“Imhotep.”
Not a pharaoh after all, but someone even greater: a man whose tomb had been sought after by archaeologists and adventurers for hundreds of years.
While not being a king, Imhotep had nevertheless been one of the greatest men of his day, in many ways surpassing the importance of the monarch for whom he had built the famous Step Pyramid at Saqqara, one of the oldest buildings in the world, predating even Giza. He had been a vizier, an architect, a scholar, a surgeon and, later, a demigod. As befitting his status, he had been buried with all the wealth of Egypt.
Thoth, like Imhotep, was associated with the development of science, the creation of writing. He was the balance upon which the order of the universe depended, a defender of Ra, a learned god who brought the wonders of heaven to earth. To have been buried in a sarcophagus bearing the god’s image was perhaps the greatest honour that could have been bestowed on him.
“This is incredible,” King whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Surrounding the sarcophagus were hundreds of golden items: gilded chairs and beds, pots and vases, spears and swords and shields, jewellery and canopic jars. Everywhere King looked there was gold, laid on the ground and hung on the outcroppings of the walls.
Then the light-stick faded and drew the treasures of Imhotep back into the darkness.
“Wow.” Raine said as he dropped to the ground beside him, startling him.
“Yeah,” was all King could think of to say.
“So where’s the mask?”
King eyed his companion. “In a hurry?” he grunted but moved away before he could reply. He stepped up towards the large sarcophagus, the light of his head and hand torches bouncing back from it. Then he turned and slowly panned his beams around the chamber. It was a massive space, but there was nowhere in particular to hide the mask. His torch beams fell through the open mouth of another tunnel leading away from the chamber and he toyed with the idea that Kha’um had hidden his most prized treasure away from the rest of the booty but instead he brought the lights down to converge, once again, on the sarcophagus. “Could use a hand,” he said to Raine.
Together, they grunted as they shifted the enormous weight of the coffin’s lid. It slid slowly to one side and King ordered Raine to be careful as it teetered off. Despite their best efforts, it still clanged loudly against the floor, echoing throughout the cavernous space.
And there, inside the hollow interior of the sarcophagus, lay the mummified remains of Imhotep. A man lost to history and even to legend, almost five thousand years old. His body was shrunken, the mummification techniques so close to the dawn of Egyptian history a far cry from those used millennia later on the great and famous rulers of the New Kingdom. Yet the body had indeed been preserved; the structure was still there, the linen bandages still wrapped around the withered limbs. But most impressive was the face — for it was not that of a man, but of a baboon. A golden baboon. Imhotep’s death mask.
Only, there was a piece missing — the upper-most quadrant of the vaguely human shaped ape-face.
“Benny,” Raine nodded towards the radiation wand O’Rourke had given him. The needle on it was going crazy.
“The coffin was lined with lead,” King realised, running his hands along the interior. He felt breathless. “That’s how Kha’um transported the mask back from Egypt without his crew dying.”
“Okay,” Raine said sceptically. “But how did some dead Egyptian dude know about radiation… much less what materials can contain it?”
King didn’t answer him. Instead, his eyes flicked down to the body contained within the coffin. Balanced upon his chest, broken off from the golden Death Mask, presumably by Kha’um, was the missing piece:
Only it wasn’t alone. Beside it, kept safely inside the lead-line sarcophagus was a second piece, this one of the lower half of a jaw. The piece Kha’um took from Easter Island.
Almost reverently, King reached out and plucked the two pieces of the Moon Mask from where they had laid since Kha’um had deposited them with their mummified keeper three centuries earlier.
“You don’t believe in curses do you?” Raine asked suddenly, breaking the almost spiritual moment.
“What?” King snapped. Raine shrugged.
“Just, you know, the whole Lord Carnarvon dropping dead, while at the exact moment in England his favourite dog howled then keeled over as well…” he trailed off at King’s incredulous look. “What?”
King shook his head and began taking the heavy, lead-line rucksack O’Rourke had given him off his shoulders. “I don’t know if I’m more surprised that you know about Lord Carnarvon or that you actually believe in the Curse of King Tut.”
He unclasped the container and opened the lid. Inside, set within the protective padding, was the piece of the Moon Mask which they had found in Venezuela.
“It’s just, you know,” Raine was saying. He callously picked up one of Imhotep’s arms as though it was a rag-doll. “I keep expecting him to suddenly sit bolt upright or something and say ‘boo!’” He said this last loudly in an obvious attempt to frighten King. Instead, the archaeologist snapped angrily.
“Be careful! That’s a four and a half thousand year old mummy, not some… prop from a crappy Brendon Fraser movie!”
“I thought it was quite good,” Raine mumbled, gently placing the arm back down. “Didn’t think much of the sequels though.”
“Don’t you have anything better to be doing? Like checking in with Gibbs?”
King thought he noticed a hesitant expression on the other man’s face, bringing back his earlier concerns which his excitement at finding the mask had assuaged. He tried to shrug off his misgivings as he pushed the two new pieces of the Moon Mask into the foam. It crunched beneath them, conforming to the pieces’ shapes and only then did King’s heart sink.
“There’s a piece missing,” he said.
Raine looked at him, serious again. “You said you thought the original Bouda piece wouldn’t be here. It wasn’t mentioned in the journal, right?”
“That’s right. I figured that would be a different route of investigation to find the piece that Edward Pryce took from Kha’um originally. But, I mean there’s another piece missing.” He turned the case so that Raine could see:
Sure enough, the three pieces of the mask made up only three fifths of a circle. The red-coloured piece of the mask from Xibalba, with its grotesque carvings, slotted almost perfectly with the piece that
Kha’um had cut out of Imhotep’s baboon death mask. It was still gilded gold, but its edges betrayed the base metal’s true colour. The piece that had inspired the giant Moa statues of Easter Island also sat snuggly against the Xibalba section, but two significant gaps in the overall structure were revealed. One missing piece was the Bouda mask, but it hit King with gut wrenching realisation that he had no idea where the second missing piece could be.
“Damn. So it’s not over yet,” Raine pointed out. “Gibbs, do you copy; over.” He was answered by static and King felt a shiver of dread snake down his spine. “Gibbs, this is Raine. Do you read me; over.” Again, only silence replied.
King’s guard went up. There was a certain convenience in the timing of the communication cut-out which he didn’t like. “What’s going on?”
Raine shrugged casually. “Beats me,” he replied, stepping around to King’s side of the ancient coffin. “Maybe we’re too deep.”
“It was working a second ago,” King replied, the hint of an accusation in his voice.
“What can I say, Benny? I’m not the com-specialist, that’s West’s job.”