The Eye of the Serpent (18 page)

He woke with a start as manacles were clamped around his wrists – and he looked up in dull shock to see members of Akhenaten's royal guard standing over him, swords raised to cut him down if he tried to resist. He glanced around quickly and saw that he was in his own bedchamber in his fine palace in Thebes. From another room he heard the desperate screams of his servants.

There was nothing he could do. The manacles around his wrist were of forged copper. His powers were nullified and there was no magic he could summon to strike these intruders who had broken into his home in the dead of night. He'd thought he was prepared for something like this. He had kept guards on watch both day and night, but they must have been overwhelmed . . . Either that or they had betrayed him. He had been so tired. The long ceremony of prayers and invocations to Apophis had exhausted him, and before beginning the journey to the Gates of
Apophis, where he planned to summon forth the living embodiment of the ancient god, he knew that he had to snatch a few hours' sleep. That human weakness had been his downfall.

The guards dragged him out of bed and stood him upright, a razor-edged sword against his throat. Then Gila came in, swaggering into the chamber because he knew he had his greatest enemy in his power and was enjoying his moment of triumph. Gila, another high priest of Akhenaten, fat, middle-aged and envious, the man who had watched with jealous eyes as Sonchis drew disciples around him as flies followed honey. Gila it was who had learned of the Apophis cult and had gone running to his master to tell what he had heard, like a schoolchild ratting on a fellow pupil. Gila stood there now, his hands on his plump hips, his eyes outlined in green malachite and gleaming with malice.

‘Sonchis,' he said. ‘Not quite so high and mighty now.'

Sonchis curled his lip into a disdainful sneer. ‘At least I am not a lap dog who goes creeping to his master,' he said; then lifted his head as another scream came echoing from somewhere within the building. For a moment he lost
his composure. ‘My servants . . .' he gasped.

‘. . . are already as good as dead,' said Gila, with some relish. ‘My men are putting them to the sword now, every last one of them.' He gestured at the magnificent room, with its fine murals and ornate furnishings. ‘And once we've taken out a few choice belongings, what's left here will be torched. Akhenaten wishes to show the world what happens to those who disobey him.'

Sonchis hunched his shoulders. ‘Kill me then,' he said, ‘and get it over with.'

But Gila was smiling; a cold, mirthless smile. ‘Oh no,' he said. ‘Too quick, my friend, and hardly worthy of a man such as yourself. We have something much more interesting planned for you.' He gestured to the guards. ‘Bring him,' he ordered.

He was dragged, punched, kicked through the many rooms of his palace, and already he could smell the acrid smoke as drapes were set aflame. They brought him out to the street, where an ox cart waited, and he saw his four lieutenants kneeling in the back, tied up like common prisoners. Anger welled through him like a rising tide of water.

‘I will pay you back for this, Gila!' he snarled.
‘I will have my revenge on you and all who—' He was punched in the stomach by a burly guard and sank to his knees with a gasp of pain. He heard mocking laughter and then he was picked up and thrown into the cart with the others, as though he was nothing more than a sack of rubbish. He lay there, trying to get his breath back, while his lieutenants spoke to him in desperation.

‘Summon help, Sonchis!' gasped Selim. ‘Cast a spell to hurl these dogs aside and let us make our escape!'

But he stared down at the copper manacles that held him and knew that he was helpless. Gila had prepared well for this night. Sonchis had never understood why the touch of this metal depleted his power so dramatically. He only knew that since childhood it had been his greatest enemy. He had hoped to keep the matter secret from his rivals, telling only his most trusted allies, but somebody must have informed Gila of his weakness and now he was paying the price.

The ox cart headed out of Thebes, the streets thronged with staring people despite the lateness of the hour.

‘Help us!' cried one of his lieutenants. ‘Help us and you will be richly rewarded!'

But nobody made a move. Nobody dared to resist Akhenaten. Instead they jeered, spat, shook their fists. Even those who had once followed Sonchis were now his enemies. The cart left the outskirts of the town and started out along the desert road. Out there, Sonchis knew, countless demons lurked behind every dune, waiting to feast on the unwary.

‘Where are you taking us?' he bellowed, and his voice seemed to echo across the vast expanse that lay before them.

A horse drew alongside the cart and he saw Gila, sitting astride it, looking down at him in glee.

‘We are going to give you everything you deserve, Sonchis,' he said. ‘Tonight you will take your place with the most powerful men in the kingdom. Tonight you will be laid to rest in the Valley of the Kings.' And, laughing, he spurred his horse forward.

Sonchis closed his eyes and began to pray to Apophis, asking him to send him the courage he needed to get through the night without showing fear.

Help me, great serpent. Give me the courage to know that I—

He opened his eyes again and he was back in the hotel room, lying on the bed in the strange wriggling body of the fat detective. For a moment all was confusion. He lay there, staring around at the strange furnishings, unsure of who he was and what had happened. Then he remembered. He got up off the bed, stumbled to a mirror and saw the great white blob of a face staring back at him. Yes. He understood now. He had been dreaming and yet it had seemed so real . . .

He put on the pair of dark glasses he had found in Llewellyn's luggage and went to the window to peep out through the curtains; but the instant the sun touched him, he reeled away, aware that his temporary ‘skin' was ready to burst apart.

He waited a moment for the scarabs to settle themselves; then he lay down on the bed again, telling himself he would have to be patient. He looked at the clock on the bedside locker and the part of him that was still Wilfred Llewellyn told him that he had another six hours to wait until nightfall. He was afraid to sleep because of the
terrible dreams that awaited him, so he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, watching the fan moving round and round and round . . .

As far as Alec was concerned it had been a near-perfect day. He had helped to photograph the last remaining items in the antechamber. He had prepared a drawing of an interesting detail from a mural. He had helped the Arab workmen to manoeuvre some awkward parts of the battle chariot up the steps to the daylight, where they could be quickly carried out of sight for packing. He had painstakingly removed the dust from a statue with a fine paintbrush.

And through all this he had watched with interest the developing friendship between Ethan Wade and Madeleine Duval. It was subtle, yet obvious. Though their first meeting had been disastrous, something between them had changed; some invisible barrier had now gone. Madeleine no longer bristled when Ethan spoke – instead she listened intently and seemed to give his ideas due consideration. When she made a joke, he laughed. Now Alec noticed the way they spoke about things, their voices soft and conspiratorial; the way they leaned slightly towards each
other as they talked. Once, when Ethan asked her to pass him an eye-glass, their hands touched for just an instant longer than they needed to; and Alec saw the way they pulled apart as though an electric shock had run through them.

He was pleased this was happening. He thought of them both as his friends and it would have made life extremely difficult if they had remained enemies. They were so different . . . But didn't people always say that opposites attract? And the attraction
was
there – you could see it in their eyes whenever they looked at each other. He was too young to think about such things himself, but in a few years, he knew, that would change; and it was nice to think that one day he might end up with someone like Madeleine.

As evening approached, the last few items were carried out of the antechamber and Alec, Ethan and Madeleine stood before the doorway to the tomb itself. In the lower part of the door, the dark oval opening was beckoning. Alec knelt to peep through it.

‘Can you see anything?' Ethan asked him.

Alec pulled away and looked up at the American, realizing that he was quoting the very
words that Lord Carnarvon had spoken to Howard Carter when they had first peered into the tomb of Tutankhamun.

‘I'm supposed to say “Wonderful things”,' he said with a rueful grin. ‘But it's as black as pitch in there. Perhaps if we shone a torch into it?'

Madeleine smiled. ‘You know what?' she said. ‘It's late and we've all worked very 'ard today. Why don't we wait until morning and come to it fresh?'

Ethan nodded. ‘Yeah, that makes sense. I'm pretty pooped myself. And hungry.' He looked down at Alec and ruffled his hair. ‘Guess you're gonna have to be patient, pardner.'

Alec scowled, but nodded his acceptance. ‘All right,' he said. He got back to his feet and then stared at the opening in the doorway. ‘I wonder what happened to it,' he mused.

‘To what?' asked Madeleine.

Alec pointed to the opening. ‘To whatever was there. You can see that something was sealed around the edges with wax, almost like a cork in a bottle. Must have been something oval, about the size of a golf ball. But where is it? We've taken everything out of here, but there's nothing that could have fitted there.' He pointed to the
floor along the base of the door where he had spent some time digging, hoping he might find the object buried in the hard earth. ‘I even looked down there, but no luck.'

Ethan frowned. ‘That
is
odd, now you mention it,' he admitted. He thought for a moment. ‘Well, the only people who were in here before us were Sir William and Tom Hinton. Maybe one of them took it.'

Alec shook his head. ‘Uncle Will would never do a thing like that – he does everything by the book. I remember on one dig I found a small piece of jewellery and suggested he just put it in his pocket, take it as a souvenir. He went up the wall at me! Gave me a whole lecture about how everything had to be carefully documented. And . . . and from what I remember of Tom, I don't believe he would do it either.'

‘Well,
somebody
'as taken it,' said Madeleine. ‘It 'as not just walked out of 'ere by itself.'

‘It might help if we knew what it was we're talking about,' said Alec.

From outside came the clanging of the large pan lid that Archie used as a makeshift dinner gong. The evening meal was ready.

Ethan looked somewhat uncomfortable. ‘That
reminds me,' he said. ‘I have to tell Archie that this is the last meal he's making without being supervised by Coates. I'll go and grab him now, before we get too much of an audience.' He hurried out of the tomb and they heard him running up the steps.

‘Good luck!' Madeleine shouted after him. She looked at Alec. ‘He's going to need it,' she said. ‘I wouldn't like to tell Monsieur McCloud the truth about 'is cooking.'

Alec laughed. ‘You like him, don't you?' he said.

‘Monsieur McCloud?' she said playfully.

‘You know who I mean! Ethan.'

Madeleine shrugged her shoulders. ‘'E is . . . interesting. When I first meet him, I think 'e is a big cowboy, like Tom Mix. Now, I still think 'e is like Tom Mix, but maybe I am just starting to like Westerns a little bit more.' She laughed self-consciously. ‘I liked the way he stood up for me when that newspaperman was so rude. And did you notice, when those bats came after us, 'e was the first to run to 'elp that poor worker? 'E didn't stop to worry about saving 'is own skin. So yes, I think maybe I misjudged 'im.' She chuckled. ‘But don't worry, Alec. You are still the only man for me!'

She reached out and hugged him. He felt his face reddening, but couldn't deny he was enjoying the experience. It was a long time since a woman had hugged him. The last one had been his mother, he thought, and a great wave of melancholy passed through him.

Madeleine seemed to sense that something was wrong. She pulled away from him and regarded him with a sad smile. ‘Oh, but now you are sad,' she observed. ‘You know, I think your mother would be proud to see 'ow you 'ave turned out, Alec.'

He shrugged. ‘Think so?' he said.

‘I know she would. It is what any mother wishes for 'er son. To be strong and fearless and doing the thing that 'e loves most in the world. I was watching you work today. You take a great delight in archaeology, yes?'

Alec nodded. ‘It's the best,' he said.

‘Then, Alec, you must pursue it with all your 'eart and never let anybody tell you that it is not for you.'

‘I intend to,' he said.

‘Good. Now . . . I suppose we 'ad better go and see what 'orrors Archie 'as concocted for us,' suggested Madeleine.

Alec affected a look of dread. ‘Do we have to?' he muttered.

‘Try to be brave,
mon ami
,' said Madeleine, and they both laughed. She put her arm around his shoulders, and side-by-side they left the antechamber.