Douglas Preston - The Book of the Dead

Nora smiled and nodded, studying the woman intently. The speed with which Wicherly had been replaced-he’d been dead only a few days-surprised her. But then, she reflected, the opening was looming and the museum absolutely had to have an Egyptologist in residence for the run of the show.

Viola, oblivious to the sound and chaos beyond, was looking around at the tomb with wonder. “What a treasure!”

Nora found herself liking the woman’s high-spirited attitude. Her open, frank enthusiasm was infinitely preferable to the pontifications of some dusty old professor.

“I’ve just been checking the placement of the artifacts and doing a final run-through on the label copy,” she said. “Care to come along? You might catch some errors.”

“I’d adore it,” she said, practically beaming. “Although with Adrian having done the work, I’m sure it’s solid.”

Nora turned. “You knew him?”

Viola’s face clouded. “We Egyptologists are a rather small club. Dr. Menzies told me what happened. I can’t understand it. How terribly frightening for you.”

Nora simply nodded.

“I knew Adrian professionally,” Viola said, her voice more quiet now. “He was a brilliant Egyptologist, although he rather fancied himself God’s gift to women. Still, I never would have thought that… What a terrible shock.” She broke off.

For a moment, an awkward silence settled over them. Then Nora roused herself.

“He left a fine legacy behind him,” she said. “In his work for the exhibition. And I know it sounds crass, but the show must go on.”

“I suppose so,” Viola replied. Then she brightened a little. “I hear the sound-and-light show is quite spectacular.”

“It has just about everything, even a talking mummy.”

Viola laughed. “That sounds delicious!”

They walked on, Nora checking her clipboard. She took the opportunity to examine Viola Maskelene more closely out of the corner of her eye as the Egyptologist looked over the cases full of antiquities.

They paused at one spectacular canopic jar. “I’m afraid this is XVIII Dynasty,” Viola said. “It’s a bit anachronistic, compared to the other objects.”

Nora smiled. “I know. We didn’t quite have all the XIX Dynasty objects we needed, so we expanded-fudged-the time period a bit. Adrian explained that antiques, even at the time of the pharaohs, were often put in burials.”

“Quite true! Sorry for bringing it up-I’m a bit of a stickler for details.”

“Being a stickler for details is exactly what we need.”

They circled the burial chamber, Nora checking items off her list, Viola parsing the label copy and examining the objects.

“Can you read hieroglyphics?” Nora asked.

Viola nodded.

“What do you make of the curse above the door, the one with the Eye of Horus?”

A laugh. “One of the nastiest I’ve ever seen.”

“Really? I thought they were all nasty.”

“On the contrary. Many Egyptian tombs aren’t even protected with curses. They didn’t need to be-everyone knew that to rob a pharaoh’s tomb was to steal from the gods themselves.”

“So why put a curse in this tomb?”

“I imagine it was because, unlike a pharaoh, Senef wasn’t a god. He may have felt that the additional protection of the curse might be warranted. That painting of Ammut… whew!” Viola shuddered. “Goya couldn’t do better.”

Nora glanced at the painting, nodding grimly.

“I understand word of this curse has gotten around,” Viola said.

“The guards started it. Now the whole museum is abuzz. A few of the maintenance staff flat-out refuse to go into the tomb after hours.”

They came around a pilaster, only to find a woman in a gray suit kneeling on the stone floor, scraping dust out of a crack and putting it in a test tube. Nearby, a man in a white lab coat was organizing what looked like samples in a portable chemical laboratory.

“What in the world is she doing?” Viola whispered.

Nora had never seen the woman before. She certainly didn’t look much like a museum employee. In fact, she looked like a cop.

“Let’s find out.” Nora walked over. “Hello. I’m Nora Kelly, curator of the exhibition.”

The woman rose. “I’m Susan Lombardi, with the Occupational Safety and Health Administration.”

“May I ask what you’re doing?”

“We’re testing for any environmental hazards-toxins, microbes, that sort of thing.”

“Really? And why is that necessary?”

She shrugged. “All I know is, the request came from the NYPD. A rush job.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Nora turned away and the woman went back to work.

“That’s odd,” said Viola. “Are they worried about some kind of infectious disease, perhaps, endemic to the tomb itself? Some Egyptian tombs have been known to harbor ancient viruses and fungus spores.”

“I suppose so. Strange that no one told me.”

But Viola had turned away. “Oh, look-what a fabulous unguent container! It’s better than anything in the British Museum!” And she rushed over to a large glass case containing an artifact carved in white alabaster and decorated with paint, a lion crouching on the lid. “Why, it has the cartouche of Thutmosis himself on it!” She knelt, examining it with rapt attention.

There was something refreshingly spontaneous, even rebellious, about Viola Maskelene. Nora took in the woman’s beaten-up canvas pants, lack of makeup, and dusty work shirt, wondering if this was going to be her standard museum uniform. She looked just the opposite of a stuffy British archaeologist.

Viola… Viola Maskelene. It was a strange name, and it rang a bell… Had Menzies mentioned her before? No, not Menzies… somebody else…

And then, quite suddenly, she remembered.

“You were the one kidnapped by the jewel thief!” It came out in a rush, before she’d had time to think, and Nora immediately colored.

Viola rose quietly from the case and brushed off her knees. “Yes. That was me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fling it out like that.”

“Actually, I’m glad you mentioned it. Better to get it out in the open and get past it.”

Nora felt her cheeks flaming.

“It’s fine, Nora-really. Actually, all that was just another reason I was glad to take this job and return to New York.”

“Really?”

“To me, it’s sort of like falling off a horse-you’ve got to get right back on if you ever hope to ride again.”

“That’s a good way to look at it.” Nora paused. “So you’re Agent Pendergast’s friend.”

Now it was time for Viola Maskelene to color. “You might say that.”

“My husband, Bill Smithback, and I are well acquainted with Special Agent Pendergast.”

Viola looked at her with fresh interest. “Really? How did you meet?”

“I helped with a case of his a few years ago. I feel terrible about what’s happened to him.” She didn’t mention her husband’s activities, which he had insisted on keeping confidential.

“Agent Pendergast is the other reason I returned,” Viola said in a low voice. Then she fell into silence.

After they had finished up in the burial chamber, they followed with a quick check of the side chambers. Then Nora glanced at her watch. “One o’clock. You want some lunch? We’re going to be here until after midnight, and you don’t want to be caught running on empty. Come on-the shrimp bisque in the staff cafeteria is actually worth making a trip for.”

At this, Viola Maskelene brightened. “Lead the way, Nora.”

In the close darkness of cell 44, high within the isolation cellblock of Herkmoor Federal Correctional Facility, Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast lay at rest, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. The dark was not absolute: an unchanging bar of light from the lone window streaked across the ceiling, formed by the harsh glare of the illuminated yards and grounds outside. From the next cell, the soft sounds of the drummer continued, muted and thoughtful now, a mournful adagio which Pendergast found curiously conducive to concentration.