“Without his piece of the map, the vast wealth we have concealed shall remain forever lost, yet I do not weep, for I know that amidst the treasure of a pharaoh’s tomb lies a darkness which is best kept from this world. My friend, Abubakar, agreed and, after many months, when we at last gave up hope of Kha’um’s homecoming, he returned to that land of frozen sand which he so loved and I know in my heart of hearts that he found the peace he always cherished. As for me, I cannot weep for the love I have lost. My life has been full and blessed. But now, as I write this final passage, now that time, that enemy Kha’um fought so hard against, has finally caught up with this old lady, I still fear what we buried in that cave.
“Kha’um called it a gift from the gods and perhaps it was. But in the hands of man, it brought only evil. Its curse killed all those aboard the L’aile Raptor so very long ago. It turned Edward Pryce into a hideous monster, deformed and insane. And even Kha’um, the noblest man of all, succumbed to its insidious curse. No man, not even Kha’um, should have the power of god and the Moon Mask is such a power. One day, perhaps, mankind will have evolved enough to harness that power to its true potential, but until that day I must entrust these memoirs and the secrets they hold to my descendants. For the mask must only be unveiled when the time is right.
“Kha’um’s map is lost, but not forever I fear. Abubakar took his piece with him to his new life at the world’s end. As for mine? Forever more, the bearer of my name shall hold my piece of the map in their hand.”
With an overly dramatic flourish, the mercenary slammed the book shut. “So what the hell does that mean?”
King’s mind was reeling as he struggled to decipher that for himself. A strange mixture of boyish excitement collided with an ominous dread. Even back then, the Moon Mask exuded some menace which Emily Hamilton had obviously been privy to. She had known then exactly what he knew now: the Moon Mask couldn’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.
“Damned if I know,” he shrugged.
“No, Ben,” Bill said casually, strolling up the length of the cabin. “She’s damned!” He slapped the barrel of his handgun against Sid’s forehead, squeezing the trigger.
“Wait!” King jolted forward, only to have a strong pair of hands, Bill’s surviving lackey, slam him back into the uncomfortable seat. Like a shark moving in for the kill, Bill turned back to look at him.
King’s heart pounded. His body shook. Sid’s eyes found him, filled with terror. Dirty streaks ran down her checks but her sobs were muffled by the duct tape stuck over her lips.
“Thought of something?” Bill asked casually.
Escape was impossible, he knew. He had been pulling against his restraints since regaining consciousness but all he had achieved was slicing his flesh on the plastic ties. His head pounded and blood crusted in his short cropped hair from the wound on the back of his skull. It wasn’t as life threatening as Bill’s men had originally believed but it still hurt like hell. But he ignored his own discomfort, focussing instead on Sid. The gun pointed at her head brought back nightmares of that terrible afternoon in Lagos. He again relived the moment he’d seen the bullet enter first his mother’s skull and then his sister’s. The circular scar on his forehead burned anew.
“Times-a-ticking, Ben—”
“I can work it out,” he snapped. He felt an immediate sense of guilt wash through him. His wasn’t only betraying the U.N. mission but also all that Kha’um and Emily Hamilton had gone through centuries before. He wished he had never gone to Jamaica. He wished he had just left Mrs Marley well enough alone.
But he hadn’t. His own quest for the Moon Mask had endangered Sid’s life and he wasn’t prepared to lose her. Not even for the Moon Mask.
“Give me the book,” he said. “The answer’s in there. I know it is. I just need to work it out.”
Bill stared at King like a hungry predator unwilling to give up his prey, his gun still pressed against Sid’s head. Then, all of a sudden, he threw the book at him.
“This isn’t a library, Ben,” he warned as he started to read. “Make it quick.”
31:
The Voyage
“King was right,” Mrs Marley began. “About everything, really. Emily Hamilton and Amelia Kernewek are one and the same. And her diary — well, it’s more of a memoir really, written many years later — holds the key to the location of the hoard of treasure they collected. And, of course, the Moon Mask. But,” she held up a podgy finger. “I honestly do not know the location of one piece of the map, and the other piece is… well, I have a theory as to where it is.”
Raine studied the old woman’s face, searching for any hint of deception but found none. It was almost like she was a different person. The moody, angry woman who had punched King in the face had vanished. A new ‘sparkle’ seemed to have appeared in her eyes and it was more than just the pain of her gunshot wound that caused it. He didn’t pretend to understand what motivated the woman. Nor did he care. He had patched her up as best he could but they still sat huddled on the roof of the Hand of Freedom building. Dawn tickled the eastern sky but hadn’t yet broken.
“Go on,” he urged.
“I must start at the beginning,” she told him and before he could say anything further, she flew into a commentary.
“Just as King had suspected, Kha’um was one of only two survivors of the Atlantic crossing of the slave ship, L’aile Raptor. The ‘curse’ of the Moon Mask had killed all the slave ship’s crew and the slaves themselves starved to death. Kha’um was stronger and somehow survived for a long period without food and water. The only other survivor was Edward Pryce, the ship’s captain. But, somehow, the curse had disfigured him. His hair had fallen out and his skin was pocked with scars from agonising boils.”
Raine kept quiet about the source of the ‘curse’ and let Mrs Marley continue.
“While Pryce was admitted to an asylum, Kha’um was sold to Emmett Hamilton and set to work with many others in his sugar plantations until he saved the life of the owner’s daughter, Emily.”
“This is what King told me,” Raine said, feeling irritable. “Mrs Marley, we don’t have a lot of time.”
She smiled, as though amused by his words. “Time?” she repeated. “This story is all about time, young mon. About a year after saving her life when she fell down a hidden well, the Hamilton estate was attacked… by Pryce. A man named Hawk had released him from the asylum and supplied him with a ship and crew. His motivations were unknown, but Pryce’s were plain and simple. He wanted to reassemble all the pieces of the Moon Mask and use it, as the ancient legend suggested he could, to travel back in time and prevent the evil that had befallen him. The Bouda’s mask would show its wearer the way to the other pieces, but he knew that wearing it again would kill him.”
“So he needed Kha’um.”
“That’s right. But Kha’um wouldn’t help him, of course, so Pryce was cunning. He attacked the estate, killed its inhabitants and burned it to the ground. But, after confronting one another, he allowed Kha’um to not only escape but, with a small group of freed slaves, to take control of his ship. They rechristened it the Hand of Freedom.”