Виктория Холт - Curse of the Kings

But why should Leopold Harding wish to trick me? Why had he lied to me? I remembered coming out of the Temple and running straight into that man. He had been the one who had stalked me there. He had meant to kill me. Oh, but this was a better ideal

Had Tybalt ordered him to do this, and who was he that he must take his orders from Tybalt?

I was sure something moved overhead. Something was looking down at me. I held up the lantern.

On the ceiling had been carved a great bat with enormous wings. Its eyes were some sort of obsidian and the light of the lantern catching them had made them seem alive.

I fancied I could hear the soothsayer's voice: "The bat is hovering, waiting to descend."

I stared up at it, hideous, malevolent; and I said to myself: "What is to become of me? What does it mean? Why have I been brought here?"

I was cold. Or was it fear that made me shiver so violently that I could not keep still? My teeth chattered . . . an unearthly sound.

I could not bring myself to stand up and go back. I was fascinated by that hideous bat on the ceiling of the chamber.

Now I could make out drawings on the walls. There was a Pharaoh offering a sacrifice to one of the gods. Was it Hathor the Goddess of Love? It must be because there she was again and her face was that of a cow, and I knew the cow was her emblem.

I was so cold. I must move. I stood up unsteadily. I examined the walls. There might be a way out of this place. There must be a way out. Now I could see the drawings of the walls more clearly. There were pictures of ships and men tied upside down on their prows. Prisoners I remembered. And with them were men without one or more limbs. And there was the crocodile who had maimed them, sly, ugly, with a necklace about his neck and earrings hanging from his ears.

Where was I? At the entrance to a tomb? Then if I was at the entrance it must lead on. Somewhere ahead perhaps was a burial chamber and in it the stone sarcophagus and inside the sarcophagus the mummy.

One can grow accustomed to anything, even fear. Fear was creeping up on me and yet I felt calmer than I had at the first realization that I was alone in this gruesome place.

I walked a few paces. If there was a way out of this chamber . . . but to what would it lead . . . only to a long dead mummy. What I needed was a way out into the open, the fresh air.

I thought: There is little air in here. I shall use what there is in a short time. I shall die; and I shall lie here forever until some archaeologist decides to explore this place just in case it leads to a great discovery; and his discovery will be my dead body.

"Nonsense," I said as I had said so many times to Theodosia, "there must be something I can do."

The very thought inspired me with courage. I would not sit here quietly and wait for death. I would find the way out if it was to be found.

I picked up the lantern. I examined the walls again. I now saw some significance in the wall drawings. This was meant to depict the progress of a soul along the river Tuat. There was the boat on a sea from which rose hideous sea monsters, snakes with double heads, waves which enveloped the vessel; but above was the God Osiris, God of the Underworld and Judge of the Dead. This meant that he was giving his protection to the traveler in the boat and he would conduct him through the turbulent seas of the Tuat to the Kingdom of Amen Ra.

There was an opening in the wall. My heart leaped with hope. Then I saw that it was merely an alcove, similar in size to that one in which Yasmin and her lover had lain together.

As I examined it my foot touched something. I was startled and immediately thought of some of the horrible creatures I had seen rising from the river Tuat. I stooped and looked down. What I saw was not a hideous serpent but a gleaming object.

A matchbox! A small, gold box. What a strange thing to find in such a place. It was no antique piece. It belonged to this century. I turned it over in my hand and I saw the name engraved on it: E. Trovers.

Sir Edward's matchbox! Then he had been here!

I felt dizzy with this discovery. My incarceration was already having its effect. I could not think clearly. Sir Edward had been here at some time. What if it was the night when he had died? Had he died because he had been here? But he had gone back to the palace. He had told no one what he had seen, but Tybalt knew he had found something, something which excited him. Then he had eaten something which had been prepared for him. Who prepared his food? Mustapha and Absalam—those two who were branded with the Jackal, servants of the Pasha.

Sir Edward had been murdered. I was certain of that. And he had been murdered because he had been here. It would have been at the orders of the Pasha, who had ordained that he should die just as he had commanded that Yasmin be killed and thrown into the river and that there should be an accident at the bridge which would show that the Curse was in force.

The Pasha wanted to drive us away; he wanted our expedition to end in failure. Why? Because there was something which he did not want us to discover. If the Pasha's interest in archaeology really existed, why should he be ready to kill rather than allow discoveries to be made.

Because he wished to make them?

In my present state of fear and panic memories of the past seemed clearer than they normally were. I recalled vividly the Pasha's plump face, his shaking jowls, his lips greasy from the food he was eating. He had looked sly as he murmured: "There is a legend that my family founded its fortune on robbing tombs."

Could it possibly be that he continued to build up his fortune in this illegal way?

If that was so he would not be very friendly towards archaeologists who might expose him. Was that why he offered his palace, why his servants waited on us, why they had orders to frighten us away?

I knew that that was the answer.

But it did not answer the pressing question: Why was it necessary to bring me here?

I thought, Leopold Harding is another of his servants. In the papers they will be reading: Wife of archaeologist disappears. Lady Travers, wife of Sir Tybalt, left the palace where the party of archaeologists are lodged and has not been seen for two days . . . three days ... a week ... a month. She can only be presumed dead. How was she spirited away? This is another instance of the Curse of the Kings. It will be remembered that a few months ago the wife of one of the archaeologists suffered a fatal accident.

I could see Dorcas reading that. Alison with her. I could see their blank, miserable faces. They would be truly heartbroken.

It must not be. I must find a way out of it.

I clutched Sir Edward's golden matchbox as though it were a talisman.

Darkness! Was the lantern growing dim? What should I do when the oil ran out? Should I be dead by then?

How long could one survive in an atmosphere such as this?

My feet were numb. With fear or cold I could not know. Above me the eyes of the great bat glittered . . . waiting . . . waiting to descend.

"Oh God," I prayed, "help me. Show me what to do. Let Tybalt come and find me. Let it be that he wants me to live, not to die."

Then I thought, when we are in need of help why do we always tell God what to do? If it is His will I will come out of this place alive—and only then.

I think I was a little delirious. I thought I heard footsteps. But it was only the beating of my own heart which was like hammer strokes in my ears.

I talked aloud. "Oh, Tybalt, miss me. Search for me. You will find me if you do. You will find that door. Why should there be such a door? Something will lead you to me. If you want to find me . . . desperately . . . you must. But do you want to find me? Was it by your order? No ... I don't believe that. I won't believe that!"