R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

Just then, I was swept along by the crowd and found myself stepping onto the tram. Again, I tried to keep myself to the middle of the pack and breathed a huge sigh of relief when I saw Nabir climb on board.

I was on pins and needles waiting for the tram to start and take me away from danger. I especially wanted to get away before they worked out where I was. Finally, with a lurch, the tram got under way. I was safe. They hadn’t seen me.

I QUICKLY DISCOVERED that the tram was taking us to Giza, to the Great Pyramids there. Which was most excellent because I had been hoping to see them while I was in Cairo. Safe for the moment, I gave myself over to the wonder of being in Egypt and watched the three triangles on the horizon grow bigger and bigger the closer we got.

When Nabir and I got off the tram, I found myself almost reluctant to go forward. Standing before such ancient, timeless creations was humbling. Mesmerized, I walked until I reached the edge of the desert. I climbed up a steady, sandy slope, then gaped as the majestic pyramid towered over me.

Like a set of giant stairs, the rich reddish-gold stone rose up from the base, rugged and uneven. I had to touch it, to lay my hand on the same stone that the ancient Egyptians had worked with their own hands. The rough surface was warm to the touch, and seemed almost alive, almost as if it were breathing. But of course it wasn’t. Even so, the palm of my hand tingled lightly, even after I drew it back.

I wanted to climb to the top. To sit perched on the pinnacle and look down over all of Egypt. It seemed sacrilegious somehow, but the other tourists were doing it. Nabir said he would wait for me at the foot of the pyramid, so I began climbing to the top, a long, exhausting process, I must say. Some of those stones were nearly as tall as I was!

Perched on the top of the pyramid, I had the oddest sense of not being alone. As if there were someone there with me. Someone with a kingly presence who looked out at his vast domain as he had for thousands of years. As if the great pharaoh Cheops himself was standing next to me, watching over his land with love and pride. In that moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if the archaeologists had got it all wrong. Perhaps Cheops hadn’t built the pyramid as a tomb, but so his ka would have a place near the heavens to watch over his land.

Except I’m sure he never imagined that he’d be looking down at a motorcar driving across the sand, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Really, I hadn’t even realized they had motorcars in Egypt…

A sense of danger flickered inside me. I squinted, trying to see how many people were in the car, but it was too far away to tell. I suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable and hurried down off the top of the pyramid, where I could be easily seen.

At the lower gallery, there were two corridors. One led up and the other down. All the other tourists headed up, so I chose the downward passage. True, it was roped off, but I was sure that was only because the passage was so low it would be hard for an adult to get down there. As it was, I had to duck my head.

It was a bit of a squash, and very, very steep. I was half-tempted to slide down, but that seemed highly disrespectful, so I didn’t, even though I knew that Cheops wasn’t buried here, but in the upper chamber. (The fickle pharaoh had changed his mind three times while building the pyramid. Can you imagine? Must have driven those poor workers batty.)

The passageway finally opened up into a large, unfinished chamber hewn out of the red stone. It was hard not to think of the tons and tons of stone perched over one’s head, pressing down. It was a little difficult to breathe down here as well, as if not quite enough air was making it into the chamber.

I found a charming little crevice in the rock wall and settled myself into it. It was so easy to close my eyes and almost see the workers from four thousand years ago hacking away at the walls, clearing the chamber with their simple tools. If I tried very hard, I could almost hear the scrape of those tools on the rock walls.

Wait a minute. I opened my eyes. I could still hear the sound of scraping. It was coming from the passageway. But who else would venture down a roped-off corridor? I had just talked myself into believing it was another overcurious tourist like myself when I heard the first footstep reach the chamber. Someone whispered.

In German.

I glanced around, looking for options.

There weren’t any.

The chamber was a dead end with no good hiding places.

Another voice whispered back. And that second voice sounded familiar! I’d heard it before, but where ?

I sensed the bodies coming farther into the chamber. I pulled back against the wall as far as possible and looked downward so as not to call attention to myself.

Three shadowy figures passed by. The men from the bazaar crept forward, heading toward a small cavelike enclosure at the back of the chamber.

I readied myself. As soon as they were as far back into the chamber as possible, I would make my move. Oh, how I wished I had one of Henry’s diversions!

Slowly, trying to make no noise, I stood up. There was a slight rustle from my skirt. I froze.

“Was war das?” a voice asked in German.

When they heard no further noises, they continued on to the back. When they reached the cave, one man knelt down on the ground while the other two peered over his shoulder.

Now.

Stepping as lightly as I could, I made a mad dash for the passageway.

“Dort ist sie! Ihr nach!”

My heart hiccupped in terror and I forced my feet to go faster. I reached the passageway and tucked my head low and began running up the steep slope. My pursuers would have to nearly double over to make it through the passageway. That should slow them down enough to give me a chance.

My legs soon ached from the steepness of the climb, my calves burning and twitching in annoyance. I was getting a crick in my neck from keeping my head tucked low.

I could hear them behind me, the clatter of their pursuit echoing loudly in the passageway. They were breathing hard, and I could almost feel their hot breath on my neck.

At last. Light ahead. Almost there. I risked a glance backward, pleased at the distance between us.

Finally, I burst out of the shaft at a dead run, startling a half dozen tourists who’d been milling about the lower gallery. I clamped my hand on my hat and flew down the pyramid steps, startling Nabir.

“Come on ,” I called. “They’ve found us.”

Nabir didn’t need to be told twice. We both headed for the tram station at a gallop.

I heard a shout as my pursuers cleared the pyramid and spotted us.

We were almost at the tram station now. In dismay, I saw one of the electric trams just beginning to pull away, heading back to Cairo. There wouldn’t be another one for ages. Which meant we’d be sitting ducks.

“We’ve got to get on that tram,” I called to Nabir. He nodded and pulled ahead of me. Luckily, electric trams aren’t all that fast, especially when they’re just getting started. Nabir leaped onto the tram, upsetting quite a lot of people. He turned back and held his hand out to me. I took it and clambered up, apologizing profusely to everyone I saw.

As we pulled away, I got a chance to see my pursuers. I immediately recognized von Braggenschnott. Even if I hadn’t seen his picture in the paper, I would have recognized those cold, cruel eyes from St. Paul’s churchyard. The second man’s face was still covered by his scarf, but I could clearly see the face of the third man. High pale cheekbones, long thin nose slightly crooked at the end, and a conspicuous lack of chin. It was Tetley! From the British Museum!