The Khamsin Curse (20 page)

It would be a couple of hours
yet before the sun burned through the orange haze. He decided to
get some shut-eye and arrive back at the Sekhmet in time for
breakfast. A man who had no sleep was no use to anyone. He settled
into a corner and closed his eyes. His sleep was fitful, crawling
with scorpions and reptiles and the man they called Krokodilus.

He was back in that shitty
hellhole full of grisly toys. Men screamed with pain night after
and night. Most of them never made it back to their cell. Sometimes
they would drag women out of the cells just for the heck of it.

He jerked awake and found
himself bathed in cold sweat despite the sun slanting a golden beam
through the open doorway. He felt a desperate urge to urinate and
tried not to wet himself as he pushed to his feet and realised he
was shaking like a leaf.

Gideon reached the Sekhmet
moored at the jetty by nine o’clock and all seemed calm. But in the
saloon all hell was about to break loose.

Gideon scanned the saloon and
didn’t like what he saw.

Hypatia was curled up in an
armchair sobbing her eyes out. Black khol was smudged
unattractively across her puffy face. It was the expensive galena
flecked with luminous minerals, sparkly and frosted with gold, not
the cheap smutty soot worn by the poorer women, but right now there
didn’t seem much difference. She hadn’t yet changed out of her
Egyptian costume and her peacock feather was hanging limply,
crushed in the tangles of her long blonde hair.

Colonel Hayter was wearing a
plaid dressing-gown. His eyes were bloodshot and there were bags
under his eyes. He was mixing himself a gin and tonic, mostly gin.
He looked shaky, unsteady on his feet, as if he’d been fighting a
losing battle against delirium tremens all night.

Dr Watson was standing by the
sideboard where tea and coffee and fresh pastries had been laid
out. The hot food had not yet been sent up via the dumb waiter. He
was sugaring a cup of tea. He had obviously dressed in a hurry. The
buttons on his waistcoat were misaligned and he had forgotten to
brush his hair. He looked as tight as a drawn bow about to
snap.

Ali Pasha was drinking a cup of
Arabic coffee and puffing on a fat Havana. He looked like he’d
slept in the same chair where he now sat. His fez had tilted and
the tassel looked as limp as a palm tree in the desert. He
stretched his legs and gave a loud yawn.

Daisy Clooney was wearing a
purple paisley dressing-gown secured at the waist by a cerise cord.
She was perched on the edge of a rattan divan, chewing on a
fingernail. Her brunette hair was mussed, hanging loose over her
shoulders, as if she’d just crawled out of bed and raked some
fingers through it.

Fraulein Graf looked stunning.
She was wearing a Morocaine kaftan in a sublime shade of blue
embroidered with silver flowers. A silver sash nipped her slender
waist. Her long blonde hair had been recently brushed and cascaded
like a golden waterfall down her back but the fear in her blue eyes
belied the immaculate image.

Something wasn’t right.

“What’s going on?” said Gideon,
feeling his stomach muscles constrict.

Heads turned sharply. No one
had noticed that he’d entered until he’d spoken. Hypatia took one
look then began to sob even louder; she was starting to sound
hysterical. He wanted to slap her. He took a deep breath and tried
again.

“What’s going on?” he repeated
calmly.

Dr Watson looked immensely
relieved to see him. “Is the Countess with you?”

“No. She left the Kiosk with
Moriarty.”

“Moriarty! I thought it was
him! But I didn’t recognize the uniform. Everything was happening
too quickly. The shadows from the flames made everything seem
surreal, and the noise from that infernal wind, and the crocodiles
– it was like a nightmare. Moriarty!”

Gideon realized he should have
alerted the doctor sooner. “He’s leading an Irish regiment to the
Transvaal.”

“Irish Guards?”

“Yes.”

Hypatia hiccupped and sobbed at
the same time; her voice was shrill. “Who cares about the
Transvaal! Have you seen Daddy or Max?”

“No,” replied Gideon, forcing
focus. “Didn’t they come back with you?”

“We…we stopped at the Temple of
Hathor to get out of the wind for a bit. We…we heard a voice
calling for help. Max went off first. He didn’t come back. The
voice kept calling for help. Daddy went next. I begged him not to
leave me but he said he’d come back in a moment. I…I waited and
waited. Dr Watson came along and took me by the arm and…”

Of course! It wasn’t about who
was here, it was about who was absent!

Gideon understood the root of
her current hysteria and felt some sympathy. Jefferson Lee and Max
Mallisham were missing. He wasn’t too concerned, however. They were
quite capable of looking after themselves. The main thing was that
the women were safe. Only the Countess was missing but Jim would
never abandon her. Then he remembered Lorna Baxter.

“Did Mrs Baxter make it back
all right?”

Daisy stopped chewing her
fingernail long enough to provide the answer. “No, I went to check
her room ten minutes ago and her bed was empty. It hadn’t been
slept in.”

Fraulein Graf spoke up. The
German accent seemed more pronounced. “I saw her going off with
that man with the rifle. Have you seen my uncle?”

Gideon was starting to grasp
the gravity of the situation. “Is he missing too?”

“Yes,” said the fraulein,
smoothing back her long golden hair as if to give her hand
something to do. “He started vomiting. He told us to keep going and
he would catch up. Daisy and I didn’t want to leave him but he
said: go, go, schnell! We got lost and wandered for a long time, I
don’t know how long. It was awful. We were scared. When we saw the
lights on the ship we cried.”

So, three men were missing.
Gideon still wasn’t too worried. Men always drank more than women
and a fair amount of liquor had been consumed by the time the
crocodiles appeared. The men probably stumbled in the dark and just
decided to stay put where they fell. They were probably curled up
behind a rock somewhere and would turn up sooner or later. Still,
it might not hurt to mount a search after breakfast.

It was the Countess he was
concerned for mostly. Not that he believed Jim would abandon her or
lead her into danger but it was a wild night. And there was more
than one type of danger. The sort of danger Jim represented was the
sort he could do nothing about. She had to decide for herself who
she wanted.

Hot food arrived but everyone
ate sparingly. They still hadn’t recovered from the carnage of the
night before. Halfway through the meal Lorna Baxter and Colonel
Sebastian Moran made an appearance. They told a story about getting
lost in the sandstorm and taking shelter in one of the temples. No
one believed it but to spare Mrs Baxter any embarrassment they
nodded compliantly. Moran was invited to join them. He ate with
gusto. When Gideon mentioned mounting a search party, Moran was all
for it. He knew the island better than anyone and quickly sketched
out a map on one of the napkins. He organized the men into pairs
and allocated different areas for them to search. The women were
excluded. They were told to remain on the ship and if any of the
others returned in the meantime, to send a crew member to alert
them.

In effect, it was the Acting
High Commissioner’s job to organize a search party, but right now
Colonel Hayter was having trouble organizing a cup of tea.

Dr Watson kept hoping the
Countess would turn up along with the others but when breakfast
concluded and there was still no sign, he began to feel a sense of
rising panic. Gideon cornered him as they were returning to their
cabins to get dressed and gather their belongings. His voice was
tense and strained.

“Did you happen to pick up my
Webley last night?” he said.

“No. I saw you looking for it.
Didn’t you find it?”

“No, I stayed back and searched
everywhere. That’s why I didn’t return to the ship with everyone
else.”

“Someone must have picked it
up.”

“But who? That’s the problem.
Plus now I don’t have a weapon and neither does Hayter.”

“Hmm, I see.”

“Do you know if Mr Lee has a
gun cabinet?”

Dr Watson shook his head.
“You’ll have to ask Azrafel.” He studied the major at close hand
and noted how exhausted he appeared. He was still wearing the
costume of Ra, though he had sensibly ditched the sun-disc
headdress. This espionage business wasn’t living up to the exotic
intrigue he imagined. The major had fought off one assassination
attempt and now he was unarmed. Anyone could have picked up his
gun. There was too much going on. Three men were missing. And where
was the Countess? “Why don’t you go and get cleaned up and find
some fresh clothes. I’ll go and find Azrafel.”

The men met up on the jetty
twenty minutes later.

“The island isn’t large,”
Colonel Moran was saying as he handed out a roughly drawn map on a
napkin. “Stick to the marked area and return to the Sekhmet as soon
as you are done. Don’t forget to check the bottom of any
wells.”

He handed a map to Azrafel who
had volunteered to help with the search. He had been paired with
Ali Pasha. The two men set off right away. They were heading to the
farthest side of the island where Hadrian’s Gate was situated on
the western side. They would take in the Coptic Church and the
Temple of Harendotes, check the two nilometers, and finish up at
the Vestibule of Nectanebos. On the way back they would check the
Temple of Arsenuphis and the small chapel.

Colonel Moran handed a napkin
map to Gideon. “You’re going with Dr Watson. I don’t know what’s
holding him up.” He looked back over his shoulder to see if the
doctor was on his way and scowled. “You check the Inner Courtyard
and the Outer Courtyard. I’ve marked them out for you. There are
numerous small chambers attached to the two courtyards. Try not to
skip any. Don’t forget to check behind the columns in the
colonnade. Shadows can be tricky on the eye.”

Moran turned to Colonel Hayter
who was sitting on the steps, mopping his brow with his map and
looking wilted. “Let’s go,” he said briskly. “We’re heading back to
the Kiosk. There aren’t many buildings to check but plenty of
clusters of doum palms. We’ve got a lot of open ground to cover.
Try to keep up.”

Dr Watson made an appearance
about ten minutes later and the smile on his face told Gideon that
he had been successful in locating a handgun.

“No Webleys,” he said, “but
there was an arsenal of Smith & Wessons. I insisted on Azrafel
giving me the key before he rushed away. I’ve still got it. The
ammunition was in a locked chest. No one knew where the key was
kept. I eventually found it in Mr Lee’s bedside drawer. I’ve still
got that key too.” He patted his top pocket, looking pleased with
himself.

“Well done,” said Gideon,
checking to see if the gun was loaded before pocketing a handful of
spare bullets. The doctor had pre-loaded it for him so they set off
immediately.

They walked without talking to
conserve energy. There was still a fair bit of haze hanging about
so the sun wasn’t blisteringly hot but it was hotter than what they
were generally accustomed to and they had no idea how long the
search would take them. Both men had canteens of water and Dr
Watson had brought his binocular field glasses.

The Propyla marking the Inner
Courtyard were the largest structures on Philae and were visible
from every direction. They headed straight for them, cutting
diagonally across the island. Both men were fit and it didn’t take
them long. Once they reached the courtyard they began to search
methodically, leaving nothing to chance and no stone unturned.
There was no point shouting out names if someone was lying
unconscious; they had to use their eyes.

The dark shadow on the
pyramidal style walls caused by their proximity to the Tropic of
Cancer was just as Professor Mallisham had said it would be and the
sunless contrast to the dazzling objects surrounding them was quite
extraordinary but they had no time to admire the dramatic
son et
lumiere
effect.

One end of the courtyard was
marked on the map as the mammisi or birthing house, the other end
had a series of small columns behind which sat a series of smaller
priestly chambers. Dr Watson checked the mammisi. Gideon checked
the other end and what he found in the first chamber caused him to
reel back.

Jefferson Lee was lying
lifeless on the stone floor. His wrists and ankles were bound with
black fabric which was secured to four large stones placed just-so
for the purpose of restricting movement. The four stones were
chunks of solid masonry that had broken away from the main building
centuries ago. If the body had been laid out on a stone slab it
would have resembled a human sacrifice.

Gideon hurried out of the
chamber without disturbing anything and gave a low whistle. The
doctor came running, took one look and blasphemed.

“This is madness! It looks like
some sort of ancient ritual!” Slowly, he circled the corpse and
shook his head in disbelief, lost for words to describe what he was
thinking, feeling, and failing to understand. His next thought was
for the Countess. Where was she? Had she suffered a similar fate?
Or something worse? Rising panic threatened to overwhelm him and
for a moment he feared his legs might give way.

“Take deep slow breaths,”
advised Gideon, who was trying to do the same. The death was
bizarre, ritualistic; nothing like Rossiter’s grisly death and yet
equally nasty. What was that word the doctor had used to describe
the previous night? Surreal? Nightmarish? Yes, that was it. It
didn’t resemble anything he had previously encountered in the east
and yet he had encountered plenty of bizarre and nasty things
during his time with the Foreign Office. His thoughts likewise flew
to the Countess and he felt his stomach muscles clench. “Stay here.
I’m going to check the other chambers.”