Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) (25 page)

           
“Rowan’s
looking for me,” Ella said. “I know he is now. I can feel it.”

Howard Carter’s Camp, the
Valley of the Kings

           
Rowan stood next to Howard Carter and
surveyed the dig site from the wooden hut Carter called his headquarters.
Before him was a vista of sweeping sand across which scurried thousands of
workers. As Rowan watched, he thought to himself that even with sophisticated
animation and reenactments the
Discovery
Channel
hadn’t been able to capture the reality of the massive operation.
This was history all right and it
was happening right in front of him.
In front of him, hell—he was in it.

           
“Pretty
impressive, eh?” Carter said to him.

           
Rowan
turned to him. “It’s amazing. To see it all happening like this…” He was at a
loss for words.

           
“It’s
been a long haul,” Carter said, almost to himself. “In fact, too long. George has
asked that this be our last season.”

           
“I
know,” Rowan said, without thinking.

           
Carter
looked at him and narrowed his eyes. “Last night you hinted that you might be
able to give me a more exact date.”

           
“Maybe
the wine was talking,” Rowan said uncomfortably, still not looking at him.

           
Carter
said nothing then looked away. “Too right,” he said.

           
“George?”
Rowan said.

           
“Lord
Carnarvon. You know, of course, that he is my sponsor.”

           
“I
do,” Rowan said. “I also know that in five years of searching you’ve found a
cup, a piece of gold foil and some funeral items with the name
Nebkheperura
on them. Better known to the rest of the
world as King
Tutankhamun.
”

           
Carter
motioned for Rowan to sit down at the rickety wooden table in the hut out of
the heat of the day. A young Egyptian boy arrived carrying a heavy tray with a
teapot and teacups which he set down on the table between the men, and then poured
the tea.

           
“Those
finds were in the papers,” Carter said.
 

           
“But
they are the reason you’re digging in this spot in the valley.”

           
“Common
knowledge,” Carter said sipping from a teacup, the steam wafting off it.

           
“I
can tell you that your method of excavation will be taught for decades to
come.”

           
“Don’t
flatter me, Pierce.”

           
Rowan
looked at him. “You’re off by about twenty yards,” he said finally.

           
“
Off
?”

           
“As
in, the wrong spot. Depending on where you direct your systematic digging from
the point you are now it could be next year before you find it.”

           
Carter
glared at Rowan over his teacup. “And your suggestion?”
 

           
Rowan
pointed to the base of the western cliffs where a series of black cavernous
cave openings dimpled the rock.

           
“There,
at the base of the western cliffs. Why have you not dug below the exposed tomb
entrances?”

           
Carter
put his teacup down with a clatter and jumped to his feet to see where Rowan
was pointing. “We excavated there,” he said.

           
Rowan
sipped his tea and waited.

           
“I
say, Pierce,” Carter said, turning to frown at Rowan. “We
did
search there. It’s where we found the workmen’s huts. We dug
them all the way to the bedrock.”

           
“I
know,” Rowan said. “You need to go
below
it.”

           
“
Below
the bedrock?” Carter looked back
at the place where his workers were digging and then to the area where the
recently found workmen’s huts had been uncovered.

           
Rowan
watched him as Carter stood staring out over the work site. He guessed Carter
was thinking of all the years he had spent looking at this valley and all the hopes
and dreams he had invested. His career and his reputation, all of it was on the
line for one more season.

           
Finally,
Carter sat back down and picked up his teacup. “If it’s all the same to you,”
he said, “I think we’ll continue on as we started. No offense, old chap.”

           
Rowan
shrugged. “None taken,” he said.
Do I
have to go out and find the damn thing myself?

           
“But
I would care to hear more about this x-ray approach you were talking about
yesterday. They are really using it in the States?”

           
“Oh,
yes,” Rowan lied. “It’s a less invasive way to see what’s behind stone without
destroying the centuries old container.”

           
“Yes,
yes, I can see that,” Carter said. “But is it possible? I mean at the size
necessary, I can’t see how it can be done.”

           
“I’m
afraid I don’t know the details of how they’re doing it,” Rowan admitted.

           
“Quite
so.”

           
“I
was hoping to talk with you about me continuing to search for my wife and Lady
Digby.”

           
“Spenser
assures me all that can be done is being done on that score,” Carter said. He
squinted into the horizon, looking very much like he was scanning the site
Rowan had just pointed out to him.

           
“Yes,
well, as she is my
wife
, I would like
to be a part of that effort, Mr. Carter.”
 

           
Carter
looked at him coolly. “And the little matter of the stolen
faience
cup found in your bedroll?”

           
“It
was placed there to prevent me from going out to search for them.”

           
Carter
sighed as if very tired. “I’m sorry, Pierce. But I have hired some extremely
competent people and I find I must trust their advice in these matters.” He
spread his hands out before him. “I am but a simple journeyman. A scholar of
the dead, incompetent to understand or assess the often twisted motives of the
living.”

           
Rowan
said nothing. It was clearly going to take longer to win the man over. He thought
of Ella and the child growing inside her. It was all he could do not to grab
Carter’s gun from his belt and demand men and horses to continue the search.
Instead, he looked westward at the desert stretching endlessly to Libya and
beyond.
Stay safe, my love
, he
thought, his heart heavy.
Just a little
bit longer.

           
“Meanwhile,
if you’d like to accompany me down to the tombs?” Carter said, rubbing his
hands together in anticipation. “I’ve got a few things I’d like to show you.”

Bedouin Camp, Somewhere in the
Sahara

           
Julia
tended Ella in her tent for two full days. On the third day, the nomads broke
camp to move further south. Julia rode the pony from Carter’s camp and Ella
walked at her side. Ella’s right hand was tied to Julia’s stirrup to prevent Ella
from escaping. Ella figured that Ammon had given orders for her to walk because
he knew she wasn’t in any condition to ride after the beating he’d given her. As
far as Ella was concerned, it was precisely
because
he believed her presently incapable of riding any distance that made her
believe that
now
was her best chance
to escape again.

           
She
had never in her life looked at a map of Egypt and had no idea how the Nile
might twist and turn in its path south to the Sudan. In the long run it didn’t
really matter. She knew she needed to go east and sooner or later she would hit
the river. While it was true there wasn’t a dock with a fleet of
dahabiyas
at every point on the river,
she knew exactly how to get to Luxor and that was a leg up on everything else
she
didn’t
know.
 

           
The
morning was pleasant when they started out but turned hot within a few hours. Not
long after leaving, Ella noted that she was using the stirrup to support
herself. Just before lunch—and obviously irritated at how many times
Julia was stopping to allow Ella to rest—Ammon roared up on his Arabian
pony, leaned down and jerked free the leather tie that bound Ella to Julia’s
saddle. He reached down, grabbed Ella around the waist and plopped her
unceremoniously across his saddle before wheeling back to the front of the
line.

           
The
indignity of her position combined with serious discomfort, made the next hour
a misery for Ella. If she lifted her head she was likely to get a face full of
sand or tiny pebbles from whatever Ammon’s horse kicked up. At one point, she
thought she saw a palm tree—a sure sign that they were getting near
water—and twisted around to confirm it. Ammon corrected the move with a
solid—and agonizing—swat across her bottom. When they stopped for
lunch, he dragged her from his saddle and deposited her on the ground as if she
were a sack of feed.

           
The
midday meal was a quick one, just long enough to rest and water the camels, horses,
and goats. Ella and Julia ate the tough goat jerky, which had been the main
staple of their diet since they joined the Bedouins. When it was time to
remount, Ammon made it clear that Julia and Ella would take turns riding Julia’s
pony. Ella saw him give Julia a meaningful look and was amazed to see that
their relationship had graduated to such depth. The look, of course, was a
warning one.

           
Ella’s
portion of the trip where she rode the pony was arduous and uncomfortable.
Because of the stirrups, she was able to ride the animal in a two-point riding
position which kept her bottom mostly out of contact with the saddle although
her knees, which took the brunt of the gait, began to shake within ten minutes.
When it was time to switch places with Julia and walk again next to the pony, Ella
found she was rested enough to do so without holding up the group.

           
After
a while Ammon came by on his horse and looked at the two of them with
satisfaction. The look he gave Ella was, amazingly, almost friendly. It read as
clearly as if he’d said out loud:
Beats
riding across my saddle, doesn’t it?

 
          
It
occurred to Ella as she watched him ride away that he might not be a complete
bastard. In his own way, he seemed to care for Julia. And because he was
indisputably the leader of this tribe and therefore forced to be judge and
executioner for sins great and small, he had to be firm. She knew he had held
back when he whipped her. Looking at him in his world, shaped by his
culture—even after everything that had happened—she could see how
he might not be the most despicable man on earth.

She also knew
that if she escaped again and was caught he would almost certainly kill her.

Chapter
Seventeen

Howard Carter’s Camp, the
Valley of the Kings

It was taking forever.

           
After
four days of walking the dig site with Carter every day, dining with him and
playing chess with him, the only benefits Rowan had managed to gain were being
allowed to ride the perimeter of the camp and sometimes into the neighboring
village. He was always accompanied and while his companion was not armed it didn’t
mean he wasn’t his guard. Rowan guessed Carter’s benign custodianship of Rowan
was rooted in his vision of
how civilized
men behave
. He likewise assumed that the guard was Spenser’s idea.

           
This
morning, after a fruitless conversation with a village elder by way of his
recalcitrant guard and sometime translator, Rowan rode back to camp. Never much
of a rider, he astonished himself with how much he enjoyed it. Instead of the
ubiquitous
hijab
, he wore a pith
helmet against the sun’s onslaught. The back of his neck burned to leather
within a day of starting these rides. Every time he returned from the village
or from the dig site he would look in the direction of the road that led
directly to the Nile. He always tried to imagine Ella pointed in that direction.
He played over and over in his head a moving image of her riding, just as he
was, seeing the same scenery, feeling the same sensations from her horse that
he was feeling, and he tried to imagine what she had been thinking.

           
“
Effendi
.” His guard pointed in the
direction that Rowan had been looking but not seeing. He could see two riders
coming down the main road toward him. His heart gave a lurch for one mad moment
thinking it must be Ella returning before he saw that the two were riders were
male.

           
He
turned his horse back toward the camp. Today had been a day for disappointments,
he thought, as he recognized the tall form of Abdullah riding next to Digby. Rowan
watched Digby go to his tent. Rowan wasn’t hopeful he would be told the truth
about what Digby had discovered in Cairo, but he had to at least try. Digby was
tossing down his jacket onto his camp bed when Rowan darkened the tent opening.

           
“Well,
well,” Digby said. “Up and about without your shackles, I see.”

           
“What
did you find out in Cairo?” Rowan asked bluntly.

           
Digby’s
face was pinched and worn. “If you don’t mind, I am in the process of dressing
for dinner. I will make a full report at that time.”

           
Rowan
toyed with the idea of beating the crap out of the little turd but decided
against it. Likely Digby had no news at all, he reminded himself. He turned on
his heel and left.

           
Digby
watched him go and worked to force down his anger.
The nerve of the blackguard! Demanding his report the moment he stepped
back in camp. It was indescribably rude even by American standards.

           
He
looked for Abdullah, cursing Julia again for talking him into forgoing the
valet. Abdullah wouldn’t be able to dress him but he could at least fetch a
basin of damn water with which he might bathe. In frustration, he threw his
belt across the tent and realized he was shaking.

           
He
wouldn’t have come back this early if the wire hadn’t forced him to. The Lady
Duchess had made it clear she would entertain his courting her if it could be
done in such a way as to retain propriety for the public observations of their
separate losses. While she hadn’t gone so far as to approve his attentions, she
had not completely rebuffed them and as far as Digby was concerned, that was
all he needed. The Shepheards ball next week would have been the perfect time
to advance that particular part of his plan if it hadn’t been for the receipt
early yesterday morning of the damnable wire from London. It was incredible
really. Did the old bastard not
believe
him when he reported his beloved daughter was dead? The wire was succinct:
No proof of death. No money. Lord Haversham.

           
Was
he supposed to dig up a body? Perhaps one of those precious mummified numbers
he could pass off as Julia to her skinflint of a father? What kind of a monster
was Haversham?

           
Digby
had been in a fury from the moment he had received the wire. His account at
Shepheards was already painfully past due and he had had to slip past that intensely
objectionable hotel clerk this morning in order that he might make passage on
the boat to Luxor. Even then he had the humiliating task ahead of him of asking
Carter for a small loan to pay the blasted boat captain who had the effrontery
to say he would send a man out tomorrow to collect!

           
They
would all pay for these indignities,
Digby thought, in mounting fury, his face mottled with crimson blotches.
Every last man of them. Would pay.

That night at
dinner, Digby fortified himself with several glasses of wine in order to appear
to be what he considered his usual phlegmatic self. He saw that, in his
absence, Pierce had laid claim to the seat opposite Carter at the other end of
the dinner table. Inwardly seething, Digby sat down between the two and reached
for another glass of wine.

“How did you get
on in Cairo?” Carter asked, as he tore a roll apart. “Did you hear anything?”

           
“No,
unfortunately,” Digby said. “Not a sausage, I’m afraid.”

           
“So
sorry, old man,” Carter said. “What is your next recourse?” Rowan saw Carter glance
at him as he spoke.

           
“Well,
I’m not sure,” Digby said. “The authorities are prepared to have Julia declared
legally dead. So I imagine I’ll start there.”

           
Carter
frowned. “Surely that’s a little soon?”
 

           
“It
is the view of the Egyptian authorities that being lost in the desert a day can
be enough,” Digby said. “They’ve been gone nearly two weeks.”

           
“Perhaps
they were found by desert people,” Rowan said. If he had expected any real
investigation on Digby’s part while he was in Cairo, he would probably be more
frustrated with the lack of information—or disinformation. But since he had
held out no real hope that Digby was actually trying to find the women, Rowan
found himself relatively unaffected by the man’s words.

           
“Then
we would all
wish
they were dead,”
Digby said wryly. “As would they—or rather,” he said pointedly to Rowan,
“as any moral, God-fearing woman would.”

           
Rowan
did not respond.

           
“How’s
the work been coming here?” Digby continued. “Any new finds?”

           
“Nothing
to report,” Carter said.

           
Rowan
looked up in surprise. The funeral vase would qualify as a significant find
since it corroborated Carter’s belief that they were digging in the right area
for Tut’s tomb. For whatever reason, it appeared that Carter didn’t trust Digby
any longer. Not that Rowan could blame him. Still, it was good to know.

           
“And
I see we have worked out our differences with Mr. Pierce, here, while I was
gone. I assume he had unassailable evidence in his defense?”

           
“Not
quite sure that’s any of your business, Digby,” Carter said, finishing off his
glass of wine and pushing away from the table, “since it was
my
property in question. Goodnight,
gentlemen. Pierce, great game as usual. I thank you. Find your own way to the
site, tomorrow, can you? I’m leaving before dawn.”

           
Rowan
nodded. “Goodnight, Carter,” he said. He and Digby watched Carter disappear
into his tent before Digby threw down his napkin and turned on Rowan.

           
“How
dare you, sir,” he snarled. “Calling him
Carter
as if he were one of your
pals
. You
don’t know your place.”

           
“Yeah,”
Rowan said tossing down his own napkin. “But I know yours.” He left the table.

           
Digby
watched him go. He took a sip of his wine and signaled the server to bring
another bottle. He smiled and felt the tension go out of his shoulders. True,
it had been a terrible day, but there had been one bright spot. An idea had
occurred to him a few hours earlier which would effectively rid him of the
American nuisance—and by doing so the obvious wedge he had planted
between Carter and himself. And best of all, Digby didn’t need anyone’s help in
order to make it happen. This was one little chore he could handle all on his
own. He leaned back into his chair to more fully enjoy the scattering of bright
stars scattered across the dark blue Egyptian night.

Suddenly, life felt very good indeed.

Bedouin Camp

She had never
touched a camel, let alone ridden one. As Ella stood near the line of the camp pack
animals, she hesitated at the sheer size of Ahab, the largest of the two one
hump dromedaries. In the four weeks she and Julia had lived with the nomads,
Ella had seen the camels spit, bite and kick anyone unfortunate enough to be
within range. In spite of being bridled and ridden almost daily, the animals
just didn’t seem to have any overt signs of being domesticated. Ella was afraid
of the camels.

           
And
it was a camel she was determined to take.

           
She
had two days since their last move to think about it. She knew she had to act
quickly while Ammon still considered her handicapped. That assumption, and choosing
a camel as her getaway vehicle, would be her two elements of surprise. No one
expected she was in any condition to ride. No one expected her to be foolish
enough to take one of the camels.

           
Careful
not to mention her plan to Julia, Ella had become obsessed in the last two days
with the details of what had gone wrong last time. She knew the horse had been
a mistake. She needed something that wasn’t going to collapse under her if she
needed to go long and go fast. She had lost precious time having to double back
and go around the camp so this time she needed to leave immediately in the
direction in which she intended to continue. That meant she needed to know
where the river was. And finally, she had learned the hard way that she didn’t
have the luxury of taking her time. She needed to leave the camp fast—at
a dead run—and keep it fast until she either reached the river or was
captured again. As for the need for water,
screw
it
, she thought. On her first escape attempt, she had wasted too much time packing
a water bag and filling up the horse. Besides, after her last escape all the
goatskin bags were now piled up in Gita’s tent. If Ella lived through this, she
decided she’d write a survivalist book thwarting conventional wisdom about how
to survive in a desert environment while being chased by Bedouin thugs.
The key isn’t
having enough
water
, she thought as she stood there eyeing the camel,
it’s staying free long enough to die of
thirst.

           
The
final change in her escape plan had to do with the timing and covert nature of
it. Or in her case,
not
. The first
time, she had wasted too much energy sneaking around and walking the horse out
of camp and through the brush to avoid detection. She wouldn’t bother with any
of that this time. While it was true Gita kept a sharp eye on her—she
obviously had a healthier respect for what a woman was capable of than did
Ammon—Ella decided it didn’t matter.
She
can watch me all she wants
, Ella thought.
Once I’m onboard old Nelly here, no one will be able to stop me
.
The key to the plan, of course, was getting onboard without having precious
chunks of flesh ripped out of her in the process.

           
The
camel she had chosen was a big brute. And he was very aware of her standing beside
him. He wasn’t saddled, but he was bridled. There was no blanket on his back. As
she stood in the morning light, she could hear the women talking and laughing
by the cook fire. Julia, who had had a particularly late night with Ammon,
still slept. Ella was sorry not to say goodbye to her—especially if Julia’s
boyfriend ended up catching Ella and slitting her throat before
suppertime—but there was nothing for it.

           
Gita,
Ella’s only real concern beyond Ahab the Camel, was at the moment busy with the
other women butchering a small goat. Her distraction wouldn’t last long and as
soon as Ella was mounted, the whole camp would know what was going on.
Hopefully, by then it would be too late. The men had left an hour earlier. Ella
figured that unless one of the women jumped on a pony and went tearing out
after either her or the men (very unlikely), she probably had a several hours
head start. She wouldn’t waste a minute of it.