The Eye of the Serpent (23 page)

‘There's absolutely no need . . . I'm just going to Madeleine's tent to, er' – Alec remembered in the nick of time that he was not to mention the scrolls to anyone else until they knew what they contained – ‘ask her something about hieroglyphics.'

‘Hmm.' Coates's expression was one of profound disapproval. ‘I'm not sure that's appropriate, Master Alec – a young man like yourself hanging around the tent of an unmarried woman.'

Alec glared at his valet. ‘What are you talking
about?' he cried. ‘I'm only going to ask her a few questions about translating.'

‘Yes, but don't forget, Master Alec, she is . . . well, forgive me for saying it, but she is
French
.' He said the last word as though it was some obscure curse.

‘I know she's French,' hissed Alec. ‘What's wrong with that?'

‘I'm only saying, the French are not like us. They have . . . dubious morals. Perhaps smoking cigarettes and flying aeroplanes is considered acceptable practice for young ladies in Paris, but where I come from, it is definitely beyond the pale.'

Alec shook his head. ‘Coates, you really must try and step into the twentieth century,' he said. ‘You are simply too old-fashioned. Women are different these days. They can vote. Some of them even have
jobs
.'

Coates sniffed disdainfully. ‘Who knows where it will all end?' he said bleakly.

‘Now, please stay right where you are,' Alec told him. ‘I won't be long and I'll try not to come back smoking cigarettes and waving a French flag!'

He pulled aside the mosquito screen and stepped out into the night air. He stood there for
a moment, gazing around. The night was very still, and a huge luminous moon was riding serenely in the cloudless sky. Around it, billions of stars glittered like tiny diamonds scattered across dark blue velvet. The stars here never failed to amaze him. In Cairo, where there was so much reflected light from every building, only the biggest stars were visible, but out here on the edge of the desert, they seemed to be literally fighting each other for the space to shine.

He turned his head at an unexpected noise over by the road – something scuffling – but he saw nothing; and a few moments later, the long cackling howl of a hyena seemed to offer an explanation. They were always around these days, bold and inquisitive, and his memory of the attack warned Alec to be on his guard. He found himself wondering what the creatures could possibly find to eat out here in this wilderness.

As he turned towards Madeleine's tent, he saw Ethan emerge from under his own canvas.

The American grinned. ‘I guess you're thinking the same as me,' he said.

‘I couldn't sleep,' Alec told him. ‘Surely Madeleine must have found out something by now.'

‘Let's see,' said Ethan.

They approached Madeleine's tent and peered in through the mosquito screen. She was sitting at her makeshift desk, studying one of the rolls of papyrus by the light of a hurricane lamp. Ethan pulled aside the screen and they stepped inside. She lifted her head to look at them for a moment and then went back to her studies.

‘I'm busy,' she told them.

‘Aw, come on, Maddie, you must have found out
something
,' said Ethan impatiently. ‘You've been locked up in here since lunch.'

She sighed, sat up and lifted a hand to rub her neck. Then she turned her chair round to face them.

‘Long enough to know whose tomb we are dealing with,' she admitted. She gave Alec an apologetic look. ‘I am sorry, Alec, it is as I suspected.'

Ethan pulled over a couple of canvas seats and he and Alec sat down. ‘Whose then?' he said.

Madeleine frowned. ‘It is the tomb of a man called Sonchis.'

Alec and Ethan exchanged puzzled looks.

‘Sonchis?' echoed Alec. ‘I never heard of a pharaoh called Sonchis.'

‘That is because 'e was not a pharaoh. 'E was a 'igh priest of Akhenaten, a very powerful man, the leader of a religious sect who worshipped the great serpent, Apophis. According to this text, 'e 'ad many followers.'

‘That explains all those serpents in the tomb,' said Alec thoughtfully. ‘But . . . I thought that Akhenaten stopped the worship of any god other than Aten.'

Madeleine nodded. ‘That is correct. Sonchis and his followers met in secret against the pharaoh's wishes. Sonchis told them that 'e knew where the great serpent slept in a chamber deep beneath the ground, and that 'e 'ad the necessary rituals to awaken 'im and bring 'im back to the surface, where 'e would take 'is place as the rightful ruler of the world.'

Ethan let out a low whistle. ‘Guy must have been as nutty as a fruitcake,' he said.

Madeleine shrugged. ‘There were many people who believed 'im,' she said. ‘Some'ow Akhenaten found out about 'is plans. 'E gave orders that Sonchis and his four most devoted lieutenants should be arrested in the dead of night. Akhenaten 'ad already ordered the tomb to be prepared for one of 'is wives, but decided
instead to use it as a place of imprisonment.'

Alec raised his eyebrows. ‘Imprisonment? Don't you mean burial?'

Madeleine shook her head. ‘Sonchis and 'is four lieutenants were brought to the tomb. They were given a powerful potion to make them sleep and then their bodies were wrapped in bandages and oils and they were sealed up alive. A wall was built between them and a protective talisman – something they call the serpent's eye – was specially blessed and prepared by Akhenaten's priests. This was placed upon the door as a means of keeping Sonchis's
ka
– 'is spirit – contained within the tomb. Akhenaten must 'ave believed that this man's spirit was so dangerous, it must never be allowed to escape, even after death.'

Alec frowned. ‘That accounts for the copper-lined sarcophagus,' he said. ‘And the manacles . . .' He thought for a moment. ‘And it also explains the opening on the door of the tomb: that must have been where this serpent's eye thing was placed!'

‘And yet we didn't find anything like that in the antechamber,' said Ethan. ‘So where did it go to? We know there haven't been tomb robbers . . .'

‘We've already talked about this,' said Alec. ‘I'm sure Uncle Will would never have taken it. Maybe Tom,' he suggested. ‘Maybe taking the eye had something to do with his going missing. Maybe it . . . affected him in some way?'

Ethan shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sounds crazy, but at this stage I'm prepared to consider just about any idea.' He frowned. ‘Anything else we should know, Maddie?'

She nodded. ‘Yes, but you aren't going to like it.'

‘Try me,' suggested Ethan.

‘As Sonchis was being sealed in the tomb, 'e woke from the drug-induced sleep and cursed those who 'ad arrested 'im. 'E cursed Akhenaten and anybody else who entered the tomb . . .'

‘Oh, great,' sighed Ethan. ‘Another curse. Perfect.'

‘'E also said that death could not keep 'im . . . that 'e would return one day to fulfil 'is destiny. 'E said 'e would walk the earth and 'e would go to the Gates of Apophis and awaken the great serpent from 'is sleep.'

Ethan smiled. ‘The Gates of Apophis, huh? Well, that ain't too far away.'

Alec stared at him. ‘You've heard of it?

‘Sure. A big old cave system out in the desert, due west of here. One of the rocks above it does kind of resemble the head of a cobra. Some of the older locals still call it by that name and I remember one guy telling me he'd heard a story about it when he was a kid. Looking at the guy, that must have been like a hundred years ago. He said that under the cliffs, Apophis slept; and one day he would be called and return to the surface.'

Alec looked at him. ‘Do you think there's anything in it?' he asked.

Ethan gave a snort of derision. ‘Do I think there's a giant snake asleep under the desert?' he asked. ‘No, and I'm surprised at you for asking such a stupid question!'

Alec felt his cheeks redden. ‘But I read somewhere that all legends start with a fact,' he argued.

‘Yeah, maybe somebody did get bitten by a snake there, down the centuries – but just an ordinary-sized one. Then, over the years, it got exaggerated. Heck, Alec, you know how these things work!' He turned back to Madeleine. ‘Good job, Maddie. OK, so now we know who we're dealing with. It ain't Akhenaten, but it's a pretty amazing find all the same and we shouldn't lose sight of that.'

‘And the curse?' murmured Madeleine.

‘Don't even give it a second thought.'

‘No, but wait,' persisted Alec. ‘Just think for a moment. You heard what Madeleine said. A serpent's eye was placed in the door to keep this high priest's spirit locked up. But the eye is gone . . . and the sarcophagus was smashed open by an earthquake, who knows how many centuries ago? There have been some very rum things happening around here. Tom Hinton's disappearance. Hyenas in a place where you don't normally find hyenas. Fruit bats that attack people. Now nobody knows what happened to Wilfred Llewellyn. I know it sounds crazy, but . . . suppose something
did
get out of the tomb? Suppose Sonchis's spirit is already out here, causing bad things to happen?'

Ethan stared at Alec for a moment in silence. Then he threw back his head and began to laugh.

Sonchis lifted his head at the unexpected sound of laughter coming from one of the tents.
Yes, laugh
, he thought,
while you still have something to laugh about!

He waited for a moment in the darkness until
the sound had died down, and then he carried on, moving the still unfamiliar shape of Doc Hopper into the dark hills beyond the road. The hessian bag he carried over his shoulder bumped against his back with a dry, rattling sound. He reached a spot on the edge of the darkness and paused, listening intently. After a short while he was rewarded with a low growl and he saw the glint of a pair of feral eyes regarding him from the shadows. A moment later, another pair appeared, and then there were more, as a whole pack of hyenas came creeping out from their hiding places.

They had always been his loyal servants – and these ones had travelled hundreds of miles to carry out his bidding. Such loyalty deserved to be rewarded occasionally. He lifted the sack from his shoulder and upended it at the edge of the road, sending a grisly collection of bones and tattered clothing tumbling down to where the hyenas waited. The mortal remains of a fat detective called Wilfred Llewellyn would soon be nothing more than a memory. Sonchis could not allow his plan to be disrupted by somebody stumbling upon the sack that he had temporarily stored under Doc Hopper's bed.

He listened for a while as the hyenas began to snap ravenously at the bones and then he flung the bloodstained sack into the darkness too, knowing that not a trace of it would remain by morning. Hyenas were not particular about what they ate. He returned to his tent, impatient to begin the next part of his task – to inhabit his own body once more; but he was all too aware that he could not start until everyone in the camp was asleep.

Then it would begin, the process that he had waited thousands of years to complete. He slipped a hand inside his shirt and felt each of his talismans sending fresh power through his spirit, and he told himself that he would not have to tolerate this artificial body for very much longer . . .

With an expression of disgust, Biff Corcoran pulled the sheet of paper from his typewriter, balled it up and threw it at the waste bin on the other side of the hotel room; it glanced off the edge and rolled away to join half a dozen other similarly discarded attempts that littered the floor.

Not for the first time, he asked himself what was he doing here. The room was intolerably hot,
despite the clattering ceiling fan, which was vainly trying to stir the humid air around. Meanwhile his attempts to scare up some kind of a gripping travel article seemed equally doomed to failure. He thought again about the Devlin kid: what a great little story that would have been – but no, that interfering flunky had made sure that it just wasn't going to happen. Typical uptight Englishman – the kid could have been in the
Saturday Evening Post
!

Trouble was, what other angle did he have? It was no good sending his editor a bunch of hooey about mummies and tombs and ancient artefacts. That wouldn't wash for the average
Post
reader. No, he needed to find ‘the human angle' but it just wasn't coming and time was fast running out.

To make matters worse, Biff's supply of whisky was fast running out too, and Mohammed Hansa, the best contact for the stuff in these parts, had been hard to get hold of since he'd started chauffeuring that Welsh professor around. Biff poured himself a small shot and savoured the feel of it on his tongue, telling himself that if things didn't pick up soon, he'd have to start thinking about another line of work.

A furious hammering on his door made him
jump and he almost spilled the precious contents of his glass.

‘Come in!' he growled. The door opened and Charlie swept into the room, carrying a photograph. The last time Biff had seen her she'd been heading for the improvised darkroom she had set up in one of the Winter Palace's linen cupboards, but now her face was ashen and for once in her life she looked anything but bored.

‘Biff, there's something screwy going on,' she announced.

‘You're telling me,' he said. ‘It's called Egypt. The whole place is screwy. You know, I watched
The Sheik
three times and at no point did you ever see Valentino pulling sand out of his duds – but I swear every item of clothing I brought with me is full of the stuff.'

‘Never mind about that! I want you to look at a photograph I took.'

‘That's above and beyond the call of duty, kid. You know I do the words; I leave the images to you.'