16

If I’d had my way, I’d have set off into the desert the moment we’d put down our bags. But the others were tired – we all were – so I agreed reluctantly to at least have something to eat. It was early afternoon by now. The heat up on deck was bearable as we sat on giant cushions, eating fish wrapped in bread. It was served with tomatoes and red onions and something that looked like parsley but tasted soapy, and was absolutely delicious.

All the while, I kept an eye on Mrs Mendoza. She was bound to disappear sooner or later to write. And when she did, we’d be able to sneak off to the Valley of the Kings. At least, that was the plan.

Instead, I fell asleep. When I woke up it was mid-afternoon. I scrambled to my feet, dry-mouthed and bleary-eyed.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ I said to Tulip, who was lounging nearby with her feet up, drinking iced tea. I was annoyed we’d wasted so much time.

‘You needed the rest,’ she replied.

Mrs Mendoza was nowhere to be seen.

‘Mama’s gone to a cocktail party tonight at the hotel,’ Tulip told me.

‘In which case …’ I caught her eye.

Tulip nodded. She drained the rest of her drink. It was time to go.

Down in the cabin I was sharing with Tulip, I rummaged through my unpacked suitcase for my satchel and the jar, trying not to dwell on how nervous I was. Back up on deck, Oz was settling down in a hammock with an armful of books. I felt guilty for shattering his peace.

‘What, now?’ Oz huffed a bit when I told him we were going straight away.

‘Yes, now!’ Tulip replied irritably.

‘If we go now there might still be a bit of daylight left.’ I said. ‘Especially as we don’t completely know the way.’

‘And we’ve got to climb a rock face when we get there,’ Tulip added with a grimace.

I squeezed her shoulder; I wasn’t looking forward to that part, either.

*

The walk wasn’t particularly difficult at first. It’d got cooler in the last hour or so, and the path which Mr Ahmed had shown us was flat and well marked. Though deep down I was tired out, I couldn’t have rested even if I’d wanted to: Mum’s telegram had put paid to that.

Leading us away from the river, the path dropped between two stone walls, then, as the ground rose up again, Castle Carter came into full view. The house looked formidable, square and stern. All the blinds were down at the windows, though someone was obviously at home because you could hear jazz playing on a gramophone. The motorcars were still parked outside.

‘There’s something about that man,’ Tulip said, wrinkling her nose. ‘I don’t trust him.’

‘Me neither,’ I agreed.

A few hundred yards beyond Castle Carter we came to the main road. It was busy with motorcars, carts, camels, all churning up dust.

‘Two miles this way, I think,’ I said, pointing ahead.

In fact, we’d only gone about a mile when to our left, the road suddenly dipped.

And there, laid out before us like a painting on a wall was the most spectacular view. The whole valley was bare rock. No trees, no grass, not even a bush. Everything was the same pale, golden colour, stretching on for as far as you could see under the setting sun.

Oz, who’d been looking rather droopy, sprang to life. ‘I should’ve brought my sketchbook! I want to draw it – all of it! From every angle!’

‘And you can,’ Tulip reassured him. ‘Later.’

‘Down there, look.’ I pointed to where the road disappeared round a rock that jutted out. ‘I bet that’s where the Carter dig is.’ There wasn’t an actual opening to see – just a few white tents pitched up, some tethered donkeys, local men carrying baskets on their heads. There were power cables running across the dirt. A man was taking photographs, though the young boys carrying water kept getting in the way.

‘I can’t believe this is actually it!’ Oz gasped. ‘The Valley of the Kings!’

Bizarrely, I could believe it. I felt it too. That strange sense of dread had come over me again, and a chill slithered down my neck.

‘I wouldn’t want to be buried here,’ Tulip said.

I knew what she meant: there was so much rock, so much sky, that the whole valley made you feel tiny in a way that was almost menacing. It was the sort of place you’d perish in, if you weren’t already dead. And somewhere in it, away from all the fuss, the water boys, the electric cables, was the place where Maya meant his best friend to lie at peace.

The next big question for us was how to find it – and to do so without Howard Carter noticing. If we stuck to this side of the valley, we’d at least stay out of sight as we descended. Not that there was a path, as such. From up here the hillside looked alarmingly steep. And there was a general feeling that I’d be the one to lead the way. ‘Go slowly,’ I called over my shoulder as I took my first steps. ‘Don’t look down, either,’ I added, as a quick glance at the valley floor made my head swim.

Once we’d got going, it wasn’t too bad. We were almost a quarter of the way down the hillside when I heard Oz call out behind me. I turned around to see him pointing at the sky.

Something had happened to the sky. One moment it was low and red, the next it dimmed like it had gone behind a cloud. Only there were no clouds, just a huge, billowing wall of dust coming towards us at alarming speed. Within seconds we were in the middle of a yellow fog. It wasn’t like a London pea-souper: it was hot and gritty. It made my eyes sting, my mouth go powder-dry. Now I really couldn’t see anything but swirling, churning sand. We froze on the hillside. One wrong move might send any one of us plummeting to the valley floor.

‘Yikes, this is horrible!’ Tulip yelled. I was so glad to hear her voice. Even more glad when I felt an arm, then another arm, and Tulip wrapped herself tightly around me, burying her face between my shoulder blades.

‘Oz!’ I cried. ‘Are you there?’ I didn’t hear him reply.

‘We’ll have to sit it out,’ I said, praying that Oz was nearby too, and being sensible. I’d read about sandstorms but that didn’t prepare me for what it was like to suddenly be in the middle of one. The whole sky had gone thunderstorm-dark. The wind picked up too, whipping around our heads, blowing sand everywhere. I clamped my hands over my mouth. Shut my eyes. Behind me, Tulip groaned. ‘It’s vile!’

‘Stop talking!’ I told her.

I’d no idea how close we were to the edge of the hillside. There was nothing to cling on to. Everywhere was sand. It was in the air. On the ground. In my ears, up my nose, crunching between my teeth. Even when I did open my eyes just a sliver, I couldn’t see further than my hand.

I’d an eerie feeling that this sandstorm wasn’t a coincidence. Perhaps they were common in these parts; I didn’t think so, somehow. A sandstorm had happened on the day Kyky died. A young man, caught out in bad weather, had perished.

I stood bolt upright, frantic: ‘Oz? Where are you? Answer me if you can hear me!’

From somewhere above us came a little bleat of a cry. Tulip was on her feet now as well.

‘Hang on! We’re coming!’ I yelled. My heart was thumping. I couldn’t breathe or find my bearings. All I knew was Oz was on his own on the hillside, and we had to get to him.

‘Just stay where you are!’ Tulip shrieked.

Whether he heard, I’d no idea. Wind and sand kept swirling around us. I inched along, half a step at a time, terrified of being too close to the edge of the hill. Tulip crouched behind me. I had to trust the ground beneath my feet. Oz must be nearby. And when I saw a glimmer of blue sky, and the wind began to drop, I almost started to run.

If I had I’d have gone slap-bang into him – not Oz, who was sitting quite sensibly on the ground, looking dusty but unharmed, but the back of someone wearing a grey-striped galabiya.

The man was shouting and waving his arms. ‘You’re crazy to try and walk in a storm! What were you thinking?’

Tulip rushed over to Oz, which left me facing the arm-waving man. As the storm quickly cleared, I saw it wasn’t a man, but the boy from earlier who’d had the camels, and who definitely wasn’t smiling now.

‘It’s not like walking on your English beaches!’ he yelled at all of us. ‘You have to know the sky, know the signs. The valley is a strange and moody place. It’s dangerous for people who don’t understand it!’

I felt a bit embarrassed.

‘Thanks for finding Oz. We’re really grateful,’ I said.

Tulip, all smiles now, tried to shake the boy’s hand but he backed away. ‘You English, you come to our country with your cars and your electric cables and think you can triumph over anything! It’s not like that out here – it’s a different sort of place that requires respect and patience!’

By now, I was starting to wonder if Mr Carter was at the root of his anger. And when Tulip asked, ever so sweetly, for directions down into the valley, that seemed to firm up the boy’s view that we English were in this together.

He gave us directions, all right. Long, complicated ones that led us uphill and downhill until eventually we were back by the river where we’d started. The boy had sent us deliberately the wrong way. It was so exasperating. It was almost completely dark.

‘What do we do now?’ Tulip asked, looking pretty fed up.

I shook the last of the sand from my hair and shifted my satchel on to the other shoulder.

‘We head straight for the Carter site and climb upwards,’ I said. ‘The plan hasn’t changed.’

Tulip nodded. ‘You’re right. We’ve got to try again.’

Oz didn’t say anything. But he was the first of us to turn on his heel and set off in the direction of the desert.