Chapter Seven

Imogen and Trummel took refuge from the sun beneath a tarp. A young man in an olive green safari hat stood behind a tripod-mounted camera. He was photographing a grouping of artifacts. Using archival cotton gloves, he turned the relics to capture another angle.

When the photographer noticed he had company, he smiled at Imogen. “Well, you’re a lovely surprise.”

Trummel said, “Miss Riley, meet Caleb Beckett, my personal photographer.”

“Actually, I’m on assignment from National Geographic,” Caleb corrected.

“Assigned to document my discoveries,” Trummel said.

Caleb’s three-day stubble was in need of a shave, but he was handsome enough, especially his crystal blue eyes. He gazed at Imogen for several seconds, making her self-conscious.

Trummel cleared his throat and put a hand on her shoulder. “Imogen Riley is the curator I told you about from the British Museum, an expert in Egyptian mythology.”

“I also do the dirty work to get our relics through customs,” she said.

The photographer stepped from behind the camera and removed his gloves to shake her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Riley.”

“So, how did you get involved with this lot?” she asked.

“This expedition is the most exciting thing happening right now. It’s a privilege being the first to capture the tomb and all its treasures on film. I bet I’ve taken a hundred photos so far.” Caleb’s voice was deep and self-assured. He seemed very well educated.

“Your accent sounds American,” she said. “Let me guess…New York.”

“Chicago, actually,” Caleb said. “Born and raised.”

“Rather far from home, aren’t you?”

“Home is wherever the magazine sends me. Say, I’m expanding my article to include your involvement in this expedition. Now that you’re here, perhaps later we can sit down for an interview.”

“Is that really necessary?” Trummel said. “Shouldn’t you be focused on the dig?”

“Of course,” Caleb said, obliging Trummel’s ego. “But since Miss Riley’s name is shared with yours on this expedition, it would be nice to get her perspective.”

“I’d be happy to, Mr. Beckett,” Imogen said, settling the matter. She observed the subject of his photograph: a set of four limestone burial jars with the heads of gods. “Canopic jars,” she said, thrilled by this new discovery. “Absolute pristine condition. The hieroglyphs are still readable.” She turned to explain. “During mummification, the ancient Egyptians used these containers to store the deceased’s internal organs. The heads on the lids represent—”

“The four sons of Horus,” Caleb interrupted. “Imsety watches over the liver. Hapy guards the lungs. Duamutef guards the stomach and upper intestines and Qebehsenuef, the lower intestines.”

“You know your funerary deities.” Imogen was pleasantly surprised.

“This isn’t my first expedition.” Caleb arched an eyebrow, inviting her to test his knowledge.

Trummel’s hand tugged her arm. “Let’s leave Mr. Beckett to his work.”

Caleb tipped his hat. “Good day, Miss Riley.”

When they were out of earshot, Trummel whispered to Imogen, “Pay no mind to the Yank. He’s a womanizer. Back in London, I saw him drinking with two tarts at the hotel bar and later he took them up to his room.”

Imogen grinned, amused that Trummel was being territorial. He led her into a tent. Relics were stacked on tables and cluttered the earth floor like the storage warehouse of a museum. The artifacts smelled of things long buried. Imogen and Trummel passed a table covered with several dozen shabti dolls, hand-carved stone figurines of mummies that represented the deceased’s workers in the afterlife. She picked up one of the dolls, admired its intricate design. “Absolutely wonderful,” she declared.

Imogen marveled at the treasures that had been removed from the tomb. The thought of bringing all this back to the museum elated her. She could already imagine the exhibit she would create to tell the tomb’s story.

Around the table of dolls, crates stood filled with bones. Skulls perched atop stacks of femurs. The sight, which would have repelled most of her school chums, thrilled Imogen.

“Servant bones,” Trummel said.

She grew excited. “Does this mean you found him?”

Of course, Trummel wouldn’t answer right away. He loved to tease. He was a master at making people curious, then holding back details for dramatic effect; it was how he’d tantalized the museum’s board into funding expeditions.

She followed him to the back of the tent’s storage area. He ran a hand along a wooden sarcophagus. “We found this in the burial chamber.”

The sarcophagus featured a likeness of a priest’s face with a long chin beard and royal headdress. Its exterior was covered in colorful glyphs and etched paintings of a pharaoh communing with gods. The deity represented most was Anubis, the jackal-headed god who had taught the ancient Egyptians about mummification and guided the dying into the afterlife. Imogen leaned closer, deciphering what she could of the glyphs. The coffin texts, or funerary spells, were common for the dynasties dating from the Middle Kingdom onward.

“You’ll be delighted to see what’s inside.” Trummel lifted the lid, revealing a remarkably well-preserved mummy. “I give you Nebenteru himself.”

Imogen’s smile widened.

The top section of bandages had fallen away, exposing most of the mummy’s face and part of its sunken chest and bone-thin arms. After all these centuries, the mummy’s teeth were still intact and its skin looked smooth as clay. One eyelid was sealed shut. The other had partially opened to reveal an iris painted on pads of linen that filled the cavity. The face, for the most part, was well preserved.

“The board members are going to love this,” she said.

Very little was known about Nebenteru, a high priest from Ramses II’s royal council. She felt a mix of joy and sadness standing among the relics. Her grandfather should have lived to share this moment with her.

She looked at Trummel in amazement. “I can’t believe you’ve found it.”

“Harlan’s partial map helped. It still took a few months to find the right mountain and the tomb’s entrance. The coffin text confirms this is Nebenteru. We’ve found over two dozen servants and soldiers, who were buried with him.”

Imogen studied the unwrapped portion of the high priest’s mummy. Something about its condition seemed odd. She gestured to the hands, gathered at the chest inches beneath the jaw. “This area looks less deteriorated than the rest of the body.” She leaned closer. “There’s a circular impression on the chest with peculiar markings.”

Trummel grinned. “I have one more thing to show you.”

In a second storage tent crammed with more relics and a British Army lorry parked near the back, Imogen followed Trummel past a guard to a metal trunk where the most important relics were kept. Using a key tied around his neck, Trummel unlocked the trunk and removed an object wrapped in cloth. “This is our greatest find thus far.” He unwrapped the cloth and a silver disk fell into his palm. It was about the size of a teacup saucer, but thicker at the center where a round quartz crystal was embedded. The silver was shiny and polished.

“It looks brand new,” Imogen said.

“That’s exactly how we found it,” Trummel said. “Not only had the metal not tarnished, but everything within three feet in diameter had less deterioration, including the mummy’s flesh, as you so astutely noticed. I’m guessing the phenomenon has something to do with the crystal.”

The embedded crystal should have been cool to the touch. Instead it was warm. Imogen was surprised by the disk’s light weight. On the reverse side, she felt something etched across its surface. She flipped it over and recognized the strange markings that circled around the disk. They matched the scars that had disfigured her grandfather’s face and body.

“I was speechless too when I first found the relic,” Trummel said. “Your grandfather told me he held it briefly then placed it back inside the sarcophagus.”

Imogen remembered her visits to the asylum. Whatever had happened to Grandfather here seemed to have scrambled his mind. His diary, a catalogue of strange symbols broken here and there by scribbled words, was equally incoherent.

“Grandfather never mentioned finding a silver disk, but he talked of others who showed him incredible things,” she said. “There’s a confounding passage in his diary: ‘They inscribed me and filled my head with more knowledge than the human mind can handle.’ Did Grandfather ever tell you who he encountered in the caves?”

“I could never get that out of him,” Trummel said. “Only that he was blessed with wisdom so astounding he didn’t think I was ready for it.” He seemed about to say something else, but then looked away from her.

“You know more than you’re telling me,” she said.

“I know as little as you do, probably less, since I’ve yet to read the diary.”

Trummel was clearly holding something back but Imogen let it go for now. She turned her attention back to the silver disk. “What do you suppose this is?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. I found the disk sealed in the coffin. Nebenteru’s mummy held it to his chest.”

As she leaned closer, Imogen had the disconcerting sense that the gemstone was an eye. That it studied her just as she studied it. She tried to shake off the thought, but it wouldn’t leave her.

“Those markings aren’t Egyptian,” Imogen said. “Could they have gotten this from the Akkadians?”

“It doesn’t match their cuneiform either, or any other cultures’ in the region. The fact that it was buried with a high priest tells me it was important.” Trummel took the disk back. “We’re going to have to smuggle this out. When we leave for England, can I count on you to make sure it slips through the cracks?”

Imogen nodded. Smuggling for the museum was the only part of the job she disliked. She used special crates with secret compartments to transport the most important relics.

She wanted more time to study the patterns of the strange etchings, but Trummel locked the disk up again. “May I have the diary?” he said.

Imogen removed the small, worn leather book from her satchel. She felt reluctant to let it go. “I want this back intact.”

“Of course, you have my word as a gentleman.”

She handed the journal to him.

He flipped to the final pages written in blood. “Have you been able to decipher the codes?”

“I’ve tried to make sense of it…” she said. “These symbols are beyond my understanding. I met with a symbologist and he couldn’t figure out their meaning either.”

“There might be clues in here that we’ve missed,” Trummel said. “During my visits, when Harlan was lucid, he shared things with me. I’m hoping the diary will fill in some of the gaps.” Trummel locked up the book in the trunk. “For safekeeping.”

As they walked out of the tent, he said, “Don’t discuss the journal with anyone. I have reason to believe the Cairo Museum has inserted a spy among the workers.”

Aiden Gosswick approached. A former captain in the British Army, he worked as Trummel’s personal bodyguard. He led the team of mercenary soldiers charged with protecting the staff on foreign digs and guarding the treasures Trummel discovered.

Sporting his usual shaved head and handlebar mustache, Gosswick grinned at Imogen. “Well, sugar on a biscuit. Look who the wind blew in.” He put a muscled arm around her, half strangling her in a hug. “Been a while, eh, Blondie?” She bristled at his pet name for her, one he’d given her when she was twenty and Gosswick still had hair. “Good to have you back on the team.”

“Nice to see you too, Goss.” Imogen shrugged out of the man’s embrace. Gosswick’s display of friendliness was all for show. She was fairly certain he hated all women, but intelligent ones, whom he was required to treat with respect, were a particular misery. On a previous expedition, she’d overheard the captain complaining to Trummel that she was a distraction to his men. Trummel relied on him, though, so she would have to ignore her feelings and find a way to get along.

“Excuse us a moment.” Gosswick pulled Trummel aside and whispered in his ear.

Trummel frowned, then spoke to Imogen. “I need to see about something. Why don’t you get settled in? Help yourself to the mess tent if you’re hungry.”

Trummel and Gosswick headed off toward the tomb’s entrance.