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They rose before sunrise to wash and dress. Three cups of dark coffee had Isabella wired but no less tired.
“What now?” Nedda asked. “Do you think someone will drive us back to Cairo?”
“The hotel doesn’t expect us until tomorrow.”
“The next prank might be deadly.”
“They’ve only been malicious thus far.”
“You heard what the colonel said. Milton Tavistock has a broken leg. It could easily have been a broken neck.”
Her friend was right. Werthy had been right to warn them. And the tyres could have burst, wrecking the truck and tossing them around like fragile sticks. “What do you think about these pranks?”
“Malicious, like you said.”
“But not designed to hurt. It’s as if the prankster isn’t thinking about consequences.”
“To himself? Or herself?”
“No. He—or she—doesn’t expect to be caught, but he’s also not considering the consequences to his victims. Only his enjoyment of setting up the prank and seeing what happens.”
“Like a malicious child.”
“Is Colfax malicious, Nedda? I know you don’t interact with him, but—.”
After a sip of strong coffee, Nedda tilted back her head and stared at the hazy sun climbing the ladder of clouds on the horizon. “He’s bored. There’s little for him to do. He was looking forward to the camel ride. He could care less about a pile of blocks or a misshapen stone face in the desert.”
“He had things to do aboard ship. The gymnasium. Shuffleboard. There were youths his age. And no tutor or boring lessons. Wasn’t he glad to have freedom? I thought I saw him reading a massive tome on deck.”
“Trautwine. The Civil Engineer’s Pocket-book. He wants to be an engineer, which disappoints his grandfather. I wouldn’t call the boy malicious. Bored, certainly. What was it you said days ago? Idle hands are the devil’s workshop. He does think ahead. Colfax is remarkably foresighted for a teenager. He would consider the consequences of pranks to people.” The last destroyed all of Isabella’s suspicions, then Nedda added, “Whether he would enjoy considering those consequences, I do not know.”
“Would you call Shirley Gallagher malicious?”
“That girl craves excitement, but I don’t see her keeping a snake in a basket. Would she be off the parental leash long enough to find a snake?”
“Not her.”
“Not Clive Rexford either.”
“I don’t know.” Isabella pondered. “I think he’s secretly laughing at us.”
“Oh, most definitely, but these pranks are too messy for that tidy man.”
“Who then? Padgett Michaels or Michael Caveley? Phoebe Drake or Chloe Ladwick? I think we can rule out the Gallaghers and the Fremonts.”
“But not Savina Fremont.”
“No. Except for the snake.”
“Then that rules out Chloe Ladwick,” Nedda countered.
“I don’t know. I can see her planning the pranks and buying the snake then getting Caveley or Hetteridge to carry it for her. But I didn’t see any basket in the luggage, did you? Could the snake have been bought here?”
“And we’re back to square one.” She sighed dramatically. “We didn’t mention the Ingrams elder and younger or Richard Owen or Emerson Werthy.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously, Isabella. I suppose we’re going to tempt fate with a tour of the pyramid.”
“I suppose we are.”
The morning advanced. The sun had climbed above the cloud ladder and glared across the desert plain before the others emerged.
Mrs. Gallagher kept to her tent. Hyatt Ingram did as well.
Breakfast was subdued. The dining tent, its sides raised to admit fresh air, had another table and more camp stools. Coffee, eggs, and more of the bland pita bread was offered. Mr. Fremont demanded “What else?” The servants gave him a blank stare before continuing with their work.
Then Mr. Gallagher and his daughter, the Fremont parents, Phoebe Drake, Padgett Michaels, and Sheridan and Colfax Ingram were herded together for the camel tour.
Escorted by one of Dr. Brunsen’s students, the rest of them headed for one of the lesser pyramids.
Nedda and Isabella walked together. Isabella had tucked a thermos with water in with her sketchbook in a tote. She had found a walking stick and vowed not to lose it. Nedda had an officer’s field bag, the strap crossing her breast. She kept a hand on it until they began the climb to the pyramid’s entrance, fifty yards or so from the base.
Savina demanded Werthy’s assistance while Hetteridge and Caveley jockeyed for who would help Chloe. Rexford claimed he would climb to the top and kept going past the entrance. The sole Egyptian with them stayed with the older man, occasionally hauling him up to the next block. Owen kept up with the student, looking back to see if anyone wanted help before climbing higher.
The student, lantern in hand, ducked first into the passageway. He had warned them about the sloping corridor, but he hadn’t mentioned how narrow it was. By the time they reached the Queen’s Chamber, Isabella’s heart raced and her breath came faster. Claustrophobia, she told herself, but that didn’t help the unnatural fear. The flickering lights ahead and behind did nothing to help.
“The King’s Chamber is at the end of this passageway.” The student bounded ahead.
Chloe gazed at the ascending gallery. “I’m tired. I’ll wait here.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Hetteridge declared, and Nedda gave Isabella a sidelong glance. “Owen, give us your lantern. We’ll wait for you to come back.”
He handed it over. “Anyone else staying?”
Isabella considered it—but what if I’m wrong? If the prankster was Chloe Ladwick, what could she do? The entrance couldn’t be blocked; there was no door to shut. Although littered with rubble, the gallery was straight. No side passage would confuse them.
Even if Hetteridge was Chloe’s accomplice, what could they do?
Caveley already walked the narrow gallery, following the student archaeologist.
Werthy glanced at Isabella. She determinedly started forward, Nedda behind her.
The climb to the King’s Chamber took forever. The air grew hotter and stuffier, so close it was hard to breathe. Isabella kept her focus on the lantern ahead, still ascending. Werthy held the other lantern, and she knew he wouldn’t let it go. Rocky debris littered the gallery, and she watched each step, using her stick as balance. Savina’s complaints began long before the student’s lantern-light faded. Isabella’s heart jumped, then she realized he had entered the upper chamber.
Caveley exclaimed, but the faint light ahead remained. Werthy’s lantern flickered more as the air grew stale, but progress remained steady.
The King’s Chamber was bare, looted long ago, the sarcophagus removed by the first archaeologists who explored the great tomb. A few wooden supports lay on the floor, not needed and therefore abandoned, never removed.
Caveley held the student’s lantern aloft, directing the light into a narrow shaft.
“Granite,” the student said. “There’s small rooms above here. We’re still speculating on the purpose. Treasure chambers? Secondary burials of worthy concubines? Sacrifices to ensure the pharoah’s passage to the afterlife? Some kind of support system? We’ve had an engineer in, but he wouldn’t give a definitive answer.”
“And this shaft?”
“Another mystery. Maybe for ventilation? Or a religious ceremony that admits the sunlight of the great god Ra? And look at this, scratched into the stone here.” He smoothed his hand over the wall opposite the entrance. The waist-height etching was barely visible. “I think this is an attempt at an ankh, the key of life. Dr. Brunsen disagrees. He thinks a looter scratched it into the stone. The first archaeologists did find skeletons in here, wearing garb that was certainly not of ancient Egypt.”
“A looter who became trapped and died?” Caveley swung his lantern. “How many skeletons? Col. Werthy, bring your lantern over. We might see it better. Mrs. Tarrant, come away from the entrance. You have to see this.”
Isabella didn’t move.
“I believe the record says six skeletons were found.”
“Ha. There’s six of you. See it? Scratched in here. Huh. Maybe two lanterns are too many. I can hardly see it now.” Caveley retreated from the wall.
“It does depend on a lesser amount of light,” the student said, ever helpful.
Savina bent to peer into the blocked shaft. “This was used for ceremonies to a sun god?”
“Here, Owen, take a look. I’ll back out of the way,” Caveley offered.
Then Owen stumbled into Werthy. The lantern swayed. He righted himself. “You oaf! Caveley, get back from me!”
Instead, the young man shoved again, hard. Owen staggered into the colonel. That thrust Werthy against the wall.
And his lantern went out.
Even as the men regained their balance, Caveley leaped away. A metallic clink and snip, and the King’s Chamber plunged into darkness.
Savina screamed then began weeping.
The distant light from the Queen’s Chamber barely reached them.
Isabella saw a shadow rush to her and swiped with her stick, hoping to trip him, but it was too late. Caveley ran into the gallery, starting his descent toward the only other light, held by Hetteridge in the far-away Queen’s Chamber. His laughter echoed back, raucous and harsh.
“Well,” said Nedda dryly, “that was totally expected.” She flicked on a torch. “All three of them, do you think?”
Isabella peered down the long gallery. A figure ran down the narrow passage, straight and true to the other light. “Shall we ask?”
“You knew? And said nothing?” Werthy sounded angrier than she’d ever heard him. In the stark shadows cast by the torch, he was a grim mask heralding doom.
“We suspected a prank, not who was the prankster.”
“All speculation and nothing provable. Until now.” Nedda shined her torch down the gallery. “Who’s first?”
Werthy pushed past and headed down, Owen steps behind him, another vengeful incarnation of doom. Nedda followed.
“If you’ll help Savina,” Isabella told the student. “I think we better move fast.”
