Ethan Gage Collection # 1 (38 page)

We galloped up a long dune and stopped at its crest, overlooking the Nile. Ash released his grip and I dropped to my feet. As I staggered for balance, his grin had an edge of pain to it.

“Always I am having to rescue you, my friend. At some point my debt from the Battle of the Pyramids will be repaid.”

“It has been more than paid already,” I wheezed, watching as another horse galloped up and Astiza, slung like I was, her hair drooping down, was unceremoniously dropped by another warrior. I looked down at the river. The little skirmish had ended, the Frenchmen sprawled and still. Bin Sadr had raised sail and was making his way upriver toward Desaix and Dendara, probably to report my likely massacre. I had a hunch the bastard would claim my supposed killing for himself. Silano, however, would want to make sure.

“So you have joined the bey,” I said.

“Murad is going to win, sooner or later.”

“Those were good men just slain.”

“As my good friends were slaughtered at the pyramids. War is where good men die.”

“How did you find us?”

“I joined my people and trailed you, figuring Bin Sadr would as well. You do have a knack for trouble, American.”

“And for getting out of it, thanks to you.” Now I saw a stain of red on his robes. “You've been wounded!”

“Bah! Another scratch from a nest of snakes, enough to keep me from finishing the coward, yes, but not enough to kill me.” Yet he was
leaning now, clearly hurt. “Someday I will catch him alone, and then we'll see who is scratched. Or perhaps fate has another misery in store for him. I can hope.”

“You need to get that dressed!”

“Let me look at it,” Astiza said.

He stiffly dismounted, breathing shallowly and embarrassed as the woman sliced open the robe at his torso to inspect the damage.

“The ball passed through your side as if you were a ghost, but you're losing blood. Here, we'll use your turban to bind it. This is a serious wound, Ashraf. You're not going to be riding for a while, unless you're anxious to get to paradise.”

“And leave you two fools alone?”

“Maybe that, too, the gods intended. Ethan and I must finish this.”

“If I leave him for a moment he puts himself in peril!”

“I'll look after him, now.”

Ashraf considered. “Yes, you will.” Then he whistled. Two fine Arabian mounts came trotting over the rise, saddled and with manes and tails flouncing. They were better horses than I'd ever had. “Take these, then, and give a prayer for the men who recently rode them. Here is a sword from Murad Bey, Gage. If any Mamelukes try to take you, show it and they will leave you alone.” He glanced at Astiza. “Are you going back to the pyramids?”

“That's where Egypt begins and ends,” she said.

“Ride hard, for the French and their Arabs will be after you soon enough. Safeguard the magic you bear or destroy it, but don't let it fall into the hands of your enemies. Here, a robe against the sun.” He gave her a cape, then turned to me. “Where's your famous rifle?”

“Silano stuck his sword in it.”

He looked puzzled.

“It was the oddest thing. Jammed his rapier down the barrel, and I was so angry that I pulled the trigger and my oldest friend blew up. Served him right when Astiza pulled a roof down on him, but the bastard survived.”

Ashraf shook his head. “He has the luck of the demon god Ras al-Ghul. And someday, friend, when the French are gone, you and I will
sit and try to make sense of what you just said!” He painfully mounted and slowly rode down to meet the others, amid the wreckage and the bodies of war.

W
e galloped north as he instructed, following the river. It would be more than two hundred miles back to the pyramids. There were satchels of bread, dates, and water on the horses, but by sunset we were exhausted from travel and tension, having had no sleep the night before. We stopped at a small village by the Nile and were given shelter in the simple hospitality Egyptians habitually display, falling asleep before we could finish our dinner. The charity we were shown was astounding, given that these people were taxed unmercifully by the Mamelukes and looted by the French. Yet what little these poor peasants had they shared with us, and after we fell asleep they covered us with their own thin blankets, after dressing the cuts and scratches we'd received. As we'd instructed, we were roused two hours before first light and pushed north again.

The second night found us sore but somewhat more recovered, and we took our own private shelter in a riverside orchard of palms away from houses, humans, or dogs. We needed some time to ourselves. Since the attack of the Mamelukes we'd seen no forces from either side, just timeless villages in their timeless cycle. The inhabitants were working from reed rafts because the risen Nile had flooded their fields, bringing fresh silt from the mysterious center of Africa.

I used some flint and Ash's sword to make a fire. As the night deepened, the nearness of the rolling Nile seemed reassuring, a promise that life would go on. Both of us were in shock from the events of the past days and weeks, and we sensed this interlude of quiet wouldn't last long. Somewhere to the south, Bin Sadr and Silano were no doubt discovering that we weren't dead and starting their pursuit. So we were grateful for the quiet of the stars, the cushioning embrace of sand, and the lamb and fruit we'd been given by the last village.

Astiza had taken the medallion out again to wear, and I had to admit it looked better on her than me. I'd decided I trusted her,
because she could have warned Silano of my tomahawk, or fled from me with the talisman after the pillars came down, or left me after the river fight. She hadn't, and I remembered what she'd said on the boat: that she hadn't loved
him
. I'd been turning the phrase over in my head ever since, but still wasn't sure what to do with it.

“You're not certain exactly what secret door we're looking for?” I asked her instead.

She smiled sadly. “I'm not even sure it should, or can, be found. And yet why would Isis allow us to come this far, if not for a reason?”

In my experience, God didn't care much about reasons, but I didn't say that. Instead, I gathered up my courage. “I've already found my secret,” I said.

“What?”

“You.”

Even by the light of the fire I could see her blush as she turned away. So I put my hand to her cheek and turned her back toward me.

“Listen, Astiza, I've had a lot of hard desert miles to think. The sun had the breath of a lion, and the sand burned through my boots. There were days when Ashraf and I lived on mud and fried locusts. Yet I didn't think of that. I thought of you. If this Book of Thoth is a book of wisdom, maybe it would simply say to find what you already have, and to enjoy this day instead of worrying about the next one.”

“That doesn't sound like my restless wanderer.”

“The truth of the matter is, I fell in love with you, too,” I confessed. “Almost from the very beginning, when I pulled the wreckage off you and saw you were a woman. It was just hard to admit to myself.” And I kissed her, foreigner though I was, and damn if she didn't kiss back, more greedily than I expected. There's nothing like surviving a scrape or two to bring a man and woman together.

Isis, it turns out, is not as prudish a god as some of the more modern ones, and Astiza seemed to have as good an idea of what she wanted as I did. If the medallion looked fine on her tattered harem clothes, it looked positively glorious on her breast and belly, so we let the moon clothe us, made a little bed of our meager things, and lived for this night as if another might never come.

The trinket did prick when it got between us, so she took it off and left it for a time in the sand. Her skin was as perfect as the sculpted desert, her scent as sweet as the holy lotus. There is more sacred mystery in the soul and presence of a woman than in any dusty pyramid. I worshipped her like a shrine and explored her like a temple, and she whispered in my ear, “This, for one night, is immortality.”

Later, lying on her back, she let the medallion's chain curl on her fingers and pointed to the sky and its crescent moon. “Look,” she said. “The knife of Thoth.”

O
ur ride back north toward Cairo was a journey through layers of time. Grassy mounds marked the remains of ancient cities, peasants told us. Rolling dunes sometimes revealed the tip of a buried temple or sanctuary. Near Minya we came across two colossal stone baboons, fat and polished, their serene gaze toward the rising sun. They were twice the height of a man, draped in what looked like feathered cloaks, as majestic as nobles and as timeless as the Sphinx. The gigantic apes were manifestations, of course, of the mysterious Thoth.

We skirted hundreds of mud-brick villages by riding on the desert fringe next to ranks of date palms, as if the green sward were a sea lapping at a beach. We passed a dozen pyramids I hadn't seen before, some crumbled into little more than hills and others still showing their original geometry. Fragments of temples littered the sand around them. Ruined causeways sloped down to the lush green bottomland of the Nile. Pillars jutted into the air, holding up nothing. Astiza and I moved in our own small bubble, aware of our mission and possible pursuit, yet oddly content. Our alliance was a refuge from anxiety and burden. Two had become one, ambiguity had been replaced with commitment, and aimlessness had found purpose. As Enoch had suggested, I'd found something to believe in. Not empires, not medallions, not magic, and not electricity, but partnership with the woman beside me. Everything else could start from that.

The trio of pyramids that were our goal finally rose from the rim of the desert like islands from the sea. We'd ridden hard to arrive on October 21, the date I'd guessed had some mysterious significance. The weather had cooled, the sky a perfect blue dome, the sun a dependable god's chariot drawing its daily transect of heaven. The high Nile was just visible through its belt of trees. For hours the monuments seemed to get no closer. Then, as the afternoon's shadows began to lengthen, they appeared to inflate like one of Conte's balloons, huge, beckoning, and forbidding. They reared out of the earth, as if their apex had erupted from the underworld.

That image gave me a thought.

“Let me see the medallion,” I suddenly asked Astiza.

She took it off, the yellow metal on fire in the sun. I looked at the overlapping Vs of its arms, one pointed up, the other pointed down. “This looks like two pyramids, doesn't it? Their bases joined, and their summit pointed in opposite directions?”

“Or the reflection of a single one in a mirror or water.”

“As if there was as much below the surface as above, like the roots of a tree.”

“You think there's something under the pyramid?”

“There was under that temple of Isis. What if the medallion represents not the outside, but the inside? When we explored the interior with Bonaparte, the shafts inside sloped like the pyramid's sides. The angles were different, but an echo of them. Suppose this is not a symbol of the pyramids, but a map of pyramid shafts?”

“You mean the ascending and descending corridors?”

“Yes. There was a tablet on the ship I came to Egypt on.” I'd suddenly remembered the silver-and-black tablet of Cardinal Bembo that Monge had showed me in
L'Orient
's treasure hold. “It was filled with levels and figures as if it might be a map or diagram of some underground place with different levels.”

“There are stories that the ancients had books to instruct the dead how to negotiate the perils and monsters of the underworld,” she said. “Thoth would weigh their heart, and their book would guide them past cobras and crocodiles. If their book was correct they would
emerge on the other side into paradise. What if there is some truth to this? What if somehow bodies interred in the pyramid actually took a physical journey through some cavernous gauntlet?”

“That could explain the absence of any mummies,” I mused. “But when we explored the pyramid we confirmed that its descending corridor dead-ends. It doesn't rise again in the opposite direction like this medallion. There is no descending V.”

“That is true of the corridors we know,” Astiza said, suddenly excited. “But what side of the pyramid is the entrance on?”

“The north.”

“And what constellation does the medallion display?”

“Alpha Draconis, the polestar when the pyramids were built. So?”

“Hold the medallion out as if the constellation were in the sky.”

I did so. The circular disc was held against the northern sky, light shining through the tiny perforations and making the pattern of Draconis, the dragon. When I did so, the medallion's arms were perpendicular to north.

“If that medallion were a map, which sides of the pyramid would the shafts be on?” Astiza asked.

“East and west!”

“Meaning perhaps there are entrances not yet discovered on the east or west flanks of the pyramids,” she reasoned.

“But why haven't they been found? People have climbed all over the pyramids.”

Astiza frowned. “I don't know.”

“And why the connections to Aquarius, the rising Nile, and this time of year?

“I don't know that, either.”

And then we saw a scrap of white, like snow, in the desert.

I
t was a curious tableau. French officers, aides, savants, and servants were arranged in a semicircle for a picnic in the desert, their horses and donkeys picketed behind. The party faced the pyramids. Camp field tables had been put end to end and covered with white linen. Felucca sails had been rigged as canopies, with captured Mameluke
lances as tent poles and French cavalry sabers thrust into the sand as pegs. French crystal and golden Egyptian goblets had been laid out with heavy European silver and china. Bottles of wine were open and half-empty. There were lavish heaps of fruit, bread, cheese and meat. Candles were ready for lighting. Seated on folding stools were Bonaparte and several of his generals and scientists, all of them chatting amiably. I also spotted my mathematician friend, Monge.

Dressed as we were in Arab robes, an aide-de-camp came to shoo us away like any other curious Bedouins. Then he noticed my complexion and Astiza's beauty, only partly covered under the tattered cloak that she'd drawn around her as best she could. He gaped more at her than me, of course, and while he was doing so I addressed him in French.

“I'm Ethan Gage, the American savant. I'm here to report that my investigations are nearing completion.”

“Investigations?”

“Of the secrets of the pyramid.”

He went to murmur my message and Bonaparte stood, peering like a leopard. “It's Gage, popping up like the very devil,” he muttered to the others. “And his woman.”

He beckoned us forward and the soldiers looked greedily at Astiza, who kept her gaze over their heads and walked with as much decorum as our costumes would allow. The men restrained from rude comment because there was something different about us, I think, some subtle signs of partnership and propriety that signaled we were a couple, and that she was to be respected and left alone. So their gaze reluctantly turned from her to me.

“What are you doing in that dress-up?” Bonaparte demanded. “And didn't you desert my command?” He turned to Kleber. “I thought he deserted.”

“Damned rascal broke out of jail and eluded a pursuing patrol, if I recall,” the general said. “Disappeared into the desert.”

Thankfully, word did not appear to have reached them of the events at Dendara. “To the contrary, I've been much at risk in your service,” I said blithely. “My companion here was held for ransom by
Silano and the Arab, Achmed bin Sadr: her life for the medallion we've discussed. It was her courage and my own determination that got us free to resume our studies. I've come looking for Doctor Monge to consult on a mathematical question that I hope will shed light on the pyramids.”

Bonaparte looked at me with disbelief. “Do you think me an idiot? You said the medallion was lost.”

“I said so only to keep it from Count Silano, who does not have your interests, or those of France, at heart.”

“So you lied.”

“I dissembled to protect the truth from those who would misuse it. Please listen, General. I'm not jailed, not captured, and not fleeing.
I
came looking for
you
because I think I'm near a major discovery. All I need now is the help of the other savants.”

He looked from me to Astiza, half-angry and half-amused. Her presence gave me a curious immunity. “I don't know whether to reward you or shoot you, Ethan Gage. There's something baffling about you, something that goes beyond your crude American habits and rustic education.”

“I just try the best I can, sir.”

“The best you can!” He looked to the others, because I'd given him a subject to pontificate on. “It is never enough to
do
your best, you must
be
the best. Is this not true? I do what's necessary to exert my will!”

I bowed. “And I am a gambler, General. My will is irrelevant if the cards don't go my way. Whose fortune doesn't vary? Isn't it true you were a hero at Toulon, then imprisoned briefly after the fall of Robespierre, and then a hero again when your cannon saved the Directory?”

He scowled a moment, then shrugged as if to concede the point, and finally smiled. If Napoleon didn't suffer fools, he did enjoy the stimulation of argument. “True enough, American. True enough. Will
and
luck. In one day I went from a cheap Parisian hotel, in debt for my uniform, to having my own house, coach, and team. In one day of fortune!” He addressed the others. “Do you know what happened to Josephine? She was imprisoned too, destined for the guillotine. In the
morning the jailer took her pillow away, saying she wouldn't need it because by nightfall she wouldn't have a head! Yet just hours later word came that Robespierre was dead, assassinated, that the Terror had ended, and that instead of being executed, she was free. Choice
and
destiny: What a game we play!”

“Destiny seems to have trapped us in Egypt,” a half-drunken Kleber said. “And war is not a game.”

“On the contrary, Kleber, it is the ultimate game, with death or glory the stakes. Refuse to play and you only guarantee defeat. Right, Gage?”

“Not every game must be played, General.” How strange this man was, who mixed political clarity with emotional restlessness, and the grandest dreams with the meanest cynicism, daring us to call him on it. A game? Is that what he'd say to the dead?

“No? Life itself is war, and all of us are defeated in the end, by death. So we do what we can to make ourselves immortal. The pharaoh chose that pyramid. I choose…fame.”

“And some men choose home and family,” Astiza said quietly. “They live through their children.”

“Yes, that's enough for them. But not for me, or the men who follow me. We want the immortality of history.” Bonaparte took a swallow of wine. “What a philosopher you've made me at this meal! Consider your woman, there, Gage. Fortune is a woman. Grasp her today, or you will not have her tomorrow.” He smiled dangerously, his gray eyes dancing. “A beautiful woman,” he told his companions, “who tried to shoot me.”

“It turns out, General, that she was trying to shoot
me.
”

He laughed. “And now you're a pair! But of course! Fortune also turns enemies into allies, and strangers into confidants!” Then he abruptly sobered. “But I'll not have you running around the desert in Egyptian dress until this matter with Silano is sorted out. I don't understand what's going on between you and the count, but I don't like it. It's important we all stay on the same side. We're discussing the next stage of our invasion, the conquest of Syria.”

“Syria? But Desaix is still pursuing Murad Bey in Upper Egypt.”

“Mere skirmishing. We have the means to push north and east as well. The world awaits me, even if the Egyptians can't seem to grasp how I could remake their lives.” His smile was tight, his disappointment obvious. His promise of Western technology and government had not won the population over. The reformer I'd seen in the great cabin of
L'Orient
was changing, his dreams of enlightenment dashed by the seeming obtuseness of the people he'd come to save. Napoleon's last innocence had evaporated in the desert heat. He waved aside a fly. “Meanwhile, I want this pyramid mystery resolved.”

“Which I can best do without the count's interference, General.”

“Which you
will
do with the count's cooperation. Right, Monge?”

The mathematician looked puzzled. “I suppose it depends on what Monsieur Gage thinks he has figured out.”

And then there was a rumble, like distant thunder.

We turned toward Cairo, its minarets lacy across the Nile. Then another echo, and another. It was the report of cannon.

“What's that?” Napoleon asked no one in particular.

A column of smoke began rising into the clear sky. The gunfire went on, a low mutter, and then more smoke appeared. “Something's happening in the city,” Kleber said.

“Obviously.” Bonaparte turned to his aides. “Get this mess packed away. Where's my horse?”

“I think it may be an uprising,” Kleber added uneasily. “There's been street rumor, and mullahs calling from their towers. We didn't take it seriously.”

“No. The Egyptians have not taken
me
seriously.”

The little party had lost all focus on me. Camels lurched upright, horses whinnied in excitement, and men ran to their mounts. As sabers were pulled from the sand, the awnings began to droop. The Egyptians were rising in Cairo.

“What about him?” the aide-de-camp said, pointing at me.

“Leave him for now,” Bonaparte said. “Monge! You and the savants take Gage and the girl with you. Get back to the institute, close the doors, and let no one in. I'll send a company of infantry to protect you. The rest of you, follow me!” And he set off on a gallop across the
sands toward the boats that had transported them across the river.