The Eye of the Serpent (4 page)

The two boys raced off and Ethan gestured to his guests.

‘Come with me,' he said. ‘Let's get you out of this three-ring circus. I swear this place gets busier every time I come here.' He led the way through a packed waiting room and out to the port entrance. On a strip of dust road, two fine-looking convertible automobiles were waiting. Alec recognized the driver of one of them.

‘Mickey!' he shouted, and ran forward to shake the man's hand. Mickey Randall was one of Uncle Will's assistants, a wiry little fellow from Bethnal Green who had spent much of his life travelling to the far corners of the earth. Alec had got to know him on previous digs and the two of them were great friends.

‘Master Alec.' Mickey grinned, revealing irregular rows of nicotine-stained teeth. ‘I'd say you've grown another foot since I last clapped eyes on yer.'

‘Maybe a couple of inches,' admitted Alec.

‘Whatever, it's good to 'ave yer back.' Mickey glanced cautiously up at Coates. ‘You too, Mr Coates,' he said, but his enthusiasm was a little muted: the two of them didn't really get on. It was no secret that the valet thought Mickey a bit of a scoundrel.

‘Mr Randall,' said Coates, with chilly politeness. ‘May I say you're looking every bit as pugnacious as you did on the last occasion we met?'

Mickey smiled. ‘Er . . . thanks, Mr Coates,' he said, but it was quite evident he didn't have the first idea what ‘pugnacious' meant and Alec didn't really feel like enlightening him. Mickey turned back to Alec and his sun-grizzled face registered an expression of regret. ‘Ain't it terrible about Sir William?' he said. ‘I couldn't believe it when they told me what 'appened.'

‘What exactly
did
happen?' Alec asked him. ‘Whenever I ask, I never seem to get a straight answer.'

Mickey looked uncomfortable. ‘Something bad,' he admitted, but seemed reluctant to say anything further on the matter. ‘And . . . I believe you've 'ad some terrible news yourself since I last seen yer. I 'eard about your mother, Alec. I'm
really sorry. I never met 'er, o' course, but everyone said she was a fine lady.'

Alec nodded. As usual at such times, he couldn't for the life of him think of anything constructive to say. There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘Perhaps you might care to change the subject,' suggested Coates; and Mickey obligingly slapped a hand against the shining side of the automobile.

‘So . . . whatcha think of the motor, then?' he asked.

‘Fantastic! Is it yours?'

‘No, these both belong to Mr Wade. Crossleys, they are, made in England – Manchester, to be precise. They say the Prince of Wales drives around in one of these blighters. There's nearly twenty 'orsepower under the bonnet and she's got a top speed of sixty-four miles per hour!'

‘Gosh!' Alec tried and failed to imagine a car moving at such an unbelievable speed. Of course, they had a motorcar back in Cairo, but that was a sedate Ford, not a fabulous creation like this. He turned to look at Ethan. ‘Must have cost you a pretty penny, Mr Wade,' he said.

‘Master Alec, it's considered vulgar to enquire the price of things,' warned Coates disapprovingly.

Ethan waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Don't sweat it,' he said.

Coates raised his eyebrows. ‘I shall do my very best not to,' he said, ‘A quite repulsive habit – though of course, in this climate one cannot promise anything.'

Ethan stared at Coates for a moment as though considering saying something further; but then he shook his head and turned back to Alec. ‘A car like that should cost around a thousand bucks, but these are war surplus models. I picked 'em up for a whole lot less. They were made for driving generals around the battlefields, so they could take a good long look at the destruction they'd caused. Thought I might put 'em to better use.'

There was a bitterness in his tone, which prompted Alec to ask another question.

‘Were you in the war, Mr Wade?'

Ethan frowned. ‘Yeah, I saw some action in France – enough to convince me that I never want to get mixed up in anything like that again.' He glanced up as the two Arab boys came
struggling out of the port exit, each of them bent double beneath the weight of a huge trunk. ‘You guys don't believe in travelling light,' he observed, grinning.

‘One has to be prepared for every eventuality, Mr Wade,' said Coates evenly. ‘After all, it's not as if we're just staying overnight.'

‘I guess not. Guys, put the two trunks in behind Mr Randall there.'

The two Arab boys did as he asked, standing the trunks upright in the back seat, and Ethan rewarded them with a couple of coins apiece. They grinned delightedly and headed back to the port, in search of more customers.

Ethan turned back to his visitors. ‘Mr Coates, if you'd like to get in beside Mickey, he'll take you over to the dig and you can get unpacked. Alec can ride with me in the other automobile. There's a call me and him need to make along the way.'

Coates looked doubtful. ‘Oh, I'm not sure about that, Mr Wade. My instructions are to keep an eye on Master Alec at all times.'

‘Relax, he'll be fine with me.' Ethan glanced at Alec. ‘Is it OK with you?'

‘Umm . . . yes, why not?' Alec turned to look
at Coates. ‘I'm sure I'll be safe enough,' he said.

‘Very well, Master Alec. But be warned, in deviating from the approved procedure you are accepting full responsibility for your own safety.' Coates climbed into the passenger seat beside Mickey, but he didn't look at all happy. He was a man who took his instructions very seriously.

Alec followed Ethan to the other vehicle and got in beside him. ‘What's his problem?' muttered Ethan.

‘No problem,' said Alec. ‘He's just being Coates.'

‘Guy needs to relax a little.'

Ethan hit the starter and the car's powerful engine rumbled into life. They were just about to set off when a shout drew their attention back to the port entrance and they saw the hulking shape of Wilfred Llewellyn, dragging a heavy trunk behind him and even more red in the face than usual.

‘Mr Wade!' he shouted. ‘Just a moment, please!'

‘Who's the stiff in the ice-cream suit?' asked Ethan, and Alec had to make an effort not to laugh.

‘His name's Wilfred Llewellyn,' he whispered.
‘We met on the boat. Claims he's a reporter for a paper in Cairo.'

Ethan scowled. ‘A reporter?' he muttered. ‘That's all we need.' He didn't appear to have much liking for reporters. ‘Those people have been making life a misery for Howard Carter and his team ever since they found Tut's tomb. And since Lord Carnarvon died they've been inventing all this hokum about some ancient curse. I guess it's only a matter of time before we get the same treatment.'

Llewellyn came up and stood beside the Crossley. After his exertion, the sweat was literally pouring from his face. ‘This heat!' he observed. ‘Quite unreal.' He extended a hand towards Ethan. ‘Wilfred Llewellyn,' he said. ‘
Cairo Examiner
.'

Alec looked at him. ‘I thought, on the boat, you said the
Cairo Herald
.'

Llewellyn didn't even bother to look at him. ‘No, don't believe so,' he said. ‘You must have misheard me, young man. I'm with the
Examiner
.' He fixed his attention on Ethan. ‘And you must be Mr Wade,' he said, directing an oily smile at the American while completely blanking out Alec's puzzled expression. ‘The gentleman who
has taken over the directorship of the site while Sir William Devlin is . . . incapacitated?' Llewellyn still had his hand out, but Ethan either hadn't noticed or had chosen to ignore the gesture.

‘You're well informed, Mr Llewellyn. What can I do for ya?'

Llewellyn snatched back the hand, but his smile never faltered. ‘I take it you're on your way up to the archaeological dig? I've been sent here to do a story about it and I was wondering if you might have room for one more in your fine automobile.'

Now Ethan turned to look at Llewellyn, his face expressionless. ‘Nobody said anything to me about a newspaper,' he said.

‘My editor
did
send a telegram. Oh dear, it must have gone astray. You know how communications are in this godforsaken country.'

Ethan shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Well now, see, Mr Llewellyn, we got a problem.' He jerked a thumb back at the Crossley Mickey was driving. ‘Ain't no room in there, what with the luggage and all – and me and Alec here, we're heading somewhere else entirely.'

Llewellyn mopped his brow. ‘That's all right,' he said. ‘I don't mind tagging along. It might make for a more interesting story.'

Ethan shook his head. ‘Sorry, but where we're headed, the press ain't invited.' He gestured back towards the dock entrance. ‘If you ask around in there, there's a guy called Mohammed Hansa – he has an automobile for hire. Not a very good one, but I expect he'll take you out to the dig if you offer him enough
baksheesh
.'

‘Yes, but surely you could . . .'

The rest of Llewellyn's words were lost in the throaty roar of the Crossley's engine as Ethan let out the clutch and they drove off, flinging up a great cloud of sand in their wake. Alec glanced back and saw Llewellyn, half choking in the thick red dust.

‘Coates doesn't trust that chap,' said Alec.

‘Coates is a good judge of character,' said Ethan. ‘I don't like him neither and I only just met him.'

‘He definitely told me the
Cairo Herald
back on the boat. Coates says he's never heard of it.'

‘Me neither. We're gonna have to keep an eye on that guy if he comes sniffing around the dig.'

The Crossley coasted through the narrow streets of Luxor, passing coffee houses, street markets and whitewashed colonial buildings. Whenever they paused at a crossroads, small groups of Arabs
appeared beside them, brandishing pieces of pottery, amulets and figurines.

‘
Effendi
, you buy, you buy! Very good price!'

Alec looked at the items they were offering, all of which appeared to be authentically aged pieces.

‘Is that stuff genuine?' he asked Ethan as they drove away from one raucous group.

Ethan shook his head. ‘Not much of it,' he said. ‘Oh, you'll find the odd piece looted from some burial site or other, but most of it they make themselves – they've got real smart at getting it to look authentic. It's got worse since Carter found King Tut. Suddenly every tourist wants to take home a piece of the real Egypt and, for the right price, those boys are more than happy to supply it.'

They soon left the outskirts of the old town and headed out into the desert, the dirt road knifing through sand dunes so white they looked like snow hills. The heat seemed to intensify almost instantly and Alec was glad of the rush of wind that cooled his face. After driving for some twenty minutes, they came to a place where the road forked. Ethan took a left, but when Alec glanced back, he saw that Mickey and Coates had
turned off in the other direction, heading towards the Valley of the Kings.

‘Where are we going, exactly?' shouted Alec over the rush of wind.

Ethan glanced at him. ‘I thought you might like to pay a visit to your uncle,' he yelled back.

‘Uncle Will?' Alec brightened. ‘I didn't think he was up to having visitors.'

Ethan frowned. He slowed the car a little to make it easier to be heard. ‘Tell you the truth, kid, I don't know that he is. But I'm kind of desperate. See, William has spoken barely a word since they found him, the night that Tom Hinton disappeared.' He glanced at Alec. ‘You heard about Tom?'

‘Not until yesterday, when Mr Llewellyn mentioned it,' he admitted. ‘He seemed to think there was something very fishy about his disappearance.'

Ethan nodded. ‘We tried to play it down, but the truth is, Tom just up and vanished. You remember him, I guess?'

‘Of course, I've worked with him twice before. A nice chap, very level-headed, knows everything there is to know about archaeology.'

‘Nobody's seen hide nor hair of him since the
night he took a walk,' Ethan went on. ‘His fellow workers looked everywhere they could think of, even talked to the local police, but they weren't any help at all. It's like he just vanished into thin air . . . and as for your uncle . . .' He sighed. ‘Well, whatever happened to him, it must've shook him to the core. I thought maybe seeing another familiar face might get some kind of response out of him. Lord knows I've tried everything else I can think of. It's like he just . . . shut himself away from the world. When he does speak, his words seem to make no sense at all.'

Alec frowned. ‘But . . . he must have asked for me, otherwise why am I here?'

Ethan shook his head. ‘Tell you the truth, that was my idea. I was reading your uncle's journal to see if I could find a clue to what happened. William mentions you a lot. He thinks a great deal of you, Alec – reckons you're going to be a big name in archaeology one day. Heck, I ain't no expert, I can use all the help I can get. Only reason I'm running this circus is because I signed up to come back to work here a month or so back and I agreed to have my name put down on an insurance policy. I was second choice behind Tom. Who would have thought that
neither of 'em would be in a position to continue?'

They drove on for a while in silence. Then Alec said, ‘From the way you've been talking, it sounds as though Uncle Will
found
something.'

Ethan grinned. ‘Oh, he found something all right . . . the very same day he was taken ill.'

Alec could hardly contain his excitement. ‘Well, what did he find?' he demanded. ‘I know he always hoped to find the last resting place of Akhenaten, but surely you're not saying . . .'