The Khamsin Curse (11 page)

He raked his hands through a
rich backsweep of blond hair and pondered the question. Even when
frowning he was ridiculously good-looking, and his cheekbones were
freakishly well-defined even in the dark. “That’s a whole new
kettle of fish.”

“Have you considered that the
dam saboteur and our double agent are one and the same?” She tore
up the tickets and dropped the bits of paper on the bedside table
at the foot of Anubis. “I’m going to Philae, Major Nash.
Notwithstanding this assignment, I actually want to visit the
island and see the temple of Philae which is regarded as one of the
loveliest in Egypt.”

Not many people would place an
image of the god of the dead on their bedside table and expect to
sleep soundly. Hard and glossy, burnished black, Anubis glistened
darkly, and he could have sworn he saw her shudder when her hand
brushed the jackal-headed god.

On the opposite bedside table
was Sekhmet the lioness goddess, carved from stone, gleaming with
an unnatural lustre, giving off a strange mineralizing light that
seemed to glow in the dark. “An odd choice,” he remarked,
indicating the two gods.

“One for courage and one for
fear.”

“Fear?”

“Anubis frightens me.”

“Then why not just get rid of
it?”

“If I do that then sacred
terror triumphs.”

“Sacred terror?”

“Irrational fear – a person in
the grip of irrational fear loses perspective of reality, they
cease thinking rationally. They become a prisoner of superstition,
religion and manipulation.”

He was too tired to comprehend
what she was blathering on about and it was way too late in the
night for abstract philosophical debate. “I better let you get back
to sleep,” he said quietly, moving stealthily in the direction of
the balcony.

“Wait,” she whispered, “Don’t
you want to see if whoever was in the corridor is still there?”

“No,” he replied. “I want to
get going. I’ve still got a few things to do. Goodnight.”

Major Nash was about to hoist
himself onto an architectural pediment framing an adjacent window
that would allow him to swing down to a persimmon tree when he
spotted several figures patrolling the garden. He pressed himself
into the shadow of a stone column and waited until they passed but
a couple of heartbeats later two more came along. A few moments
more and another two appeared - seven men in all. He didn’t feel
like explaining why he was leaving the bedroom of a female guest
via the balcony at midnight. Moreover, he wasn’t entirely convinced
the men in the garden were hotel security. They seemed to be
loitering rather than patrolling the grounds in an orderly fashion.
They were now lighting up cigarettes.

When they failed to move on, he
began to grow restless. The corridor was looking like the better
option. Aided and abetted by moonlight, he managed to avoid banging
into the furniture as he tiptoed across the room. He was almost to
the door when he heard a whisper in the dark.

“Where are you going now?”

“There are seven men down in
the garden. I’m going to check the corridor. If it’s clear, I’ll go
this way. The door is self-locking so don’t worry.”

“Wait,” she said. “It will look
less suspicious if I poke my head out. Turn around while I throw on
a peignoir.”

He was tempted to watch via the
cheval glass but decided to preserve her modesty. A few moments
later he noticed that she had also located the silky slip that had
been lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, which was just as
well because the peignoir was diaphanous.

She raked some fingers through
the luxurious baroque mane tumbling over her shoulders and down her
back. “Do you have any cigarettes?”

He tapped the pocket of his
dinner jacket. “Yes.”

“Light one for me.”

Her plique-a-jour Faberge
cigarette case with her own brand of Egyptian cigarettes was
resting beside her reticule on the coffee table next to where he
was standing but he didn’t have the energy to argue. When he passed
her a lighted cigarette she was spraying on French perfume from an
atomizer on the dressing table. “What are you doing now?”

“Spraying on some perfume.”

“Yes,” he managed to articulate
through gritted teeth as he passed her the lighted cigarette, “I
can see that but the man in the corridor doesn’t care whether you
smell like French lilies and if it’s for my benefit you can stop
right there.”

“Muguet.”

“What?”

“It’s lily of the valley, not
lilies.”

He was tempted to tell her men
didn’t care about distinctions like that, especially when it was
the wrong side of midnight. “Look, it’s not that I don’t find you
desirable but I’ve been averaging two hours sleep for the last
week, I’m spent, plus I’ve still got a few things to take care of
before I hit the sack.”

She took a soignee puff of the
cigarette and handed it back to him. “Here, this is for you.”

He heaved a weighty breath.
“You’re the one who asked for a cigarette, remember?”

“Yes, but it was for you that I
asked. A lover sneaking out of the bedroom of a lady in the middle
of the night needs to look as if he is floating on a cloud of
post-coital bliss. How can you do that if you are not smoking?” She
passed him the cigarette, mussed up his hair and undid his bow-tie.
“That’s better. Now let’s step into the corridor clinging
passionately to each other. You can kiss me goodnight. And try to
look as if you are ecstatically exhausted rather than merely
spent.”

This was the sort of undercover
work he liked best. He unlocked the door, swept her off her feet
and delivered the sort of post-coital bliss most women could only
dream about.

As he swung her round and round
in heady, giddy, breathless circles, the Nubian leaning against the
wall, half-asleep, quickly roused himself and darted for cover.

7

“Mistress of Dread. Lady of
Slaughter. She who Mauls. One who is Powerful. One before whom Evil
Trembles.”

Professor Mallisham was
entertaining the passengers with an impromptu lecture on the
goddess Sekhmet during lunch which was served on the aft deck under
a striped canopy beneath an unchanging stretch of cerulean
blue.

“Her breath created the
desert,” added Miss Lee, hanging off his every word.

The professor smiled
indulgently, as one does at an adoring acolyte or a precocious
child eager to impress. “Quite right, Hypatia.”

Everyone noted that he used
Miss Lee’s first name. The cattle king scowled at the familiarity
and the liberties the louche seemed to be taking since they boarded
the river steamer. He was starting to regret this birthday trip and
dreaded what might happen once he returned to Texas and left his
only daughter to the designs of the sandgrubber. He was considering
offering Mr Longshanks a generous stipend to ditch the employ of Mr
Cassel and work for him instead. The English chap could keep an eye
on his daughter, act as private body-guard, and thwart the
intentions of the gold-digger.

Miss Clooney seemed to have
undergone a change of personality since they boarded too; she had
come out of her shell. Instead of hiding away in her cabin, she
mingled with everyone on the promenade deck. The cool breezes
blowing off the water probably agreed with her. “Sekhmet wears a
red tunic – that’s unusual isn’t it, professor? In the drawings, I
mean friezes that I’ve seen painted on the walls and in books,
well, most of the figures are wearing white.”

“Quite right, Daisy, well
observed.” Praise caused the wallflower to turn pink. “Sekhmet
wears a red tunic to symbolize the blood-red waters of the Nile
during the time of the annual flood when silt from the upper
reaches pours over the delta. Sekhmet is said to swallow the
overflow.”

“Oh, I thought it might be
because she is the goddess who led the Pharaohs in war. Blood and
slaughter, you see.”

“Well, yes,” said the
professor, impressed by the analogy, “there is that side of it
too.”

Miss Lee was not one to sit in
the shadow of her poor mousy cousin. “Sekhmet has two helpers,
doesn’t she, professor?”

He turned his knowledgeable
gaze her way and smiled. “Hathor and Bast – cow and cat. Light and
Dark.”

The ship’s complement had
dropped from eleven to eight. The three British engineers had
decided to take the early train instead, citing the need to get
back to Aswan as soon as possible. The decision had been made late
last night when they discovered the Sekhmet planned to stop for two
days in Luxor and Karnak to take in the sights, and then another
day in Kom Ombo.

“No great loss,” announced
Professor Mallisham, though everyone else secretly wondered if the
trio of engineers didn’t express the same sentiment in private.

As the mooring ropes were being
freed they heard a desperate cry.

“Ahoy there!”

It was the
man-who-was-all-used-up. He requested to come aboard and sail with
them to Aswan. Mr Lee could hardly refuse since the Acting High
Commissioner claimed to be on official business, looking out for Mr
Cassel’s advocate on Eastern affairs. Besides, the favour might one
day be returned by the rich Jew and the British government.

In the end, they were a party
of nine.

“Do you mind if I join you?”
asked the Countess when she found Miss Daisy Clooney on the
starboard side of the paddle-steamer, seated on a deck chair
flicking through a travel book. Unopened, on the chair lay a larger
tome:
The Book of the Dead
.

“Not at all.” Miss Clooney
closed the travel guide in anticipation of some inevitable
conversation. It didn’t take long.

“Have you done much
travelling?”

“Oh, yes,” said the poor
cousin, much to the Countess’s surprise. “I accompanied Hypatia
last year when she did the grand tour of Europe for her twentieth
birthday. We had a chaperone of course. Miss Wilhemina Hirsch – a
spinster aunt of Uncle Jefferson’s lawyer. She wasn’t as stiff as
we imagined. She actually encouraged us to pursue activities we
really liked. We attended loads of lectures on ancient
civilizations – Roman, Etruscan, Venetian. It was in Berlin that
Hypatia fell in love with ancient Egypt. The Berlin Museum was
utterly brilliant for lectures on Egyptology. We stayed for two
months. That’s where we met Professor Mallisham for the first time.
Oh, don’t let on to Hypatia that I said that. She will be annoyed
with me. Uncle Jefferson has no idea Hypatia planned this sojourn
while we were in Berlin. The professor was lecturing on Philae,
trying to drum up financial support for his pet project.

Mrs Baxter travelled with us
too. It was her job to see to all the travel arrangements. She had
previously travelled quite a bit with her late husband. That’s why
she was hired. When we returned to America she stayed on and became
a sort of personal secretary, but really she is without par when it
comes to finding decent hotels. She was instrumental in planning
this trip to Egypt for Hypatia’s twenty-first birthday party. In
fact, without Mrs Baxter’s expertise and say-so I doubt Hypatia
would have been able to convince Uncle Jefferson to agree to it
despite all her wheedling and cajoling.

It was because Mrs Baxter had
been to Egypt before that she was able to convince Uncle Jefferson
the place was perfectly safe for women and that a visit to all the
ancient sites would be a perfect birthday present for a daughter
crazy about Egyptology. The surprise party on Philae will be the
icing on the cake. That was Mrs Baxter’s idea too. It acted as the
clincher. Hypatia knows all about it but she will act surprised to
please her pa. Do you know about the surprise party?”

“Yes, I heard it from Dr Watson
who heard it from Mrs Baxter. She was shopping for assuit tunics
when she bumped into the doctor. But don’t worry, we won’t breathe
a word. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Oh, me too!” She gave a little
shiver. “It will be a night to remember!”

“What is your impression of
Professor Mallisham?”

“Impression?” She seemed
puzzled by the question. “Do you mean personally or
professionally?”

“Both.”

“Well, professionally speaking
he hasn’t had any success since he unearthed the tomb of Hierax and
that was about twenty years ago. I think he’s a bit puffed-up with
self-importance, although I support what he’s doing on Philae. It
would be a great tragedy to flood the island and lose the temple
forever. Not that I have seen it for myself but the way he
describes it, it sounds very beautiful.”

“And personally speaking?”

“Personally speaking, I find
old men like the professor who think they are attractive to young
women laughable. Hypatia is head-over-heels but she is welcome to
him. I sometimes act all coy and gooey-eyed but it is just for fun.
I like to see my cousin get all hot and bothered and riled. Heavens
knows she has nothing to be jealous for. It is terribly wicked of
me, I admit, but it is just my bit of fun. I don’t have much chance
for amusement. I am at the beck and call of my cousin’s whims
because of my circumstances.”

She stopped suddenly and
nothing more was said for several minutes as they gazed at the
cloudless azure sky that stretched to infinity.

“Do you mind if I enquire as to
your circumstances?”

Daisy’s lips compressed tightly
and she was forced to inhale through her nostrils which flared with
what appeared to be some sort of long-held hurt. “I guess not. It’s
not a secret and I’m not ashamed. It just seems so unfair but
that’s life. Life is unfair. There are loads of people worse off
than me. I’m not bitter or anything like that, but being with
Hypatia day and night can cause one to wallow in self-pity. I try
to fight it. Hypatia has it all – beauty, brains, blonde hair,
energy, and every advantage – it rankles sometimes.