"Your heart beats again; you come to life! You are young and strong once more; you are now and forever,"
No, do not weep again! Do not struggle to grasp it, to see it. The figure moving away; blue eyes. She had known those blue eyes. As soon as I drank it, it happened. The priestess showed me in the mirror , . . blue eyes. Ah, but whose voice was this! This voice that had said the prayer in the darkness, the ancient sacred prayer for the opening of the mummy's mouth.
She had called out his name! And here, in (his strange little house, Lord Rutherford had spoken the name also. Lord Rutherford was going . . .
Be back before dark.
It was no use. She stared through the archway at the dead body. She must get out into this strange land. And she must remember that it was extremely easy to kill them, to snap their necks like brittle stems.
She hurried out, without closing the door. The whitewashed houses on either side of her looked familiar and good to her. She had known such cities. Maybe this was Egypt, but no, that could not be.
She rushed along, holding the ribbons tight so that the strange headdress would not fly from her hair. So easy to walk fast. And the sun felt so good to her. The sun. In a flash she saw it flooding down from a high portal in a cave. A wooden shutter had opened. She heard the creak of the chain.
Then it was gone, the memory, if it had even been a memory. Wake, Ramses.
That was his name. But she didn't care now. She was free to roam this strange city; free to discover, to see!
4
SAMIR PURCHASED several Bedouin garments in the first shop in old Cairo that sold such clothes. He ducked into a small restaurant, a filthy alleyway of a place full of down-on-their-luck Frenchmen, and there put on the loose, concealing garb and tucked the other garments-those heft bought for Julie-under his arm, inside his robes.
He liked this loose peasant costume, which was infinitely older than the tailored robes and hats which most Egyptians wore, in fact, it was probably the oldest mode of dress still in active existence-the long, loose drapery of the desert wanderers. He felt free in it, and safe from all eyes.
He hurried along through the winding honeycomb streets of Arab Cairo, towards the house of his cousin Zaki, a man he disliked dealing with but one who would give him exactly what he wanted more easily and efficiently than anyone else. And who knew how long Ramses must hide in Cairo? Who knew how these murders would be solved?
When he reached the mummy factory of his cousin-surely one of the most distasteful places in the entire known world- he entered by the side gate. A load of freshly wrapped bodies baked hi the harsh afternoon sunshine. Inside, no doubt, others were being stewed in the pot.
A lone worker dug a trench now into which these fresh mummies would be laid for a few days, "browning" as it were in damp earth.
It disgusted Samir completely, though he had come to this little factory as a boy long before he had known there were real mummies, the bodies of the ancient ancestors to be studied, to be saved from theft and mutilation, and preserved.
"Look at it this way," his cousin Zaki once argued. "We are better than the thieves who sell our ancient rulers bit by bit to the foreigners. What we sell isn't sacred. It's fake."
Good old Zaki. Samir was about to signal to one of the men inside the place, a man who was in fact engaged in wrapping a body. But then Zaki himself emerged from the reeking little house.
"Eh, Samir! So good to see you always, cousin. Come have a coffee with me, cousin."
"Not now, Zaki, I need your assistance."
"Of course, you would not be here if you did not."
Samir accepted the rebuke with a humble little smile.
"Zaki, I need a safe place, a little house with a heavy door and a back entrance. Secret. For a few days, maybe longer. I don't know."
Zaki laughed good-naturedly, but a little smugly.
"Ah, so, the educated one, the one whom all respect, and he comes to me for a hiding place?"
"Don't question me, Zaki." Samir produced a roll of bills from under his robe. He held this out to his cousin. "A safe house. I can pay."
"All right, I know just the thing," said Zaki. "Come into the house and take coffee with me. One whiff, and you get used to the smell."
For decades Zaki had been saying that. Samir never got used to the smell. But he felt compelled now to do what his cousin wanted, and he followed him into the "embalming room," a miserable place where a vat of bitumen and other chemicals was always simmering, waiting for a new body to be thrown in.
As he passed, Samir saw that the pot had a new victim. It sickened him. He looked away, but not before he had glimpsed the poor devil's black hair billowing free on the surface as his face floated just beneath it.
"How about a nice fresh mummy?" Zaki teased him. ' 'Straight from the Valley of the Kings. Name a dynasty, I give it to you! Male, female, whatever you wish!"
"The hiding place, cousin."
"Yes, yes. I have several such houses vacant. Coffee first and I send you off with a key. Tell me what you know of this robbery in the museum! The mummy which was stolen! Was it genuine, do you think?"
* * *
In a daze, Elliott walked into the lobby of Shepheard's. He knew that he was disheveled, that dirt and sand clung to his trousers and even his coat. His left leg ached, but he no longer truly felt it. He did not care that beneath his rumpled shirt and suit coat he was drenched in sweat. He knew that he should be relieved to be here-safe and away from all the horrors he'd witnessed, the horrors in which he had shared. But it seemed unreal to him; he had not escaped the atmosphere of the little house.
Ah1 the way back from old Cairo, as the cab jolted him through the insufferable traffic, he had thought, Malenka is dead because I brought the woman there. Henry he could not grieve for. But Malenka would be forever on his soul. And the murderer, his monstrous resurrected Queen. What would he do with her if he could not find Ramsey? When would she turn on him?
The thing to do now was to find Samir, for he would know where Ramsey was.
He was quite unprepared for Alex rushing to him, and embracing him and trying to stop his progress to the desk.
"Father, thank God you're here."
"Where's Ramsey? I have to talk to him at once."
"Father, don't you know what's happened? They're searching for him all over Cairo. He's wanted for murder, Father, both here and in London. Julie's beside herself. We've been going out of our minds. And Henry, we cannot find Henry! Father, where have you been!"
"You stay with Julie, you take care of her," he said. "Let your American Miss Barrington wait." He tried to move on to the desk.
"Miss Barrington's gone," Alex said with a dismissive gesture. ' 'Whole family changed their plans this morning, after the police came to question them about Ramsey and about us."
"I'm sorry, son," he murmured. "But you must leave me now, I have to find Samir.''
"Then you're in luck. He's just come in."
Alex gestured to the cashier. Samir had apparently just written a bank draft for some money. He was counting it and putting it away. He had a bundle under his arm. He seemed to be in a hurry.
"Let me alone now, my boy," Elliott said as he hurried towards him. Samir looked up just as Elliott reached the marble desk. He drew Samir aside.
"I have to see him," Elliott whispered. "If you know where he is, I must see him."
"My Lord, please." Samir glanced around, slowly and casually taking in the entire lobby. ' 'The authorities are searching for him. People are watching us now."
"But you know where he is. Or how to get a message to him. You know all about him, you have from the beginning."