Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) (12 page)

           
“The
souvenir she said she was going to pick up for you? I just remembered that she
did
tell me what it was.”

           
“And
that
was
…?”
 

           
“She
said she was going to go get the Book of the Dead. I remember now, because she
said it was kind of creepy and I thought at the time, ‘
well, if you know it’s not such a great souvenir why go? Just grab a Sphinx
keychain at the airport and come with me
!’ You know? But I thought it must
have been something
you
had mentioned
you were interested in. Is that it?”

           
The Book of the Dead?
Rowan was
bewildered. “No,” he said, wondering how in the world this information could be
helpful. “But thanks, Maddie. That’s a big help.”

           
“Just
bring her back, Rowan.” Maddie said, with a strong calm voice. “Just please find
her safe and bring her home. I have enough guilt to deal with for one lifetime just
handling the fallout with my family over Gagan without adding losing my best
friend on top of it.”

           
“I’ll
find her,” he said gruffly. After he hung up, he looked out the window into the
glow of the light pollution surrounding the hotel like a mystical fog.

           
The
next morning, Rowan took a taxi to Old Cairo where Maddie said Ella had gone to
find her souvenir. The shops that lined the pedestrian walkway were a mishmash
of hookah shops, coffee shops, and souvenir stands. He tried to imagine what Ella
would have thought as she walked down this same row. He looked at the merchants,
all of them Egyptians and most of them male, and tried to imagine how they must
have seen her.

           
Did they openly stare at her?
They would
have responded differently to her—a
 
petite, attractive Western woman on her
own—than they were responding to him. As he walked, most got eye contact
with him, some grinned, one or two waved to him to come closer.
Would they have been this bold with a lone
woman?

           
He
entered one shop that appeared to be an ancient bookstore, its shelves were lined
with old volumes and pottery and what looked to him like fake antiquities. An
overweight middle aged man approached him from behind the counter and laid his
hands out in front of him.

           
“May
I help you,
effendi
?” he asked, his
voice rolling and soft like the beginning of a purr.

           
“I
am looking for an item,” Rowan said. He smiled warmly but was his eyes were
cold and serious. “Do you know where I can find something called
The Book of the Dead
?”

           
The
man smiled at Rowan showing two gold teeth top and bottom in the front of his
mouth.

           
“The
Book of the Dead,” he said. “This can be found in our very excellent Cairo
Museum. Perhaps you have been there? It is very popular with all tourists.”

           
“I
am not looking for a museum artifact. I was told that I could
purchase
this Book of the Dead.”

           
“You
were misled,
effendi
,” the man said,
his eyes darting behind Rowan as someone came into the store. “All artifacts
are protected by the state. No one may own or sell such a thing.”

           
He thinks I am the police
, Rowan
thought.

           
“I
see,” he said. “Well, you’re right. I guess I was mistaken.” As he turned to
leave the store, a beautiful older woman stepped up to him and held a hand out
to stop him. She wore a scarf that covered her hair and throat but her eyes
were large and expressive and her smile wide and generous.

           
“
Wa 'alaykum as-salām
,” she said to him.

           
“Ma-am,”
Rowan said putting his hand up to a nonexistent hat in salute.

           
“I
am Yeena,” she said, her eyes glittering with pleasure at the sight of him.

           
He
frowned and turned to look back at the man behind the counter, but the
shopkeeper had disappeared. Rowan looked at the woman in confusion.

           
“Are
you mistaking me for someone?” he asked.

           
“I
am sure not,” she said. “You are looking for your wife, are you not? I knew you
would come.”

Chapter Ten

Valley of the Kings 1922

           
Ella
sat on her pony and stiffened her spine, forcing her heels down into the
stirrups as if that would root her—and her unpredictable little
mount—at the top of the rocky hill where William had stationed her. He
had promised her a special view of the world that few white people ever get to
see and she was determined not to break her neck falling down the sheer cliffs
on all sides before she did.

           
They
had arrived at camp late the night before. Because Carter hadn’t known ahead of
time that there would be an extra person to accommodate, she and Julia had to
share a tent. Ella was so exhausted that she would’ve shared a tent with
Abdullah if it meant she could close her eyes and lie down.

           
When
the morning came, she woke to a world of promise and beauty, of light and excitement.
While Julia refused to leave their tent before a cup of tea was brought to her,
Ella was pulling on yesterday’s stained, worn dress to greet the day. William
met her at the main cookfire in the center of the camp and handed her a china
cup of freshly brewed tea with sugar.

           
“If
Efendim
will wait but a moment,” he
said, nodding his head in the direction of Julia’s tent to convey his need to
bring her ladyship her tea. “I want to show you a special perspective on the
Valley of the Kings.”

           
So
it was literally before she had had her first meal at Carter’s camp, that Ella
saw the whole operation spread before her as she watched the sun rise behind
the rock cliffs illuminate the western mountains in a glorious hallelujah of golden
light and glory. She could see the tombs that had been dug into the rock wall
of the surrounding hills. The center of the stony valley looked like a giant
quarry excavation with just a few palm trees visible in the small sections of
fields not dominated by rock and sand.

           
As
early as it was, workers from the villages were already at work removing sand from
the foundations of the temples, using hoes and picks to loosen the rock and
shoveling debris into baskets which were then carried away by small boys. The
children dumped the baskets of sand and rubble into coal carts parked on
parallel tracks that, once full, were then hand-guided by men running on either
side down the hills to a great pile of sand and debris, presumably set there so
as not to compromise future excavations. As the carts spilled their contents
onto the huge mountain of sand and rock, great clouds of dust rose in the air
and wafted back to coat the valley in an obscuring grit.

           
Ella
marveled at how quickly the workers—dressed in rags and long flowing robes—ran
across the hard rocky surfaces in their bare feet, oblivious to the sharp
stones and pebbles that must have punished them with every step.

           
She
wasn’t sure what she had expected from Howard Carter’s site but the size and
magnitude of this operation stunned her. There appeared to be a thousand men
and boys working in the valley below.
No
wonder he depended on Lord Carnarvon’s support. An operation this size had to
be expensive
. On the way up the hill, William had told her that Carter had
been digging in this spot for nearly eight years.

           
William
moved to Ella and put his hand on her pony’s bridle. William wore a dark blue
hijab
around his face to protect against
the relentless dust and wind. He motioned to Ella to don the scarf he had given
her earlier that morning and to wrap it in the same way.

           
“Is
extraordinary, no?” he said, clearly proud of what he was showing her.

           
“It’s
incredible,” Ella said. “Is all this Carter’s operation?”

           
“No,
no,
efendim
, there are many who dig
in the Valley of the Kings.”

           
“Well,
it’s impressive, I’ll say that. My…husband would love to see this.”

           
“Excuse
me,
Madaam
, I did not realize you
were married.”

           
“Well,
it’s kind of a secret, William. If you don’t mind, don’t say anything.”

           
William
gave a sort of snort. “It is not for me to speak,” he said.

           
Ella
had a flash of sympathy for him. Obviously educated, a Christian in a Muslim
world, he often received less respect than the bullheads crewing the luxury
dahabiyas
.

           
“Is
your family near here, William?”
 

           
He
looked at her as if shocked she would care to know. “Yes,
Madaam
,” he said. “My wife and two boys. In the village on the east
side of Luxor.”

           
Ella
found herself hoping Digby paid him decently.
It was a hell of a life being separated from your family in order to
provide for them.

 
          
Later
that day, a separate tent was arranged for Ella. When she entered it to freshen
up before lunch, she saw a pair of trousers and what looked like a man’s linen
shirt had been laid out on her camp bed. Before she could examine them, Julia
entered, fanning herself, and collapsed in the large canvas camp chair inside
the tent.

           
“Where
in the world did you get to before breakfast?” she asked peevishly.

           
“Why?”
Ella asked, pulling aside the mosquito net jto sit down on her bed. “Did you
want me to do your hair or something?”

           
Julia
gasped and touched her hair, which was twisted up in a neat chignon. She patted
it as if to confirm that it was still there. “What’s the matter with my hair?”

           
“Nothing,
Julia,” Ella said. “Just teasing. You look gorgeous. You look like you just
stepped out of a tea salon on Bond Street. Cool, demure and every hair in
place.”

           
“Whereas
you, Ella, look like you have been fighting wild monkeys for the possession of
your hat. Already your nose is burnt and it’s not yet noon.”

           
“Do
I have you to thank for the pants?”
 

           
Julia
shrugged. “Some of the women at the other sites, I’m told, wear trousers to be
more comfortable. I had them made for both of us in Cairo.” Julia wore her usual
full length dress and billowing underskirt.

           
“Thank
you, Julia. They’re perfect.”

           
“I
knew you would like them since they’re not that different from the clothes I
found you in.”

           
Changing
the subject, Ella loosened the top buttons of her blouse.

           
“Is
there a private place to bathe?” she asked. “I’d like to clean up before
lunch.”

           
“Of
course,” Julia said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll have William bring you a basin
to your tent.”

           
“Better
than nothing,” Ella said, unbuttoning her sleeves. “And a washcloth?”

           
“Even
soap if you insist,” Julia said, smiling.

           
“Where’s
your husband located?” Ella said fanning herself in the heat of the tent. “I
still can’t believe he lets you have your own tent.”

           
“Since
it is
my
money that has made this
trip possible, including the accommodations,” Julia said, “he has little to say
about it.”

           
Ella
frowned. “The Viscount doesn’t have his own money?”

           
“It
is amazing to me the liberties you take with your questions!” Julia stood up
and straightened the kirtle of her bodice with sharp jerks.

           
Ella
sighed. In her brief experience with Lady Julia, she knew that the indignation
would soon give way to a desire to share her woes with her new friend—as
odd as Ella considered her to be. Ella reached over to pick up a hairbrush from
the wooden crate next to her bed while she waited.

           
Sure
enough, Julia sat back down. “He is making hints,” she said.

           
“I’m
not surprised.”

           
“How
can I put him off?” Julia wailed. “I recoil at the very thought of his touch.”

           
“Look,
Julia, is this just wedding night jitters magnified a hundred fold or are you
really wishing you weren’t married to the dude?”

           
“I
told you,” Julia said in a whisper. “I made a terrible mistake.”

           
“Then
get it annulled.”

           
“Don’t
be absurd.”

           
“Really?
Then, okay, let’s kill him. Knife or firearms? I’m squeamish. Can
you
do it and I’ll just say you were
with me at the time of the murder?”

           
Julia’s
eyes filled with tears. “I need your help, Ella,” she said, miserably.
 

           
Ella
ran a hand through her hair which, by the distracted reaction from Julia,
probably didn’t improve it.

           
“Can
you talk to him, Julia?”

           
“And
tell him
what
?”

           
“Well,
clearly, he already knows there’s a problem. You’ve been married two months and
he hasn’t even seen you in your knee socks yet.
Talk
to him.”

           
“I
don’t want to work this out, Ella.” Julia said.

           
“Then
get it annulled.”

           
“You
don’t understand. I would be a laughingstock. I could never go home again. It’s
unthinkable.”

           
“More
unthinkable than getting between the sheets with the Viscount?”

           
Julia
gave her a look of horror.

           
“Yeah,
that’s what I thought. And short of killing him, that’s your best choice.”

           
“Women
sleep with husbands they don’t love all the time,” Julia said unconvincingly.

           
“Well,
presumably they at least started out loving them.”

           
“I
have a friend whose husband only requests a night’s visit only once every full
moon.”

           
“God
save the British,” Ella said, shaking her head. “If you think you can handle
doing it
that
much, maybe you can arrange
something with him. But once that’s solved, can you live with him the rest of
the time? You practically never even speak to each other.”

           
“We
won’t have to. We can lead separate lives for the most part. I am sure that
will not be a problem.” A look of determination came over Julia’s face. “I can
do this. My mother told me it would take bravery.”

           
“Wow.
Thanks, Mom,” Ella said. “No wonder you weren’t looking forward to your wedding
night.”

           
Lunch
was a formal affair at a long table topped with a starched white tablecloth.
While she recognized that labor was cheap in 1922 Egypt, it still amazed Ella
that such delicate civility could exist in the dusty, wind-whipped setting.
China plates and silverware graced the table. Servants continually swept the dust
from the table.

           
The British
, Ella found herself thinking
as she seated herself at lunch. A canopy stretched over the table but it was
still hot in the shade. She imagined the only work getting done in the middle
of the day was happening inside the cool, dark tombs. But no, William had said
that the constant digging and removal of debris would go on nonstop until dark.

           
Lunch
was filleted fish with a light and spicy sauce and fresh vegetables. There was a
bottle of excellent wine. Carter was still busy at the site where he had been
since early morning. Unfortunately, that meant only Ella, Julia and Digby were
at lunch. It was an uncomfortable, silent meal.

           
Ella
had changed into the riding clothes—for that’s how Julia referred to
them—and enjoyed the looks of disapproval Digby directed at her with
virtually every forkful.
      
Carter
had said she could have the use of the pony she’d ridden that morning and she
was anxious to explore the perimeter of the dig site after lunch. She had
ridden competitively as a teenager and she was still a confident
rider—especially now that she was appropriately dressed.