Silver Tomb (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 2) Page 8

  They slept during the hottest part of the day, shaded by some rocks, before setting out again after the sun had passed overhead. The night was cold and by the time they had passed through the shaded valley between the mountains, they were chilled to the bone.

  The next day, at last, across the vast plains, they could make out a scarred patch in the land where sand had recently been cleared away and mounded up in piles around it. A small encampment had been erected and the smoke and faint light of campfires could be made out in the fading light.

  “How can this place remain a secret?” asked Katarina. “It’s just sitting here for anybody to stumble over it.”

  “Few people venture this far into the barren wilderness,” said Petrie.

  Lazarus had to admit that it truly felt like the ends of the earth out here, and he wondered if it had been Akhenaten’s plan to build a city so far beyond the borders of civilization. But then, the Silver Aten was the flipside of the sun. If the Aten symbolized life, then surely the Silver Aten meant death. It would make sense to build its temples far away from the hustle and bustle of Akhetaten—the city of the sun and of light and life.

  Lazarus made the camels sit by using an Arab trick of seizing their testicles and forcing them down, then they proceeded on foot under the cover of the coming darkness. They skirted the camp and came upon the ruins from the south. They did not want to draw the attention of any guards that might be lurking about, but even from a distance they could make out some remarkable details. A large canvas covered a bulky shape, but Lazarus and Katarina could make out what it was at once.

  “He’s got a bloody airship!” said Lazarus. “One of those small Confederate jobs like the Santa Bella.”

  “Not mechanite-powered, surely?” said Petrie.

  “Not unless he’s smuggled some out of the C.S.A. No, it’s most likely one of the early coal-burning ones. Must come in handy for scouting the landscape, not to mention shipping in supplies.”

  There was also many steam-powered digging machines; state of the art pieces that could shift large masses of dirt without the need to pay twenty fellahs to do it with shovels. These in particular had Petrie in a state of excitement.

  “Where does he get the money for these things? I haven’t even seen some of this stuff and I’m an established archaeologist! I only hope he didn’t dig too deep and damage something. I still maintain that the only way to effectively remove large amounts of surface sand and dirt is by hand, even if it takes fifty men a whole week. It’s the only safe way to uncover the first strata.”

  “Let’s keep our voices down,” said Katarina. “We’re drawing close now. Have your weapons ready. It looks like they’ve got gas lamps rigged up.”

  Hands resting on revolvers, they entered the outskirts of the city, keeping to the shadows that the gas lamps hanging from tripods or strapped to crumbling pillars could not penetrate.

  “I think we just passed the first pylon,” said Petrie, referring to the twin structures that usually straddled the pathway into any city or religious centre.

  “I didn’t see anything,” remarked Katarina.

  “There’s not much to see but to the eye of a trained archaeologist,” said Lazarus. “Those flattened squares of stone over there once rose up several hundred feet, like the towers of a fortress. There’ll be another pair further to our left. We’re not entering the city through its main gates, you see, but from the south.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “It makes sense for the gates to the city of the setting sun—or death if you prefer—to face the rising sun, ready to swallow it as it descends. This is where the sun comes to die.”

  “City of death,” murmured Katarina, glancing around at the shattered blocks of stone and the deep shadows. “Wonderful.”

  As Lazarus had predicted, they passed between the second pylon by turning left and following a broken pavement deeper into the ruins. Some lights up ahead bounced off the surfaces of a large mound of earth, recently excavated. They could make out the silhouettes of several men in khalats guarding a stairway that led down into the earth.

  “That must be the entrance to the underground section Mohamed mentioned,” said Petrie. “Where the seal was found intact!” He was clearly excited, and Lazarus was worried that he might not be able to keep his voice down. By the light of the lamps he could see that the men up ahead had rifles. Now was not the time to let their scholarly pursuits carry them away.

  “How are we going to get down there and get Lindholm out?” Katarina said. “There’s too many men in and around this place to use force.”

  “There’s something that strikes me as odd about this whole place,” said Lazarus. “Usually temples to the Aten are wide open spaces, like at Akhetaten. This place seems to keep its most sacred places covered up, like the temples to older Egyptian deities.”

  “Think about it, Lazarus,” said Petrie. “If worship of the sun took place out in the open, where its light could fill every nook and cranny, where would worship of the moon take place?”

  “Underground, of course,” said Lazarus. “But the light of the moon must be let in somehow.”

  “Correct. It must be channeled in through small apertures. We know the Egyptians used mirrors to direct light. Perhaps they caught the sheen of the moon and used it to illuminate their underground temples.”

  Lazarus glanced up at the darkening sky. There was no moon yet. “How do we find it?”

  “I’m guessing Lindholm and Rousseau already have. They would have seen the opening from below when they were exploring the chambers. If the aperture was blocked, they would have certainly unblocked it. It shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  They wandered deeper into the crumbling remains, searching the ground for holes. Katarina spotted a pile of supplies and earth and, after investigating, called the other two over. “Is this what we’re looking for?” she asked.

  They peered down the hole. Nothing but blackness yawned before them.

  “This must be it,” said Petrie, uncoiling the rope from his satchel. “Get ready to lower me down.”

  “Hold on a minute,” said Lazarus. “We don’t know what’s down there.”

  “Oh, come on, Lazarus,” said Petrie, fastening the rope around his waist. “All the guards are either sleeping or loitering around the entrance. And you heard Mohammed say that only Lindholm and Rousseau dare to go down below. Or is it the evil spirits you are afraid of?”

  “Very well,” said Lazarus, pursing his lips at his friend’s sarcasm. “Just have your revolver ready should anything happen down there. What about light?”

  “You’ll have to pass down a lamp once I reach the bottom. I don’t have a free hand.”

  Lazarus began lowering Petrie while Katarina unpacked a lamp and got it lit, shielding it with her satchel so that the glare would not be noticed from the other end of the city. Lazarus grimaced as the form of his friend was swallowed by the blackness. The rope suddenly went slack.

  Petrie’s voice called up from the chamber, closer than Lazarus had anticipated. “Send down the lamp, quickly! I can’t see a blessed thing down here!”

  Lazarus hauled up the rope and tied the lamp to it before lowering it back down. They waited while Petrie made his preliminary investigations of whatever room they had dropped him into.

  “Get down here, you two!” he called up at last. “This is fabulous!”

  After some bickering about who was going to lower whom, Lazarus let Katarina down into the chamber, and then fastened the rope around the base of a pillar and climbed down, wincing at the burning of his palms as he slipped a few feet.

  He found himself in a wide chamber the corners of which could not be illuminated at one time by Petrie’s lamp. They stood in a basin that looked like it had been built to contain water. A block stood in the centre of it with a hole in the middle that had been used to receive a pole of some sort, probably the polished bronze mirror that had been used to direct the light of the moon. Petrie was o
ver by the far wall examining the paintings and the hieroglyphics with acute interest. Lazarus joined him.

  “Magnificent!” Petrie was saying, over and over again. “Look at the style! It’s Amarna period to a tee!”

  Lazarus could indeed make out the images of Akhenaten and Nefertiti and their children in the distinctive realist style of their reign. The crescent disc of the moon hovered above, shining down its rays, just as images of the sun did at Akhetaten. But whereas those rays often ended in little hands or ankhs symbolizing the life given by the sun, these rays of the moon ended in the symbol of the amenta, representing the western horizon and the taking away of life. “If there was ever proof needed that we are in the city of death, then this is it,” remarked Lazarus.

  “Can you two drop your scholarly interest for once and think about what we’re here to do?” said Katarina, showing uncharacteristic nervousness.

  “Actually this is what I’m here to do,” said Petrie. “But I suppose my job will be easier if you two get rid of that American fellow and Mademoiselle Rousseau. Here’s a doorway, my goodness, it goes off in two directions. Which to take?”

  “It’s probably a bloody maze down here,” said Lazarus, peering down each of the dark corridors. “What’s the plan? Split up?”

  “Of all the stupidest ideas you’ve had since I met you, Longman,” growled Katarina, “that is the worst.”

  “Surely you’re not scared down here, Katarina?” Lazarus asked, knowing that she could make out the grin on his face even in the dim light. “You have two strong men here to protect you.”

  Katarina’s face turned to one of rage as she snatched the lamp from Petrie and headed off down the left corridor, her pistol cocked and held out, ready to shoot anything that got in her way.

  “Well, at least she’s not pointing it at me,” Lazarus mumbled.

  Chapter Nine

  In which the experiments of Dr. Lindholm are revealed

  Lazarus was reminded, with a certain degree of trepidation, of the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the lake in Arizona that connected the seven golden cities of Cibola. But whereas those tunnels were rough and hewn from the living rock, these were lined with well-cut bricks which made every turn sharp and angular. They passed through a series of rooms, richly decorated and clearly used for priestly functions. Nowhere were there images of deities common in other Egyptian temples—Anubis, Hathor, Osiris and Ra—only the image of the moon and its rays, bouncing off the walls in geometric lines.

  “Stop!” hissed Lazarus, grabbing Petrie and motioning Katarina to halt her steady march into the unknown.

  “What is it?” she demanded, holding the lamp up to his face. As she did so, she became suddenly aware that she no longer needed it. Lamps had been set up at regular intervals down the corridors.

  “I think we’re nearing the viper’s lair,” Lazarus said. “Proceed carefully.”

  There came a sound from the far end of a corridor that branched off to the right. It was a kind of scuffling, stomping sound, not slow, but fast and juddering. Lazarus was sure he was not the only one who was put in mind of a giant beetle scuttling down the passageway towards them.

  The corridor was cloaked in blackness, but the three of them became very aware of a threat edging closer and closer. There was a slow hissing, as of a snake, that galvanized the trio into action, sending them fleeing in the opposite direction. Whatever was coming towards them, they did not want to try and find out if bullets could harm it.

  They took passages at random, hoping to throw whatever it was that was following them off their scent, and eventually emerged in what appeared to be a dead end.

  “We’re trapped!” said Katarina.

  “Wait a minute,” said Petrie, forgetting his fear for a moment. “What’s this?”

  There was a sarcophagus in the center of the room, surrounded by silver ushabtis that were set out like a toy army at its feet. The lid, if the sarcophagus ever had one, had been removed. There was an open coffin within, also lidless, containing a mummy. It was a sad, shriveled brown thing with a silver mask fashioned in the features of a woman.

  “Now who can this be?” said Petrie, approaching the sarcophagus.

  “For God’s sake, man, this is no time to be examining mummies!” said Katarina.

  Indeed, the shuffling sound was approaching the chamber, growing closer and closer, like footsteps in the sand.

  “Now we’re for it!” said Lazarus. “Get ready to open fire. You too Petrie!”

  But Petrie wasn’t listening. He was crouched by the sarcophagus examining the hieroglyphics inscribed on its sides. “This is fabulous! Do you know who this is?”

  “No one cares, Petrie!” Lazarus shouted, the footsteps very close now.

  “This is Kiya! The very same woman whose kohl container I found at Akhetaten. This is her mummy right here!”

  “Really?” asked Lazarus, momentarily interested.

  “God, not you too!” shouted Katarina. “Keep your eyes on that doorway, Longman, and your mind on shooting whatever comes through it!”

  “Right! Sorry.”

  A shape emerged from the gloom. Both Lazarus and Katarina raised their pistols and put their fingers on the triggers, but halted just in time.

  “Oh, please don’t shoot me!” cried a woman’s voice.

  As the figure moved into the light, Lazarus instinctively lowered his weapon. Katarina kept hers trained on the woman, not trusting anything or anyone right now.

  “I heard voices and was intrigued,” said the woman. “Tell me, how did you three come to be down here?”

  She was beautiful, and her voice hinted at exotic parts. Her hair was black and fell loosely over slender shoulders. Her dress was not so different to Katarina’s, being attire suited to a female in rugged terrain, and as in Katarina’s case, this was in no way unflattering. But it was her eyes that caught Lazarus’s attention. They were dark and heavy-lidded, a smoky hazel color.

  “Mademoiselle Rousseau?” Lazarus hazarded.

  “Yes,” she replied. “And yes, that is indeed Kiya in the sarcophagus, poor woman.”

  “Mmm?” answered Petrie who had not even turned around to take note of the newcomer, so infatuated he was with his discovery. “Oh? Yes. Fascinating! Fascinating!” He then seemed to remember himself and spun around before bowing low. “Mademoiselle Rousseau, it is an honor to finally meet you. Your work at KV55 had me green with envy, positively green. It is a great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

  Eleanor Rousseau seemed amused by the young man and smiled. “The honor is mine, Mr. Petrie.”

  “Oh? Ah! You seem to know me… but how?”

  “Your stupendous work on the pyramids at Gizah has ensured your immortality amongst us Egyptologists,” she replied. “And your excavations at Akhetaten have captured my heart for that place is so dear to me.”

  “My dear,” said Petrie, “your work in uncovering this city of the moon has far surpassed anything I have done or could ever hope to achieve.”

  “But I am unacquainted with your two associates,” said Rousseau.

  “Allow me to introduce them! This is my good friend Lazarus Longman, a fellow Englishman and fellow Egyptologist, although that is but one of his many areas of expertise. And this is Miss Katarina Mikolavna, a Russian traveler who is a friend of Longman’s.”

  “Charmed to meet you both,” said Rousseau.

  “Likewise,” said Katarina without a smile. Lazarus instantly detected the tension in the Russian. He knew Katarina far too well to hope that she might get on with the likes of Eleanor Rousseau.

  “But what on earth are you all doing down here?” Rousseau asked. “Don’t you know that this area is off limits to everybody but those Dr. Lindholm gives special permission to?”

  “As Dr. Lindholm has not even applied for a concession with the Antiquities Department,” Petrie said, “I find it a bit much that he forbids anybody else to come here. And those fellahs guarding the entrance! What is
he doing here, raising his own private army?”

  “You have no idea how close you are to the truth in saying that,” she replied. “He is truly a monster. But you must go! Immediately! Your lives are in the greatest peril!”

  “Very well,” said Lazarus. “But you are coming with us.”

  “I cannot,” said Rousseau. “My work here is too important.”

  “But you just said that Lindholm is a monster,” said Lazarus.

  “Even so, he will not hurt me. He needs my knowledge, and I must remain to ensure the safe removal of Kiya and the other artifacts in this tomb.”

  “You do not understand the situation,” said Lazarus. “I am acquainted with your husband, Henry. We worked together for the Royal Archaeological Society when we were younger. We did not part on the best of terms but that is no longer relevant. I have since been employed by Her Majesty’s government as an agent. My mission is to bring you safely home.”

  “What?” he heard Katarina exclaim behind him. “You’re here for her?”

  He ignored her. “Please, Eleanor, see that you must come with me. We’ll let the Russians deal with Lindholm. Katarina here is under the Tsar’s orders. Once he is gone I am sure you can return here and continue your work, free from all this danger and secrecy.”

  “You are sweet, Mr. Longman,” Eleanor replied. “But I fear that it is you who does not understand the situation.”

  She did not say any more, for they could all hear the shuffling, stomping sound they had heard before, rustling, scraping and hissing as it came closer and closer.

  “For God’s sake, go, all of you!” said Eleanor. “Don’t let it trap you in here!”