The tomb-opening ceremony was scheduled for two o’clock that afternoon. Almost everyone else travelled by motorcar to the Valley of the Kings, but we asked Pepe, Charlie and Chaplin to take us. The Mendozas, I suspected, liked to make an entrance, and by camel was a fine way to do it. There was also the issue of Tulip’s scorpion sting, which was healing, but the lower part of her leg was still numb. Most important of all, though, was Pepe. It didn’t feel right to go without him.
‘We are an independent country now, not a colony,’ he’d explained to us. ‘We shouldn’t let this Englishman dictate what happens to Tutankhamun’s tomb.’
I couldn’t help but think he’d have liked my grandad very much.
Pepe was, of course, very keen to be in on our plan, though to call it such was a bit grand. Put simply, where Mr Carter was concerned, we each had our axe to grind. Mrs Mendoza and Alex wanted a fresh news story. Pepe was keen for more Egyptian involvement in the dig. Tulip, I think, fancied going to a ceremony, and Oz – well, he was happy just to be near his big brother. As for me, I kept thinking about Grandad and Professor Hanawati. They’d learned the hard way about taking things that weren’t yours. It was time for Mr Carter to hear about it.
Returning to the desert under the hot afternoon sun was a whole different experience to being there in the dark. Tulip, who was now very much at home on Chaplin, took the reins, whilst I sat behind.
‘He’s really quite intelligent,’ she told me. ‘He understands his name and everything.’
As she chatted on about the weather and what camels ate for breakfast, you could see Chaplin’s ears flick back and forth, like he was hanging on her every word.
None of us looked particularly smart or clean by the time we climbed down from our camels. In full view of everyone, we’d had to slither down the rocky hillside, with Pepe behind us yelling, ‘Lean back!’ at the top of his voice. So it was an entrance, all right, and not a very dignified one.
Down in the valley it felt hotter than ever. Overhead, the sun beat down and on all sides the rocks threw out heat like giant, dusty ovens. It wasn’t the sort of place you’d choose to spend time in: even in daylight it had a strange, unsettling atmosphere. No wonder Maya had chosen the clifftops instead.
A small gathering of people stood under an awning at the top of the tomb steps. Mostly it was men in suits. I spied Pecky amongst them, and the frail figure of Lord Carnarvon himself. The few ladies wore white summer frocks that fluttered in the hot breeze. After the ceremony, there was to be a tea party. Over by the tent where we’d hidden last night, a table had been laid with a crisp table cloth and silver cutlery that shimmered in the heat.
‘How civilised it all looks,’ Mrs Mendoza murmured.
‘Ah yes, today they’ve invited the police chief and the provincial governor.’ Pepe nodded in the direction of the two other Egyptian men present.
‘Someone’s drawn Lord Carnarvon’s coat of arms on that stone, look,’ Tulip said, pointing at a rock that’d been propped up near the tomb steps. It reminded me of a house-name sign or a number nailed to a front door.
Pepe wasn’t impressed. ‘Oh, how your Englishmen like to make themselves at home.’
To my over-hot, overwhelmed brain, the whole event felt like a farce. Everyone was here for a first glimpse inside a tomb which had, in secret, already been opened. It was all very proper, very much above board. What happened here last night, though, definitely wasn’t.
A barely recognisable Mr Carter then sidled up to Mrs Mendoza. Jacket buttoned, hair parted and oiled, he looked terribly smart as he shook her hand and thanked her for coming. He even leaned over to ruffle Oz’s curls, which made him yelp in horror and Tulip pull a face.
Mr Carter was all smiles. ‘I’m delighted you could make it, Madeleine, though I trust you’ve no notebook or recording equipment about your person?’
‘Of course not.’ Mrs Mendoza beamed back at him. ‘I’m here as your guest, nothing more.’
Like Tulip, she was good at lying when she had to be. So was Pepe, who salaamed graciously to Mr Carter, despite what he must’ve been feeling.
‘How do you know him, Mama?’ Tulip asked once Mr Carter had moved on.
‘Well, darling …’ Mrs Mendoza hesitated. It was the first time I’d ever seen her blush. ‘The silly man tried to woo me once with a ring so ancient-looking it certainly wasn’t from Tiffany’s.’
‘Was it stolen?’ I asked.
Mrs Mendoza adjusted her hat. ‘Let’s just say Mr Carter has probably been helping himself to Egyptian gold for rather a long time. He’s been worried I’ll blow his cover ever since.’
Tulip made quiet little sick noises at the thought of her mum and Mr Carter. I had to admit, it was a bit disgusting.
But it was also a reminder – as if I needed one – that Mr Carter should know we had our eye on him.
Our attention was quickly drawn by an official clapping his hands and beckoning us over to the tomb entrance for the start of the ceremony.
Mr Carter was the first to speak: ‘Ladies, gentlemen, dignitaries.’ He gestured towards the tomb entrance, where last night’s gate now stood wide open. ‘Welcome to our latest discovery, KV62. K meaning Kings, V meaning Valley. It is the sixty-second tomb to be discovered here. Now, if you’d like to follow me.’
Tulip leaned on my arm as we made our way down the tomb steps.
‘Just remember who else has walked here,’ I said, thinking of Lysandra and her brother who would’ve been in this exact spot all those centuries ago. It was hard not to be a tiny bit thrilled.
‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ Tulip agreed. ‘I keep thinking of everything Maya did for his friend.’
‘That’s what friends do,’ I told her fondly, squeezing her arm. ‘At least the very best ones.’
At the bottom of the steps, Mr Carter led us into a narrow passageway that sloped gently downhill. The air was warm and rather stale. After the bright sunshine, the lantern-lit gloom took a bit of getting used to.
The chamber wasn’t exactly big – the fifteen or so of us soon filled it – but it was much larger than Kyky’s tomb up on the cliff face. It felt different too, neat and impersonal, like a bed that no one had slept in.
When the passage came to an abrupt halt at another door, Tulip hissed in my ear, ‘Get ready: it’s show time!’
As fifteen people all jostled for a view, we found ourselves on tiptoe at the back. The door, though not particularly tall, was wide, covered in plaster and little seals that Mr Carter was saying now bore evidence of the tomb being a royal one. A basket and some reeds stood in front of the door: Mr Carter whisked both away to reveal a hole hastily patched up with wood and plaster.
‘We’re not sure yet if the tomb beyond this door is untouched. Grave robbers have been here in the past, as you can see,’ he told us.
He had a nerve. We knew he’d knocked a hole in the wall last night. So did Lord Carnarvon and his daughter. But they let Mr Carter weave his story anyway, dazzling us with lies.
‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, in the presence of our Egyptian friends, we’ll endeavour to break into the tomb.’ Mr Carter motioned for a workman to come forward.
An excited murmur spread through the group as the man began prising off the nailed-on bits of wood. I watched in amazement. Surely he’d know those weren’t ancient nails. The plaster would still be wet, the wood freshly cut. Nobody spoke up, though. The workman kept pulling, as Mr Carter, Lady Evelyn and Lord Carnarvon watched, as cool as a whole bunch of cucumbers.
Next we were invited to come and peer through the hole in the door. Being very English, we formed a queue, going up one at a time.
‘Let the children go first,’ someone said, and before we knew it, we were nudged to the very front of the line.
‘It’s Ay’s old junk, remember,’ Tulip whispered, as Mr Carter beckoned me to come forward.
‘Ready, young miss?’ he asked.
Everyone was watching: I could feel their eyes on me as I wiped my sweaty hands in my skirt. ‘Yes.’
With a click, the torch went on, and he shone it into the dark inner room. The first thing I saw was a wheel, then a glorious-looking chariot lying on its side. I bit my lip in surprise: was it the chariot Kyky used to race Maya?
Seeing something I recognised from Lysandra’s account took the wind out of me, rather. This tomb – big, golden, soon to be world-famous – was all for someone who’d once been a living, breathing, pomegranate-throwing young man.
As the beam swung left, it picked out a gold box, a sandal, a statue’s eye, the pleats of a tunic. More objects glinted as the light moved. In a far corner were two black figures, both as tall as a man, standing either side of another door, like they were guarding it. I couldn’t see a coffin, though, or anything that might be a mummified body. At my guess, this was just an outer chamber. The door in the corner might well lead on to more rooms like this one, heaped full of three-thousand-year-old treasure. It was an incredible find, there was no denying it. It was probably beyond even Mr Carter’s dreams.
‘There you are, then, that’s enough,’ he said, abruptly switching off the torch.
I rubbed my eyes, like I was waking up from a dream of my own. Mr Carter was already beckoning Tulip to take her turn, but I didn’t move aside.
‘Mr Carter, what are you going to do with all these things?’ I said. My politest voice wasn’t a patch on Tulip’s but it got Mr Carter’s attention.
‘They’ll be removed, cleaned up, recorded and catalogued,’ he explained. ‘Lord Carnarvon is a collector, the Metropolitan Museum in New York have an interest.’ He stopped to frown. ‘Why do you ask?’
There was a silence. Everyone stared at me. The two Egyptian officials who stood at the edge of the group were scowling. One of them looked away in obvious annoyance.
I could feel myself clamming up. I glanced at Tulip, then Oz, who was studying his shoes. It was Alex who mouthed: ‘Keep going!’
I straightened my shoulders.
‘My grandad was a collector of sorts,’ I said. ‘He came here to Egypt over twenty years ago, and with a friend they bought something—’
‘Charming, I’m sure,’ Mr Carter interrupted, eyeing his wristwatch. ‘Look, do you kids want to see inside the tomb or not? Other people are waiting to have a look, and then I’ve got a tea party to host.’
‘Exactly.’ This was Lady Evelyn. ‘Do hurry up now.’
I still didn’t move.
‘Mr Carter, my grandad and his friend spent the rest of their lives regretting taking the object that wasn’t theirs. It should never have been removed from its tomb in the first place. Having it brought them all sorts of terrible luck. His friend has now died, and my grandad is gravely ill in hospital.’
‘If this is about the curse, then it’s tommyrot,’ Mr Carter said, irritably. He pushed past me, but stopped in surprise as Tulip, Oz and Alex blocked him from going any further. ‘What ruddy nonsense is all this, then?’
‘We want you to listen,’ Tulip said. ‘It’s not right to disturb dead people’s tombs.’
Someone coughed. Over to my left I heard Lord Carnarvon mutter, ‘Who the devil is this girl?’
Mr Carter meanwhile looked daggers at Tulip, then at me. ‘Your grandad knows you’re here, does he, giving me a headache?’
‘I’ll tell him all about it when I get home,’ I replied sharply. ‘He’d be proud of me.’
‘Why, you cheeky little swine!’ cried Mr Carter.
I didn’t flinch. Mr Carter had overlooked who the tomb really belonged to. He’d talked round the Egyptians with his authority and powerful connections, but the other side to him – the secret, shabby, bloody-minded side – he’d kept hidden. He was, in that sense, a sun king.
‘That time my grandad came to Egypt, he met you, Mr Carter,’ I said, more sure of myself, now. ‘He told me your job was to clear old tombs, and that you helped yourself to any objects that caught your eye.’
‘I did no such thing!’ Mr Carter looked horrified.
I pressed on. ‘The locals didn’t think much of how you went about your business, even then. But you just kept going, doing things your way. And woe betide anyone who stood up to you.’
‘How dare you speak to your elders in such a way!’ Lord Carnarvon exclaimed.
‘But it’s true,’ I insisted.
‘Is it?’ Mr Carter squared up to me. ‘What was he called, this grandad of yours?’
‘Ezra Wilkinson,’ I said looking him straight in the eye. ‘And his friend was Professor Selim Hanawati.’
The angry mask slipped, just for a beat, then it was back, harder than ever. ‘Never heard of either of them,’ he snarled.
He was lying – badly. But I’d rattled him, which was oh so satisfying. So was the look on Mrs Mendoza’s face: she was taking in every word.
‘Before you go, Mr Carter,’ I called out, as he tried to barge past Tulip, ‘we saw you here last night, the four of you breaking into the tomb.’
There was a gasp. A shaking of heads in the crowd. A few mutterings of ‘Oh I say!’ under people’s breaths. Best of all were the Egyptian officials, one of whom folded his arms in a very satisfied way. The other smoothed his moustache, then took a long breath like he was readying himself for battle.
Mr Carter himself spun round, furious. ‘Claptrap! We weren’t anywhere near the place! What sort of mother lets you lot run wild in the desert at night? The police should hear about this.’
‘And you should’ve had an official from the government with you,’ Oz pointed out. ‘Otherwise, you could’ve stolen more things that no one would ever know about.’
‘Indeed, that is the law,’ the moustachioed Egyptian man spoke up. ‘I’m sure Mr Carter is very aware of this fact. Or perhaps he needs a little reminding that he is here at our invitation.’
By now Lord Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn were looking very agitated indeed. Since it was clear we weren’t budging, they began trying to usher everyone outside.
Mr Carter glared at Oz: I honestly thought he was going to box his ears.
‘Did you take anything, Mr Carter?’ I asked. ‘Because if you did, be warned: there is a curse. It’s not tommyrot, not for a second.’
He turned his glare on me. Then he roared at the top of his lungs, so loud they must’ve heard him back in Luxor: ‘I WILL NOT BE HELD TO RANSOM BY A GROUP OF CHILDREN!’