The cairo curse, p.13
The Cairo Curse, page 13
The bedroom door gave a tiny squeak, barely a sound, but enough to pull Elliott from his doze and have him slipping his knife from his pocket. He didn’t truly expect trouble from such a posh lot, but after overhearing the low row between a few of them on the floor above him, he didn’t doubt tempers rose to the dangerous spot.
Elliott had gone to the bedroom door at one point and peered out into the courtyard, only to note a woman slipping through the shadows of the courtyard and disappearing in the direction of the kitchens. Her movements had been too lithe and young for Mrs. Casper, and he’d become so accustomed to Lady Astley’s walk, he felt certain it wasn’t her. The clothing style didn’t hint at one of the servants either. And though it wasn’t unusual for one of the residents to walk about at night, the form’s deliberate movements to remain in the shadows cast a great deal of suspicion. Had it been Miss Sinclair? Mrs. Archibald?
Only a few minutes later, a man descended the stairs, keeping to the shadows as well.
Lord Astley had been right to raise the alarm. Something wasn’t right about this place and these people. Trouble and danger lurked in every house, rich or poor, but the people in this house wore their trouble differently, especially the rich.
Elliott sent a glance over the unconscious man’s form. The newest cloths had remained white, confirming Mr. Graham’s blood loss had stopped, and there was additional color in his face. Another good sign.
Around the doorway peered a set of large grayish-green eyes. Elliott’s shoulders relaxed.
“What do you need, child?”
“Sitt Haree wanted you to eat.” Zahra slipped through the slightest opening, plate in hand. “She went to the kitchen and made this plate for you.”
“And she sent you here?”
Zahra nodded, looking wide-eyed at the unconscious man on the bed. “Is his spirit weak or strong?”
Elliott returned his knife to his pocket. “I’m not certain, but he’s survived the night, so that is a good sign.”
He took the plate she offered him and placed it on the nearby table. Zahra scanned the room, those curious eyes of hers taking everything in. He wasn’t sure what he thought of the girl yet, but scrappy fit his initial impression. However safe or trustworthy she may be was yet to be seen.
A thud broke into the silence from above, followed by another round of raised voices. Zahra’s gaze found his. “They have been arguing for too long.”
“You’ve heard them?”
She raised her chin. “When you live on the street, you learn to listen.”
“I thought you were in an orphanage.”
She nodded, running her hand over the cloth of the curtain as she walked past. “I was on the street before.”
He studied her a moment longer before relaxing back in his chair. “They’re quieting down now. You should go back to bed.”
Her chin raised a little higher. “I will wait for Sitt Haree.”
Elliott quelled his grin, determined not to show the girl how he approved of her loyalty to his mistress. A good sign in her favor.
The voices rose again. Two men this time. Only a few moments earlier, Elliott had thought he’d heard a woman’s voice as well, but almost as quickly as it began, a door slammed and all went silent.
The door to the room shifted again, and in walked Lady Astley, her ginger hair in complete disarray around her shoulders. Elliott felt certain Lord Astley had no idea his wife had slipped down the stairs in the early hours of the morning in her dressing gown to serve Elliott tea.
“I thought you might be awake.” Her blue eyes brightened with a smile, and she moved forward, all the tea accoutrements on a tray. “Of course, I’m not sure how you could sleep with the noise upstairs anyway.”
He stood, moving to take the tray from her, but she shook her head. “Now Mr. Elliott, you have been at work all night and deserve a little care.” With great ceremony she placed the tray on the table and poured his tea. “I’m not certain how long the fight had gone on, dear Elliott, but I hope you were able to get a little sleep.”
“Yes, my lady.” His smile softened. “The argument is fairly recent. Mostly the night passed quietly.”
“At least it’s almost morning and someone can come to relieve you.”
“I’d rather remain at my post until Mr. Graham regains consciousness, if I may, my lady. It would make me feel better.”
She held his gaze a moment, those intelligent eyes of hers catching his meaning. “Of course, but we must ensure you don’t tire out, dear Elliott.” She waved toward the food. “So you might as well eat an early breakfast and enjoy a second one later as reward for all your longsuffering.” She touched Zahra’s head in such a way that Elliott knew for certain his mistress had already accepted the girl as part of their family. Of course. “Zahra is willing to help run errands for you today as Lord Astley and I are taken to the tombs, unless you’d rather us remain here in case something”—she glanced behind her—“unfortunate comes to light.”
“I expect all to be well here, my lady.”
“Good.” She nodded. “Because I mean to have a look around at the accident site in case someone left clues behind.”
He steadied his expression. Should he alert Lord Astley of Lady Astley’s sleuthing plans? Elliott released a long sigh. It was likely his master already knew full well.
Lady Astley clasped her hands together and rounded the bed, scanning over Mr. Graham. “How long has it been since you last changed his bandages?”
Elliott’s lip tipped slightly. “Two hours, my lady.”
“And has he moved at all?”
“He murmured some, only a short while ago.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened with a smile. “That’s very good news, isn’t it? Perhaps that means he’ll recover consciousness soon.” She mumbled almost too quietly to hear. “Time enough to name his assailant.”
Zahra’s head shot up, her eyes like saucers, but Elliott merely shook his head to calm her.
Lady Astley returned to her perusal. “There’s a bit of color in his face that I didn’t notice last evening.”
Elliott nodded.
Her expression suddenly sobered, and she glanced back behind her toward the door before closing the distance between the two of them. “I hope, very much, that whatever misfortune came upon Mr. Graham was a simple accident.” She held his gaze. “But I must say I’m happy to have your skills and attention on hand, Elliott. And I feel certain you’ll keep an eye out even when the nurse arrives.”
“You can be sure, my lady.”
“Well then, I’d better return to the room before Lord Astley worries about me.” She turned and made it to the door before she stopped. “And Elliott, I made the tea myself to ensure all was … in good order.”
He tried to hold his smile. He’d had Lady Astley’s tea before, and it was quite clear the woman wasn’t English.
As if reading his thoughts her grin slid wide. “It’s much better than the last time. I had Aunt Lavenia teach me how to make it correctly so that you wouldn’t have to look so pained when you took a drink.”
With a little wink and a gesture for Zahra to follow, Lady Astley slipped from the room.
Elliott gave another look to Mr. Graham, and then, with slight hesitation, he brought the teacup to his lips. The liquid moved over his tongue, smooth and warm, steeped to perfection, and then he tasted it. Sugar. And his grin unfurled. Lady Astley was notorious for sweetening her tea beyond comprehension, and evidently, she’d thought Elliott would appreciate the same abundance.
With a chuckle, he topped off the cup, effectively watering the tea down to a more digestible sugar content and made quick work of his meal.
Chapter Eleven
A camel!
Grace held her head high, her palm wrapped around the handle on the camel’s saddle and the reins intertwined through her fingers. She was currently living one of her most exotic dreams. In fact, her whole ensemble matched the exoticness of the moment, and she knew down to her pulse she was born to be an adventurer.
With dust goggles, a broad hat complete with scarf covering it, breeches beneath her skirts, and a pair of sturdy boots that almost reached her knees, Grace felt certain travel writer Amelia Edwards or novelist H. Rider Haggard would be duly impressed. Dressed as she was, if she didn’t discover something, she might be rather disappointed.
Though she and the camel had gotten off to a slightly rocky start—clearly he needed more acquaintance with her before she took his photo from such a close angle—once they’d started following the caravan, everything moved so smoothly. She particularly liked the hint to fold one leg up while riding to help more evenly balance her body weight on the creature.
She couldn’t help but send her darling husband the largest smile as he rode nearby. As ever, he looked dashing, but sitting atop his own camel while wearing a crisp, white button-up, linen slacks, and a large-brimmed tan hat, he held an additional attractiveness. Very heroic, the likes of Haggard’s Alan Quartermaine or Doyle’s Lord Roxton. And he’d left the top buttons of his shirt loose. She found something incredibly pleasing about an open-collared shirt on an extremely handsome man. Especially if that extremely handsome man happened to be one’s husband.
She shivered with delight.
Or perhaps it was from the heat.
Maybe both.
Their little entourage comprised of Professor Andrews at the lead with some of his men running alongside, followed by Mr. Smallwood, then Grace and Frederick, with Mr. Anderson coupled with Miss Sinclair. Unfortunately Sydney had slept in, as Georgia shared at breakfast with a sigh, saying he was “tired out” from all the frustration in the last few days and was wont, at times, to exhaust himself from pure fury.
Grace felt keenly the special exhaustion associated with fury. She’d only experienced it a few times, but each experience left her a little quivery and tired. How much more should it impact Sydney, who’d fairly erupted with fury most of yesterday related to one thing or the other, only to reach a tipping point with Mr. Anderson’s presence. The vein in his forehead had bulged a considerable amount, and she’d never seen anyone’s nostrils flare with such determination.
The rust-colored mountains rose before them in the distance, contrasted against the brilliant azure sky, and within those mountains hid the history of the infamous Akhenaten. For some reason, she’d expected broken columns and half-buried statues to rise out of the dust, as she’d seen in Florence Nightingale’s travel book, but a great wide plain stretched out in a vermillion and rocky landscape, barren and dusty, with an intense sort of beauty.
The mountain range seemed to curve around the plateau, as if on guard, and a strange awe poured through Grace. An ancient feeling. An awareness of millennia buried among the sands. Stories waiting among the dust. Whispers of lives and loves and dangers.
Had this been similar to the landscape the biblical Joseph traversed after his brothers sold him into slavery? Had this been the world he helped rescue from famine or the one where his namesake fled to keep baby Jesus safe from murderous Herod?
What a desolate place.
“I don’t know why you encouraged me to come with you, Andrews. I’ve already seen your work, or lack of it,” Mr. Smallwood grumbled from his place on his camel. The round man looked rather uncomfortable, and the expression on the camel indicated it wasn’t extremely excited either. Of course, Grace hadn’t noticed a varied array of facial expressions on the camels, but she assumed that was because she hadn’t studied them well enough yet.
“We do have progress to show,” Andrews responded, an edge in his tone. “It is proof enough to keep up the excavation. I would have brought Sydney with me, but since he was unavailable, I wanted to prove it to you.”
“I am sorry for the way things have turned out for you, truly,” Mr. Smallwood continued. “But there’s simply nothing I can do about it.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t more tombs in this area to discover.” This from Richie … er … Trent. “All this vast land and centuries of dirt covering history. About the time we think we’ve discovered them all, we find more.”
“Though many call the place Amarna, its ancient name was Akhenaten, which is made up of two words: Aket and Aton,” Amelia interjected, tipping her head to Grace. It was difficult to ignore how fabulous she looked atop that camel with her golden hair, partially covered by a hat, glistening in the sun. Trent seemed to appreciate the vision too, for he kept close to her side. The fact that Amelia donned an excellent set of trousers only made her entire appearance more fascinatingly unbearable, because she looked a little more the part of the adventurer than Grace.
The next time they planned to enter a tomb, Grace was determined to wear trousers.
“Aket which means ‘horizon’ and Aton which refers to a cycle of the sun. Put together, many think it means “the rising of Aten.”
“And since King Akhenaten worshipped said sun god,” Trent offered, “if he named his city after this powerful god, it would in turn mean that building his city here was a holy ordinance of sorts, wouldn’t it, Professor?”
“Indeed, and an important beginning to creating followers of a new religion. He also made himself and his wife the only ones who had direct access to this new and singular god, which, as you can imagine, upset the other religious leaders by threatening to make them impotent.” Andrews increased the pace of the entourage but continued talking. “As I show Mr. Smallwood our hopeful progress, Amelia will take the rest of you into the tomb of Meryra, Akhenaten’s high priest and one of the tombs with the most intact reliefs on the walls.”
“Is it true that most of the likenesses of Akhenaten and Nefertiti were disfigured after he died?”
Professor Andrews turned on his camel to look at Grace, his brows raised. “You have done some reading of the heretic pharaoh?”
Frederick’s grin spread, and Grace bit back her own smile. “I’ve tried to do a little. I find the pharaoh fascinating as he’s so different from others of his time.”
“I have always found him a fascinating study, and the city of Akhenaten is an archaeologist’s dream. Few cities have been so well preserved, giving us the opportunity to explore the daily life of a group of people who lived over three thousand years ago.”
Professor Andrews waved to a long stretch of flat land in the distance to their right, a vast space littered with boulders but not much to note that a great city once stood there.
Grace could make out only a few rectangular raised areas in the distance, perhaps of remaining mudbrick walls. “But as to your question, yes, Akhenaten’s views were so contrary to the previous generations that, once he passed on to the afterlife, the rulers after him attempted to destroy any depiction of him in hopes of destroying his influence.”
“And what about him caused them to have such hatred for him?” This from Frederick, though Grace was fairly certain she’d told him everything she’d read on Akhenaten. Of course, that could have been one of those times when he was listening with his eyes closed.
“What usually causes such strife among people? Religion and politics,” the professor offered, his grin crooked. “Akhenaten, who was formerly known as Amenhotep IV, had taken some of the ideas of his father and brought them to the extreme. You see, his father, Amenhotep III, worshipped all of the many Egyptian gods, but had a favorite: Aten, the sun god.”
“And when Akhenaten became pharaoh, he took his interest in Aten and created a monotheistic religion, rejecting the long-held polytheism of Egypt.” Grace grinned as Andrews gave her an approving nod.
“But despised by the religious leaders in Thebes,” Professor Andrews added, sitting a little taller in his saddle. “So much so, that after Akhenaten died, his entire city was destroyed by a later generation, and many of the wall paintings and statues of him and his queen were defaced.”
“Finding anything intact from this period is not only a treasure of the financial sort, but a historical goldmine,” Mr. Smallwood added with a deepening frown. “Which is why Sydney and I were in such hopes of a real discovery, but I don’t see it happening unless we miraculously stumble upon something in the next few days that we’ve not been able to locate for the past three months.”
“Well, Mr. Smallwood,” Trent laughed, “that’s exactly how most archaeological discoveries happen. Unexpectedly and quite by accident.”
“Quite right, Mr. Anderson,” Smallwood chuckled. “Quite right.”
Silence followed them for a few moments, and the mountains grew nearer.
The sun’s heat beat down on them, with a warm wind bringing the only reprieve. Not a single tree or bush dotted the view ahead for miles. When they reached the base of the mountains, all dusty and sharp, Grace looked increasingly forward to disappearing inside the shade of a cave or a tomb for reasons beyond fascination and possible reanimated mummies. Shade meant cooler air.
They began climbing a trail up the mountain’s side, single file, with Andrews leading the way. As they rose, the valley spread out below them, stretching all the way back in the direction they’d come and farther.
In the valley below, Grace made out the outlines of what looked like a small village with the same square-shaped, mudbrick homes as she’d seen along the Nile. The little city where they’d traveled situated just beyond with its more congested buildings. And then the glistening Nile slid between lush green land, like a shining serpent among the grass. It was a fascinating site. The rich verdant area along the river cut a defining line with the dry, brown earth of the desert. Two contrasting worlds, side by side. Life and death?
