, unconscious, and Sonchis was able to concentrate on driving, applying all Doc Hopper's undoubted skills as a motorist in an attempt to get the automobile to its destination without shaking it to pieces.

Ethan stared at Alec for a long time before he spoke. Then he said, ‘Kid, that sounds absolutely nuts!'

‘I know exactly how it sounds,' Alec assured him. ‘I'm only telling you what I saw. I saw Sonchis and three . . .
things
.'

‘The boy speaks the truth,' Mohammed assured him. He was stretched out on the ground nearby, and a workman was trying to wrap a length of bandage around his injured leg. ‘I saw the people in your automobile, Mr Wade. Only for an instant, but I saw them. They looked like things from a . . . a nightmare!'

‘You're telling me that some three-thousand-year-old mummies just stole my automobile?' cried Ethan. ‘For cryin' out loud, how would they even know how to
drive
?'

It was a good question; but Alec had a far more pressing matter on his mind.

‘They took Madeleine!' he cried. ‘We have to get after them before they get too far.'

‘I don't know how you're going to do that,' said Mickey. He was standing by the other Crossley, peering dejectedly under the bonnet. ‘Before they left they tore the guts out of this engine.'

‘What? Well, you've got to fix it!' cried Alec. ‘Now.'

‘You don't understand, son. They've really torn it up.'

Ethan strode across to him. ‘Give it your best shot anyway,' he told Mickey. ‘It's our only chance.' Mickey nodded and started work. Ethan quickly glanced around, assessing the situation.

Mohammed's Ford was still blazing beneath the night sky. Coates was tending to the two injured journalists, while the Arab workmen ran backwards and forwards with buckets of water, trying to extinguish the blaze. Archie, meanwhile, was marching up and down shouting orders at them, as though he was back in the army. Charlie was fully awake now, sitting up and cradling her camera in her lap, but Biff Corcoran was still unconscious.

‘Just what the hell is going on here?' Ethan asked aloud.

‘I don't have the foggiest,' said Coates quietly, ‘but I think Mr Corcoran here would benefit from some professional medical attention. Has anybody seen Dr Hopper?'

Alec thought for a moment and then remembered the sounds that had first woken him up.
‘He went to the tomb,' he said.

‘At this time of night?' said Ethan.

‘Yes. At least, I'm pretty sure it was him. I'll . . . I'll go and find him.' He turned and ran to his tent to pull on a pair of boots. When he emerged again, he asked Mickey, ‘How's it coming along?'

‘Not great,' muttered Mickey.

Alec turned away helplessly and headed for the rocks.

‘Please go with him, Mr Wade,' said Coates. ‘Who knows what dangers might be out there? I'll hold the fort.'

Ethan looked around quickly, as if to reassure himself that there was nothing else he could do here. He nodded and strode after Alec.

‘Hey, hold up there, pard!' He fell into step. ‘Is it just me, or has everything gone screwy around here?'

Alec couldn't relax enough to make light of the situation. ‘What are we going to do about Madeleine?' he asked anxiously.

‘We'll go after her, of course, just as soon as Mickey gets that engine running.'

‘What if he can't fix it?

Ethan had no answer for that.

They clambered through the opening in the
rocks and descended into the valley beyond. As they approached the tomb, they could see the glow of light emerging from the opening in the ground; but as they drew nearer, they saw Hassan's figure slumped on the sand beside it.

‘How does anybody sleep through that kind of racket?' muttered Ethan.

Alec went straight down the steps to the tomb but Ethan paused to prod Hassan with the toe of his boot. There was no response.

‘Hassan?' he said. He stooped, gripped the man's shoulder and turned him over. Hassan's dark eyes stared sightlessly up at the stars and Ethan noticed that his head was lying at a strange angle. He snatched in a breath and rocked back on his heels. He had known this man for years; he had considered him a friend. And now . . .

A yell of terror from down in the antechamber jerked his senses awake.

‘Alec?' he yelled. ‘
Alec!
' He jumped back to his feet and, without a moment's hesitation, went charging down the steps.

The Crossley was suffering terribly on this rough, half-buried track, but now the cliffs were
in sight and Sonchis told himself he only needed to keep it going for a few more miles.

He was thinking how sweet it would be to revenge himself on a world that had treated him so cruelly; and his only sorrow was that Akhenaten himself would not be there to witness the destruction of his empire. But the great pharaoh was so much dust now; he was lost in the great passing of time like a handful of chaff thrown on the wind. In the end he had been no more than a man.

Sonchis remembered how they had taken him captive the night before he planned to awaken Apophis – creeping up on him when he was asleep and at his most vulnerable. He remembered how they had chained him with forged copper and how they had put his servants to the sword as he stood there, helpless. And then they had burned his beautiful palace. On his knees, chained like a slave, he had watched it burn, his eyes filled with tears. Finally they had carried him in a humble ox cart through the city, still chained for all to see; and those who had feared to look him in the eye now mocked him openly as he passed by. They had thrown stones and handfuls of dung at him; they had jeered him as
though he was some lowly commoner being taken to a place of execution.

Only at the end, after they had wrapped him in bandages and nailed down the wooden lid of his sarcophagus, did he find words. Emerging from his drug-induced sleep and still bound by the copper manacles, he had cursed them, the people who had done this to him and those who had commanded it; and he had sworn an oath that one day he would return to fulfil his destiny; to take his place as pharaoh of all Egypt.

Steam was now pouring from the radiator of the Crossley, but Sonchis kept the speed up, thundering along the rocky track that unwound like a ribbon between the dunes, aiming at the limestone cliffs rearing up from the sand, with the high jagged outcrop that resembled the head of a cobra. Soon he could even make out the dark opening of the cave: the Gates of Apophis.