The chamber was small, reflecting the outside dimensions, about twelve feet on a side, just a bit larger than the average prison cell. The interior walls were plain undecorated brick left unplastered and the floor was smooth flat slabs of dark basalt, obviously quarried. The paving stones of the floor were slightly larger than the trapdoor, a little less than three feet square. The roof overhead was made of basalt beams each about two feet across.
There was one paving stone missing in the exact center of the floor. In its place was a square dark opening with a wooden ladder steeply canted down into the shaft below. On the far side of the room were the remains of something that looked like a broken wooden box about six feet long, the top splintered into several pieces.
There were a number of faded symbols on the side of the box, including a large pair of ornamental eyes. Grotesquely, inside the box Holliday could see something that looked like two leathery legs bound together with lengths of tobacco-colored bandage. There was no torso, arms or head. It was the ruins of a human mummy.
"His name was Ahmose Pen-nekhbet," said Alhazred. "From what I can tell he was some sort of high official. When I found the tomb it was empty. Someone had already broken in, excavated the sand the tomb was filled with, then stole everything of value. When they were done they resealed the tomb exactly where I placed the trapdoor. The sarcophagus had been in a vertical position in the center of the room, disguising the floor stone that hid the shaft. The grave robbers tipped the coffin over to get at whatever jewelry the mummy had been decorated with."
"Where's the rest of the body?" Holliday asked.
Rafi supplied the answer.
"The grave robbers took it. Sometimes mummies had gems and valuables inserted into the stomach cavity. The robbers were probably in a hurry, so they simply tore the remains of the corpse in half."
"That was my opinion as well," Alhazred said and nodded. "It was all fate of course, inshallah-as God wills it. If the robbers hadn't knocked over the sarcophagus I wouldn't have seen what the robbers missed-the cracks around the center paving stone revealing the shaft beneath."
"When do you think it happened?" Holliday asked.
"There's really no way to tell," answered Alhazred.
"Probably not long after the original burial," said Rafi, ignoring the Lebanese man's look of irritation. "There are hundreds of these tombs; whoever broke into this one knew there was someone important buried in it. It's like the grave robbers in Victorian England. They read death notices for wealthy people and attended the funerals to see if they were being buried with their best jewelry."
"Ghoulish," grunted Holliday.
Rafi shrugged.
"Practical, if that's the business you're in," he said.
"We going down the hole?" Holliday asked.
"Claustrophobic, are we?" Alhazred asked, smiling.
"No, we are not claustrophobic in the least," answered Holliday. "We just want to get on with it, if you don't mind."
"Of course, Colonel," answered Alhazred a little stiffly. "Your wish is my command."
"If that was true," snapped Holliday, "you'd tell us where Peggy is."
"Patience, Colonel, all in good time."
"Then like I said, let's get on with it."
"You and Dr. Wanounou first," said Alhazred, handing Holliday the spotlight. "I don't think I'm quite ready to turn my back on you."
"The feeling's mutual, believe me," said Holliday. He gave the spotlight to Rafi, who pointed it toward the shaft. Holliday eased himself onto the ladder and went down the hole. He found himself in a small, low- ceilinged chamber lined with mud brick and barely large enough to turn around in.
It was at least ten degrees colder in the chamber than it had been within the tomb. A few moments later Rafi joined him and finally Alhazred appeared, carrying the light in one hand. He pointed the spotlight to the left. Holliday saw a set of stairs carved directly into the limestone bedrock.
"After you, gentlemen," murmured Alhazred. Holliday went down first, the stone on either side brushing his shoulders. At the bottom of the shallow flight of steps there was an extremely narrow corridor.
It was colder here than the chamber behind them-the dry sterile cold of death and the passage of time. They were deep enough so that the tunnel-like corridor was in bedrock, the walls still bearing the chisel marks of the quarrymen who had excavated it thousands of years before.
The spotlight beam threw long, bobbing shadows in front of Holliday as he walked. At the end of the passage, about a hundred feet or so from the limestone stairs, was a second antechamber, empty once again, the walls decorated with carved hieroglyphics. As Alhazred appeared with the light, Holliday saw that the same set of symbols was repeated over and over again.
"The owl means beloved," explained Alhazred. "The seated man is a scribe. Surrounded by a cartouche, a royal border, those are the symbols that form Imhotep's name. I almost fainted when I first saw them. I knew the name immediately, of course," the man added, obvious pride in his voice.
"Was there a door from the antechamber into the room beyond?" Rafi asked, playing the beam of the big flashlight around. "A seal?"
The walls of the antechamber were alive with brightly colored paintings, mostly scenes of everyday life: gathering water from irrigation channels, milling wheat, fishing in lily- covered ponds and marshes.
The figures in the paintings all seemed to be women and children, all richly dressed. The floor of the room looked freshly swept. A doorway yawned emptily at the far end of the living-room-sized chamber hewn out of solid rock. As the beam swept over the open doorway Holliday could see a hodgepodge clutter of what looked like furniture. Alhazred spoke.
"There was a plaster seal and a hemp line wrapped around the two handles of double doors. The doors were cedar, sheathed in gold."
"Whose seal was pressed into the plaster?"
"The same as the glyphs. Imhotep's; there is no doubt."
"I wonder who buried him," Rafi said quietly. He went to the wall on his left, peering at the repeated name of Imhotep. In some repetitions there was another set of glyphs within the cartouche, repeated each time as well. Rafi pointed it out and commented on it. "A woman's name," he said, looking carefully. "Het-shep-sit."
"Do you know what it means?" Holliday asked.
"Glory of her Father," translated Rafi.
"Imhotep's daughter, then," responded Holliday.
"Almost certainly," said Alhazred.
"I didn't even know he was married," said Holliday.
"The daughter could well have been illegitimate," said Rafi. "There's a four-glyph word after her name: H'mt-a. It's the word for a female slave."
"My thoughts as well," added Alhazred. "We should move on. The next rooms are the most important."
Rafi obviously wanted to linger for a moment, peering at the walls of the large room, but he turned toward the open doorway.
"What happened to the doors?" Rafi asked.
"Unfortunately they were destroyed when we opened the tomb rooms. The sheathing was removed and has been stored for safekeeping," answered Alhazred.
The next room was a clutter of jumbled furniture and artifacts, tumbled together like junk in an attic. Holliday could see small statues and models of chariots and houses, several small ship models, piles of ornately decorated boxes, tables, chairs, stools, and dozens of alabaster jars. It looked as though everything in the room had been looted then pushed to the side, allowing egress into the next room.
"I'm afraid Elhadji and his colleagues aren't the most careful of workers. In fact it was Elhadji who destroyed the gold doors opening up the burial chamber."
You were the boss, thought Holliday. Why didn't you stop him?