The Pharaoh Key

33

GIDEON WOKE TO the heat of midday, still weary from Garza’s wedding ceremony the previous night. He lay on his goatskin pallet, mind wandering back to the quaint and at times odd rituals that had made up the extended ceremony. Most of it was incomprehensible, conducted in a language he could still scarcely understand, but impressive nevertheless. The chief, looking more frail than usual, had been content to sit back and let the elders orchestrate most of the formalities. Garza had looked nervous and uncomfortable throughout, but went along gamely and managed to muddle through the various rituals. Following the combat with Mugdol five days before, he now seemed more resigned than anything else. At last the bride arrived, riding a camel and draped in long, shimmering robes, coming into a circle of light cast by the large bonfire, with the crowd chanting and a group of musicians playing stringed instruments that, though simple, nevertheless made a haunting, almost human sound that echoed off the cliffs. She had looked beautiful, her brown eyes rimmed with kohl, heavy mahogany hair braided with gold ribbons. Clearly aware of the gravity of the moment, she bore a self-assured air that was both regal and dignified, and looked every inch the princess she was. Upon seeing her, poor Garza had just about collapsed in discomfiture and amazement. That, Gideon thought, had been a truly spectacular moment.

He looked over at Imogen’s sleeping nook and saw she was already gone. He rose, pulled on his robe, wound up his headcloth—the actions had become almost automatic—and went into the front part of the tent to splash water on his face from the well bucket that was always there. The wedding had culminated close to dawn when Garza, called upon to speak, told a story that he said had been passed down from his ancestors. He proceeded to relate the tale of David and Goliath, translated by Lillaya to the great entertainment of the crowd. Blackbeard was nowhere to be seen, and Gideon hoped that after his humiliation he’d gone away for good. Maybe he’d even been banished by the chief.

“Halloo! Breakfast!” Imogen returned, carrying two wooden bowls of dates and roasted camel meat kebabs: leftovers from the wedding feast. She sat down cross-legged on the rug and placed a bowl in front of Gideon.

“Thanks,” he said. “That was one hell of a shindig.”

“Too bloody right.”

“The only thing missing was an ice-cold bottle of champagne,” said Gideon as he tucked into the chunks of breakfast camel. He had grown used to the meat, and as long as he didn’t think about where it came from he found it quite delicious: tender and not too gamy.

“By the way, Lillaya tells me we’re moving,” said Imogen.

“Really?”

“Because we are friends of the great and powerful Garza, defeater of the man-eating demon leopard and new son-in-law to the chief, our status has gone up another notch. It seems they’re giving us a fancy tent with separate sleeping areas.”

“Nice.”

“And you’re no longer on ditch-digging detail. In fact, thanks to Garza’s status, we three are to form a new hunting party. Looking for antelope, rabbits, that sort of thing. You know, like the other warriors.”

“Hunt with what? Spears?”

“As a special gift, the chief had crossbows and arrows made for us—copied from the original, apparently. I left them outside the tent. We’re free to roam in search of game—except back through the canyon that leads to the mist oasis. That’s the only way out of here, apparently, and they don’t want us scarpering.”

“We’re free to go anywhere else?”

“It seems so. Except some riddle of canyons a ways west of here, where, it seems, the demon leopards live.”

“But that’s fantastic! It means—” Gideon suddenly realized what he was about to say and stopped himself abruptly.

“It means what?”

In his excitement, he had forgotten that Imogen was not one of them—that she was not privy to their secret. “It means,” he said, “we can search for an escape route.”

She leaned toward him with narrowed eyes. “That’s utter tosh.”

Gideon stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“Please. I know you’ve got some secret agenda. When are you going to finally tell me what’s going on? I’ve leveled with you lot. How about leveling with me?”

Gideon faltered. She’d been with them almost from the beginning; they had been through hell; and she’d told them the truth and saved their lives. Twice, at least. If they let her in on their secret, she could be a most useful partner, knowing more about the country than they did. What the hell, he thought. She’s earned it.

“Okay,” he said.

Imogen crossed her arms. “I’m listening.”

“It started in New York City, at a company called Effective Engineering Solutions.”

Imogen listened while Gideon launched into the story: about Eli Glinn; their previous mission to the South Atlantic; the abrupt dissolving of EES that followed; how he and Garza had then stolen the translation of the Phaistos Disk, and why; and how it led them here. Imogen listened in silence, her blue eyes conveying intense interest.

When he was done, she said simply: “Incredible.”

She was silent for a few moments. Then she asked: “So where exactly is the Phaistos location?”

“I figure no more than five miles west of here.”

“And you really have no idea what’s there?”

“None.”

“But you must have speculated.”

“Of course. Maybe a tomb. Or maybe it’s King Solomon’s Mines or an ancient library. Whatever it is, it was important enough to be inscribed on that Disk and sent up the Red Sea and then halfway across the Mediterranean to the island of Crete—the center of the Minoan civilization.”

She shook her head. “It’s a remarkable story. Thank you for being honest.”

“It was high time we were. Now we can go there and check it out—under the guise of hunting, of course.” He rose. “Let’s go get Garza.”

“He’s still in his wedding tent.” A smile played about Imogen’s lips. “I imagine he’s busy.”

“Not so busy that we can’t go find what we came all this way for. It’s close to noon and we don’t have much time left if we’re to get there and back before dark.”

Gideon emerged into the sunlight with Imogen following. The three new crossbows were leaning up against the side of the tent. He picked one up and examined it.

“Looks like it might actually work,” he said.

“I tested one. It’s rather like firing a gun—you cock it, put in a bolt, aim, and pull the trigger. Simple, crudely made, but effective.”

Gideon slung his crossbow over his shoulder, picked up another one, and followed Imogen toward a large gray enclosure set up apart from the village—the wedding tent. As they walked through the encampment, people glanced at them and let them pass. Gideon had the sense that, at long last, they’d finally been accepted.

As they approached the tent, Gideon cupped his hands. “Hey, Manuel! Can we come over?”

No answer. He took a few steps forward. “Manuel?”

“Hold on,” came a muffled voice from within.

Imogen glanced at Gideon.

After a minute Garza appeared, looking haggard, pulling his robe about him. “Look, I’m kind of tied up right now,” he said.

Gideon raised his eyebrows. “Really? Because I’m going hunting, if you get my drift—”

“Yes. Well, we can hunt tomorrow.” With no more ceremony he ducked back into the tent, closing the flap behind him.

Imogen and Gideon exchanged a look. “Told you,” said Imogen, with that same wry smile.

“Let’s you and I go.”

Gideon laid Garza’s crossbow against the wedding tent, then the two set off along the trail that led westward to the tomb field. Nobody seemed to pay much attention. They followed the well-trodden path into the valley and soon arrived at the tomb of the current chieftain—still under construction but now almost finished. Nobody was working on it; the day following the wedding seemed to be a general holiday.

At the far end of the valley, they reached the central trail that led, among other places, to the pit of the headless, and to the arena. The trail split, then split again, and each time Gideon was careful to keep heading westward. This new trail, which he had not been on before, eventually narrowed and halted at a seemingly impassable rockfall. But a barely discernible path led upward to a high ridge beyond, and they followed it, switchbacking across a series of ledges and cliffs. Reaching the crest, the trail ran along the ridgeline for a mile before coming to a fork at an overlook. To the right, the trail led on for at least half a mile before dipping below the ridgeline. To the left, there was no trail—only a labyrinth of nasty canyons far below, all running into a long winding wash. A weathered human skull, badly mauled and missing its lower jaw, lay beside the fork like a grim marker.

They paused.

“If I remember correctly from the aerial maps,” Gideon said, “that wash to the left should lead to a place where three washes come together—and that’s the Phaistos location. I’d say another mile or two.” Catching the look on Imogen’s face, he said: “What’s the matter?”

“That way is forbidden.”

“Excuse me?”

“Remember I told you we could hunt anywhere except the mist oasis and the place where the demon leopards live? Well, as far as I can tell, those canyons down there are their home.”

Gideon licked his lips. “Who told you this again?”

“Lillaya.”

“Did she say the way was forbidden, or did she simply say it was too dangerous?”

Imogen shrugged. “I don’t speak the language well enough to tell you that.”

Gideon turned his head slowly, taking in the vista. “We’ve come this far. We’ve got weapons. I vote we go on. If we find evidence of leopards, demon or otherwise, we’ll head back and talk over our options with Manuel. What do you say?”

After a moment, she nodded.

They began moving forward with caution—a caution inspired by more than just the slippery terrain. As they began descending toward the wash, Imogen said: “Look. A mountain goat.”

About a hundred feet away, to one side and a little below them, a mother goat and its kid were working their way along a tiny ledge, nibbling grass.

“Would they be feeding near a nest of leopards?” Gideon asked.

“Let’s bag it. It’ll be perfect cover.”

Gideon felt impatient at the delay, but he recognized the sense of Imogen’s suggestion. “All right. It’ll give me a chance to acquaint myself with a crossbow. You stay here in case I flush them this way. And keep an eye out for leopards and vipers. I’ll stalk from above.”

Gideon cocked the crossbow, nocked in a bolt, and crept onto the ledge above, watching for predators at the same time he made sure he remained out of sight of the goats. The animals were upwind, and he moved cautiously so as not to make the slightest noise. He would have to get a lot closer with a crossbow than a gun. Gripping the crossbow in one hand, he moved around the swell of the cliff, staying out of sight, and crept up to a fin of rock. Peering over the top, he could see the animals about fifty feet below him. He wasn’t sure just how accurate the crossbow was, but he felt close enough to at least get in a sporting shot. With infinite care he leveled the weapon at the kid, aimed through the crude sights, and—feeling a slight twinge of guilt—slowly squeezed the trigger lever.

With a sharp twang the crossbow let fly; the short, heavy bolt struck the kid in the side with tremendous force, the momentum knocking it off the ledge. It fell into the valley below with a high-pitched bleating cry. The mother goat, terrified, bounded away and was instantly gone.

Gideon glanced around quickly, but there was no sign that the racket had roused any man-eating leopards. Filled with pride, he went back to where Imogen was waiting. “Bull’s-eye.”

“Where is it?”

“At the bottom of the cliff. We have to go down there anyway.”

With great difficulty they made their way down by the same faint trail and skirted the base of the cliffs. They soon found the kid, lying dead on some rocks. The bolt had gone almost completely through it.

“That crossbow packs a hell of a punch,” said Imogen.

“We’ve got to gut it,” said Gideon.

“Can’t we do that when we get it back?”

“The meat will go bad and we’ll look like idiots. Anyway, it’ll make it a lot lighter.”

With Imogen’s assistance, Gideon used his dagger to cut open its belly, remove the guts and organs, and cut out the bolt. He draped the carcass over a rock. “We can pick it up on the return trip.”

“If a pack of demon leopards doesn’t get it first.”

They set off down the winding, sinister-looking canyon. The sun lowered in the sky, the shadows grew longer, and they soon found themselves in a maze of stone. Gideon continued following what he hoped was the main wash, but it was hard to tell, given the side washes that came in at odd angles. Now and again they stopped to check for any sign—a low grunt, the shifting of a pebble—that might indicate a predator. But there was nothing. After a while his heart began to sink; they should have already reached the confluence of three canyons.

“We’d better turn around,” he said. “And come back earlier tomorrow. With Garza riding shotgun this time.”

“Let’s go a little farther,” said Imogen. “I’ll bet it’s just around the bend.”

It wasn’t just around the bend, but Imogen kept urging them on. Gideon was surprised at how quickly she seemed to have caught the Phaistos bug—the almost clinical attitude of scientific detachment she’d exhibited at times had fallen away. But then he recalled why she herself had braved the desert: to establish a name for herself, prove her worth as both a researcher and an explorer. Whatever the Phaistos Disk was leading them to might well do that.

Within thirty minutes or so they came around a sharp turn, and the canyon suddenly broadened into a natural fortress formed by the junction of three other canyons: sheer cliffs of basalt on all sides, unbroken save for a narrow open corridor to the west. No living thing was visible. The air was filling with the light of evening.

And there, on the opposite cliff face, was a rectangle. As the last rays of the setting sun gilded the stony wall, he could see that the rectangle was actually a massive portal, clearly human-made, with what looked like leaden seals hammered across one side, stamped with hieroglyphics.

And then the sun fell below the level of the cliffs and the light vanished.

“My God,” Imogen breathed. “It is a tomb! With unbroken seals!”

While he’d always believed they would find something, now that it had happened, Gideon felt a sense of utter unreality. It couldn’t be. It was too good to be true. But there it was. It certainly did look like a tomb, and—given the size of its entryway—an important one.

But the light was dying fast. He turned to Imogen, noticing the look of awe and wonder on her face. “What do you think?”

“A pharaoh’s tomb, I would say,” she said. “Unlooted. Untouched. And bigger than King Tut’s. I want to take a look at those hieroglyphs.”

Gideon hesitated. The light was dying fast and they had some rough ground to cover on the way back. He laid a hand on her shoulder and found it trembling with excitement. “Let’s retrieve the goat and get back to camp,” he said. “We can come back later…at our leisure. And with Garza.”

For a moment, it was as if she hadn’t heard him. Then with an obvious effort she pulled herself away and they headed back cautiously into the dark warren of canyons.