Брайан Ламли - Khai of Khem

And in this last example, Arnott’s themes seemed inescapably to link him with the theosophists, with “sensation seekers,” and with the authors of the current spate of lucrative but wildly speculative and romantic books dealing with primordial incursions from outer space. For he made no bones at all about his belief that indeed the source of Egypt’s ancient wisdom was the stars. The first pyramid had not been built in Egypt at all—it had landed there!

Thinking back on these things as they left the gymnasium complex together, Sommers was brought back to the present when Arnott repeated his earlier question:

“The photograph, Wilf—where did you get it?”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry, my mind was wandering. I took the photograph myself, yesterday, at the museum. I’m on my way back there right now, if you’re interested.”

“If I’m interested, Wilf? Try to stop me coming back with you!”

They walked out of the room together and along the side of the swimming pool. The pool was empty now and Sommers’s voice echoed as he said: “I’ll be glad to have you along. It’s been some time since the Old Man has seen you. But are you entirely free to come and go here? Don’t you have to book yourself out or something?”

“No, I’ve been back at the flat since yesterday morning, but I’m still to report in here daily for my sessions. In another fortnight I’ll have this dammed thing off my neck, and then—”

“Then back to risking that same silly neck hang-gliding, I suppose?”

“You know, Wilf, if they had only known how to go about it, men could have been flying hang-gliders ten thousand years ago. The materials were all at hand—rough and ready, certainly, but available.”

“Is this the start of another Ancient Wisdom theory, Paul?”

Arnott shook his head. “No, but in any case, I think I’m finished with hang-gliding. I’ve thought about it, but—oh, I don’t know. Perhaps the accident soured me. Julie ... you know.”

Sommers knew. Three months earlier Arnott had been flying at Glenshee in the Grampians. Julie had been a novice pilot. On the day in question Arnott had forbidden her to fly; the winds were blustery, the landing site awkward, the rocks far too sharp. She had waited until he was airborne and had then launched herself after him. He saw her—the way her badly-rigged kite was about to fold up—and he put himself beneath her to break her fall. She killed herself and almost took him with her.

“Paul, I’m sorry,” Sommers said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course not, I know that. But let’s drop it now.... About the mask,” he changed the subject. “Where did it come from? How did you get your hands on it?”

“The damnedest thing,” Sommers answered. “It was brought in by an Egyptian!”

“An Egyptian?”

“A fellow who works for a travel agency in Cairo, yes. Apparently he’s a bit of an archeologist in his spare time, a treasure hunter at any rate, and he dug the thing up on a lone expedition to—”

“To the Gilf Kebir!” Arnott finished it for him.

They were just passing out through the hospital’s main doors and into suburban London’s streets. Sommers caught at the other’s arm. “Paul, how did you know that? How could you possibly know?”

“How did I know?” Arnott shook his head, looked dazed. Worriedly, he said: “I … it was a guess.”

“A guess?” Sommers’s amazement showed. “Don’t make me laugh. Why, you’d have to be telepathic! I mean, of all the God-forsaken places—”

“I tell you it was a guess!” Arnott snapped, his naturally dark features strangely pale. “As soon as I saw the thing I… I thought of it as coming out of Kush.”

“Kush?” Again there was amazement in Sommers’s voice. “But Kush lay south of Egypt, Paul, not to the west!” They crossed the pavement to where Sommers’s car stood at the curb.

“It did in your ancient world, Wilf, but not in mine,” Arnott answered; and again it was as if his eyes shone on distant scenes. “The Kushites did move south later, yes, but originally their land lay to the west of Khem, and its strongholds were in the Gilf Kebir….”

“And of course you have proof of all this?”

“No,” Arnott grinned sheepishly, seeming to come back down to earth. “It’s just another one of my ‘crazy’ theories!”

“You and your theories,” Sommers shook his head and held open the door of his car until Arnott was comfortable inside. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that a worried frown had appeared on the other’s face, that deep lines of concentration furrowed his brow.

“Paul, are you sure you’re well enough to be out of the hospital? I mean, quite apart from your broken neck and busted ribs, you took a bad knock on the head, and—”

“No, I’m fine, Wilf. It’s just that when I saw your photograph … it was like … I seemed to, well, remember things.”

“Things like Sh’tarra?”

“Sh’tarra? Yes. I saw the likeness to Julie, of course, but the face on that mask—it was the face of Sh’tarra. It was her face.”

“But who is Sh’tarra, Paul, and when did you know her?”

Arnott looked at him, looked through him. He shook his head. “How could I have known her, Wilf ? That mask is eight or nine thousand years old. And don’t ask me how I know that, either.”

Somehow he managed a weak laugh. “Blame it on my crazy theories, if you like, Wilf. Why not? Just another of Paul Arnott’s nutty notions….” In another moment, his voice went deadly serious. “But crazy or not, I’ll tell you something. The woman whose face is on that mask, that’s Sh’tarra—and I’ve been waiting for her all my life!”

“Wilf,” said Arnott as the other guided the car out into light traffic, “I’d like to tell you about... about myself. Your father already knows most of my story. I once had a drink with him and I loosened up sufficiently to explain a thing or two—a few of my ‘theories,’ a dream or two—things that have been with me as long as I can remember. We talked of this and that and—oh, everything. He draws things out of a man, your father.”

“Yes, Sir George is a wise old man, Paul,” Sommers answered. “He accepts you, and that’s good enough for me. He once told me that I’d do well to listen to you—that I might learn a lot—that you were the oddest collection of contradictions in human form it had ever been his good fortune to encounter. After that... you may believe I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

Arnott nodded. “Your father flatters me. But I suppose he’s right; I’m sure enough a strange one, and that’s the truth.” He settled himself more comfortably in his seat. “Do you believe in destiny, Wilf?”

“I suppose I do,” Sommers answered. “But it’s for great men, Paul. For kings and generals—not for ordinary men.”

“Oh? It’s funny, but I’ve always felt that destiny was just around the corner for me. Is that strange? Oh, I know I’ve been a wastrel and ne’er-do-well to some, philanderer and fool to others—but ever since I was a small boy, I’ve felt that something was beckoning me. It beckoned and I sought it out. I’ve climbed mountains with the best of them, but destiny wasn’t up there. I went with Adrian Argyle to look for old Atlantis in the Aegean. He didn’t discover Atlantis and I didn’t find destiny.”

Sommers smiled. “Wanderlust is the word, Paul. You’re not weird, you’re just restless!”

“Restless? Yes, I suppose I am. I spent a year on a Kibbutz in Israel, two more on Hokkaido learning martial arts from the real experts, and I lived for a good twelve months in a so-called ‘iron-age’ pre-Viking settlement in Norway. Now tell me, if I wasn’t searching for something that couldn’t be found in the ordinary world, then just what the hell was I doing?”