India and Brandon sat in the hotel room in front of Brandon’s laptop. India had connected her phone via a cable and they waited patiently as the computer uploaded the photos onto the hard drive.
‘So,’ said Brandon, pouring the coffee, ‘while we are waiting, why don’t you tell me what this is all about, though this time, don’t leave anything out.’
India accepted her hot drink and looked at Brandon. They had arrived at the hotel the night before and as she had no passport, he had booked one double room and then smuggled her upstairs when the receptionist wasn’t looking. Always the gentleman, he had given her the bed while he slept on the sofa, an uncomfortable resting place for it was a full twelve inches shorter than him, but despite her protestations, he would have it no other way.
‘Well,’ said India eventually, ‘you know the basics, I believe I may have found something that will rock the archaeological world.’
‘In that tomb back in the village?’
‘No, not that, Brandon, that was just one step on a much longer journey. If I am right, this is far, far bigger.’
‘OK, so, tell me what it is you have and we’ll go from there.’
‘Well,’ said India, ‘as you know, I quit my job and decided to do something a bit more exciting, but first I needed a holiday. For most of my life I fancied doing the Egyptian tour so thought, why the hell not? I have the money, I love history, and there was nothing stopping me from going. Anyway, I booked the trip through a normal travel agent and decided to do some reading first so I was up to speed on the history. As you know, all my adult life I’ve worked in libraries, so knew exactly what I wanted to read and where to get it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t want the usual tourist stuff, Brandon, that’s just regurgitated bullshit for the mass market. No, I wanted the other information, the sort of records that are not in the public eye for whatever reason. The controversial claims that are often made by academics on the verge of respectability but are discredited, just because their information doesn’t fit in with the mainstream way of thinking.’
‘Why would you want that?’
‘Oh, it’s a much better deal,’ said India, ‘not just in Egypt but in the historical records across the world. Governments are famous for it, Brandon, covering up the nonsense and pushing the accepted mantras. In itself that’s not a major problem, as much of it is conspiracy theory crap, but occasionally, amongst all the pointless chatter, you find some nuggets of information. That’s what I wanted to read, for while the guides spouted their well-rehearsed scripts for the masses, I could be imagining what it was really like all those years ago. That’s what history is all about, Brandon, getting under the skin of what the authorities don’t want you to know.’
‘OK,’ said Brandon, ‘so you started reading, then what?’
‘Well I had a few weeks on my hands,’ said India, ‘and immersed myself in all things Egyptian. What I found was fascinating, and there is a whole different set of ideas and theories available when you look deep enough.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, for instance, Egyptologists would have us believe that the pyramids are approximately five thousand years old, but there is another school of thought that says they are at least twice that if not more.’
‘And you believe them?’
‘I’m not sure, but it demonstrates my point. Anyway, I started to research a missing king of the fourth dynasty.’
‘I thought you said they knew who every king was?’
‘They do, at least they think they do. The thing is, the records say that Khufu inherited the throne of Egypt from his father Sneferu. That is the accepted timeline, but I have found out the records also differ wildly as to how long he reigned. Some say about twenty-six years while others say anything up to forty-six years, nobody knows for sure. However, the thing is, there is also a record that says Khufu was the third of his dynasty to reign, but if Sneferu was the first and he was the third, who was the second? There are no records at all showing an intermediate king between Sneferu and Khufu.’
‘So you set out to find him.’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing, not a sniff. What I did find, however, were some obscure references to a man named Omari. Omari was a priest who was close to Khufu and apparently died shortly after the king. Usually a person so close to the king would be embraced into the funerary complex of his master and have a tomb resplendent in the sort of finery someone of high station could expect, but something happened after Khufu’s death that meant he was cast from favour by the rest of the priests and he wandered out into the desert never to be seen again.’
‘And this caught your interest?’
‘It did, but not overly so, at least not until I came across his name again in Cairo.’
‘In what way?’
‘I was walking through the markets, dodging the usual peddlers of touristy crap, when a boy approached with half a dozen trinkets for sale. Normally I would ignore people like that but this boy was different, he was polite, spoke good English and had a trustworthy face.’
‘So basically, you were taken in.’
‘I was,’ said India, ‘but I felt sorry for him. He looked hungry, so I thought I would be a Good Samaritan, buy one of his false artefacts and send him on his way with enough money for a good meal.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I bought one of his trinkets, and as he accepted the money, he said something that stopped me in my tracks.’
‘What did he say?’
‘May the blessings of Omari be with you all the days of your life.’
‘And?’
‘It was the same name that I had been researching only days earlier.’
‘I bet there are thousands of Egyptian deities called Omari.’
‘Not that I know of, but anyway, it raised my interest enough to ask him whose blessings he was invoking. What he had to say took my breath away, for he said it was the wronged one, the high priest of Salhuk.’
‘And who was he?’
‘Salhuk is another name for Khufu, favoured by the older families of Egypt. Not many people know that but its use by the boy meant he came from a long line of traditionalists rather than the modern-day peddlers who scam tourists for a living.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I bought him a coke and we sat on a grassy bank and talked.’
‘About what?’
‘Anything and everything, really. His family, his home, that sort of thing, but when I asked about Omari, he opened his shirt and showed me a pendant. The necklace was leather but the pendant itself was green copper and engraved with the faint image of a man. He told me it was the image of his protector, Omari, and though I offered him a lot of money, he refused to part with it.’
‘Do you think it was real?’
‘Of course. If it was fake he would have sold it like a shot. Anyway, the thing is, we got on like a house on fire, and during the conversation, he told me his father had dug up the pendant when he was a boy and when he died he left it to his son.’
‘And you concluded that if there was a pendant with Omari’s image on it, then there may be other things.’
‘Sort of, but I’m not stupid. That pendant could have been dropped anytime in the past five thousand years by all sorts of people.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Anyway, after the boy left I did some online research and what he had told me all added up. His home village, a place called Nazra-El-Bedhel, did indeed pay homage to Omari and though that in itself was unusual, I found a recent article where a well-known Egyptologist accused the authorities there of selling unrecorded artefacts on the black market. The charges were thrown out but when I put it all together, I thought there was enough evidence to warrant a trip.’
‘You went to Nazra-El-Bedhel?’
‘I did, and within days I knew there was something going on. I stayed at a local inn on the pretence of writing a book but soon realised there was an illegal dig being carried out less than a mile away.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Brandon, I was a westerner in a rural village. Not a day went by without me being offered some artefact or another. Most were tat but many seemed genuine and some were linked with Omari.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘At first I asked if I could have access to the site but was told firmly no. Well, you know me, I don’t like taking no for an answer, so that afternoon I went up to the site anyway.’
‘And they just let you in?’
‘There was nobody there. The site was deserted. Apparently there was a local festival going on and I suppose they thought there was no need for guards as they were so isolated. Anyway, the place was empty, so I took the opportunity to explore.’
‘What did you find?’
‘I found a tomb,’ said India. ‘The burial place of Omari himself.’
‘Really?’
‘Yup.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Well, within the boundaries of the dig site there was an old hut that has obviously only been there a few hundred years or so, but at the back the workers had sunk a shaft and broken through the roof of a funerary chamber. I climbed down the ladder but couldn’t see anything, it was so dark.’
‘Did you light some bulrushes or something?’
‘No, Brandon,’ sighed India, ‘I turned on the electric lights.’
‘There’s electricity down there?’
‘Of course there is,’ said India. ‘These people are not savages, Brandon, they had it wired up to a generator. Anyway, as soon as the lights came on I knew I was in the right place, for right in the middle of the tomb was a sarcophagus.’
‘Was Omari’s mummy in there?’
‘No, it had long gone, probably stolen thousands of years ago along with any funerary valuables.’
‘No treasure then?’
‘Not in the sense you are thinking of.’
‘What other sense is there?’
‘Brandon, the tomb reliefs are mostly intact. Drawings of how life really was at the time, images of gods, depictions of routine tasks, you name it, it was there.’
Brandon shrugged his shoulders.
‘Doesn’t mean anything to me.’
‘Perhaps not, but Egyptologists would kill to see reliefs of that quality,’ said India. ‘But as it is an illegal dig, the tomb will probably never be recorded or seen by the authorities.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I took photographs,’ said India, ‘dozens of them, on my phone.’
‘And you intend to tell the authorities?’
‘I did,’ said India, ‘but just before I left, I saw an antechamber half full of sifted rubble. Out of curiosity I had a look inside, and though there were some poorer reliefs still on the walls, they were nowhere near the quality of the main room. I took some pictures anyway but as I did, the flash reflected off something in the corner.’
‘What?’
‘An old piece of packing case, or at least that was what I thought it was. It turned out it was part of a wooden relief that must have once covered part of the antechamber. Most has gone now, probably used as fuel for the fires of the villagers, but the more I looked, the more the inscriptions seemed familiar.’
‘Why?’
‘At first it looked like nothing important, just some scratches in an old piece of wood, but I knew I had seen something similar before. As hard as I tried I couldn’t make it out, but realising I was in a forbidden area, I put it under my jacket and left the tomb.’
‘You robbed the tomb.’
‘I suppose I did.’
‘There’s no suppose about it, India, you stole from an Egyptian grave.’
‘OK,’ said India, ‘but what’s done is done. The thing is, on the way back down, Muburak’s men saw me and found the piece of wood under my jacket. They confiscated it, took my passport and the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘So,’ said Brandon after she took another sip from her coffee, ‘I suppose you are hoping the pictures on your camera will tell you something more about the tomb?’
‘More than that, Brandon, the engraving may have been taken by Muburak, but with a bit of luck, I’ll still have the image on my phone.’
‘What do you think it is?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said India, ‘but my instinct is telling me it is of the utmost importance.’
‘Well,’ said Brandon as the computer beeped, signalling the upload was complete, ‘it seems we are about to find out.’ They turned to face the screen and as they both reached for the mouse pad, India’s hand touched Brandon’s momentarily.
‘Sorry,’ they both said at the same time, pulling away their hands.
‘Please, go ahead,’ said Brandon eventually, ‘they’re your pictures.’
India leaned forward again, eager to see what she had captured on the phone’s camera, yet painfully aware she was blushing furiously.
‘Here goes nothing,’ she said, and clicked on the first picture.