This much he now told the silent Arab who had come out of the night with a strange proposal and a weird credentiaclass="underline" the Seal of the Black Pharaoh, Nephren-Ka.
When Cartaret finished his summary, he glanced at the dark stranger in interrogation.
“What next?” he asked.
“Follow me,” said the other, urbanely. “I shall lead you to the spot you seek.”
“Now?” gasped Cartaret. The other nodded.
“But — it’s too sudden! I mean, the whole thing is like a dream. You come out of the night, unbidden and unknown, show me the Seal, and graciously offer to grant me my desires. Why? It doesn’t make sense.”
“This makes sense.” The grave Arab indicated the black Seal.
“Yes,” admitted Cartaret. “But — how can I trust you? Why must I go now? Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait, and get the proper authorities behind us? Won’t there be need of excavation; aren’t there necessary instruments to take?”
“No.” The other spread his palms upward. “Just come.”
“Look here.” Cartaret’s suspicion crystallized in his sharp tones. “How do I know this isn’t a trap? Why should you come to me this way? Who the devil are you?”
“Patience.” The dark man smiled. “I shall explain all. I have listened to your accounts of the ‘legend’ with great interest, and while your facts are clear, your own view of them is mistaken. The ‘legend’ you have learned of is true — all of it. Nephren-Ka did write the future on the walls of his tomb when he died; he did possess the power of divination; and the priests who buried him formed a cult which did survive.”
“Yes?” Cartaret was impressed, despite himself.
“I am one of those priests.” The words stabbed like swords in the white man’s brain.
“Do not look so shocked. It is the truth. I am a descendant of the original cult of Nephren-Ka, one of those inner initiates who have kept the legend alive. I worship the Power which the Black Pharaoh received, and I worship the god Nyarlathotep who accorded that Power to him. To us believers, the most sacred truth lies in the hieroglyphs inscribed by the divinely gifted Pharaoh before he died. Throughout the ages, we guardian priests have watched history unfold, and always it has agreed with the ideographs on those tunneled walls. We believe.
“It is because of our belief that I have sought you out. For within the secret crypt of the Black Pharaoh it is written upon the walls of the future that you shall descend there.”
Stunning silence.
“Do you mean to say,” Cartaret gasped, “that those pictures show me discovering the spot?”
“They do,” assented the dark man, slowly. “That is why I came to you unbidden. You shall come with me and fulfill the prophecy tonight, as it is written.”
“Suppose I don’t come?” flashed Captain Cartaret, suddenly. “What about your prophecy then?”
The Arab smiled. “You’ll come,” he said. “You know that.” Cartaret realized that it was so. Nothing could keep him away from this amazing discovery. A thought struck him.
“If this wall really records the details of the future,” he began, “perhaps you can tell me a little about my own coming history. Will this discovery make me famous? Will I return again to the spot? Is it written that I am to bring the secret of Nephren-Ka to light?”
The dark man looked grave. “That I do not know,” he admitted. “I neglected to tell you something about the Walls of Truth. My ancestor — he who first descended into the secret spot after it had been sealed, he who first looked upon the work of prophecy — did a needful thing. Deeming that such wisdom was not for lesser mortals, he piously covered the walls with concealing tapestry. Thus none might look upon the future too far. As time passed, the tapestry was drawn back to keep pace with the actual events of history, and always
they have coincided with the hieroglyphs. Through the ages, it has always been the duty of one priest to descend to the secret tomb each day and draw back the tapestry so as to reveal the events of the day that follows. Now, during my life, that is my mission. My fellows devote their time to the needful rites of worship in hidden places. I alone descend the concealed passage daily and draw back the curtain on the Walls of Truth. When I die, another will take my place. Understand me — the writing does not minutely concern every single event; merely those which affect the history and destiny of Egypt itself. Today, my friend, it was revealed that you should descend and enter into the place of your desire. What the morrow holds in store for you I cannot say, until the curtain is drawn once more.”
Cartaret sighed. “I suppose that there is nothing else left but for me to go, then.” His eagerness was ill dissembled. The dark man observed this at once, and smiled cynically, while he strode to the door.
“Follow me,” he commanded.
To Captain Cartaret that walk through the moonlit streets of Cairo was blurred in chaotic dream. His guide led him into labyrinths of looming shadows; they wandered through the twisted native quarters and passed through a maze of unfamiliar alleys and thoroughfares. Cartaret strode mechanically at the dark stranger’s heels, his thoughts avid for the great triumph to come.
He hardly noticed their passage through a dingy courtyard; when his companion drew up before an ancient well and pressed a niche revealing the passage beneath, he followed him as a matter of course. From somewhere the Arab had produced a flashlight. Its faint beam almost rebounded from the murk of the inky tunnel.
Together they descended a thousand stairs, into the ageless and eternal darkness that broods beneath. Like a blind man, Cartaret stumbled down — down into the depths of three thousand vanished years.
The temple was entered — the subterranean temple-tomb of Nephren- Ka. Through silver gates the priest passed, his dazed companion following behind.
Cartaret stood in a vast chamber, the niched walls of which were lined with sarcophagi.
“They hold the mummies of the interred priests and servants,” explained his guide.
Strange were the mummy-cases of Nephren-Ka’s followers, not like those known to Egyptology. The carven covers bore no recognized, conventional features as was the usual custom; instead they presented the strange, grinning countenances of demons and creatures of fable. Jeweled eyes stared mockingly from the black visages of gargoyles spawned in a sculptor’s nightmare. From every side of the room those eyes shone through the shadows; unwinking, unchanging, omniscient in this little world of the dead.
Cartaret stirred uneasily. Emerald eyes of death, ruby eyes of malevolence, yellow orbs of mockery; everywhere they confronted him. He was glad when his guide led him forward at last, so that the incongruous rays of the flashlight shone on the entrance beyond. A moment later his relief was dissipated by the sight of a new horror confronting him at the inner door way.
Two gigantic figures shambled there, guarding either side of the opening — two monstrous, troglodytic figures. Great gorillas they were; enormous apes, carved in simian semblance from black stone. They faced the doorway, squatting on mighty haunches, their huge, hairy arms upraised in menace. Their glittering faces were brutally alive; they grinned, bare-fanged, with idiotic glee. And they were blind — eyeless and blind.
There was a terrible allegory in these figures which Cartaret knew only too well. The blind apes were Destiny personified; a hulking, mindless Destiny whose sightless, stupid gropings trampled on the dreams of men and altered their lives by aimless flailings of purposeless paws. Thus did they control reality.