The Seventh Scroll

monks' stockpile and managed to get a small fire going.

"Good girl," he told her. "If ever you want a job as a housekeeper-

"Don't tempt me." She hobbled over to him, and examined the cut in his

scalp. "Nice healthy scab," she told him, and then suddenly and

impulsively she hugged his head to her bosom and stroked his dusty,

sweat-stiff hair off his forehead.

"Oh, Nicky! How can I ever repay you for what you did for me today?"

A flippant reply rose to his lips, but even in his weakened state he had

the good sense to bite it back. He was in no state to attempt any

further intimacy. So he lay in her embrace, enjoying the feel of her

body against his, but not taking the risk of scaring her off with a move

of his own.

At last she released him gently, and sat back. "I very much regret, sir,

that the housekeeper cannot offer you smoked salmon and champagne for

your dinner. How about a mug of mountain water, pure and nourishing?"

"I think we can do better than that." He took the drycell torch from his

burn'bag, and by its beam selected a round, fist-sized stone from the

floor of the cavern. With this in his right hand he turned the light

upwards, and played it over the cavern roof. Immediately there was a

rustling of wings and the alarmed cooing of the rock pigeons that were

roosting on the ledges. Nicholas manoeuvred into position below them,

dazzling them with the torch beam.

With his first throw he brought down a brace of them, fluttering and

squawking to the cavern floor, while the rest of the flock exploded out

into the night in a great clattering uproar of frantic wings. Nicholas

pounced on the downed birds and with a practised flick of the wrist

wrung their necks.

"How do you fancy a juicy slice of roast pigeon?" he asked her.

She lay propped on one elbow, and he sat cross-legged facing her, each

of them plucking the vinous-maroon and grey feathers from one of the

pigeon carcasses. Even when it came to drawing the bird, she was not

squeamish, as many other women might have been faced with the same task.

This, together with her stoical performance during the day's struggle up

the mountain, enhanced his opinion of her. She had repeatedly proved to

him how game and plucky she was. His feelings towards her were

strengthening and maturing every day.

Concentrating on removing the fine bristles from the puckered breast

skin of the bird, she said, "It is beyond all doubt now that the

material stolen in the raid on our camp is in Pegasus hands."

"I was thinking the same thing," Nicholas nodded, "and we know from the

antennae at their base camp above the falls that they have satellite

communications. We can place a pretty certain bet that Jake Helm has

already telefaxed it through to the big man, whoever he may be."

"So he has all the details of the stele in Tanus's tomb.

We know that he already has the seventh scroll in his possession. If he

isn't an expert Egyptologist himself, he must have somebody in his pay

who is. Wouldn't you agree with that?"

I would guess that he can read hieroglyphics himself.

I would think that he must be an avid collector. I know the type. It is

an obsession with them."

"I know the type as well." She smiled at him. "There is one sitting not

a thousand miles away from me at this very moment."

"ToucV' he laughed, and held up his hands in surrender. "But I have only

been lightly bitten by the bug, compared to others I could name. Those

other two on Duraid's list, for instance."

"Peter Walsh and Gotthold von Schiller," she reeled off the names.

"Those two are homicidal collectors,," he confirmed. "I -am sure neither

of them would hesitate to kill for the chance of having Pharaoh Mamose's

treasure to themselves."

"But from what I know about them, both of them are billionaires, at

least in dollar terms."

"Money has nothing to do with it, don't you see. If they laid hands upon

it, they would never ever dream of selling a single artefact from the

hoard. They would lock it all away in some deep vault, and not let

another living soul la eyes upon it. They would gloat on it in private -

it's a bizarre, masturbatory passion."

"What an odd word to describe it," she protested.

"But accurate, I assure you. It's a sexual thing a compulsion, like that

of a serial killer."

"I love all things Egyptian, but I don't think I can even imagine a

craving that intense."

"You must remember that these are not ordinary men whom we are

considering. Their wealth allows'them to pander to any appetite'. All

the normal, natural human appetites soon become jaded and satiated. They

can have anything they want. Any man or any woman. Any thing, any

perversion, whether legal or not. In the end they have to find something

that no one else can ever have. It's the only thing that can still give

them the old thrill."

"So in whoever is behind Pegasus we are dealing with a madman?" she

asked softly.

"Much more than that," he corrected her. "We are enormously wealthy and

powerful dealing with an maniac, who in his disease will stop at

nothing."

They picked the cold carcasses of the roasted pigeons for their

breakfast. Then, while the other one tactfully went to the back of the

cavern an  averted his or her gaze, they took turns to strip naked and

bathe under the waterfall.

After the heat of the gorge the water was icy cold. It battered them

with the force of a fire hose. Royan hopped on her good leg, gasping and

whimpering under the torrent, and emerged covered in goose-pimples and

shuddering blue with cold. However, it refreshed her, and even in her

filthy, sweat-stinking clothes it gave her heart to start out on the

last bitter climb to the summit.

Before leaving the cavern they examined each other's injuries again.

Nicholas's scalp wound was heating cleanly, but Royan's knee was no

better than the previous day. The bruises were starting to turn a

virulent puce, the colour of decomposing liver, and the swelling was

unabated. There was very little he could do for it, other than strapping

it again with the bandana.

At last Nicholas admitted defeat, and abandoned his burn-bag and the

roll of dik'dik skin. He knew that he was reaching the limit of his

physical reserves, and he realized that, light as these items were,

every extra pound that he carried today might mean the difference

between reaching the summit or breaking down on the trail. He retained

only the three rolls of undeveloped film, each in its plastic capsule.

These were their only record of the hieroglyphics' on the stele in

Tanus's tomb. He dared not risk losing them, so he buttoned them into

the breast pocket of his khaki shirt. He tucked both the bag and the

skin into a crack in the wall at the back of the cavern, determined to

retrieve them at some later date.

And so they started out on the last but most onerous leg of the trail.

To begin with Royan was on her own two feet, but leaning heavily on his

shoulder. However, before the first hour was over her knee could no

longer take the strain, and she subsided on to a rock on the edge of the

pathway.

"I am being an awful nuisance, aren't I?