Dannyrigg’s Jaunt by Phineas Redux

‘Dannyrigg’s Jaunt’

Phineas Redux

—OOO—

Summary:— A young man in Scotland is cornered into a dangerous position, as a result of which he is dragged into a nightmare adventure wholly new to his experience—in a lost ancient City in distant Egypt.

Disclaimer:— There is some minor cursing in this story.

—O—

Chapter One.

The riverside in Glasgow had suffered a variety of changes during the last few decades; from a dirty series of heavily industrialized shipyards churning out vessels for the World to designer-heavy walkways lined with trees and benches and railings. The various utilitarian buildings which also used to line the banks had metamorphosed into all sorts of strangely shaped modern architectural offices mostly out of keeping with the surrounding zeitgeist, from locals’ points of view. From Workers to Tourists, as these same locals often complained to anyone who would listen and looked as if they would stand their rounds in the local pubs.

Kenny Dannyrigg was one of these locals, having been born just over three decades earlier in the vicinity when there was still some faint ghost of a dirty working environment in the area; but now he was reduced to walking by the safety railings on the tarmaced pedestrianised pathways elbowed by groups of tourists from England, Norway, Germany, of course, and, worst of all—the American contingent, who posed a trial all to themselves when trying to interact with the local natives.

Kenny, after temporarily pursuing an apprenticeship to become an electrician, had slowly fallen into the darker side of life—starting low, shoplifting, rapidly followed by petty larceny after which he went into the cat burglar line, which proved in the long run remarkably successful as a career choice. It was this, in fact, which triggered the drama which led to the worst few months of his life, if only he had known; but he didn’t at the time.

It all started one dark night when he had gone to Kellerman Avenue to scout an empty detached villa sitting in its own small garden. It had once probably lorded it in the centre of a large wide estate, but this had gradually been sold off for other encroaching housing until the villa was left with only a small garden surrounding it. Still in good repair and enjoying a fair amount of privacy it was clearly an expensive place only the richest could support; the very supposition which had brought Kenny’s attention to the building in the first place. Quiet local questioning of the right sources had quickly identified the fact that the house was that of a rich International businessman who was presently supposedly taking the sun on the Cote D’Azure for a lengthy period, until the Sun chose to show itself regularly again in the Scottish skies—which might still be some time to wait on.

It was just past 1.00am, Kenny’s usual choice of the perfect time to start work, and nothing stirred in the neighborhood around as he crouched in the long grass eyeing his prey with infinite care, making doubly sure the building was deserted. Having come to the conclusion such was the case he advanced to the near wall by the kitchen door. A window to the side, small but not impossible, gave the necessary opportunity and within a minute Kenny stood proud inside his latest conquest. But all was, of course, still to do.

It very quickly became obvious that the house interior had not been modernized over the course of its history; paint was old, wallpaper was old, wainscoting was everywhere; the only modern note being the presence of electricity via plugs and light, though the kitchen equipment remained adequate rather than excessive. Kenny, his attention on what mattered, headed for the hall and the stair to the upper floors.

Upstairs, having experienced the annoying presence of an insufferably creaky staircase, he stood facing a choice of four doors.

“That’s the toilet.” He spotting the useful utility room without problem, turning to the remaining three doors. “Spare room, sitting-room; ah, the bedroom. Let’s get this show on the road.”

It was not, as many in the past had been, locked so he merely turned the knob and quietly stepped in the dark room. The curtains were drawn across the tall window but he made no move to flick the wall-switch to get light; he having a small torch for use in the present circumstances, a much safer working choice.

The beam of light, deliberately small and weak, cut through the darkness in sweeping curves showing wardrobe, desk, chairs, fireplace, and finally bed which, to Kenny’s astonishment, seemed to be occupied judging by the long bulge beneath the bedclothes.

“Oh, God!” He gasping internally before standing still to decide on his next move.

At last, taking another look at the form on the bed, he began to have serious doubts, leading in one direction only. Stepping to the bed he leaned over the covered form and took a close look before reaching down to gently pull back the quilt. This revealed the upper chest of a middle-aged man lying on his side facing away from his visitor, with a dark round hole in his left temple and the pillow stained darkly.

“Shit an’ buggery!”

Time seemed to stand still as he contemplated his next move; whether to carry on with his investigation of his surroundings, or beat a hasty retreat, hoping meanwhile he had not left incriminating fingerprints anywhere. Finally he made a slow movement towards the desk under the window where he opened each drawer in turn, to no final result there only being papers on view, not even any loose change. As he turned back to contemplate the contents of the bed again his gaze fell on the wardrobe.

“Oh, well, in for a pound!”

Opening the two doors of the top section, a trio of drawers sitting below, he was faced with a row of suits and jackets smelling overpoweringly of too much lavender and mothballs. Rustling through the clothes he sighed softly.

“If I’d opened a second-hand clothes shop I’d be a dam’ millionaire by now, the amount of old clothes I’ve seen.”

Closing the doors he crouched to examine the lower drawers, sadly finding their contents equally neutral as far as his pending desires went. But the inert form in the bed inevitably drew his attention once more. Going over to the lifeless form he took a closer look around the immediate scene.

“No gun, unless it fell under the bed; ahm, no it didn’t; no burns on the temple so anyway it wasn’t a close shot; no sign of the room being searched. Window not broken, so the shooter came in the door. What the Hell happened? Someone waited till he, the owner here I presume, was asleep, came in, shot him then departed. What the Hell’s going on?”

Taking another turn round the room Kenny finally shrugged in defeat.

“Time t’go home.”

The thought being master of the action it was a mere five minutes before Kenny stood on the damp grass outside the kitchen once again. His wearing of gloves throughout the late expedition having made it probable he had not left incriminating fingerprints; which was one positive result at least, but otherwise what could be done?

“Better let the Authorities know, I suppose. Can’t let the poor sod fester there for ever, or until the cleanin’ lady pops in later this morning.”

The low wall which separated the garden from the road set no barrier to the seasoned burglar, allowing him to reach his car without further incident. Moving off quietly in low gear he had soon covered a considerable distance from the scene of the crime.

“Where’s the nearest telephone-box? Arminster Road, yeah. Hope there ain’t no wino’s or drunks hangin’ around.”

Reaching his destination he brought his vehicle into the kerb softly, putting on the handbrake and sitting in silence gazing up and down the road, which was a secondary side-street lined with tenements and shops now closed and dark. On the corner stood the telephone-box in question, happily unhindered by nighthawk passer’s-by or drunks. No-one at all seemed to be anywhere in sight both ways, which at last pushed Kenny to climb out and walk over to the waiting public phone.

“Hallo! Balcombe Street Police Station? Yes, thanks. Well, listen carefully, Twenty-six Kellerman Avenue, house in its own garden, red kitchen door with busted kitchen window; there’s a dead body, male, in a bedroom upstairs. Shot through the head, no sign of a weapon. That’s about it, thanks.”

Replacing the phone Kenny left the booth, habitually glancing both ways defensively, pausing slightly as he took note of a car parked some scores of yards away on the other side of the road which had not been there when he entered the box. Seeing no movement he decided whoever had driven up had entered a nearby house and carried on towards his own vehicle anxious to leave the scene before the Police perhaps discovered the origin of the call.

Five minutes later, driving along a major road taking him away from the district, he stared fixedly in his rear-view mirror watching a pair of headlights which seemed to have been sticking to his tail for some time.

“What’s this character up to? Been on my tail this last five minutes, with umpteen chances t’peel off on other side-roads. I got a bad feeling about this.”

Making a quick decision Kenny took the next side turning, not at all surprised to see the car behind follow in his tracks some fifty yards in his rear.

“So he is on my tail. Wonder why? Did he see me enter that house? Bad go if so. Even worse if he only saw me leave an’ meb’be has some idea of what’s gone down inside. What t’do?”

Never one for running from any problem, rather facing it determinedly when necessity required, he took another turning, this leading as he well knew to an impasse—a dead-end. Braking almost up against the wall of the building which cut off further progress he was out of his vehicle and racing back almost before the car chasing him had realised the trap it had been led into.

The car, a dusty but modern Ford sedan, came to a sharp halt in the narrow confines of the little lane a matter of feet behind Kenny’s Nissan, brick walls close on either hand leaving no chance of turning in a circle to escape. In an instant Kenny had reached the side of the vehicle, near the driver’s door. Inside he saw two figures, the driver and another male passenger, both wearing dark clothing. Barely missing a beat Kenny felt in his jacket pocket, revealing a short but solid jemmy of tempered steel. The work of another instant shattered the driver’s side-window and Kenny leaned down to peer inside at his follower.

“Oh, sorry! Feelin’ the chill night air, are we? What the Hell you followin’ me fer? Ya want this jemmy over yer dam’ head, mate?”

The anonymous driver, after one sharp astonished glance, threw his vehicle into reverse and raced backwards like a swimmer trying to outrun a shark. The headlights blinded Kenny for a few seconds and then, with a screeching of tyres, the car had turned and disappeared the way it came. After a few seconds the silence of the night washed back into the quiet lane sweeping over Kenny like a warm blanket; no sound of irritated tenants from any of the nearby tenements sounding an alarm.

“Wonderful how folks never want t’get involved! Great!”

A minute later and Kenny had himself reversed, going back on the main road with a new sense of relief but also caution; what someone had attempted before they, as he well knew from long experience, may well try again, only next time with reinforcements and a more determined sense of purpose.

Taking a series of side-roads instead of the main drag Kenny took nearly an hour more than usual to reach his own detached house, but at least he had the benefit of knowing he had not been followed further. Minutes later he had left his car at the kerbside and unlocked his eyrie, making sure on entering he relocked the four locks behind him—unwelcome visitors who disdained the usual social niceties of knocking or waiting to be asked to enter being something of a continuous worry for him in his line of trade.

“Just about time for a nap, then brekkie an’ we’ll see what the mornin’ radio an’ tv reports have t’say about the whole dam’ concern.”

Chapter Two.

“This is Radio Clydeside on 1045 Megahertz bringing all the latest news and music into your parlour for your entertainment. Today, in the green city, there are a variety of dramatic events under way. First amongst which has been the discovery, under peculiar circumstances last night, of the body of the well-known entrepreneur Donald Sampson. Famous in artistic circles for being the benefactor who was the patron behind the famous archaeologist Geraldine Foster’s discovery of Queen Cleopatra’s tomb in Lower Egypt three years ago. As a result he came into ownership of various ancient artefacts from this expedition; many of which he placed in this city’s local Bellingham Museum near Kelvinfield Park, of which he was a Director. Officials say the details surrounding his death are still under investigation but hearsay seems to indicate some form of illegal activity. We go on to the—”

Here Kenny, having heard all he wanted, switched the radio off, returning to his bowl of cereal with a worried frown and a certain lack of his usual hearty appetite. The thought that, at any moment, a knock on the door could either herald the arrival of the Boys in Blue with handcuffs ready, or a bunch of heavy-set thugs with blackjacks to hand, not having a good effect on his appetite or general well-being. So much so in fact he was impelled to leave his breakfast to go over to his third floor window to scan the street outside. The first thing to catch his eye being two police officers in uniform casually strolling on the opposite pavement sending him back into the shadows in two steps.

Peering from his dark corner he watched the officers as they walked on, finally going out of sight northwards having apparently shown no visible sign of interest in his residence.

“Jeez! Is this what a guilty conscience feels like?”

Pausing for several minutes he kept a close eye on the pedestrians strolling on the pavement over the way; but nothing seemingly suspicious catching his attention he finally relaxed, going over to his telephone with a purposeful step.

“Helen? Yeah, me. Say, you had any calls from the Force recently? What Force? The cops, darling. Yeah, official calls, as in wanting t’put the cuffs on either you or me, or both, for that matter? No? OK. Why? Well, let’s just say my professional activities have suddenly blossomed into something rich an’ strange, in a bad way. No, nothing for you to worry over, at least I dam’ well hope not; but perhaps, when you go out, try’n take stock of anyone looking as if they have any intense interest in you. What kind’a interest? Just following you, watching you, keeping a close eye on your movements; that sort’a thing. Yeah, see you tomorrow, darling, ‘bye.”

As he put down the phone he pondered on the delights and problems of having as a girlfriend a young American woman student providentially over in Scotland on loan from a famous New York University to work with the Bellingham Museum in Kelvinfield. As he did so the fact that her line of work made her interesting from the point of view of probably knowing all about the late Mister Sampson occurred to him, allowing him to furrow his brow for the umpteenth time that morning, even though it was yet to hit 10.00am.

On an impulse he darted about his flat, picking up various items, jacket, and gloves; two minutes later he was back in his car heading for the city centre, aiming to roll up at Helen’s hotel room before she had the chance to head on out to her office in the distant Museum.

The hotel, in the city centre, was a hive of activity with crowds in the ground floor public rooms and even at this early time the restaurant and two Bars. On the third floor a quick tap on the room door had it open to reveal, a burst of sunshine on a cloudy day, Helen Verstigen. Smiling, the twenty-five year old ushered Kenny inside with a wide gesture.

“What’s up? Wasn’t expecting you; something wrong somewhere? I got’ta get to my office across town in thirty minutes, mind.”

An inch taller than Kenny himself, her dark brown hair circling her head in deep bangs, with pale pink lipstick her straight features spoke of her American ancestry better than words themselves; though when she did speak it was in a soft tone liberally echoing a cultured Bostonian accent.

“Been annoyed by anyone this mornin’?”

“You asked me that earlier over the phone.” Helen looking suspiciously at her boyfriend. “I know you’re into some rather dubious activities here an’ there but I don’t think the local Mafia boys are after me yet.”

Kenny shrugged as casually as he felt able.

“Nothing beyond the strict confines of the Law.” He lying with the voice and virginal expression of an Angel. “Runnin’ red lights when the Fuzz weren’t lookin’; impersonating an Uber without a licence, that sort’a thing. So, no worries then?”

“Only to get to Kelvinfield without being late, dear.”

“Could give you a lift, if you want.”

Helen studied Kenny with a serious gaze once again.

“Something pretty heavy worryin’ you, isn’t it? What’s up, laddie; tell mama, now.”

Helen and he had been together for just under six months; not a long time but enough to reach stable ideas on each other’s moral stances. He had long understood that Helen could ignore a great deal of the petty activities which kept him busy during the hours of darkness; but there are limits for everyone.

“Well,—”

“Spit it out, lover; it’ll only go rancid inside otherwise.”

Sighing deeply Kenny came as clean as he felt politic.

“Y’hear this morning, on the radio, about the man found dead in his house in Kellerman Avenue, this city?”

Helen shook her head, standing by her wardrobe consulting a line of possible outfits on their hangars.

“It’s like this. This chap Donald Sampson—”

Helen swung round quickly, a short jacket swinging in her left hand.

“Sampson? The businessman? I was with him only last week. He was telling me he might need an assistant to go to Egypt in two months and was wondering if I might be free. Dead, you say? How—who?”

“Nobody knows, at least officially as far as I’ve heard so far.” Kenny shrugging as he sat at the small table by the window. “Shot in his bed when he was asleep. Someone definitely didn’t like him for some reason.”

Helen had all the sagacity one would imagine in the form of a well-established Boston family member, now bringing this to bear on her somewhat naïve boyfriend.

“What’s your involvement? You pull the trigger? If so, I only want t’say you’ve done me out of a good job an’ a trip t’Egypt for the Summer. Any excuses, or shouldn’t I ask?”

Kenny raised and lowered his arm on the table, rather listlessly.

“Helen, you try me singularly. Of course I haven’t anything—anything at all, t’do with the whole dam’ thing. Just, I fancy either the rozzers, or a crime gang; or perhaps, for all I know, both, are on my tail right now—God knows why.”

Helen showed her grasp of the situation once again, raising a curious eyebrow in her boyfriend’s direction.

“You were there, in the house, though, weren’t you? Taken t’petty breakin’ an’ enterin’ in your old age, or what?”

Kenny frowned, searching for a viable method of explaining his involvement.

“Let’s just say, for reasons that need not be gone into at the moment, I was indeed there—in the room; entirely innocently, I may add. Saw the body, realised it was murder; didn’t see anything incriminating, for or against the deceased. Couldn’t figure out why he’d met his end that way—and scooted as fast as my feet would carry me. Since when I’ve had the itchy feeling, via solid actions in fact, that persons unknown are close on my tail, or definitely watching me from distances not afar enough off. You an’ I’ve been out an’ about, in very popular venues around the city over the last few months; so I’ve a pretty good idea anyone interested in me might well have you on their acquaintance list too—only saying. Just, y’know, keep a beady eye on passer’s-by when you’re swannin’ around for the next few weeks, darlin’.”

“What could I possibly have t’do with the tragedy?” Helen sniffing censoriously. “Nothing t’do with me, ducks.”

“But do they know that, Helen?”

Helen gave her boyfriend a close look.

“They? Who They?”

Kenny shrugged, faced as he was on this topic by a brick wall of unknowing.

“No idea, but they’re working their evil ways in the background, have no doubt of that. All I want is not t’be sucked into their net—or you, either.”

This seemed to amuse rather than scare the Bostonian student.

“Shall we have to go into hiding, dear? Where? The Maldives? Bermuda? Caribbean? Or somewhere deep in the jungles of Africa?”

“Anniesland, this city, for preference.” Kenny sarcastic beyond his usual level. “Nobody’s ever returned from that bourne, once gone there; fact, ma’am, fact!”

“Idiot.”

Chapter Three.

Kenny’s ancient Nissan and Helen’s much newer Mercedes sedan both sat together outside the Bellingham Museum, Kelvinfield; their owners both inside the hallowed halls in one of the offices on the third floor talking to its owner, the office that is not the entire Museum, Professor Thomas Henderson; he being, within the borders of Scotland, Lord of everything to do with the Ancient Egyptians.

“Yes, Helen, I heard about poor Sampson’s demise on the radio this morning; a sad loss, especially as he was on the cusp of pressganging you off to Egypt as personal assistant. Would’a been a sad loss to me, on my part, I’m not going to deny. Glad to meet you at last, by the way, Mister Dannyrigg; been hearing great things from Helen about you.”

This revelation of course made Danny sit up and take notice immediately; any notice anyone was impelled to take of him being anathema to his soul at the best of times, which present circumstances weren’t by a far furlong.

“—er, thanks, sure.”

“So, what can I tell you about Donald Sampson, and his interest in Egypt?” Henderson aiming this question primarily towards Helen.

Forced to do so Helen tried prevaricating to a slight degree.

“Well, Ken an’ I thought, with Sampson’s connection to me, perhaps we might be able to figure out some underlying reason for his death.”

Henderson frowned at this.

“He was murdered, wasn’t he? Isn’t that a matter for the Police?”

“Oh, no doubt!” Helen acknowledging the inevitable. “But I, we, just thought we might, with our inside expert knowledge, discover some particular reason for that having been the case.”

“Ah!” Henderson hardly sounding convinced.

“He was heavily into Egyptian History and artefacts.” Kenny doing his best. “Believe he had a large private collection in that area, as well as having given several items to various Museums, including Bellingham where we are presently. So there is a real connection there, at least. Perhaps someone thought he owned some artefact that was of some value, in whatever way? And wanted it themselves so much it ended in murder!”

Henderson shrugged, unimpressed by this argument.

“A mere unfounded assumption. Any basis for that theory?”

“Nothing but Sampson’s connection with Bellingham, Helen here, and his Egyptian collection. Something amongst these contributed to his death, that is certain.” Kenny covering the extant facts. “And I think if we put our minds to it we can figure out what that was!”

“Over and above the efforts of the Police?” Henderson smiling at this.

Kenny here felt himself duty bound to unburden himself of certain long held notions regarding this topic.

“The Police want to find the criminal, the perpetrator; but they have very little interest in underlying motives, much as folk think that is the concrete foundation of all their investigations. I have the feeling Egyptian History, or any artefact connected with same, will have little or nothing to do with their final conclusions, even if they find the actual killer.”

“Hmm, rather hardheaded, if I may say so.” Henderson looking slightly censorious. “Anyway, is there any particular area of Sampson’s dealings that seems serious enough to interest you both; seeing that you, Helen, do seem so intimately involved already? Something that might serve as an introduction to discovering this, ah, theory to be true?”

Helen had at least the beginnings of a theory, and put this forward now.

“Had Sampson been talking about any particular item, artefact, or aspect involved with Egyptian History lately? To you as Professor of such here, I mean?”

For the first time Henderson began to look interested.

“Artefact? There are a multitude of, ah, items from Egyptian History that could logically be attributed under that heading. You have something particular in mind?”

Kenny stepped in here again.

“We would hardly know what till we found it, would we? Sampson been talking to you about something in particular, to use your own words? Sounds like it!”

Here Henderson looked embarrassed for the first time.

“Don’t know if I should—if indeed I ought, to speak on this subject!”

Helen decided to come clean at this avowal.

“Professor—I have a personal interest, an interest affecting my physical well-being, in this affair. Kenny here also is personally involved; perhaps we’d better tell you exactly how the land lies! Kenny, you want to start?”

Feeling as if he wanted to do the exact opposite, Kenny finally shrugged internally, took the metaphorical bit between his teeth, and began to recite the history of the last few hours regarding his night-time activities. On finishing, five minutes later, he sat back watching Henderson’s reaction to his tale.

“Never to my knowledge been in the presence of a criminal mastermind burglar before! Don’t quite know how I feel about same now, either. You strive to emulate the inestimable Raffles himself, apparently! Mister Dannyrigg, however do you imagine your, ah, night-time shenanigans, illegal or close to as they may be, can possibly create a solid foundation for discussing, ah, something like a murder? I mean, if the Police knew these facts they’d almost certainly hold you as the main suspect in the case, surely. In fact, shouldn’t I do exactly that?”

Helen here felt impelled to come to the aid of her boyfriend.

“Ken isn’t a thief or burglar; well, not really—what he does sometimes of a night could hardly be termed illegal at best, just a simple, if curious, er, hobby. Anyway, we’re getting away from the point. Ken saw the scene and the body, was later assaulted by those men in the car, and has been shadowed from afar since. Even I’m now likely to be involved, too. Which is why we’re both here, and putting our reputations in your hands.”

Put on the spot Henderson took his time thinking about the situation before finally replying.

“There’re all sorts of moral questions associated with this; legal questions, too. But, to give it all the free rein possible, it still doesn’t convince me of any connection with anything to do with Egypt. What do you think I could do, at all?”

Helen had been quietly studying the Professor all this time and now voiced her findings.

“Professor Henderson, you know something you’re not telling us! Something to do with Sampson; probably something he was in the course of proposing you accept as a donation—something to do with Ancient Egypt. Something important—very important indeed! Wan’na share?”

Pinned so effectively Henderson shuffled uncomfortably before crumbling under this attack.

“Oh, well, if you insist! What it is, is, er, well—”

“Our lives may depend on it, Professor!” Kenny bringing out his big guns without the slightest sign of shame.

“Uumph!” Henderson beginning to feel the heat. “Have you ever heard of the Green Scarab of Nefertiti, either of you?”

“No!” Kenny unable to restrain a small titter.

“Yes! By God! Is that what all this kerfuffle is about? Why didn’t you say so at the start, Ken? I’d have been on home ground right from the get-go then!”

Kenny looked even more confused than ever at this demand on his resources, which were wearing rather thinner as each hour passed than he felt comfortable with.

“What? Speak earlier? How could I, ducks, when I haven’t the faintest idea what you both are raving about? Scarabs? Nefertiti? Ain’t she somebody from story-books—silly erotic tales about fictional Queens of Egypt; Hammer Horror movies and all that sort’a rubbish?”

Henderson, on home ground himself, shook his head firmly.

“No-No! Nefertiti really existed, she was Queen alongside her husband, Akhenaten, in approximately Thirteen-fifty BC; the middle of the Eighteenth Dynasty, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Kenny hardly more enlightened than before.

“A very famous Monarch—very famous couple of Monarchs, come to that!” Helen holding her end up with confidence.

“Yes, one of the most studied Reigns in the history of the Egyptians.” Henderson weighing-in with authority.

“So, what’s this about a green scarab?” Kenny searching for some fragment of information he could readily understand. “What exactly is a scarab, anyway? About the only thing I’ve really heard about the old Egyptians.”

“Scarabs were, still are actually, a type of dung beetle found all over the world, but especially in old Egypt.” Helen airing her research as a young student—Old Egypt for Beginners 101, as it were. “The Egyptians of the time revered them as having powerful magic powers, and made small carvings of them from various sorts of faience or steatite, a soft stone that hardens when fired, or more fancily, jasper, amethyst, or carnelian—they were also, the stone and ceramic ones, usually glazed blue or green.”

“Most are around six to forty millimetres in length, though some can be much larger.” Henderson adding his Widow’s Mite to the lecture. “Depending on who or what they were dedicated to—”

“They had flat bottoms where hieroglyphic inscriptions were carved.” Helen clarifying the thick fog for her boyfriend’s benefit.

“Oh!”

“—usually dedicated to one or other of a multitude of Gods and Goddesses, though often, too, to the reigning Monarch of the time.” Henderson getting-in the last word on the topic.

Kenny here felt obliged to give some sort of positive reply, as showing he had understood at least some modicum of this information.

“Uum! So, this green scarab—dedicated to this Akhenaten, then?”

“No! Nefertiti!” Helen slipping-in before Henderson could speak.

“Oh-ah!”

“A scarab dedicated to Akhenaten would in its own right be a great discovery.” Henderson waxing lyrical on his pet subject now the floor was his. “We have so little factual evidence of either, you see. But Nefertiti—well, she is revered even today as one of the most engaging and interesting female Rulers of the Old Dynasties.”

For lack of anything else to latch onto Kenny grasped this tidbit.

“Oh, she wasn’t alone? More women ruled Egypt in those days, did they?”

“Yes!” Helen leaping-in ahead of her mentor once again. “Hatshepsut, for one; then, oh, Merneith, followed by Ankhesenamun, wife of Tutankhamun, you know. Nefertari, of course, and Cleopatra the Seventh, of undying fame. Several more lesser known ladies too, scattered throughout the long Dynasties; many we still know very little about sadly.”

“Well, er, well!” Kenny feeling his quota of facts about the Ancient Egyptians had reached overflow level. “So, the green scarab—what’s so particularly interesting about it?”

Here Henderson was in his element.

“Simply the fact it actually exists! You see, up till now it has only been known through two short carved inscriptions on stone on the sides of ruined temples at Amarna. We are told there that the scarab imbued Nefertiti with magical powers allowing her to transcend Death itself, and the course of the Years, to time travel, in effect. It being said, in one of the inscriptions, that she had knowledge of all History from the Beginning to the End of Time itself.”

“Pretty large claim!” Kenny no way convinced. “The cit’s of the time actually believed nonsense like that?”

“A fair proportion, yes!” Henderson sure of what knowledge he had gained in his chosen career over the years. “Especially those who mattered in the Society of the Day. So, you see, Mister Sampson came to me one day six or seven months ago and told me he had incontrovertible evidence that the scarab actually existed and was easily accessible. Well, news of that kind obviously excited me no end; what I required was, of course, the item itself in front of me so that I could physically examine it, and discuss the relative history and provenance of the thing. Which was what Sampson, up until the time of his death, was in discussion with me about.”

Helen was intrigued by this confession.

“You think Sampson had the scarab on him, in his possession?”

Henderson frowned over this, seeming unsure of his answer.

“Well, perhaps; but I’m more of the opinion that it still resides somewhere around Amarna, or perhaps Karnak, as we speak. Somewhere in Egypt, anyway.”

Kenny pursed his lips unhappily.

“Not much help there! Who’s goin’ t’Egypt on a wild goose chase like that at this time o’year? Even if we, Helen an’ I, feel we’re bein’ harassed by bandits out t’get the dam’ thing at any cost?”

He paused here, thinking about what he had just said, before glancing somewhat curiously at Helen.

“That is to say, er—”

“I’m free, or at least will be if Professor Henderson here says so; and it’d keep you, Ken, out’ta people’s backyards of a night—stop you tripping over any more dead bodies! What d’you say Professor Henderson? Do you want this green gem so much you’d send two ragged-tagged kids on a treasure hunt at the Museum’s expense? Only askin’s all.”

Henderson did sit back now, clearly turning the matter over in his mind with some concern.

“Sh-t! Ladies and gentleman, you’re both hired! Why not!”

Chapter Four.

“—‘Amarna, or Akhetaten to give the location its official name, sits some 190 miles south of Cairo and 250 miles north of Thebes. The City of the Sun in Akhenaten’s day, which lasted a brief 30 to 40 years in total, has been all but erased, leaving virtually nothing substantial above ground but a few columns scattered here and there as evidence of long lost Temples, and some carvings on the rock walls of nearby hills. Bringing clearly to mind, in a very real sense, those famous lines of Shelley - Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away. Extensive excavations have taken place there since the 1920’s, unearthing a fair number of the curious local style carvings of Akhenaten himself and, of course, the famous bust of Nefertiti herself.—’

Helen had been reading from the pages of the last but one monthly edition of ‘The Archaeological Review’, wherein a short piece on the site gave this pointed description, as she and Kenny stood just within the northern borders of the site itself just under a month later than their last meeting with Professor Henderson.

“And very like, too!” Kenny airing his primary view of the vast location. “Nothing above ground but a few broken columns and low outlines of former buildings, all obviously long gone. Just sand, rubble, grit, and pebbles, really. And you say valuable, interesting, even artistic things were found here, like the mag said? I can hardly believe it. It’s dam’med hot too, by the way! Have you noticed? I have! I’ve never seen such a scintillatingly blue sky before, either; didn’t think such was possible!”

“Stop whining, darling!” Helen having none of this restless disobedience. “I’m in my element, as a matter of fact. The very stones of Ancient Egypt under our very feet! I mean, just think about it!”

Kenny had thought about this very topic and was not impressed.

“It’s all sand! If I’d wanted sand back home I could’a gone on a day-trip to Gourock or Largs on the Waverley paddle steamer! And it’s only exacerbated by the damned heat! How can anyone dig holes in the ground here, in these conditions, an’ not come down with heat-stroke within the hour? Or melt completely, leaving not a trace behind like the poem says.”

“Ken lad, sometimes—oh, look! Here’s Professor Covington come t’meet us. Hallo!”

Professor Janice Covington in appearance seemed curiously ageless, had been in Egypt, off and on, for over half her lifetime, and had developed as a result a deep tan that made her look more Egyptian than many natives. Her walk was jaunty, her outlook on Life full of verve and get-up-and-go, and her usual method of converse was hearty Country Lady preparing to go off on another Fox-hunt, meaning to dam’ well catch her prey or die trying. Dressed in cotton shirt with a multitude of pockets, rough jeans with a tight waistbelt, and short leather boots, a tip-tilted snap-brimmed Fedora protecting her blonde hair, she exuded a lust for Life that caught everyone she met off-guard, making the majority rather apprehensive than not at first meeting.

“Howdy, folks! So you got here intact, eh? Egyptian Airlines only liable to either land safely or crash, you takin’ pot-luck as t’which it is on any given day! I always take the boat myself. Anyway, here you are. Ready for action, are we?”

Kenny, spooked at the first hurdle, jerked back like a horse seeing Becher’s Brook at Aintree for the first time and not liking the view one bit.

“Action? What action? If you think I’m gon’na pick up a dam’ shovel an’ start digging holes anywhere round here at this time of day in this sun, well, you can think again, madam!”

Janice, mightily entertained, laughed loudly; the sound echoing eerily across the surrounding barren wastes in a highly unsettling manner to those not acclimatized to this local phenomenon.

“No-no, the native workers do all that sort of thing; we only lightly brush the dust off whatever artefacts they find, is all, in the shade of a tent. Nothing strenuous at all.”

“We’re supposed to be examining the Northern Palace.” Helen bringing the conversation back on topic. “Anywhere near here?”

“The North Riverside Palace, I think you mean.” Janice correcting the young student with a smile.

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“No, the Northern Palace is a secondary Palace given over to the Pharaoh’s wives an’ general banquetin’ an’ suchlike entertainments; the main residence, where Akhenaten and Nefertiti lived, is the North Riverside Palace, which is where we’re at right now.”

Having listened to this information with due regard Kenny now pointedly looked around the immediate site.

“What! Here? There’s only this squarish broken stone pavement with the bare roots of walls and a few bases of pillars? Nothing else. You say this here was a Palace? I don’t see it.”

Janice, clearly used to this untutored outlook, smiled indulgently.

“It has been over three and a half thousand years, what do you expect? A spacious modern villa complex with all mod cons and plumbing fitted to taste? Come on!”

Trying not to appear visibly humbled by this criticism Kenny veered slightly in his disapproval of the surrounding terrain.

“Well, where the dam’ has it all gone, then? Vanished into thin air, or what?”

Seeing her visitor had no idea whatever of the history of the site Janice now frowned slightly before going into full lecture mode.

“Amarna, Akhetaten to call it by its official title, didn’t exist before Akhenaten arrived on the scene. He broke with the age-old worship of the polytheistic Egyptian Gods and Goddesses, and set-up his own religion of a single God, based on the Sun—the Sun God Ra! He also abandoned the traditional capital, Thebes, and came here to Amarna to build his own city. The place, however, only lasted as long as he lived. After his death, after a reign of about twenty years, it was officially abandoned in its turn, along with the single worship of Ra, the next Pharaoh going back to the earlier Gods and Goddesses. There seems to have been quite a strong turn-around there in that this city was more or less erased from the records and intentionally demolished to more or less the state you see it in today.”

Kenny nodded comprehendingly.

“Them as came after having more traditional views and not looking on his memory with any great approval—I get it! So, what’s the plan? We going to start digging holes over all this area; in the hopes of finding what, exactly?”

Janice shook her head at this.

“No-no! Nothing here to find; place’s been gone over with a fine tooth-comb, believe me.”

“So?”

“The Northern Rock Tombs!”

Kenny simply looked mystified, again having no idea what the Egyptologist was talking about.

“You see the line of ragged cliffs over on the north-eastern horizon, about a mile off?”

Looking in the direction Janice was pointing Kenny nodded uncomprehendingly.

“Yeah.”

“There are several rock tombs cut into the face of the cliff over there.” Janice in complete control of the facts. “Several important citizens of the city buried there, or were before the tomb robbers did their thing; but enough left to identify several of the tombs to individuals. Not all are identified, however; and it is entirely possible that one relates to either Akhenaten or Nefertiti, or both indeed.”

“Oh, yes!”

“So, from the little Professor Henderson’s sent me information wise,” Janice continuing unfazed. “I take it this Sampson character, who got himself topped so unfortunately, had found out one way or another that one of these tombs, or another one that has just been discovered, was the last resting-place of Nefertiti and that this supposed magical scarab was still in situ there. A fantastic story if you ask me but Henderson has, amazingly, had the appropriate certificates approved to allow us to do some preliminary work in the excavation line—so, here we are at the present moment.”

Kenny, alone amongst the trio standing amidst the ruins, was not impressed to any great degree.

“Sounds more and more like one of those silly Mummy movies, the more I hear of the dam’ thing!”

They were here interrupted by the arrival of another woman, clad in a seemingly wildly inappropriate long ankle-length skirt, running towards them through the low ruins with the air of a lady late for her Debutante appearance before Royalty.

“Jan—Jan! Sorry, couldn’t find my dam’ outfit, but here I am!”

“Yeah, babe, late as usual.” Janice obviously well-used to her companion’s state of mind. “D’ya know, when you give up the ghost an’ hit the Pearly Gates Saint Peter himself’ll be standing tapping his fingers on his ledger an’ consulting his watch vide late-comers!”

“Hey, that ain’t nice, lov—er, lady!”

“This here’s Mel Pappas, my partner in all things Earthly, Divine an’, sadly, Romantic. Say hallo to our visiting friends, Mel!”

“Hallo, Miss,—Hallo, Mister!”

“Uurgh!” Janice accepting things as they were. “Just been filling Mister Dannyrigg an’ Miss Verstigen in on the local history, darlin’.”

“Oh, any relation t’the Vermont Verstigen’s? Knew Samuel of that Ilk pretty well years since.” Mel attempting to sound up with the latest news and failing miserably, as was her wont.

“No, never heard o’them, sorry.” Helen more amused than not by the antics of her scatter-brained hostess. “I come from Idaho, with ancestors out of Holland, back in the day.”

“Oh-ah!”

“Anyway—business!” Janice determined to keep the engine on the straight and narrow. “Any news from Tomkins, dear?”

Mel nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, just off the blower to him, an’ a right state he was in, ‘specially when he heard you two, beggin’ your pardon, were comin’ on the scene. Didn’t like it one bit when I informed him you had certificates of authority from the Egyptian Antiquities Department. Said he’d get right onto them t’rescind same as soon as possible.”

“Can he?” From Janice.

“Nah, no hope; once the Department issues a certificate you can rely on it till Hell freezes over!” Mel grinning confidently. “One of the few perks of that hide-bound organisation!”

“Who’s Tomkins?” Helen angling for information. “Should we be bothered about his antics, or what?”

“He’s another Egyptologist, out’ta Nebraska; Professor there.” Janice filling-in the necessary with a broad scowl. “Thinks he’s the Great Panjandrum dealin’ with anything t’do with Ancient Egypt; especially Amarna, now he’s here pollutin’ the scene.”

Kenny nodded knowingly.

“An adversary in the same profession? Know what you mean.”

“Thinks he has a corner on all an’ everything t’do with digging round here.” Mel putting-in her two cent’s-worth. “Isn’t at all happy that he doesn’t have first approval on any other archaeologist workin’ here; don’t know why.”

Kenny, however, could see at least one major reason rearing its ugly head.

“Meb’be he already knows about the scarab, and is hot on its heels; if not already having found the dam’ thing an’ wantin’ t’spirit it out’ta the country on the sly.”

This snippet, as a fair assumption, had enough foundation to make the group stand silent for a while considering the import of such; Janice and Mel exchanging meaningful glances before Janice replied.

“Know him pretty well, from earlier meetings; if he had the scarab in his hot little hands he’d already have scooted for the good ol’ USA, or Mexico, or somewhere. Fact he’s still here pretty well means he’s still on the trail.”

“That’s something, I suppose.” Kenny hardly any more strongly relieved. “Say, does he hang about with anybody else? Anybody of great physical import; folk that look like they might poke you in the eye with a sharp stick rather than go to the effort of sayin’ hallo of a morning?”

The two female archaeologists looked at each other again, this time with a certain obvious meaning.

“There’s a bloke called Bodkins.” Mel coming clean with a mean scowl. “His manner of talkin’ t’you matches his physical resemblance to one of the Great Apes! He’s loud, offensive, bullyin’, an’ tries, successfully, t’put over the idea that you get on his wrong side you win the lottery for next in line for the local cemetery!”

“Met folks like that back in Glasgow.” Kenny nodding understandingly. “Most don’t last the course, of course! It bein’ Glasgow, and the populace bein’, one an’ all, hard men—includin’ most of the women!”

“Yes, well—just so you know how t’handle the varmint when you meet him—as you unfortunately will eventually.” Mel shaking her head sadly.

“We’ll survive.” Helen hoping for the best. “Say, when do we start work on this tomb, up in the hills? I mean, have you actually found a tomb, at all?”

Here Janice was once more well within her area of knowledge.

“Local workers, working under the Egyptian Antiquities Department, found a series of three tombs, further along the trail that runs by the earlier original tombs in the cliff-face. They were all three empty, mostly, but for a few remaining inscriptions and traces of paintings and sculptures incised on the walls. But there’s supposition goin’ around that there are at least another two tombs further along the cliff; just a little more difficult to reach at the present moment.”

“We’ve got Henderson’s certificates allowing us full control of digging there, anyway.” Helen sounding more confident than she actually felt. “So there shouldn’t be any problem to us starting as soon as we like. When would you propose, Janice?”

“Tomorrow’s fine.” Janice nodding in her stead as the group walked away from the site. “Come on back to the tent complex and we can talk in detail about our plans. You find your own individual tents OK?”

“Ain’t you both a couple, then?” Mel jumping in while invisible Angels, on another plane, fought unsuccessfully to stop her.

“Hell no—I mean, no, we’re, er, just good fri—well, no, to tell the truth—” Kenny tripping over his bootlaces like an uncouth twelve year old.

“We are a couple,” Helen affirming the truth of the matter for all present to know and accept. “and we’ll be sharing the one tent, an’ sleeping-bags, or blankets, or whatever.”

Mel blushed, while Janice merely nodded understandingly, an option she had long honed to perfection over the years.

Chapter Five.

Amarna being situated out in the empty desert, with no modern city within scores of miles and only a small modern town, itself some miles distant, on the West bank of the Nile, the only requisite available was camping, and the archaeologists’ complex was extensive of its kind. No less than 10 tents of varying sizes were laid out in a roughly square plan, one large tent for containing and examining recovered artefacts, three medium-sized tents for the experts private uses, mostly for sleeping purposes, and the remainder for the accompanying local workers, also one large tent given over to the kitchen and dining needs of the group. Right now, as evening drew on, the four main participants were gathered in what turned out to be Janice and Mel’s private tent, siting round a square table therein, the sleeping area hidden by a drawn curtain in the rear of the premises.

“What’s our plan, then?” Helen taking charge, Kenny being a trifle out of his depth at present. “When does the real work start?”

Janice shrugged her shoulders under her cotton shirt, as she offered the tea-pot to one and all.

“Rather good tea, of its kind; you gradually get used to it, anyway. Plan? Well, I thought we’d go out t’the cliff tombs in the morning, along with a squad of workers t’do the heavy lifting, see what that turns up in the short term an’ go from there. How’s that sound?”

Kenny, however, had been becoming ever more itchy as the dark of the desert rolled in quickly round them as was its habit.

“What about security? I mean, anyone could stroll in t’these premises here with fists, or a blackjack, or, G-d’d-m’mit, a gun! Where’d I—I mean where’d we be then?”

Mel nodded in her turn.

“Not a pleasant thought, sure; but don’t worry, we can trust the workers here implicitly, been workin’ with the same group for years, know them inside out! As to security, every night we station look-outs round the perimeter with shotguns; anyone try’s t’slither in furtively they get a blast of buckshot up their asses!”

Helen nodded as she sipped her tea from the battered tin cup provided.

“Works for me. Ken’s been a trifle anxious since that time in Glasgow when someone tried t’beat him up over this whole razzamatazz.”

“So you were telling us on the way here. Know the feeling.” Janice nodding agreement. “Been in the same situation countless times myself, along with dear ol’ Mel here. We know how t’handle little confrontations like that, never fear.”

“Hey, lady, less o’the old, if ya don’t mind!”

“Sorry, darlin’.”

But talk of firearms had caught Mel’s attention.

“As to guns, friends, don’t worry! When Jan here goes on site she usually carries a forty-five revolver on her waist-belt—”

“Just for snakes!” Janice hurriedly added, giving her partner a frowning glance.

“For snakes, yeah!” Mel unfazed. “But really for anyone gets in her face! Why, I once saw her use a Gatlin’ gun—”

“Enough o’the reminiscences!” Janice jumping in here to end the embarrassment. “Our visitors, I’m sure, have had a long hard day an’ want t’retire pronto—know I do, for starters!”

Back in their own tent, a few yards away, Helen and Kenny got down to discussing the way things were working out.

“Nice couple all round, ain’t they?”

Kenny nodded approvingly.

“Like the sound of Jan’s forty-five; put my mind at rest some, anyway.”

“Har, it would, sure.” Helen quick to agree. “Although the more things pan out like a bad day in Deadwood the less I’ll feel comfortable!”

“You an’ me both, darlin’.” Kenny’s tone full of meaning. “Say, what about these two bozos already on scene? Tomkins an’, who was it—?”

“Brompton, or something like, I think Jan said.” Helen beginning to feel the effects of her long day. “Shouldn’t worry overmuch about ‘em. I mean, we have all the certified notifications of Authority we need, haven’t we. Maybe they’ll make a certain amount of noise at the start, but there’s nothing they can do in the long run.”

“Yeah, suppose.” Kenny determined to look only on the black cloud, not its silver lining. “Wish I could’a gotten my little Beretta through Customs. A darlin’ little piece it is; fits in your pocket an’ fires point thirty-two shells. Wake anyone up who tried anything in the dark night, it would!”

Helen groaned in reply.

“You, darlin’ have been to one too many Bond movies! Go t’sleep, if anyone can sleep on these ditzy little cot-beds in this chill night air. I’m havin’ that extra blanket, too, before you grab it, laddie!”

—O—

In the dead of night, actually around 1.00am, Helen felt a natural need that swiftly became unbearable.

“Ken-Ken? You awake?”

Jerking round on his narrow bed Kenny sat up to stare into the dark of the tent.

“What? Hear something outside? Someone playin’ silly beggars out there?”

“No, I wan’na pee, is all.”

“Oh, well, go ahead, why wake me up?”

“Idiot!” Helen, who hadn’t undressed at all, searching for her dressing-gown. “I don’t know where the, er, usual offices are—do you?”

“Ah, toilets?” Kenny showing he was mentally on the ball. “Are there any? Don’t you just go out in the desert to a deserted spot, if you see what I mean, an’ crouch down, hoping no-one else trips over you in the, ah, process?”

“Kenny Dannyrigg, you are one kind of a fool!” Hellen shaking her head dolefully. “There must be an ablutions set-up somewhere, surely?”

Forced to consider the matter Kenny, out of the blue, came up with the answer.

“I recall passing a tent, small an’ square, that had a sign above its entrance; a sort’a silhouetted figure of a woman. Possibly what you want.”

“Where away?”

“Outside, take a right, and it’s the third on your right, if it ain’t already occupied.”

“Thanks muchly.”

On her return ten minutes later, Helen felt a new woman, as was reflected in her determination to beard her tent-mate ruthlessly to engage in midnight conversation.

“Ken, wake up, sit up, an’ pay attention. I want to talk about serious matters.”

“Graah! I wan’na sleep, hit the blankets, woman!”

“No, listen! What if we find this dam’ scarab? What happens then? Do we get t’keep it, an’ bring it back t’Blighty for Henderson t’drool over an’ reverentially place in a cabinet in Bellingham Museum for all an’ their mother-in-law t’do likewise?” Helen worrying over matters of some moment to her at least. “Or will Tomkins find some way of filching it for himself? Or will the Egyptian Antiquities Department insist on fair do’s, an’ keep it for themselves? Or, well, any number of other possibilities?”

“The desert air’s getting to you, darlin’. Put your head on these sacks of gravel that pass for pillows an’ head for the Land o’Nod, OK?”

“Ken, do wake up an’ listen!” Helen insisting on being heard against all the odds. “On the way back from the bog I passed one of the sentries; he just smiled at me and waggled his shotgun as if it was a walking-stick. This place is eerie!”

Kenny sighed, knowing he had lost any opportunity of going back to sleep in the short term.

“They’re on our side, remember? Nothing t’worry about. What we need worry over is just how much hard physical effort Janice an’ Mel will think us both capable of in the morning. I have a horrible feeling I’ll end up digging holes in gritty bouldery sand for hours to no discernible end result. Probably put my back out, or cause some other irreversible injury otherwise. Won’t need Tomkins an’ his thugs at all!”

Helen sighed at the impossibility of getting through to some, even on such an important matter as this.

“I’m beginning to regret ever coming, y’know! This place scares me; think I can feel the ghosts of long departed Pharaohs an’ Queens standing over my sleeping head, raining down curses on my soul!”

Kenny had endured enough.

“You have a vivid imagination, is all. Put your head on the dam’ pillow an’ put it t’sleep too, OK?”

“Huurph!”

—O—

The cliffs north-east of the remains of the ancient city were steep; boulder and scree laden slopes for the first half from ground level changing to jagged rough vertical cliffs for the upper half. Stretching several miles in length in a roughly west-east alignment they were around 150 feet in height with a narrow lane or horizontal ledge running just above the sloping scree level. Along this, cut into the virgin rock were a number of entrances of head height which formed the doors to various tombs—mostly of high officials of the ancient city, but also of a number of Royal figures too. One had early been identified as belonging to Akhenaten himself, but this had later been brought into doubt. The new set of tombs recently discovered were positioned around half a mile further along the ledge-lane in a part of the cliff never explored before, by which the valiant archaeologists now stood gazing around the newly discovered domain.

“Looks like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Kenny just giving his opinion. “Don’t look very impressive. Just a few holes in the rock, like natural caves that’ve had their entrances carved into some kind of imitations of doorways. Nothing much here.”

“Which is where you’d be wrong.” Janice having none of this untutored ignorance on her shift. “They’re actually of the most extreme importance to the history of Ancient Egypt, and the Amarna sect in particular. There are traces of relief carvings on the walls inside all of them that are definitely from the Amarna Period; can’t be mistaken.”

“Anything significant found in them, to us at least?” Kenny focusing on the details that mattered. “—‘cause, of course, if the baddies have already found the dam’ scarab we can all breathe easy an’ go home before the sunburn kicks in.”

Helen growled under her breath.

“Ken, are you actually as dam’ stupid as you sound? I only ask because it’s so difficult to tell.”

“These are the new tombs just discovered over three weeks ago, which Tomkins and his crew are examining now.” Janice rushing to head the discussion onto safer topics. “Where we’re going is much further along the cliff path. Just follow Mel, she always likes t’lead; just mind you don’t fall off the dam’ cliff, gal, it’s a long bumpy way down t’the bottom.”

Both Helen and Kenny were shod in solid hiking boots, both thankful they had taken the time before leaving Glasgow to buy such. Broad-brimmed hats completed their dress over cotton shirts and thick jeans. They also carried light rucksacks on their backs, just for whatever might turn up worthy of further examination later in a safe environment. Mel was leading the team like an Africa explorer dashing through the forest, much to Janice’s distress.

“Mel, slow down, dam’mit! You’ll slip off the ledge if ya don’t watch out!”

“I’m fine, don’t harass me, lady!” Mel having none of this school-marmish prodding. “Place is as wide as Fifth Avenue! Come on, otherwise it’ll be lunchtime before we get there.”

When they did reach the distant point along the narrow mountain trail, rock wall on one side, a limitless vista to the far horizon on the other, there wasn’t much, for the uneducated viewer at least, to take notice of.

“What? Here? There ain’t nothing here, just more cliff face.” Kenny taking umbrage at what he perceived as a wasted journey. “What’s t’see here?”

Janice, having had long and wide experience of such unknowing tourists in her time, sighed dolefully and set-to informing Kenny of the true facts in the case.

“You ain’t lookin’ close enough, is the trouble. See, this crack in the cliff, just where it sort’a buttresses out a coupl’a feet?”

“Oh-ah!”

“Yeah, the entrance to a cave, tunnel, or entrance shaft.”

Kenny frowned in reply, still unwilling to accept any rational explanation.

“Which of those fits the bill, then? I vote for natural fissure, from the looks of things. Bit of a waste of time comin’ all this way, ask me!”

Mel, in her turn had listened to enough of this nonsense and, with her Southern lack of patience under such circumstances, broke in to direct the impasse.

“Ken, try openin’ your eyes an’ takin’ note of the terrain round ya! See the chisel marks all along the edges of the entrance? Yeah, chisels, from way back when. And when we go inside you’ll see the smooth walls of the passage and at the end the low square rooms of the tomb itself; complete with relief carvings of scenes from daily life in Amarna three and a half thousand years ago. That change your mind, y’think? Come on, we’ve all got torches; I’ll lead the way—try not t’brush against the walls, might damage some of the reliefs, and there’s debris on the floors, too.”

The passage, once they had all squeezed through the narrow entrance fissure, proved to be as Mel had stated, clearly a carved shaft with straight walls and ceiling inclined slightly downwards as they walked carefully through. At the far end a doorless entrance led into a much higher ceilinged chamber nearly square in shape, another doorway leading further into the complex on the far side. The walls were covered in relief carvings showing figures in various combinations apparently engaged in a variety of activities of general or religious significance; traces of colouring still visible in many places. A large amount of hieroglyphic texts were also incised into the walls, obviously describing what was going on in certain places. Even Kenny was forced to pause to investigate the images presented to him all round.

“The figures, especially their faces, seem curious. Not like other Egyptian figures I’ve seen illustrated in books.”

“The Amarna style.” Janice filling in his poor historical knowledge. “Akhenaten didn’t just change from a polytheistic religious outlook to a single God, he also changed the widespread formalised style of carving figures to a far more naturalistic manner; hence the style you see here—pure Amarna style at its best.”

Something of note had occurred to Helen in the meantime.

“Tomkins been here at all?”

Janice took-up the weight of replying here.

“He tried, at the beginning when this complex had first been identified, some three months ago. But we hit him with our Certificates of Exploration, and he couldn’t do anything to oppose them; not without going to Law, and Egyptian Law can sometimes take as long as one of the ancient Dynasties, so he pretty quickly gave it up.”

“But continues to complain and threaten from the sidelines.” Mel grumbling on her own account. “Best with him is to ignore everything he says, threats, queries, assumptions, or whatever.”

“We’ve also,” Janice giving this information with a wide grin. “set armed guards fifty yards back along the ledge, you saw them in passing five minutes ago; and the entrance is guarded the same way throughout the night and day, too. Moral bein’ never take chances with people like Tomkins.”

Getting back to basics Kenny pointed round him in the flickering shadows of the small room.

“This place’s empty, apart from the reliefs on the walls. There’re other rooms, I see, but is there anything of import in this complex, that we should be interested in? Remember, we’re supposed to be looking for a small stone scarab.”

Mel was in her personal element with this question and gave of her best when requested.

“This is almost certainly the tomb of a High Member of the Royal class-perhaps Nefertiti herself, but we’re not quite sure of that yet.”

“That’d be a world worthy piece of news, wouldn’t it?” Helen astonished, looking around with renewed interest.

“If it can be finally proved, of course.” Mel nodding agreement. “But we’ll need a great deal of examination yet for that. As to what’s here? For that you need to go through to the next chamber, this way.”

The doorway in the far wall led through a short passage to another chamber, this much higher, wider, and longer. The walls were in a much better preserved condition, bright colour and sharply incised reliefs; but the main object of interest was the stone sarcophagus set in the central space. About waist-height and around 10 feet in length the top lid was still in place and there was no sign that any tomb robbing had taken place.

“This coffin, I take it that’s what this is,” Kenny interested for the first time. “is plain, no reliefs or painting. Made of some slightly green stone or granite. Looks in fine condition. Sure it’s actually, what, three an’ a half thousand years old? Doesn’t look it t’me.”

Janice couldn’t restrain a snigger at this crass objection.

“Stone, I think you’ll find, Ken, doesn’t age, at least immoderately. Yes, it’s as old as the tomb itself; and we date this by the reliefs and texts on the walls.”

“So, is there still someone, er, occupying this huge stone coffin?” Helen asking the obvious question. “And do we have any idea who that may be?”

“It’d be great if it’s Nefertiti herself, or Akhenaten; but there’s no way to decide until we open it.” Janice shrugging in reply.

“How long would that take?” Kenny ruminating on various details. “If the scarab’s inside shouldn’t we open the thing as soon as possible, t’see?”

“It could be this’s just the tomb of some more or less anonymous high official of the city; like most of the other known tombs around here.” Mel dumping on the topic without mercy. “The reliefs here are good, great in fact; but they are rather innocuous to tell the truth. We can’t tell from them whether the inmate here is male or female, Royal or just an Official. Take a lot more work before we can tell that.”

Kenny was puzzled by this seemingly off-hand decision.

“I thought we were going t’come in here, delve into the open coffin, or open it if still sealed, find the mummy or remains inside, grab the scarab if present, and our mission accomplished! How long before that last happens? It being of some importance t’me, at least?”

Janice was on the ball over this query.

“Opening the sarcophagus? Won’t happen for several months yet. A great deal of discussion, archaeological surveying of the tomb, and translation of the texts and reliefs featured all round us before we can consider that step.”

Kenny was struck dumb by this scientific oversight of the coming activities surrounding uncovering the information contained in the tomb.

“Months? That’s impossible! People are after me and Helen here, shadowing us every minute of the day and night. I’ve been attacked at least once, back in Scotland; but that’s not t’say these characters aren’t out here in the desert too. The scarab’s the centre of interest here, to everyone concerned. What we have t’do is forgo the niceties, an’ open the dam’ coffin as soon as maybe, surely?”

Janice and Mel exchanged a meaningful look at this, both obviously less than taken with the idea.

“Not gon’na happen!” Mel telling it like it was. “Archaeological expeditions, on site, are surrounded by what you might well call traditional methods of attacking their goals. Sifting through the sand till something of interest is found, clearing tombs of debris, taking note of all objects found nearby as well as inside said tomb, photographing the reliefs and texts, cataloguing everything—and I mean everything down to the last little pin found amongst the sand at your feet. Then we would get round to something as delicate and dangerous as opening any sarcophagus that happened to be still in sound condition.”

This last caught Kenny’s attention, he being a trifle nervous over the subject.

“Dangerous? Opening a tomb or sarcophagus? How’s that particularly dangerous?”

“Dangerous as in conserving every last little detail; making sure we don’t physically damage the sarcophagus while attempting to open it.” Janice on home ground over this conception of her life’s work. “Don’t forget the sarcophagus itself, being made of solid stone, and as a result of its overall size, is immensely heavy—probably immovable. A fair number of such sarcophagi are still in situ in the tombs and pyramids where they’ve sat for the last three to five thousand years—simply because of their weight.”

Here Kenny’s swift glance over to a corner of the room, where a couple of hand hammers and a large sledgehammer lay, caught the attention of both professional archaeologists.

“Don’t even think about it, buster!” Mel scowling like a coyote with a headache. “Jan’ll certainly shoot ya before you kin do anything in that line, just so’s y’know.”

“No-no!” Kenny changing his mind on the hoof. “Never thought of such! But if it takes as long as you say, what’re we gon’na do about the scarab, and those who’re after it as well as us, and for wholly less moral or legal reasons? I mean, if our procrastination, however well meant or needed, ends in the scarab being stolen from right under our noses, what then?”

“Guess we’ll just need to increase our security, make it as obvious as possible anyone trying such’ll end up lyin’ in the sand filled ful’la lead.” Janice gently sliding her left hand over the butt of the large holstered revolver she had slung round her waist on a gunbelt. “Just be sure the scarab, if present, when it sees the light of day eventually will fall into our hands and no-one else’s!”

“Yeah, well, yeah!” Kenny hardly convinced, but having nothing more concrete to offer.

Chapter Six.

An hour or two into the early afternoon and Kenny and Helen were back in their tent in the archaeologists’ main camp on the outskirts of Amarna, sitting by a rickety table with glasses of Gordon’s gin before each.

“My kind’a luncheon!”

“I bet!” Helen forced to smile, even though hardly feeling like such. “Anyway, it’s been a long mornin’, and I feel like a nap. How’s about you take a hike round the more obvious ancient monuments round here, while I take forty winks, lover?”

Kenny sighed with a high degree of mournfulness.

“If there are more than two columns more than two feet high, or a line of bricks more than six levels high, anywhere within the surrounding ten square miles I’ll be dumbfounded!”

“Ken, love of my life, get lost while I take a snooze, OK?”

“Oh, well, put like that what can Romeo do but assent with glee and elation!”

“Fool!”

Going out as commanded Kenny stood staring around, wondering if there were, in fact, anywhere of interest to grab his attention. Never having been a person to whom History meant very much he could not garner any great interest in his surroundings even now, standing on the sands of Ancient Egypt in person. The site being more or less flat across its whole extent in every direction what there was to be seen made itself known from great distances; these rare objects consisting mainly of individual columns, a few stone arches twenty feet tall or so, the buildings or walls joining them long gone, or just extensive fields of low brick walls around knee-high, the only remaining ghosts of vanished temples and buildings. Amarna, or Akhetaten, was indeed merely the ghost of a former city within every meaning of the phrase.

“Jeesus!” Kenny waxing lyrical against his usual nature. “Rubble to the left of me, rubble to the right of me, rubble every way I turn, an’ no complete buildings whatever! An’ more sand than there is on Ayr beach! Jeez!”

Finding there was no other course open Kenny finally made a decision, turning to his left, southwards, tramping along with no definite destination in mind, listlessly looking about as he walked. There were, he soon realised, hardly any other pedestrians in sight, the ruined city being more or less empty of other human beings, of whatever sort.

“Not even groups of tourists, under the rule of supervisors or bear-leaders with loud-hailers telling ‘em all about this dump’s history.”

As far as streets went there weren’t any, merely passages of rough sand between paved flagstoned areas showing where various buildings, of unknown design and size, had once stood. The whole place, after the first few minutes, beginning to exert a curious debilitating aura around the reveries of this modern solitary walker.

“Begin t’think the old citizens are mostly still here, in spiritual form, grumbling about the way modern folks they see poking about the ruins haven’t progressed much in the interim.”

For want of anything else catching his attention he directed his steps towards one of the few tall reminders of the city’s past—a square-topped arch of large granite stones some twenty feet high over towards the east about five hundred yards off. As he approached he noticed a solitary figure, in regulation safari costume, standing by the side of this rare survivor of the years; a tall thin man in his fifties with greying hair and a thin countenance reflecting an expression worthy of an Undertaker who hadn’t had a customer in the last couple of months. Wondering what the usual formalities might be in such circumstances Kenny came up to the time-worn arch and its caretaker with some hesitation.

“—er, hallo!”

“Mister Dannyrigg, I presume?”

“Aah!”

“Excuse the joke, I can’t help myself sometimes.” The man giving what he obviously regarded as a wide smile, but which looked far more like a hungry shark approaching its breakfast. “Tomkins’s the name, perhaps you’ve already heard of me?”

“Oh, God!”

“Yes, precisely!” Tomkins smiling again, even less successfully. “I see my fame has forestalled me. Well, here I am, anyway.”

“—er, uum—”

“Mister Dannyrigg? Do you see yourself in any way, any way at all, as a formal representative of the Archaeological brotherhood? I only ask because of your presence here at Amarna today. Your more usual pastures being the Great Western Road or the Banks of the Clyde, no?”

“Well, er,—” Kenny beginning to realise what the term ‘lost for words’ he had frequently come across in second-rate thrillers now actually meant.

“Come, Mister Dannyrigg, shall we take a few steps over here, where the shadow of the arch provides a trifling pocket of shade, in fact the only such within, oh, I’d say, three square miles?”

Settled in the arch’s shadow, which provided very little shade and no lowering of the ambient temperature at all, the two men stared at each other; each with varying composures and thoughts.

“I’ve, er, heard—”

Tomkins laughed.

“Terrible things, no doubt! Those women are actual Virago’s in human form; would make you believe the true living Medusa was just round the next corner awaiting you! Perhaps it would be best to take their ravings with slightly more than a bucketload of salt! Just a fair warning, man to man.”

At this point, Kenny having been caught short and well out of his comfort zone, now began to make reparations in that line.

“Is that a threat? I don’t take to threats, any way they come. Someone who threatens hasn’t any more definite endgame in his pocket. What about you take a hike? Say, somewhere over to the east, where the endless sands stretch far away, as the old poem says?”

“Ha-ha! A man of culture!” Tomkins, for all his bravado, obviously less than pleased at this reaction. “Another old saying is, I believe, that sticks and stones can— well! Though I’ve always found a forty-five caliber goes a long way to superseding that, don’t you agree? And out here, in the middle of actual nowhere, well, any number of sad, not to say tragic, incidents are perfectly likely to occur, quite out of the blue at any time of day or night. Wouldn’t a swift return to Glasgow seem a far better haven of tranquility, peace, and safety in the circumstances?”

Having no answer to this Kenny turned on his heel, making a quick retreat the way he had come; the wish to glance back over his shoulder as he did so becoming almost a torture as a result.

—O—

Kenny, on approaching the tent, could see through the wide-open front flap that the residents were at home.

“Hallo, there, can I come in?”

“Sure, everybody’s welcome.” Mel doing the Hostess thing with a wave of her hand. “Jan’s just grumbling over some potsherds at the table; go over an’ annoy her some—do her good! I’ll put the tea-kettle on.”

Seated at the table on a rickety chair of indeterminate age and quality, at Janice’s invitation, he stared at the collection of broken bits of pottery spread out over the surface.

“Doesn’t look much! Oh, have I made a shocking faux pas?”

“No more than every other ordinary observer does, as a matter of fact.” Janice grimacing in disgust. “Don’t worry, it ain’t you—or, at least, not just you! Folk seem t’think studyin’ things like these, broken bits of pots an’ vases, is a mug’s game, whereas it can provide all sorts of clues to life in the past that other remnants can’t. Just takes expertise and knowledge.”

“Yes, no doubt.” Kenny well aware he was once more far outside his comfort zone. “So that old bloke on the TV talk shows, Flinders Petrie, often tells us viewers.”

“Petrie!” Janice springing to life at this reference. “One of the greatest Egyptologists there’s ever been; his explorations and digs are world-famous. Met him once; well, saw him in passing from afar, but it comes t’the same thing, don’t it?”

Sliding past this awesomely wide interpretation of such an event Kenny regarded the assembled shards again.

“What are these, then? I am actually interested. Are they from actual pots, or pans, or what-not?”

Mel, having completed her duties with the kettle now joined the throng with a tray full of cups, tin enamel variety, and small silver jugs of milk as well as the teapot, now steaming with its contents.

“Shall I pour? Here, Jan, move those dusty bits over a little, OK, thanks. Haven’t got any cucumber sandwiches or honey; could open a can of Spam if you’re really peckish, though?”

“No, thanks, tea’ll do fine. I was just enquiring about these, er, bits an’ pieces; what they amount to, in due course. I mean, have they anything to tell you both, as experts, I mean?”

Seeing he was indeed far more interested than the normal lacklustre enquirer Janice fell to filling him in on the extant history of the city of Amarna and its citizens and style of Life in general. This took so long Mel had to rise to refresh the teapot twice before her heartmate had come to the end of her confidences on this subject; Kenny meantime feeling like a longshoreman who had just had an entire ship’s cargo of bananas fall on him from a great height.

“Well, ah, now I know, eh!” Being about the best he could do by way of thanks after the event.

Mel, well aware of the untutored man’s capability of forgetting, shook her head at her partner’s well-meant efforts to drag the hoi polloi even slightly above the median level of knowledge.

“Taught in hours, forgotten in seconds! We don’t really mean you to absorb this sort’a thing wholesale and repeat it months later like a parrot, don’t worry. At least you’ll have some degree of intuition about what’s going on here, as a result. Don’t let it worry you overmuch; Jan an’ I know what’s goin’ on, well enough.”

“Talkin’ of which,” Kenny anxious to pass on his news. “I’ve just met the admirable Tomkins, face to face, sad to say.”

The female archaeologists glanced at each other with expressions varying between woe, uncertainty, and rising anger.

“Oh, yeah?” Janice taking the van in reply. “And?”

“He threatened my life with soap and railway shares!”

“As one would expect!” Mel nodding understandingly. “His attitude to a tee. You’ve survived, though?”

“Pretty much, though he did suggest Glasgow was rather more my home territory than here, an’ that the quicker I changed the one for the other the better it’d be for my ongoing health!”

“Sounds like he’s beginnin’ t’get a trifle above his’self.” Janice once more caressing the butt of her revolver, this time with a barely suppressed snarl of twisted lips.

“Take it easy, lover.” Mel pouring much needed oil on stormy waters. “There’ll come a time, don’t worry. In the meantime he’s just ful’la threats an’ hot air; an’ as t’that obnoxious body-deodorant he loves y’can smell him from half a mile away when the breeze’s in the right direction!”

—O—

By the time Kenny returned to his own tent he found Helen up and about, an empty coffee-cup on the table and a plate strewn with crumbs evidence to the fact she had dined well and handsomely.

“Oh, left any for me?”

“Nah, ate everything, larder’s empty.”

“Ha-ha!”

“What’d you think of Amarna on your travels, then?”

So requested Kenny told her all about his afternoon, her eyebrows rising a step at every new revelation.

“Well, I’ll be damned! The effrontery of the man! Who the Hell’s he think he is, a dam’ Dictator, or what?”

“Pretty near, by what I’ve experienced.” Kenny nodding agreement with this assessment. “He blusters a lot, just hope it’s only that, and not a preliminary to the real thing. He sounds the sort who could be dangerous, given the right circumstances.”

“Jan’s got a revolver the size of one of the main guns on a Battleship! Was thinking I needed much the same. I’ve brought a dinky little pistol with me, hidden in my underwear, y’know! Point twenty-two caliber!”

Kenny raised his own eyebrows at this confession.

“You surprise me more every day I know you. And who precisely do you think deserves shooting round these parts? Tomkins, of course, but who else? Becomin’ a regular Calamity Jane, aren’t we?”

“Nothing wrong with that!” Helen on the defensive. “You’ll thank me when it becomes necessary and all you have is a spare shoe to help you out of a hole!”

“Uumph!” Kenny entirely unconvinced. “One of the rules of the game, I came up with at the start of my, er, night-time career, was no firearms—just get you in trouble an’ a mess of your own making!”

“Or help you survive a mess of someone else’s making!” Helen sure of her position on this. “To change the subject, how much of what Jan an’ Mel told you about Amarna, Akhenaten and Nefertiti have you remembered, after half an hour or so?”

“Not as much as I’d like!” Kenny admitting his deficiencies. “Seems t’have been a determined character, as a Pharaoh. Not many, if any, would go that far—changing their country’s whole social network and set-up, including the whole of the religious format. No wonder it didn’t last past his own death, must’a upset a whole lot’ta people at the time, who just suffered in silence till they could get their own back at last. Accounts for the wholesale destruction of this place—hardly one stone left on another, sure enough!”

“Yes, and the fact Akhenaten’s and Nefertiti’s tombs are still lost doesn’t help much.”

Kenny frowned at this.

“So I believe. Thought, though, Akhenaten’s had been found when the first tombs here were investigated?”

“Oh, that was just an over-zealous archaeologist letting his desires over-rule his reason. No, Akhenaten’s last resting-place is still to be found, mark my words.”

But another thought had occurred to Danny in the meantime.

“What about pyramids? Thought at least he an’ his Queen’d be laid in a pyramid, not a measly dark hole cut in a cliff?”

“Pyramids went out of fashion around fifteen hundred or two thousand years before the time of Akhenaten an’ Nefertiti. They were robbed wholesale from very nearly their initial inception, an’ the following Royals finally got fed-up an’ abandoned them in favour of deep tombs cut in the cliffs of the distant Valley of the Kings instead. Much easier, cheaper, an’ far quicker t’build. Ergo, these rock tombs here now.”

“Do you think it’s the tomb Janice and Mel have discovered? The one they’ve just shown you and I?”

“Meb’be, who knows; needs a whole heap of further investigation before that question can be cleared-up.”

Kenny, pushed to it, harked on a pet wish of his.

“Would be great if we broke into the sarcophagus, and it was Nefertiti’s! Find the dam’ scarab, an’ all go home happy!”

Helen shook her head, though with a smile.

“Ken, you remind of what the Visigoths must’a been like!”

“Humph! If I knew who they were!”

—O—

That night, around 10.00pm, worry got the better of Kenny, he insisting on going over to harass Janice and Mel in their tent, accompanied by a dubious Helen.

“What?” Janice on first hearing his request, rather stunned as not.

“I want to take up sentry duty at the tomb during the night—at least part of the night.”

“Why?” Mel equally nonplussed by this objective on the part of their visitor. “We already have a guard, three men with shotguns, stationed there throughout the night.”

“Oh, can’t be too careful! And my presence’ll keep everyone on their toes.”

“You think?” Mel not convinced. “You worried Tomkins has something planned for tonight, or sometime soon?”

“Can’t really tell, but better safe than the other thing, don’t you agree?”

Mel flung her arms out in mystification, Helen stepping into the fray with her own take on the matter.

“Ken feels there’s a definite possibility of something kicking-off soon, and would rather be up there, by the tomb, prepared than otherwise. Got’ta say, on thinking about it, I rather agree than not.”

“What hours were you thinking of covering?” Janice accepting the situation as it stood.

“Around midnight to about four.” Kenny nodding determinedly as he spoke. “If anything’s on the stocks it’ll probably happen within that window, I think.”

Janice shrugged.

“Well, if it’s what you want. I can provide a spare shotgun, an’ a box of shells. Just don’t go shootin’ promiscuous at anything that rattles you in the dark; if it sounds like there’s a sustained ambush going forward the Department of Antiquities’ll be down on our necks like the albatross in the poem. Have fun!”

Carrying the shotgun, accompanied still by Helen, Kenny made his way back to their tent, musing on exactly what poem Janice might be alluding to and that his literary knowledge was sadly lacking in that genre.

“Shelley, d’you think? Perhaps Tennyson? Meb’be—”

“What?”

“Nuthin’, Helen. You really want t’accompany me t’the tomb too, for hours into the dark night?”

Helen laughed as they entered their tent.

“You sound like one of Tennyson’s Knights romantically arguing with his amour yourself! If we’re really gon’na do this we’ll need some preparation—coats, enamel cups, a thermos of coffee; you smoke? You don’t do you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s one thing the less. Neither do I. OK, lem’me get everything gathered t’gether, gim’me twenty minutes.”

An hour later, just before midnight by Helen’s luminous wrist-watch face, the two were ensconced in the first chamber of the tomb; the guards already there having been told of the change of routine by a hurried visit from Janice; she leading the two tyros to the location in the dark before leaving them to their own devices for the rest of the night.

“I’ve seen worse Hotel rooms!”

“Ha!” Kenny snorting at this description of their temporary quarters.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan?”

Helen sighed as she finally brought the storm lantern to life, a bright light then illuminating the stone walls of the chamber.

“You must have some idea of what you’re doing, surely?”

Kenny, brought to the point, merely shrugged.

“Well, I just thought we’d sort’a just stay here an’ see what happens, is all.”

“That’s a plan?” Helen disbelieving of her own ears.

“Well, yeah, why not?”

Helen sighed again.

“Ken, I love ya. Yes, it’s a mystery, I know; but there you are!”

The first hour went by without incident; Kenny standing out on the narrow trail alongside the tomb entrance now and again, the guards on duty some twenty yards further down the trail by their own small camp fire, Helen joining him once or twice.

On one of these dual appearances, the guards fire having faltered to just a faint pile of embers, they well out of earshot, Kenny fell to philosophising, for no apparent reason.

“It’s the stillness an’ quietness.”

“What?” Helen, who had been thinking about breakfast, taken off-guard.

“This place; I mean the whole general area—Amarna and all it means.” Kenny waving his arm into the dead of night all round. “The whole of this region of desert, once a great city, now nothing but rubble and faint memories. Makes you think.”

Helen nodded understandingly.

“I’ve only been here, in Egypt, twice in the past, never for more than four weeks together. But still, I got a trace of what you mean; a whole lot of History for one country to be burdened with, certainly.”

Kenny waved an arm again.

“It’s the silence, where you know there used to be a thriving city with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of citizens—a rich full life, now all gone, actually scattered to the four winds. I mean, what’s it all about in the end?”

Helen shook her head this time.

“It’s all about living your own life, Ken, as best you can, that’s all. Don’t go gettin’ soppy on me here of all places, for God’s sake!”

But the Glaswegian was on a roll.

“If you’d said that to one of the original citizens here, back then, they’d have understood what you meant—one God, an’ all that. Not like the rest of the world at the time, all meandering along under a plethora of polytheistic Gods and Goddess’s, an’ armies of Demons from Hades!”

Helen thought she had discovered the root cause of this inner doubt by her companion.

“You feeling scared, Ken? It gets people that way often, I’m sure. The atmosphere of this land, especially at night.”

Kenny reacted against this with feeling.

“Night! My best time, or haven’t I told you before? Nah, ain’t that; just some long established necessity t’consult, oh, I don’t know, one’s inner soul in a place and time like we have here. I mean, look at the stars up there—bloody thousands of the things!”

The distant guards’ fire having by this time nearly fallen into a pile of dull ashes and a thick cotton curtain acting as temporary door-cover to the tomb entrance the full glory of the night sky was revealed across the entire firmament; splashes, trails, and groups of stars in infinite numbers glittering from horizon to horizon.

“An astronomer’s delight!” Helen feeling the influence of the night herself. “Wonder how many other people, on distant planets circling round distant stars, are watching their skies, and thinking about whether we, ourselves, exist or not?”

Kenny, of course, had no immediate answer to this deep question; and didn’t need one anyway as there came from further down the trail towards the earlier tombs a sound reminiscent of boots scraping over gritty sand.

“What was that?” Kenny on the alert at once, like a fox in the wild.

“Someone’s back there, and gettin’ closer every minute, I think!” Helen on the ball herself. “Look! The guards’ve heard it too. Got your shotgun? Lem’me get my pistol from my pack, back in a jiffy.”

But the alarm turned out to be a false one when the guards’ fire, hurriedly kicked back into life, showed the forms of Janice and Mel striding along the trail towards them, themselves armed to the teeth.

“Hi-ya, folks!” Mel making the introductions for the extraordinary meeting. “We came prepared as you see! Mind you, had a hell’uva job stoppin’ Jan from cartin’ her Gatlin’ along for the ride, too! How’s things?”

“What’re you both doin’ up here at this time of night?” Helen as astonished as Kenny.

“Oh, just doin’ our usual stint’s all.” Janice making light of their presence as they all stood by the tomb entrance. “We, Mel an’ I, always come around this time t’relieve the guards, take the late shift till mornin’ ourselves. So, how’s it been? Any sighting of Tomkins, or ghosts of the long departed? Nefertiti been by t’say hallo yet?”

“No, nothing like.” Helen laughing against her inner feelings. “Why, expecting such yourself?”

“No, not really,” Mel answering for her partner. “Just, y’never know, y’know!”

Kenny was more interested in another aspect concerning the new arrivals.

“What’re those? Looks like you have half the armament of a specialist army squad between you both.”

“These?” Mel sniggering out loud with something very like a simper added for good effect. “Only our Lee-Enfield rifles, and a coupl’a Nineteen-eleven pistols each, is all. Jan’s whip, o’course, an’ I have a Bowie knife at my hip big enough t’gut Bigfoot!”

“Jee-sus!” Helen taken aback by this exhibition of prepared militarism. “Between you both, gon’na instigate a war or die tryin’, eh?”

Janice nodded coldly, showing no sign of fear or consternation at the question.

“Yeah, if need be, sure!”

Kenny could see the underlying motivation behind this dramatic outlook on life however.

“You really mean to keep this find to yourselves as long as possible, don’t you? No chance of Tomkins, or anybody else of the same ilk, butting-in, eh?”

“Just so, Ken, exactly that an’ nothing less.” Mel nodding agreement with her scowling partner. “Anybody tries they get a lesson in manners they won’t forget—those that survive, anyway!”

“Your shift’s nearly up now.” Janice focusing on present matters. “What say you both call it a day, or night; only half an hour or so of your shift left. Mel an’ I’ll take over for the rest of the night. How’s that sound? Find your way back t’our camp OK?”

Helen glanced at Kenny, both nodding as she answered.

“Thanks, feel I need my beauty sleep, more so now than ever before, t’be truthful.” Helen grinning at her hostesses. “Come on, Ken, my bed an’ the Land o’Nod are both cryin’ out t’me something shockin’.”

With no other course open to him Kenny satisfied his feelings by looking defeated at all points, nodding goodnight wordlessly to Janice and Mel as they prepared to take over the security of the tomb, before finally coming back firing a last salvo of his own.

“See you both in the mornin’, then. Don’t shoot anythin’ that doesn’t need shootin’, mind. Tomkins bein’ the exception t’that rule, o’course! G’night, ladies!”

Chapter Seven.

“I know I’m an amateur.” Kenny trying, next day round about 1.00pm, to hold his end up under tiresome circumstances as the small group stood more or less in the centre of what remained of the city of Amarna. “But we’ve been taken this morning, under your tutelage ladies, round the Northern Palace, the Northern Riverside Palace, the Temple of Ra, and various other buildings, none of which rise more than knee-high above the sand, of which substance there’s a dam’ sight too much all round. Apart from the stone footprints of former buildings, if that’s what they actually are, there’d be nothing at all to see! I’m amazed at the imaginative power of archaeologists concerning this place, to tell the truth.”

“It’s all down to detail, Ken.” Mel trying to defend the experts’ position. “The infinite aspects of whatever historical objects still remain for us have to be sifted minutely to gain whatever information they contain for us.”

Kenny shrugged at this.

“Most of what’s round here is just sand. Even what we can see is just plain stone, in the few arches or columns, and the floor-bases scattered here an’ there. Not much t’be gleaned from those, surely?”

“There’ve been a lot of solid artefacts found all over this site, in actual fact.” Janice coming to the help of her fellow archaeologists. “Not least the busts and statues of Akhenaten and Nefertiti, especially the famous bust of the Queen that everybody knows.”

“I give you that, certainly.” Kenny unable to do anything else. “But there haven’t been any greater, more extensive, finds, have there? What about the mummies of the Pharaoh and Queen? Where are they, yet? Not to mention this dam’ scarab that’s reputed to hold the key to Time Travel?”

“There was a German archaeologist, back in the thirties, can’t remember his name off-hand, who thought he was on the track of the scarab; spent months rambling all over this joint, digging holes everywhere with the self-assurance an’ lack of respect or interest in consequences that the national Regime of his country’s time is now infamous for!” Janice delving into her memory of past times. “Anyway, how close he came to success we’ll never know; he vanishing one day tooth, nail, an’ hair, never t’be seen again!”

Helen laughed, if shortly.

“Meb’be he did find it, the scarab; used it an’ now’s kickin’ his chilly heels somewhere back in the Pleistocene, or even further back!”

Kenny could see the funny side of this too.

“Yeah, and in a few months some other archaeologist’ll be diggin’ up the fossil of a dinosaur somewhere in Idaho an’ find it’s last meal was someone wearin’ a wristwatch an’ Army boots—ha-ha!”

Mel shook her head, mortified by this weak understanding of geological Time Periods and geographical localities.

“Children—both of you! Do get a grip, please!”

“Are you both doing anything out at the tomb t’day?” Helen striving to bring the conversation back to a suitable subject.

“Only some dustin’ an’ general nosying around.” Janice sniffing authoritatively. “Take a look at the reliefs on the walls, see the sarcophagus is in good condition—no cracks or fissures that may affect its long term viability, that sort’a thing. Wan’na come along?”

Helen and Kenny both replied to this offer as with one voice.

“Yeah, of course, why-ever not!”

—O—

The tomb, or at least its entrance along the winding narrow cliff trail when the group reached it an hour later, was a hive of activity—the guards on duty there obviously having recently been spooked by something. The guard in charge grabbing Janice’s wrist on her arrival like a sinking survivor of a shipwreck the side-line from an approaching lifeboat.

“Effendi—Effendi! The Dragon, he has been! He has made terrible threats and called down the Demons of Hell on all our shoulders, and yours’ too, to the furthest descendant of your grandchildren even! Oh, Effendi!”

“Dragon?” Kenny on tenterhooks immediately, misunderstanding across the board. “Jee-sus! What dam’ Dragon? Nobody said anything about dam’ Dragons! What kind’a Dragon? How bloody big? Dangerous, are they? Bet they dam’ are—just my dam’ luck!”

“Tomkins!” Mel attempting to bring reason to a flood of unreason and anxiety. “Just Tomkins—it’s what the locals call him behind his back, because of his general nature and method of communicating with his underlings.”

“Oh!” Kenny colouring slightly, realising he was making a further spectacle of himself.

While they all stood there before the entrance Janice conducted a quick debrief of the guard, finally coming up with the bare facts of the incident.

“Seems Tomkins, along with three sidekicks, came here about an hour ago, armed t’the teeth and determined to take over the premises.” Janice reporting to Mel, Helen, and Kenny as they stood in the front chamber of the tomb proper a few minutes later. “He threatened to start a gunfight if the guards didn’t put down their weapons and flee, but Mohammad, the Head Guard, stood by his position and faced Tomkins off. Mohammad finally felt it necessary to cock his shotgun an’ point it at Tomkins. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a loaded Holland and Holland twelve-bore pointed at your stomach in anger, but such tends generally to loosen your bowels more than somewhat. Tomkins, it transpires, turned pale, began quivering, then turned on his heel and took himself and his minions off back down the trial. We must’a missed them returning by minutes, if not mere seconds.”

“He didn’t make it into the tomb?” Kenny covering the major issue.

“No, Mohammad made sure of that.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t come back, perhaps quickly; meb’be with reinforcements?” Helen facing a nasty possibility.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Janice frowning thoughtfully. “Just knew I should’a brought the Gatlin’ up much earlier than this. Wonder if there’s time t’remedy that mistake yet?”

This was too much for Helen, even in her junior role, to suffer without argument.

“I’m not gon’na be party to a dam’ machine-gun firin’ off helter-skelter anywhere around, or in, this tomb! Take that as carved in dam’ stone, ladies!”

“Oh, dam’!” From a disappointed Janice.

“Just as well.” Mel taking the same sane course. “Would only make matters worse in the long run. A few well-aimed shotgun or rifle shots amongst friendly rivals might be quietly glossed over—this bein’, after all, Egypt; but a machine-gun—no, that’d be bound t’cause a political incident; wake-up the dozin’ Mandarins in the dusty Corridors of Egyptian Power!”

“Think so, babe?” Janice still not willing to abandon her pet hope.

“Yeah, I do!”

“Oh, dam’!” Janice forced to repeat herself, no other course being readily available.

Inside the front chamber all was as quiet as a ——; that is to say, the explorers, under Janice’s tight command, fell to examining the walls there; these being covered in both relief carvings with human figures engaged in obscure rites or actions, beautiful scenes of nature with various animals and birds, and long hieroglyphic texts, easily understood by the two veteran archaeologists, particularly Mel, but wholly meaningless to Helen and Kenny.

“They all seem t’be wearin’ the same sort’a dress, men an’ women,” Kenny making a fashion critique after staring intently at one wall for several minutes. “Short white, linen I suppose, skirts, an’ nothin’ else.”

“Yeah, the standard outfit of the time.” Janice hardly interested in this common-place observation.

“Some sort’a religious observance goin’ on, by the looks of it.” Kenny continuing his virginal assessment of the scenes before him.

“Can ya move out’ta the way, buster?” Mel pushing him gently aside like a used napkin. “Wan’na get t’the corner here, thanks.”

Standing in the middle of the square room, out of harm’s way he sincerely hoped, Kenny fell to gazing at the entrance door to the actual sarcophagus chamber with the avid eye of a 1930’s socialite a new Schiaparelli dress in a high-class fashion atelier window.

“Can’t we—”

“No!” Janice’s tone adamant and unyielding. “Can ya stand over t’the side a trifle, you’re blockin’ my light.”

Driven to the expedient, through a misplaced sense of protection over the innocent civilian no doubt, Helen felt forced to intervene on both their halves.

“Look, I’m some sort’a a student at least in these things; what say I go over the walls in the sarcophagus chamber, takin’ some preliminary notes an’ what-not, along with Ken t’help out? Sound fair?”

Mel paused in her activities, glanced somewhat unconvinced towards her better half, then gave in if only for comfort’s sake in the short term.

“Oh, alright! But watch your step, young lady, one foot out’ta place, one scratch anywhere, an’ Zeus’s thunderbolts’ll seem like minor irritations t’the Shock an’ Awe I’ll dam’ well rain down on your shoulders instead—get me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure!” Helen taking her chance while it still hung in the close air. “Come on, Ken, follow me, an’ for God’s sake, watch every dam’ step you take, OK?”

—O—

The interior chamber had an eerie atmosphere, and not only because of the huge sarcophagus; something seemed to vibrate in the air and the very structure of the walls, but not at a frequency easily felt by any visitor-it working more on the intellectual level rather than the corporeal body. Helen seemed to be getting on with taking notes while Kenny simply began to go downhill at an exponential rate.

“I don’t like this place, reeks of death.”

Helen paused to cock an ear to her companion’s witterings.

“What? What was that? I’m tryin’ t’work here.”

“It’s dam’ cold in here.”

Helen shook her head, trying to focus on her work.

“Stone walls, deep underground—all tombs are like this, get used t’it, laddie.”

“What’re those decorations all over the roof?” Kenny determined to continue his panoramic criticism of the place come what may. “Little white an’ goldish spots against a deep blue—oh, I get it! Stars in the night sky, yeah!”

“Gods!” Helen driven to rise from the low crouch she had been sustaining while recording a set of wall hieroglyphics near the ground. “Many tombs have those. It was a regular tradition for the sarcophagus chamber in a number of tombs and at least one pyramid. Any other—no, don’t bother. Look, could you stand further back in the chamber, behind the far side of the sarcophagus? Just for me, lover?”

Kenny gave his loved partner a straight look but she seemed to be serious enough.

“What? Over here do?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Helen nodding abstractedly as she concentrated on the wall texts. “Don’t touch the sarcophagus, by the way; that’d just anger Jan to no purpose. And if a bit, however small, falls off it you’ll be in real trouble for sure.”

“Heavens!” Kenny shaking his own head in disbelief at his current situation. “Like being back in old Miss Martin’s class at primary school. If you think Janice Covington could be a tyrant, you just haven’t any memories of close contact with Miss Martin any time she’d lost her rag. Sort’a thing ya tend t’remember down through the years, y’know. Old wounds an’ all that.”

“Ken, I truly believe this place’s making you lose your mind!”

Trying to occupy himself, and having lost interest in the chamber’s decoration, he turned to examining the sarcophagus itself.

“Why’s it made of this curious greenish stone? Granite, is it?”

Helen, deep in trying to translate hieroglyphics with little previous experience, gave little note to this interruption.

“Must be, I suppose.” Kenny continuing his inner dialogue as if he actually had a listener who was contractually fulfilling the requirements of that high position. “Porphyry, perhaps? Not that I’ve ever seen any such myself. What other green stone is there? Marble, meb’be. Nah, doesn’t look like marble, not glossy enough.”

This useless and unrewarding monologue was suddenly interrupted in a manner neither he nor Helen could ever have imagined if they had been given an extra thousand years each to go over various increasingly unlikely possibilities.

Through the entrance leading to the outer chamber Janice erupted like a Valkyrie on an urgent errand, unlike her usual reserved manner, uncurled whip in one hand, heavy revolver in the other. Close on her heels came Mel, but a Mel subtly changed in stance, physical presence, and overall manner, a strange circular metal implement in one hand and a sword in the other—the origin of the latter being a mystery to the two astonished spectators.

“What the Hell?” Helen turning to face the interlopers. “Watch what you’re up to, might damage something!”

“We’re OK!” Mel giving a quick nod. “Just watch out for yourselves, leave it t’Gab an’ I; we’ll defend you both, don’t worry—and the sarcophagus, of course.”

“Don’t touch it, by the way.” Janice/Gab looking mean as a half-drowned rat. “It’s comin’ t’life.”

“It’s what? Life? What d’ya mean? What’s goin’—”

“Just stay as far away from it as you both can, when things start t’come loose.” Janice/Gab frowning darkly as she faced the entrance to the short passage leading to the outer chamber. “Xena an’ I’re in charge now! Jus’ let us do our job, OK?”

Kenny looked to Helen, now beside him, for some kind of clarity; but she could only shake her head in reply. Moving his lips he voiced the words ‘Xena—Gab?” soundlessly to no effect, Helen merely again shrugging in answer.

Meanwhile Mel and Janice, or Gab or whoever she seemed to think she was, had both turned to the door entrance taking up a defensive stance as if expecting a squad of soldiers to rush through at any minute. Mel took a moment to glance behind her to the unknowing duo standing there somewhat inadequately.

“Mel an’ Janice ain’t here fer the time bein’—we’ve taken their places! I’m Xena, a warrior; this’s Gabrielle, she’s an Amazon, an’ a dam’ good one! Everything’s goin’ belly-up, if ya hadn’t already guessed! We’re bein’ attacked by a band of desperadoes, heavily armed all round.”

“We’re here t’help!” Janice/Gab nodding agreement with this assessment. “They’re bad, but we’ve dealt with worse, an’ more at the same time. Jus’ stay easy an’ everything’ll come right.”

“It’s gon’na trigger the sarcophagus, or at least the occupant an’ her appurtenances—one of which is dam’ powerful—.” Xena frowning darkly herself.

“The green scarab?” Kenny unable to restrain his question.

“Yeah—that, sure!” Xena nodding again. “It can help, an’ it can dam’ well hinder, dependin’. Just hope you, an’ all of us here t’day, are firmly on the former list is all!”

“What about the guards outside?” Helen covering a relevant question herself. “They’re armed with shotguns!

“Not enough o’them.” Janice/Gab turning for an instant to pass on her news. “The leader—the Dragon—”

“Tomkins?” Helen spitting this out with venom.

“Yeah, him!” Janice/Gab agreeing with a growl wholly unlike the original Janice. “He’s managed to assemble around forty other thugs, from here an’ there round about—or maybe he brought them with him and just concealed them somewhere in the nearby desert wastes. Anyway, they’re all here right now, armed t’the teeth.”

“That many?” Kenny feeling sick at the thought. “And only us four here? And you’re only armed with whips, a sword of all things, and a few hand-guns? How d’ya expect us t’triumph over these kind’a odds?”

Here Xena, or a re-purposed Mel, turned swiftly to give Kenny an extraordinarily piercing glance which made his blood run cold.

“Fewer, sure, but far more determined and dangerous. Have ya never heard how Horatius and two companions held the Bridge against Lars Porsena’s Roman army? If he could do that successfully, we can dam’ well do this!”

Feeling he had just been buffeted with a meaningful patriotic harangue Kenny retreated into silence, feeling all he could do was let what might happen, and hope for the best.

Helen had something to contribute, but before she could gain the attention of either of the apparent warrior women all Hell did indeed break loose.

There was a noisy commotion unseen in the far outer chamber, then a group of armed men rushed into the burial chamber waving knives and automatic pistols while screaming and howling like a whole army of Dervishes. In the same instant Janice/Gab and Mel/Xena strode forward into the fray like seasoned warriors who had faced harsher opponents in their time, and the dust really began to fly all round.

To the astonished watching eyes of Helen and Kenny the whole thing seemed like a scene from an Action movie; one man jumped forward facing-off Gab but she lithely ducked under his pistol’s barrel, swinging her whip against his upper legs bringing him to the ground with a solid thump amidst a cloud of dust. For her part Xena swung her circular weapon wide, like a knife or sword—another attacker’s head being nearly fully severed in a red mist as the weapon sliced through his throat; his jerking body flailing around for a few seconds, getting in the way of others’ attempted attacks. But there were many more ready to replace these fallen victims of their violent intentions, several coming to the fore in a line stopping the defenders from any chance of easily escaping the tight confines of the chamber. But Xena had noticed something further happening to add to their woes.

“Watch out!” She waving a defensive hand at Helen and Kenny. “Look! The sarcophagus! It’s coming t’Life! We’re in the sh-t now, fer sure!”

Turning their gaze to the massive stone sarcophagus Helen and Kenny watched in awe as the whole object, from end to end, began to glow from its interior outwards, the surface now glowing as if hot metal but with a deep green flush. Within seconds the very air around the receptacle began to shimmer and waver until suddenly there came a brilliant flash of greenish-white light that seemed to envelope the very souls of the four near it—then all was quiet and dark in the chamber, silence pervading the atmosphere all round.

The scrape of a match on the side of its paper cover, a flicker of flame, and the chamber was temporarily lit again; Kenny holding the flimsy source of temporary light high. Inside the chamber only the four defenders seemed to be still present, all sign of their attackers having vanished, including the bodies of the fallen. Everyone stood silent, gasping for breath, before Helen spoke up, airing her semi-professional outlook on their surroundings.

“Look! Look at the walls! The carvings, hieroglyphics, an’ carvings. They’re all in pristine condition, pure colour all over them, and the carving edges sharp as if they’d been done yesterday! And the sarcophagus ain’t here anymore! What’s happened?”

“Where’re the attackers?” Kenny focused on the main question. “Where’d they all go?”

Gab and Xena had been, all this time, glancing around and at each other with expressions which obviously said as clearly as words that they at least knew exactly what had happened.

“It’s not where they went—it’s where we’ve gone!” Xena putting their realisation into words. “Come on, let’s get out in the open air—but be ready for a dam’ strong surprise.”

“Why?” Helen following the two warrior women as they led the way along the short intervening passage to the outer chamber and daylight.

“Because you ain’t gon’na believe it’s why.” Gabrielle shrugging as if bearer of news she already knew her listeners weren’t going to accept in a month of rainy Sundays, whatever their eyes might tell them otherwise.

Through the outer chamber, silent and empty itself though its wall decorations were in visibly far better condition than the tourists had noted previously from their earlier, or later now as things were turning out, visits. They strode out onto the sand of the narrow ledge trail with the panorama of the unending desert lying far beyond; only now, in the broad daylight of the scene, instead of the few remnants of the ruins of the ancient city of Amarna, or Akhetaten, now spread out far into the distance were roads, buildings, Temples, and huge arches, all showing the presence of a wide, gigantic thriving and bustling city, hundreds of citizens clearly visible passing along the wide streets and avenues as if all was right with the world. A busy traffic in horse-drawn chariots and carts also visible, adding to the realisation there was a busy city operating at full pressure just half a kilometre from them, in place of a dusty broken terrain of barely visible remnants and ruins.

“Behold! Akhetaten!” Xena waving an arm wide as if the place belonged to her in toto.

“Akhetaten?” Kenny all at sea.

“Amarna?” Helen standing looking out over the view with open mouth. “Where are we? Where is this?”

“What you ought to be askin’,” Gab shrugging unworriedly. “is when are you! To be exact somewhere around what you’d classify as three and a half thousand years before now—or, at least, the year an’ time you’re both used t’livin’ in.”

There was a long pause while both Helen and Kenny tried to assimilate this information, then Helen tried her best.

“You’re telling us we’ve regressed t’one an’ a half thousand BC? How? I mean—How?”

“The sarcophagus.” Xena glancing at the two with an open sneer of contempt. “Its occupant possesses what you call the green scarab. Its powers are way beyond anything you can possibly imagine. Transporting all four of us here, and dealing with those attackers—as it certainly has by now—back in your own time is child’s play to what it could do if pushed.”

Here Helen finally asked the most important question of her whole present visit to Egypt.

“Who’s in that dam’ stone coffin, back in our own Time?”

Xena and Gab exchanged glances again, Xena finally coming to the fore in answer.

“Who d’ya think, lady?”

Put on the spot Helen looked to Kenny for support, but immediately realised the uselessness of this.

“Well—well, I suppose—I suppose it’s either Akhenaten, or—”

“It’s Nefertiti!” Gab coming to the assistance of the two modern explorers. “In your own time she’s in the sarcophagus, with her green scarab. While now, in this time, she’s in her Palace down there on the outskirts of Akhetaten, large as life!”

Chapter Eight.

“By the way, it’s daylight!” Kenny coming to some level of consciousness. “Early mornin’, by my reading of the Sun’s position.”

“That’s by the by.” Xena turning to head down the trail. “Come on, the sooner we reach the Palace an’ face Her, the better!”

This suggestion agitated Helen no end.

“Meet Nefertiti! Why? Last thing I wan’na do—I wan’na go home, as quickly as possible, thank you! Can you reverse the spell, or whatever brought us here; if so, now’s the time—just a wild suggestion, y’know!”

While Gab and Xena stood non-plussed by the reactions of their companions Kenny made another disconcerting discovery.

“Your guns, or at least Janice’s and Mel’s, and ours—they’ve disappeared! Where’d they go. I feel defenceless without my shotgun.”

“Ya didn’t think your modern weapons’d come back here, did ya?” Xena scornful in the extreme. “Time don’t work that way; Gab an’ I’ve been through it enough times t’know that. What doesn’t belong in another Time Period don’t get t’go t’another Time Period—period! Get me?”

“F-ck!” Kenny finding for the first time what the end of the tether really felt like. “Thousands o’years back in Time an’ I don’t get t’shoot anyone who annoys me, an’ be the King o’all Creation after? That ain’t fair.”

Gab and Xena exchanged another glance redolent this time of a scene repeated in their presence too often now by others to retain any interest.

“Yeah—Yeah!” Gab giving the final word on the subject. “Jus’ remember, when ya meet Her Highness etiquette is all. They go big on etiquette in the Royal Palace here in the Eighteenth Dynasty; one word or phrase out’ta place an’ you get it in the neck, OK?”

“F-ck me!” Kenny lost for words entirely.

“That’s nice!” Helen beginning to think she was simply hallucinating the whole affair, feeling strangely light-headed as a result.

They had been walking in a tight group all this time back down the sandy trail along the top of the scree slopes under the vertical cliffs, and had now reached the position of the earlier known tombs which now provided yet another series of surprises for the two unknowing travelers from another Time.

“Everything’s smart an’ fresh; looks like the entrances were just completed yesterday!” Helen full of astonishment coupled with interest in the now visible details and features, in the architectural sense, long since destroyed in her own Time. “Look there—so that’s what—”

“Pick up the speed a little, will ya?” Xena butting-in with her usual brashness. “We got’ta ways t’go, an’ we’re expected, y’know—t’day, not next dam’ month!”

This revelation only stirred further apprehension in both Helen and Kenny, the latter worst of all.

“Expected? You mean this’s by way o’bein’ an appointment? This was all meant t’happen, an’ you two knew all along? That’s dam’ rude, ain’t it? What kind’a—”

But both Xena and Gab had taken enough back-chat, moving ahead with that determined stride denoting people with a destination in mind and view, unwavering in their resolution to get there sooner rather than later.

“Hey! Wait fer us!” Kenny feeling like a small boy lagging behind on a school outing.

“Well, dam’ hurry up then!” Gab throwing this mild encouragement over her shoulder with a certain, probably calculated, level of indifference evident in her tone.

—O—

Entering the city, from the north-east, presented no problem there being no encircling wall or Main Gates; the traveler merely exchanging loose sand underfoot for the stone flagstones of the pavements and roadways, bordered on either hand by high solid buildings of various types and purposes—the citizens milling around obviously busy about their personal business, not paying much if any attention to the new arrivals.

“They’re well-used to travelers from foreign climes.” Xena allowing this explanation off-handedly after noticing the surprise on Helen’s and Kenny’s faces. “Folks from all sorts’a distant countries come to visit an’ pay their respects here; you two ain’t nuthin’ out’ta the ordinary.”

“Oh!” Which was as much as Helen felt capable by way of reply.

Although the general environs and borders of the main city were undefended by encircling walls the same could not be said for the North Riverside Palace, set on the very edge of the Nile’s banks just after entering the city proper. Built to a roughly square plan a twenty foot tall stone-built wall did encircle the entire complex, several square towers rising at intervals ten feet further out from the walls and another ten or so feet above them, flagpoles set on each with wavering coloured banners hanging in the still air. As Xena and Gab approached what seemed the Main Gate the guards on duty respectfully stood aside to allow the travelers through without let or hindrance, some showing a certain level of apprehension if not outright fear as the two Warrior Women passed-by.

“Looks like this Xena an’ Gab have a reputation that’s preceded them here!” Helen whispering to Kenny as they passed under the Gate into the sunshine of the Palace complex beyond.

The Palace itself, which the travelers had been aware of since coming close to the city’s boundary, was built of heavy granite blocks, the plan exactly rectangular with the near short face acting as the main entrance. Two large flat-fronted towers stood high on each side with a lower section between where the actual doorway appeared. Again receiving no barrier to their movements from the extant guards the group of four walked through to find themselves in an open garden-like enclosure with covered pillared walkways resembling cloisters along each side on the interior walls of which were a series of doors leading to the private rooms of the inhabitants. The far end was cut-off by an internal wall with several flat-topped arches through which the visitors could see another enclosed garden similar to the one they now stood in.

“Come on, this way!” Gab jumping into the lead with a skipping step.

Before Helen and Kenny hardly had time to assimilate their new environment they found themselves deeper in the complex facing a large highly decorated and coloured entrance, glazed tiles in bright colours much in evidence.

Helen raised her eyebrows enquiringly, Xena answering the unspoken question with alacrity.

“The Throne-room!”

“Yeah, this’s where you both start mindin’ your p’s an’ q’s,” Gab jumping-in again. “if ya wan’na see the stars in the night-sky t’night—only sayin’.”

The Throne-room, or more exactly Hall, on entering proved beyond any expectations either Helen or Kenny had previously formed. The Presence Chamber, which was its primary purpose, reflected all the amassed treasures and richness of aeons of earlier Pharaohs and Queens, brought together in this one spot to enthrall and amaze all who experienced it. The walls, forty feet in height, were of marble threaded with wide veins of green Jaspery; the roof wholly open to the air in line with the worship of the One God Ra, the Sun God; though horizontally laid panels of teak half-glazed with thin sheets of a translucent mother-of-pearl-like material formed a partial roof allowing a pale creamy glow to enfold the room. Along each side pillars, each richly carved with reliefs showing the various Gods and Goddesses at play with both the Pharaoh and Queen, reached to this roof all enriched with brilliant colours of green, blue, crimson, yellow and pauline grey. The floor was of mustard coloured granite smoothed and polished to a perfection that allowed you to see your exact reflection in passing over them. At various points along the sides of the vast enclosure tall silver or gold vessels on stands emitted perfumes and incense in throat-caressing swirls of pale clouds that spoke of far distant fields of asphodels and lilies. At the end of the room, set on a high dais stretching across the whole end of the Hall, reached by seven marble steps, was placed the Royal Throne itself; a thing of beauty that would not have embarrassed Pheidias himself for the making. A double arm’s-breadth wide, the back seven feet in height, the whole either covered in or, Gods’ be Praised, made entirely throughout of pure gold incised overall with etchings of astonishing nature, being entirely fantastical, featuring birds, fish, and beasts long departed from the natural fields of everyday, but recalled in legend. Occupying this Seat of Power unparalleled clothed, as was only fitting in a Queen who worshipped the all-powerful Sun-God, in a loose dress of thin virtually transparent yellow Greek linen reclined the form of the present Queen of All Egypt, the Lower as well as the Higher—Queen Nefertiti, Principal Wife of the Pharaoh Akhenaten.

Standing before the Monarch, less than ten feet dividing them, Helen had the best possible chance to study one of the most famous Queens in all History, and was astonished by the enormous difference between firstly, the world famous bust, enamoured of all Museum-goers, and the living breathing original. Though sitting in majesty she was obviously as tall in reality as her bust suggests; rather thin of frame but elegant from head to toe in her roped silver sandals with pale yellow tinted toe-nails and brighter yellow finger-nails. Her features were also as thin and slightly elongated as her bust suggested but gave the impression of long established sophistication in her family tree which had simply reached its natural pinnacle in her beautiful features. Nose straight and fine, lips full and wide, tinted slightly pink; eyes ever so finely slanted but wide and inquisitive; make-up well-done but not offensively so, her eyelids particularly shaded in a mid-blue that focused attention on her clear black eyes. Her voice when she spoke, accompanied by a faint Regal nod which all the same reflected pure nobility in her whole demeanour, was entirely understood by the visitors; rich, clear, tinkling like a water-spring, and gently welcoming in tone.

“Greetings! Welcome to Akhetaten! One hopes you find our fair city to your liking?”

“Yes—er, yes!” Helen finding nothing more comprehensible in reply at short notice she, addressed so personally by such a world famous person, finding herself entirely speechless.

Nefertiti smiled indulgently, being used to this level of submission by her subjects.

“Xena! You and your companion Gabrielle always surprise me by appearing on each of your visits wearing the most unusual, not to say outlandish, costumes—but today you outdo yourself. I have never seen, nor envisaged, such curious costumes; madam, you appear somewhat over-dressed for the, ah, present conditions. Are you not suffering from the heat under all those all-enveloping clothes?”

Gabrielle took the forefront of replying to the Queen’s query.

“It’s what they, the ladies whose forms we have temporarily taken over, normally wear in their own time—that is, country—very far distant to the north, where it is far colder all year round, Majesty.”

“Of course, I understand.” The Queen nodding slightly again, a small smile parting her lips. “A pity you do not return with the Green Scarab you have been sent to search for and which we all so wish to possess, but there is time yet for that. If your guests are hungry or tired they can eat, drink, and rest in the rooms allotted to them; and we can continue our discussion later in the afternoon when the Sun-God has lowered his chariot in the Heavens closer to his evening bed. For the moment, then—”

Accompanying this last remark by the flicker of a delicate peacock feathered fan in one hand Nefertiti so signaled the interview was closed for the present.

Caught in a swirl of activity Helen and Kenny could hardly recall the next five minutes, being escorted from the Throne-room by Xena and Gabrielle; led through the internal gardens to another part of the extensive complex, and finally guided into a set of rooms like an apartment where they could have privacy. On a low marble table a fine light meal, mostly of fruits and nuts with beakers of light wine, was laid out for their delectation while in the next room a large bed covered in beautiful linen sheets spoke of the rest the two truly needed.

“We’ll leave you both here for the present.” Gabrielle giving her instructions with a wide smile. “Just stay here till Xena and I return in a handful of clepsydras; that is, a few hours. Take a meal, lie down and rest, but don’t go out exploring, you’ll only get in trouble, one way or the other, OK?”

Kenny, still unable to wholly understand where they were or what exactly was going on, simply nodded; while Helen, hardly better off, sighed quietly.

“Never thought in a million years I’d ever meet Nefertiti of all people! She’s—she’s—”

“Beautiful?” Xena speaking with an edge of sarcasm and lifted eyebrow though with an accompanying faint smile.

“Yes—yes!”

“See you both later.” Gabrielle bringing the scene to a close, walking jauntily to the door a step behind the taller darker Warrior Woman.

—O—

The well-proportioned room was excellently furnished, in what Helen thought rather a Scandinavian style; wood tables, chairs and large dressers against two walls; colourful painted scenes of natural life with animals and birds against a pale blue background on all the walls, and a large wide bed with beautiful white linen sheets and long round bolster as pillow. On the table a light meal in wide bowls and plates, with beakers of wine present, small glass goblets ready to hand.

“All in all, a pretty fair Hotel’s set-up!” Kenny regaining his capacity to say the wrong thing at the most inappropriate moment.

“Except for room service!” Helen hitting the target dead centre as usual. “Say, wish I’d brought a camera! Imagine the furore it’d make when I brought back actual photos of the Eighteenth Dynasty, and Akhetaten as it was in Life! Not t’mention actual portraits of Akhenaten, wherever He may be at present, an’ Nefertiti true t’Life! They’d make world news, probably make me, us, famous, too.”

Kenny was on this fantasy in an instant, shaking his head disappointingly.

“No, they wouldn’t, dear.”

Helen assumed her best hoity-toity manner at this.

“Oh, and why, dearest?”

“—‘cause the camera almost certainly wouldn’t accompany you here’s why.” Kenny having his answer ready to hand. “Remember, all our firearms didn’t make it here? Same thing with cameras, I bet. You could want to bring one; you could attempt to bring one; but the end result would simply be your empty hands when we arrived here, like the firearms!”

Helen thought about this for a few seconds.

“G-d’d-m!”

“In fact,” Kenny now on a run. “I’m amazed we managed to retain our clothes! Wasn’t there a Time Travel movie where the heroes jumped through Time and arrived at their destination butt nekkid? I’m sure I saw that movie somewhere.”

“Oh, yeah?” Helen seeing clearly which way her companion’s mind was working.

“Don’t be surprised if, on our return to modern times, we get there as naked as the day we were born, is all.” Kenny smiling indulgently at the thought. “I mean, we’re both adults an’ mature folk, ain’t we? Bound t’be something we can grab t’cover the essentials, I expect—always supposing we don’t materialize in the middle of a football crowd or whatever.”

Helen however had taken enough of this foolishness.

“If it works out that way all I can say is I’ll have something more than a few choice words t’exchange with those two gals, whoever the hell they are!”

“Yes, well, want some food? The fruit selection looks fresh an’ good—I’m famished, as it turns out.”

The hugger-mugger meal proceeded without further incident until at its close both felt refreshed and content with the world around them; or, at least, as much as was possible in the circumstances.

“Why d’ya think we’re here at all?” Helen sipping a goblet of white wine with returning enthusiasm for her surroundings. “I mean, what’s up?”

Kenny frowned over this, giving it his highest effort at reflection.

“Well, taking the history of these times, now, into consideration—Ancient Egypt and all its Dynasties and polytheistic religion—the underlying motif’ll probably be centred in something t’do with Religion, don’t you think?”

Helen gave this possibility some thought, finding in the end it held water.

“Yeah, most likely. But how’d that affect our Times—the late Nineteen-Hundreds? I mean, ain’t we got enough religious shenanigans goin’ on worldwide as it is, without the Gods from Ancient Egypt buttin’ in t’muddy the waters even more?”

Kenny frowned over this complex mystery again, finding the whole subject straining his reason to its limits.

“Well—well—look, meb’be Nefertiti, or Akhenaten, want t’replace our religions with their own—this single worship of, who is it, the Sun?”

“Ra!” Helen coming to his aid. “Knowing how things pan out in our time I wouldn’t be surprised if some enterprising religious nut with charisma didn’t succeed pretty well sermonising on that foundation!”

“Doesn’t bear thinkin’ about!” Kenny making his opinion public free of charge.

“It’s all t’do with this fabled dam’ green scarab—both Nefertiti, Gabrielle, and Xena, have all referred to it—as if it held all the keys to Life, Existence, Power, and, oh, Everything!”

“Yeah, not that I’ve yet t’cast eyes on the dam’ thing!”

“It’s in her coffin—the sarcophagus.”

“That’s another thing.” Kenny grabbing at this added worry niggling him. “The sarcophagus is, was, is, back there in the tomb in our own Time; but it, the sarcophagus, wasn’t in the chamber when we were initially transported back to this time, remember? So exactly where is the scarab right now?”

This gave Helen food for thought for most of the ensuing minute.

“She mentioned Jan—I mean Gabrielle an’ this Xena woman, had been tasked with finding it; so she has still to discover, or be given it I think.”

“She knows about it, though, and its powers.” Kenny clarifying this aspect of the matter.

“Yes,” Helen musing over this detail. “Yes, she does, don’t she!”

“I wonder what she’s up to?” Kenny returning to the kernel of the conversation with a worried frown.

Helen sat up with the expression of someone who had made a decision of note.

“Ken?”

“Yeah, what?”

“I know what I’m goin’ t’do!”

Kenny, intrigued, raised the appropriate eyebrow in reply.

“I’m gon’na hit the hay in that delightful lookin’ bed an’ take more than my fair ration of forty winks.” She nodding as one who’s mind was firmly made-up. “Bound t’wake up a New Gal fer sure!”

“Helen, you amaze me!”

—O—

The early evening did indeed reveal a new vitality in Helen’s attitude she rising, like Aphrodite from the waves, with a determined desire to get somewhere and get there fast.

“What’s happening with the Queen, right now?”

“What? How should I know?” Kenny sitting at the table nibbling at what bore a distressing resemblance to a bowl of muesli.

“We got’ta bring this whole thing to a head as soon as maybe, is what.” Helen focused on a plan. “We can’t roam around here, like tourists in Times Square, forever. Something’ got’ta be done!”

Kenny, clearly, didn’t feel the same impetus.

“Whatever’s t’be done I don’t see what! I mean, what can we do? Just wait on circumstances unravelling before our astonished, hopefully not too terrified, eyes is all.”

Helen shook her head in a passion if not outright rage.

“What are you, laddie? A Pacifist or what? Thought someone with diversions like yours—goin’ abroad of a night stealin’ from the rich an’ boorish—would have an entirely different outlook on this whole thing. Ain’t your fingers twitchin’ at all the treasures within reach all round?”

Kenny ceased crunching on a mouthful of nuts long enough to consider this request.

“As a matter of fact—no! You sadly, dear lady, underestimate my moral worth, y’know. It ain’t a career, pinchin’ things at dead of night, it’s a mere hobby, designed t’keep the ol’ brain cells active instead of mortifyin’ in’ta a mere bowl-full o’semolina!”

“Then I don’t think it’s been particularly successful in avoidin’ the inevitable!” Helen coming back with a zinger.

“Oy! That ain’t nice!”

This sweet family interchange was interrupted here by the door swinging wide to reveal the forms of the two female persons mostly to blame for their present position.

“Oh, you’re back?” Helen not feeling much sympathy and love at the moment.

“Yip, we have returned.” Gabrielle grinning with an renewed verve, wholly lost on her spectators.

“Feelin’ up t’a journey?” Xena, getting right down to business.

“Journey? What journey? Where?” Kenny feeling instantly antagonistic to virtually any suggestion from the warrior duo. “And, just in passing, what’s happened to those two nice women, Janice an’ Mel? You look the same, but you dam’ well ain’t, underneath.”

“No, we ain’t.” Xena acknowledging the rebuke without turning a hair.

“Same bodies, different, er, persons, characters, souls if you will.” Gabrielle at least trying to give a competent explanation. “Don’t worry, it’ll all come right in the end, you’ll see.”

“Different souls!” Kenny determined on dragging an answer from one or the other. “How’s that work?”

“Don’t ask.” Xena snapping this with her usual cold dismissiveness.

“Oh, that’s great!” Kenny reacting in opposition to this with deep-seated male chauvinism. “Only asked a relevant, significant indeed, question—an’ get told t’mind my own business! Very helpful! I don’t like bein’ here, in this Time amongst these deranged, an’ dam’ dangerous, people. Kindly take me back to my own Time soon’s ya feel competent t’do so; sometime in the next hour would fit my schedule fine, thanks.”

“What about me?” Helen feeling somewhat left out of this diatribe.

“Helen can look after herself!” Kenny uttering this prime example of idiocy before he thought, as usual.

“Oh, that’s just great!” Helen firing-up herself now. “You an’ I, Mister, will be havin’ significant words when we get back t’reality, mark my words, sunshine!”

Faced with this minor example of a Lover’s tiff Xena reacted as one would expect, with a cold sneer and an off-hand twist of her chin.

“Cut the lovin’ back an’ forth, folks, Queen Nefertiti needs ya both, pronto!”

Kenny merely met this with an ingenuous expression of unknowing; one that was bearing strongly, he himself felt, to take over as his standard reaction during daylight hours to all and everything.

Xena sighed, obviously overwhelmed by the gross imbecility of the male as a species.

“And it was the Big Lizards that went extinct!” Her mind on something entirely at odds with the current conversation, before coming back to her present sad situation. “Look, Nefertiti dearly loves a banquet, one where she can show-off her exotic visitors from far lands. You two, Gods’ know how, have slid into her favor that way, so the next item on your schedule is a vast, exotic, banquet that’ll make your eyes pop with it’s unrestricted opulence an’ luxury; so prepare yourselves!”

Helen, of course, immediately took the standard lady’s attitude to this invitation.

“Oh, but I haven’t the least little thing t’wear—Oh!”

Gabrielle, on the other hand, sniggered with ill-hidden meaning.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve come prepared for that! Here, this way, an’ watch the material, OK?”

This last aimed at three young servants coming through the entrance door laden with linen-wrapped bundles; they quickly crossing to lay these delicately on the somewhat disturbed bed.

“What’s all this?” Helen interested, against her better nature.

“Your evenin’ attire, madam!” Gabrielle getting in the last word with a broad grin of victory.

—O—

An hour,—or as Gabrielle insisted on describing it, two small clepsydras—, later the group of four found themselves heading inexorably towards the Northern Palace, built deep in the heart of the City a deal south of the Northern Riverside Palace where they had been in residence; thus revealing why Xena had said they would be taking a journey.

“Why?” Helen exerting her female option of questioning everything.

“—‘cause it has a huge Banqueting Hall.” Gabrielle, as they rode along in a large coach pulled by six horses, spreading knowledge like a farmer seeds in Autumn. “Riverside Palace’s for livin’ in; the more southern Northern Palace, don’t lose me here, is for playin’ in! Get it?”

“These Ancient Egyptians were always holding ceremonies of one sort or another, weren’t they?” Kenny musing on some long buried reading. “Liked t’enjoy themselves. That’s what a lot of the surviving murals show anyway, isn’t it.”

“Bit of an exaggeration.” Xena not having any of this loose thinking on her watch. “Mostly religious in content, I think you’ll find if you actually thought about it reasonably.”

Rebuffed so vigorously Kenny fell silent, determined not to open his mouth again until they had reached their destination.

“Don’t worry overmuch about etiquette t’night.” Gabrielle attempting to repair damaged egos. “Nefertiti likes t’unwind when amongst friends; lots of singing’ songs, some rather ribald if truth be told. An’ playin’ silly games an’ that sort’a thing. Don’t worry about refreshments, either; she always lays on a grand feast—roast ox’s, roast pigs; roast cows; roast starlings an’ smaller birds—it’s an Egyptian delicacy—roast Aurochs—”

“What’re they?” Helen interrupted, squirming slightly in her new dress, having an interest in what was potentially going to show up soon on her dinner-plate.

“A sort’a large cow.” Gabrielle ever happy to explain. “Don’t think they lasted till your Time—dam’ tasty, all the same; you’ll love their roasted steaks, t’die for y’know.”

“Don’t take Gab at her word on anythin’ t’do with food,” Xena snorting in derision. “She’s a bottomless pit t’anythin’ cooked an’ presented on a salver—any’ dam’ thing at all, doesn’t even need t’be properly cooked! If it’s at least meant t’be eaten she’ll dam’ well gobble it up like a starvin’ bireme slave rower.”

“Enough o’that nasty criticism, lady!” Gabrielle taking all this light-heartedly. “The way you down full amphora’s of wine you’d think there was no bottom t’your stomach, either. Especially by the way y’act afterwards, on the way home—singin’ inappropriate songs, demandin’ t’dance with anyone who passes by, an’ even more outrageous things if I wasn’t there t’restrain ya all the time.”

“Har!”

On arrival the Northern Palace showed no signs of the more elaborate and showy Riverside Palace. It was surrounded by the obligatory high wall of heavy thick granite blocks reaching some twenty feet high; the single entrance door the only delicately bordered area in sight, with an arm’s-span wide relief carved into both sides of the immediate doorway. Inside was another series of enclosed gardens bordered by rows of high columns hiding dark passageways onto which several internal doors, leading who knew where, opened.

“This way.” Xena leading the group as if she had a lifetime’s experience of navigating the complex.

And in another minute the visitors from the far-flung future found themselves in the very heart of an ancient banquet designed to astonish the eyes of the most replete gourmand already veteran in such lavish entertainments.

Helen, who on first viewing herself earlier in her borrowed dress had insisted on another, less translucent, undergarment accompanying it, stood in something very like awe at the opulence on show all round in the giant chamber. The hall was at least thirty feet wide, stretching away for at least another one hundred feet. In height it rose almost fifty feet to a gorgeously carved wooden hammerbeam roof redolent of much later European Castle and country-house examples. Along each side of the vast space, like aisles in a Cathedral, ran double rows of pillars made of marble of differing colours—green, yellow, red, and brown; all with traces and veins of alternate colours winding throughout, giving in toto an atmosphere of the most extreme brilliance and richness.

Down the centre of the floor-space, itself made of wide light-grey granite flagstones, ran a series of tables covered in gorgeous linen and spread with salvers and cutlery of solid gold and silver. Multitudinous chairs ran along each side of the many tables; the sitters thereon attended by an absolute army of servants, all in the waist-high white linen skirts common to the everyday wear of all classes. Meanwhile a servant, obviously on the lookout for the guests of Honour, approached with a bow of her head, indicating with an arm the direction she wished to take the visitors. Seconds later they were all established at a table close to the right shoulder of the Queen herself, who gave all a wide smile of greeting.

As it turned out, much to Kenny’s at least thankfulness, the more or less stationary guests were served an ongoing banquet containing innumerable courses while a series of dancers, singers and musicians supplied the active entertainment during the course of the evening. Xena and her group sat so close to the Queen’s table, she sitting on a slightly raised dais on a richly decorated throne, that conversation between Nefertiti and her guests could go on without difficulty.

On the table before the guests were laid fruits and nuts in silver platters and bowls; pomegranates, oranges, lemons, cherries, nuts of varying kinds, succulent pears, and apples both green and red; in large glass goblets, striated with curving veins of differing colours, several types and vintages of wine awaited the thirsty diner—white wine so clear it looked like water; red wine both deep and rich or delicately nuanced and pale; and the famous Narkah wine, peach-coloured, vintage, and drunk only by Royalty or their most favored guests.

As Nefertiti sat resplendent on her throne, her over-cloak cast aside across one of her chair’s arms, it spilling in glossy waves to the floor, gleaming in silver and green silk. Her gown was gauzy as pale moonlight, pleated with thin lines and tendrils of minute pearls and beads of jet-black obsidian, reflecting candlelight as if scintillating jewels. A silver girdle encircled her waist curving low on her hips; her long hair hung to her shoulders like waves on the sea-strand, paler than the palest gold.

Scores of flickering candles in golden or silver sconces lit the vast space, dark shadows shimmering in the far corners and the heavy darkness of the roof beams above. Across the long walls were relief carvings showing Akhenaten and Nefertiti engaging in boat trips on the Great River and playing games, all wonderfully coloured in bright blues, whites, and greens, with splashes of reds illuminating details here and there. The wood floor, of wide oak planks, was strewn with skins; bear, wolves, lions, and a couple of exotic tiger-skins.

The food placed before the diners was of excellent quality; rich soups both meat based and vegetable; fish of a wide variety, both river and sea; meat courses made from roasted, boiled, braised, and grilled steaks from numerous animals ranging from dormice to the fabulous Auroch. Desserts and puddings made from ground wheat or rice flavoured with spices from many sources, some from countries far away. And wines to caress the taste buds of all types—white, red, pink, liquids like to modern sherries, and a special vintage of bubbling wine so similar to Champagne Helen at least could not tell the difference.

And conversation—Nefertiti talked on her experiences racing across the desert wastes at full speed in chariots hauled by four horses, leaving swirling clouds of sand dust in her wake; of gliding down the Nile on her personal Barge; of Akhenaten fighting in battles to conquer lands adjacent to Egypt, as He was away doing now; of experiencing the great benefits of worshipping the one True God, rather than the plethora of mythical Gods and Goddesses of the traditional religion. Which is where Helen and Kenny began to feel slightly uncomfortable, beginning to have suspicions of the Queen’s motives in this direction.

She first mentioned her religion in passing, talking lightly on another subject; but as the evening passed she returned more and more to the same topic until finally it became the major theme of her conversation—compelling Helen to take up the argument.

“You really love and revere the Sun-God Ra, in opposition to the old traditions?”

Nefertiti’s reply was long, extensive, and all-inclusive; she spoke of the people she ruled over, the feeling that the Old Gods were simply mythical with no real basis in reality, and of how the Sun ruled supreme over everything to do with Life on this planet. By the time she finished it was clear to her guests she embraced her religion with an all-accepting acquiescence suitable to a modern zealot.

While Helen brooded over this revelation it fell to Kenny, probably unknowingly, to ask the key question.

“How does this—your intense acceptance of Ra—relate to our being here, in your own Time? What can we do, in any meaningful way about anything to do with this?”

Here, for the first time, Nefertiti became hesitant, retreating into her personal private space for several seconds before replying, somewhat wistfully.

“We must speak further on this, in more detail, in private. Come, eat and drink up, later we can re-assemble in my private quarters where I can reveal the actual reasons for your presence here. Drink!”

With this Helen and Kenny had to be temporarily satisfied though they managed to exchange glances, unseen by the other guests of the Queen or Nefertiti herself, redolent of doubt and uneasiness.

Chapter Nine.

The Queen’s private boudoir—as Helen felt she must categorize the room—was surprisingly plain and simple in its decorations and furnishings. The banquet was over; the other guests, who had never really interacted with Helen or Kenny, had disappeared; the Queen’s apartment was on the first floor in another part of the extensive Palace and after the servants had escorted the guests to this most sequestered of private retreats all was silence and serenity. Then Nefertiti entered from a doorway on the far side of the large room, through a screen of glass beads of many colours suspended on thin silken cords.

“Greetings once again! Please take these seats.” She indicating a long low softly upholstered couch, clear ancestor of the modern sofa. “Let us have sweet hot drinks, to cleanse our palates after the rich excesses of the banquet, and talk of mundane things for a while.”

The Queen’s idea of mundane things was anything but, according to Helen’s and Kenny’s modern grasp of the concept. She started by discussing the general society engaged in by the citizens of Akhetaten, glorifying the pleasant aspects of life within the city; how mutual respect helped to create a comfortable living environment; how this form of Society was so superior to what had gone before, all the previous Pharaohs and their Queens being misinformed about the old Religion in its wider aspects; finally focusing on how superior the present acceptance of the One Sun-God Ra solved all previous difficulties and problems associated with the former Pantheon.

Helen and Kenny had seen her final position approaching from far back in her diatribe, but were still concerned when it arrived in good order.

“Does everyone, I mean those outside this city living in the rest of Upper and Lower Egypt, accept your change to One God?” Helen covering the major point. “What about the foregoing traditions; the Temples to all the Gods, and their followers and Priests? Surely they all didn’t just change their allegiance overnight? Or what?”

Nefertiti shrugged off-handedly.

“There were some arguments, some refusals, some attempts to retain what had gone before for thousands of years, some pitiful referrals to tradition; but Akhenaten has a large army, wholly dedicated to his person and his reign—the battles were few, and won easily. Those who opposed our new direction were forced out of their long-held positions and replaced by followers of our own. The whole thing went surprisingly well and quickly; the end result being as you see today—happiness and tranquility throughout the land, except for a few renegade forces on the outskirts, in the wastelands and over the border of our neighbouring lands. But Akhenaten is away dealing with such as we speak. Soon the land will be peaceful throughout and our wishes and desire complete—the worship of the Great Sun-God supreme over all!”

This last came with a gleam in her dark eyes which both visitors recognised as that of the zealot unchallenged and unshaken by any form of logical argument.

“If someone refuses to accept the New Religion what do you do then?” Kenny asking a pertinent question.

Nefertiti paused before replying, delicately sipping from a goblet of fruit juice faintly tainted with white wine.

“Our New Religion acts as the Law, is indeed the Law now—those who oppose the worship of Ra are thereby necessarily criminals and are dealt with as such.”

Neither Helen nor Kenny felt impressed by this acknowledgement of a hidebound outlook but felt unable to form any kind of suitable response that wouldn’t get them in trouble, considering their present circumstances. At last Kenny returned to the major aspect associated with their presence in this era.

“So what do we have to do with this whole thing? Why’ve we been brought, ah, into your Highness’ presence? For what reason?”

All this time Xena and Gabrielle had been sitting silently beside the travelers from the Future, listening to the flow of the conversation, but now Xena broke in on her own account.

“The reason, per se, is complicated. It includes Queen Nefertiti, and yet it doesn’t! She is involved in what might be called a peripheral manner.”

“How so?” Helen looking from the Warrior to the Egyptian Queen with a frown.

“It’s all to do with the green scarab.” Gabrielle coming in here, attempting to spread clarity like snow in Winter, at least in the northern countries and mountains.

“How so?” Kenny showing he was looking in the same direction as Helen.

“Well, first you have to take into account there’s a Time problem going on here.” Gabrielle setting down her own goblet to focus on her explanation. “At the moment, as we speak here, Queen Nefertiti has still to receive the green scarab—”

“It will be brought to me as a present either by my Husband, Akhenaten, when he returns from the Borderlands in two months time, or otherwise by Xena and Gabrielle here, in good order.” Nefertiti supplying this detail herself in a satisfied tone, as referring to a certainty.

“—and it will eventually accompany her into her tomb in the North-east cliffs when that time arrives.” Gabrielle continuing. “But it has strange powers; powers that no-one has ever fully recognised; powers that even Nefertiti, in the years that she owns the scarab, still won’t uncover or even realise are held within its form. Powers that, if unopposed, can and probably will destroy the world in the far future.”

This account was hardly likely to impress Helen or Kenny, and it didn’t. Kenny jumping-in ably with his rejoinder.

“Destroy? What kind of Destroy do you anticipate it capable of? Wholesale Death on a worldwide scale? Sturm und Drang across the board? Nuclear War? What?”

Xena here came in again, frowning darkly as one who knew a thing or two.

“In your own Time your scientists have discovered that often in the far geological past the planet was nearly destroyed by various natural events, originating here on Earth and from the outer Cosmos?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the scarab will eventually wreak the same level of havoc and destruction when it first sees the light of day in the far future.” Xena shaking her head at the thought. “All it needs is to be exposed to sunlight, daylight, and its hidden powers will be released, like one of your huge bombs.”

Helen at least could grasp this possibility and didn’t like it one bit.

“You say you, Your Highness, are going to be given the scarab in the near future? Why not destroy it then? What would be holding you back from that easy option?”

Both Xena and Gabrielle, not to mention Nefertiti herself, all looked somewhat uncomfortable at this question. Xena taking the fore by way of reply.

“Well, the thing is, Nefertiti plans to do just that, and she will. But that doesn’t in any way provide a solution to the dam’ problem.”

Helen shook her head, hardly understanding.

“This’s gettin’ complicated; Nefertiti destroys the scarab, job done! What’s not t’like about that?”

Gabrielle came in here, trying to elucidate further; though not with an expression of one who thought she was going to be believed.

“Here, as we speak, when Nefertiti receives the scarab she will effectively destroy it; but the problem is it has many faces, facets, many forms, many incarnations: destroying it in this Time now, won’t stop another incarnation of it continuing to lay in Nefertiti’s tomb until your day. Just as physical, just as powerful; just as determined to see the light of day then and destroy the World entire in one great flash!”

“Where did it originate?” Helen pursuing a side-issue. “Who was responsible for the Power it supposedly contains? Couldn’t we go after him, or her, or them?”

Here Xena and Gabrielle were the ones to look embarrassed; Xena answering for both.

“Ares!”

“What was that?” Kenny cocking an ear. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Ares,” Xena supplying the necessary facts. “Greek God of War! He’s been our Nemesis for dam’ years, an’ around a decade ago, when he was in a bad mood,——he created the green scarab, unknown to us till it was too late.”

“And in the interim,” Gabrielle almost snarling her rejoinder to this. “it gained so much Power, from the Gods don’t know where, it is now capable of, and in a sense exists only to, destroy the world entire!”

“Ares?” Kenny visibly unbelieving of what he was being told. “God of War? You jest, surely?”

“I’m not good at jokes.” Xena coming clean on this. “And now I definitely ain’t jokin’, buster! Ares exists; he brought the dam’ scarab in’ta existence; now he can’t control it; in a few weeks it’ll be in the hands of Nefertiti here. She means to destroy it, at dead of night it not being taken out its container before this. She will succeed, but its variations—another one of almost innumerable possible alternative manifestations as far as we know,—will take its place; incorporeally to begin with but solidifying over the centuries until, by the time you find her tomb, it will once again be solid and physically concrete enough to complete its original purpose.”

Here Helen caught onto a tidbit almost casually passed over in this explanation.

“Manifestations? You mean there could be, well, unnumbered examples? How can we oppose that sort of thing, in such a wide context?”

“Many examples, yes,” Gabrielle nodding agreement. “But only in separate Worlds, separate Universes; separate Earths. Of those we can do nothing; all you need concern yourselves with is this present World; the future, as it happens, of this World alone. Destroy the scarab in your own Time and all will be well with this World from then on.”

“Jee-sus!” Kenny lost for words.

“Jesus?” Xena coming-in with her thoughts on the name. “Know a whole bunch o’Jesus’s; any one in particular? Meb’be I’ve met him. Friendly chap, is he?”

Helen and Kenny exchanged glances before Helen stepped up to the plate.

“Wouldn’t worry about that, Xena. If you’d met him you’d remember. Anyway, about this dam’ scarab, how exactly do we destroy it? Any particular method you have in mind? I mean, how powerful will it be? Resistant to our efforts, or what?”

But it was too late; Time had run its course as far as the two visitors from the far future exploring the Eighteenth Dynasty of Ancient Egypt went. A shimmering cloud of sparkling gaseous matter surrounded the two as in a bubble; their surroundings dimming suddenly and fading as if the end of a movie till only a grey mist was left all round. There was a noise as of a high-pitched scream, a whistling roar as of a hurricane though they felt nothing, Helen caught a last brief glimpse of Gabrielle apparently trying to mouth something important in her direction, and in another instant they found themselves standing on the sandy rough ledge before the cliff-side tomb back in their own time, if the fact that spread out in panoramic form across the flat plain before their eyes were only immeasurable acres of flat sand to be seen instead of the great city they had just been part of.

“We’re back!” Helen providing the obvious explanation.

“Yeah, seems!” Kenny finding himself out of breath; taking a quick glance at the closed door of the tomb, going over to test the lock to see it was firmly closed. “What I ain’t doin’ is goin’ in that dam’ tomb anytime t’night. Look, dark as midnight; what time’s it?”

Helen consulted her watch.

“Ten past one, in the mornin’.”

“Tomb’s closed firmly, I can see Mohammad comin’ back up the ledge-trail in the distance there. Tomkins must’a disappeared; we’ll get the news t’morrow, anyway. Come on, let’s hit our tent at camp an’ get as many of our forty winks as there’s time for still.”

“OK, sounds like a plan, after you, buddy!”

—O—

Chapter Ten.

The morning brought two sadder and wiser folk to the breakfast tent, sitting with miserable mien gazing at bowls of porage with faint heart to do anything else.

“Well, time’s past, what about it, then?”

Kenny gazed at Helen, musing on the import of her question.

“Can’t really say. I mean, what the Hell!”

“Got’ta do something.” Helen on the ball, determined to accomplish something in the way of action. “Though what, I don’t quite know. They, Xena and Gabrielle, and dam’ Nefertiti, they all three seemed to be of the opinion the scarab held enough power to oppose an Army Seal team, if not the whole dam’ Army itself. What can you or I do instead?”

Kenny spent a few seconds stirring his porage half-heartedly before replying.

“They were gon’na give us a clue, about destroyin’ it, at the end there; but didn’t have the time, in the end—so I guess we’re on our own in that direction. D’you think we could get our hands on an anti-tank weapon, or something like, anywhere around here?”

Helen snorted in disgust.

“Ken, this ain’t an action movie, an’ you ain’t the supernaturally lucky and impossibly expert hero! If anything what we could do must be below the radar; out of sight or sound of the local political pundits an’ spies. By the way, what happened t’Tomkins an’ his kin? That squad of hard-nosed thugs he brought up t’the tomb, I suppose, yesterday?”

Kenny shook his head dismissively.

“Wouldn’t worry about him, or them. Have a feelin’ their dried bones, if not simply dust, lies moulderin’ an’ skippin’ in the wind, when the door’s eventually opened, in the tomb front chamber. Bit of a bind if you’re delicately minded that way.”

Helen snorted contemptuously.

“Don’t give a dam’! If I trample on his remains, bones or dust, I’ll just kick my way through like a kid through a carpet of fallen dry leaves in Autumn.”

“Hmm—harsh, but acceptable!” Kenny feeling much the same. “Anyway, what about destroyin’ the dam’ scarab? Can we sort’a creep up on it unannounced, sort’a thing? Catch it unaware somehow, and, oh, I don’t know, do something then?”

“What, for instance?” Helen stating the obvious. “From what we’ve learned it’ll take a deal of destroyin’ over an’ above the ordinary!”

“Yeah—it will, won’t it!”

But the wide flap of the tent here parted to allow the entrance of two late arrivals for breakfast. Janice and Mel, looking both as if they had enjoyed a full night’s sleep and were now ready for a full day’s work, came to sit beside the visitors at the long table.

“Say,” Helen taking the chance hot off the press. “You two can help here; what did Nefertiti, Xena, and Gabrielle mean us t’do about the scarab? We were flung back t’our own time before we could be told exactly what they had in mind for the dam’ things demise.”

“By the way, you two got back yourselves OK, apparently.” Kenny addressing an interesting point. “Didn’t come back at the same time as us; stayed t’have a further chat with Nefertiti did you?”

Mel looked at her visitors with a frown redolent of someone wholly at sea.

“Haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talkin’ about, madam or sir.”

“Nah,” Janice nodding in line with her lover. “What’s this all about? And where’d ya both learn about Xena and Gabrielle? We haven’t uttered a word about ‘em, f’sure.”

Faced with two women whose expressions reflected absolute unknowing of what was being discussed it fell to Kenny to give a brief precis of their adventures over the past hours, or millennia, even.

“Ah,” Mel nodding understandingly. “That accounts for Jan an’ I feelin’ a trifle here an’ there yesterday evenin’. We remember bein’ at the tomb, Tomkins causin’ a scene o’some sort, then, well, everythin’ was a little hazy after that, till we woke up in our beds this mornin’.”

“From what you’ve told us it seems Xena an’ Gabrielle came t’take over our bodies again.” Gabrielle coming clean about the whole affair. “It happens that way more often than we like, but we can’t do anything about it; just happens, is all!”

“Seein’ you both know about Xena and Gabrielle, I suppose we shouldn’t keep the fact secret anymore.” Mel accepting their fate. “Better give us the whole story in detail; Jan an’ I have no memory of the undertaking at all. Just the way it falls out’s all.”

So the next hour was spent by Helen and Kenny taking turns explaining the whole dire extent of their adventure thousands of years in the past; the two archaeologists sitting patiently, though with morose expressions, absorbing all their supernatural alter-egos had got up to while borrowing their bodies.

“Fancy Royal banquet!” Mel musing on her reported activities. “Explains why I ain’t as hungry fer breakfast as usual!”

“There are other, more important, things to discuss.” Helen putting her foot down. “Like what d’we do t’destroy that dam’ scarab before it has the chance t’annihilate the whole dam’ world round us!”

“Nefertiti never said?” Janice asking with a pleading expression as if any positive answer vaguely within the ballpark would do.

“No!” Helen shaking her head. “Was a bit effusive all round, talkin’ about the dam’ thing; but finally was about t’tell us what t’do, I think, when we just arbitrarily jerked back t’here, without time t’say a quick g’bye or anything.”

“These things usually happen under someone’s spell.” Janice explaining with a shrug. “Whoever it was can generally only extend the spell a finite time before it sort’a implodes of its own volition.”

“Hardly helpful.” Helen sniffing disgustedly, still suffering from the shock after-effects. “I did notice something, just as I was dematerializing, or whatever—”

Mel perked-up at this.

“Yeah-what?”

“It was Gabrielle—I mean you, er, Janice—er, well, you know what I mean—”

“What? What? Get on with it!” Janice all ears to hear what she had been up to in the far past.

“Well, I didn’t really hear anythin’.” Helen frowning deeply in her desire to exactly recall the events of the past evening. “But just as everything was turnin’ into mist an’ fadin’ away before my eyes I sort’a saw you Janice, or Gabrielle I suppose, mouth something directly at me, as if she meant me t’take notice of whatever it was. It only lasted a few seconds, then we’d parted company, so t’speak.”

By this time Kenny, Janice, and Mel were leaning forward, their bowls of porage, all congealed now, forgotten in their desire to hear the climax of Helen’s story.

“What was it, then?” Janice eager above all else. “What’d I, she, say.”

Helen frowned even more deeply as she strove to remember the events of the last few seconds of her visit to far past times.

“It’s hard t’say, but I think it was just two words. You may think it silly, but far as I recall she mouthed the words Cold Iron. That’s all. Silly, I know, but that’s what it seemed like. Doesn’t mean anything t’me; probably not at all what she actually did say, I’m afraid; but that’s all I can remember, sorry.”

The effect on her listeners was mixed, Janice and Mel just looking mystified though Kenny seemed transfixed, even astonished, perhaps even jubilant.

“Can’t think what Iron’s got t’do with anythin’!” Mel putting her position on record.

“Me neither—though there’s somethin’ niggling at the back o’my mind.” Janice frowning in thought.

“I know, ladies!” Kenny pronouncing this in a tone of complete triumph, staring all round at his companions with a wide grin. “Kipling!”

A deathly silence accompanied this announcement, all three women obviously no better-off information wise.

“It’s from Rudyard Kipling’s classic novel Puck of Pook’s Hill’!” Kenny nodding knowingly. “A tale all about two children who break the Hill on the South Downs an’ release Puck from a sort’a underground land where Fairies used t’live. All t’do with spells an’ things; especially ash, thorns, an’ oak, I believe. During the course of the stories it comes out that cold iron, in the form of weapons, daggers an’ swords, has the power t’defeat almost any form of magical spell. That’s what you Janice, or Gabrielle to be precise, were tryin’ t’tell Helen—t’use cold iron, like a sword or, oh, anythin’ else made of pure iron t’destroy the scarab!”

“Yeah, I remember now.” Janice nodding in her turn. “Read the same in some old books on ancient myths; didn’t think there was any truth in it, but obviously if Gabrielle said so, well, there ya are!”

“So, what d’we do now?” Kenny coming to the core of the matter.

“We find something dam’ heavy made of pure iron,” Helen stepping up to the van. “We go up t’the tomb, at darkest night, close the door firmly behind us, usin’ only the littlest candles, open the sarcophagus, and pound the green scarab t’dust instantly, without hesitation, an’ with malice aforethought in the extreme, is what we dam’ well do, folks!”

Kenny glanced at Janice and Mel; both women nodding, Janice speaking for the trio.

“It’s a plan, I like it, let’s get up there an’ dam’ well do it!”

“What about the iron implement or weapon?” Helen keeping her thoughts on the main theme.

“I have an old pickaxe,” Janice coming forward with the perfect answer. “been with me on several of my old digs. Head made of old pure iron, not steel; works a treat on all sorts of stone, boulders, people’s heads, an’ suchlike. Think poundin’ an obsidian scarab t’dust’ll be well within its capabilities. I’ll go an’ get it right now.”

“Looks like we’re on a roll!” Kenny putting in the last word with something between a groan, a sigh, and an unconvincing grunt.

—O—

Things, as might have been expected, didn’t turn out to be so simple, however. First Janice found her fabled pickaxe missing in action, not to be discovered anywhere. A frantic search took up most of the morning before it was finally run to cover under a crate at the back of a loaded lorry full of all sorts of paraphernalia she used in her desert digs. After everyone had ben engaged in scurrying around camp like mad dogs for hours the only subject on all their minds was a cosy siesta in the afternoon to reclaim lost energy. So it was already late afternoon, coming on to evening by the time they reassembled at Mel and Jan’s tent to talk tactics.

“What’s it actually made of?” Kenny pinpointing the factual details required. “I’ve heard it called a green scarab often enough, but what exactly does that mean?”

Here Janice once again came to the fore, being the expert in the subject, even over and above Mel’s knowledge of the subject.

“It’s made of what’s called faience, a sort of ceramic material made from partially fired quartz; it’s usually covered in a glaze that renders the object either shades of blue or green.”

“So, does it feel like a stone, or what?” Helen trying to visualize the concept.

“More or less, or a hard lump of glass if you will.”

“An’ being a scarab it’ll be in the shape of one of those small beetles, right?” Helen here using up almost all her knowledge of Ancient Egypt.

“Yes,” Janice nodding agreement. “rounded top where inscribed lines outline wings and head, flat underside where a series of hieroglyphs describe which God, Goddess, or Human it belonged to.”

“In the case of this particular specimen I expect the hieroglyphs’ll be a spell giving it immense powers in the Supernatural realm.” Mel providing just that soupçon of information nobody wanted to hear.

Here Kenny hit a dry spell in his belief regarding the unfolding discussion.

“Look, I know I brought the subject up myself; but, a Nineteenth century novelist an’ poet? Writing a children’s Fantasy novel, an’ we here t’day are takin’ him at his word over some trifling myth about Iron an’ it’s supposed capabilities? Can we really take Kipling at his word, about how successful this’ll be—hittin’ the scarab with something made simply of old iron? I begin t’have serious doubts, actually. What if we hit it an’ nothing happens—apart from it taking umbrage followed by immediate steps t’rip us all apart down to our basic atomic level. Don’t much fancy experiencin’ that, folks!”

Janice shook her head with a show of rejection of this concept.

“No, I don’t think we need worry over that. I’ve read, in a deal of major text-books, about this old myth, certainly; it has been believed since Time immemorial in various cultures, mostly Scandinavian though Germanic as well. Taking everything into account I think it’ll hold up—achieve its potential that way—destroyin’ the scarab sure enough.”

“Anyway, if we fail I don’t imagine we’ll survive long enough t’feel much if any pain!” Mel coming out with a downer for the record book.

“Thanks a million!” Kenny not comforted in the least.

—O—

10.00pm the same evening and the group were on their way once again up the cliff trail towards the entrance to the newly discovered tomb; all being pitch black with the only natural light that from the myriad of stars visible in the sky above. Of Akhetaten, Amarna, there was no sign expect for one or two distant single flickering torchlights spread wide across the bare ruins on the desert plain below the line of cliffs. Mel had a kitbag slung over her shoulder containing who knew what, though she preserved a jaunty mien as one who was well prepared. Janice held her valiant long-serving pickaxe over her shoulder; the very image of an old-time navvy, while Helen and Kenny trundled along in the rear, completely unarmed and feeling the strain in being so.

“Remember, no electric torches!” Helen pickily officious out of rising panic as the climax grew ever nearer. “Sure you have the box o’candles an’ matches with you, Mel?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Mel shaking her head like a veteran in this sort of thing, which was more or less the actual case if only the two visitors knew. “Take it easy, all’s well. Just take note o’Jan an’ what she does. She’ll start things off by usin’ the stakes an’ jemmies left in the first chamber for us t’lift the sarcophagus lid aside. It’ll take some effort, mind, bein’ so dam’ heavy, but we’ll get there all the same.”

Helen and Kenny were not so sure themselves but remained silent. A few minutes later they had reached the tomb with its guard squad commanded by Mohammad.

“OK, Mohammad!” Janice speaking like the Commanding Officer she was. “We’ll take over from here; you take yourself and your men back down the trail—right down t’the plain again—got that, OK.”

A few more minutes were spent in last second preparations, Janice readying her pickaxe, Mel undoing the top of her kitbag with its unknown contents, Helen and Kenny reduced to merely shuffling their boots on the gritty sand underfoot and tightening their belts in preparation for what they did not know. Then everything and everyone was ready.

“Right, this’s it, folks.” Janice glancing round her comrades. “Remember, we go in the front chamber, pass through t’the burial chamber, heave the lid off the sarcophagus; don’t worry about damaging it in the process, speed is what we want not delicacy, for once. Then we locate the dam’ scarab as quickly as possible, an’ I go t’work on it like a Championship boxer on an opponent out’ta his puny league! After which we take it from there, OK?”

Helen and Kenny nodded, both looking pale and more than a smidgen sick to the stomach already; after which Mel stepped up to the door, inserted the key, clicked the lock open and dragged the wooden door aside to reveal the almost palpable dark abyss within.

“OK, let’s go!” Janice stepping through into the darkness with a confident stride, the others following, the last two with a less than assured demeanor.

Inside the front chamber the group paused for a moment before Janice led the way through the short passage of cold hard rock to the large main burial chamber, mostly filled by the massive sarcophagus.

“Let’s take a survey of the place before we do anything we might regret.” Janice considering what they had planned as their next step, for all to take note of. “Won’t do any harm t’begin with.”

“The sarcophagus has a sort’a green sheen itself.” Kenny gazing at the object with no great love. “Marble, you say?”

“No, see how traces of schist’re reflecting in the candlelight? It’s basalt, in fact.” Mel stating this with confidence, seeing she had written a hefty volume on just this general subject. “A special green tinged type mined in the mountains near Karnak. Must’a taken quite a struggle t’transport it t’the city here, never mind up the trail to this cliff tomb.”

Kenny shrugged with all the disinterest of the amateur.

“Does that make any kind of a difference?”

Mel pursed her lips before replying.

“To some extent—it’s harder than marble, much harder.”

“Oh, that’s all we need!” Kenny becoming interested but in entirely the wrong way.

“What’re we likely t’find inside?” Helen fishing for information on her own part. “Is she, if it is Nefertiti, just lying, a bundle of bones, inside or what?”

Janice shook her head critically.

“No, much more complicated than that. Inside there’ll be what we’d call a normal coffin of wood, though richly decorated with images, text, and designs. Inside that will be another smaller plainer wood coffin inside which will be the actual linen-wrapped mummy of the deceased themselves. Possibly various small offerings will be scattered around the mummy too, or wrapped in the actual mummy bandages; which is where we’re most likely to find the scarab.”

“Hell!” Kenny whistling softly through his teeth. “How long’ll it take us t’reach that point?”

“Meb’be a coupl’a hours, if we’re held up or things go with some difficulty. The Ancient Priests used to seal each coffin, an’ finally the lid of the stone sarcophagus itself, with a form of cement glue,” Janice shrugged, adding unwanted detail where it wasn’t wanted. “so we’ll need t’chip our way through that on at least two if not three occasions before reaching the mummy.”

“Got the tools for the job?” Helen raising a weary eyebrow at the complexity of the business now on view.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Mel hunting in her kitbag. “I’ve come prepared for almost any eventuality, don’t worry. Got some dentists’ drills an’ scrapers here that’re just right for the job.”

She had also produced a bundle of short candles and a matchbox which, distributed among the others, soon allowed a modicum of flickering light to illuminate their surroundings.

“Remember,” Janice taking over from here, looking round to make sure everyone was listening. “Light may turn out t’be a problem, re the dam’ scarab. From what you’ve both told me it might start reacting at the least amount that touches it when we open the inner coffin. If that seems t’be happenin’ we’ll have t’work dam’ fast from that point on t’achieve our purpose, OK? If you two step to the end of the chamber, to the head of the sarcophagus.”

“Which end’s that?” Helen not able to tell one end of the rectangular block of stone from the other.

Janice gazed at the sarcophagus, eyeing it end to end.

“Where you’re standin’ now, that’s the head, where the Queen’s head’ll be lying if she’s inside.”

Another couple of minutes and everything was ready for the fun to begin.

“Right, everything gets real from here on in, folk.” Janice giving her last pep talk before action. “I’ve got my pickaxe t’hand; you got that sledge-hammer head ready, Mel?”

Mel bent to her discarded back-pack, reached inside and pulled forth a large steel-like block of metal.

“Here it be, an’ dam’ heavy too! Don’t worry, I’ve analyzed it an’ it’s pure iron through an’ through.”

“What the hell ya mean t’do with that?” Kenny intrigued against his better judgement.

“Back-up if Jan’s axe fails.” Mel shrugging dismissively. “This lump weighs twenty-five pounds! I drop it on a faience scarab it’ll pulverize it t’dust, magical powers notwithstandin’!”

Helen gave her partner a strained look, but there was nothing more they could do but stand aside while the experts got on with the job. Janice had retrieved four jemmies from the front chamber and now distributed them between everyone.

“Ever used one o’these before, Ken?”

Kenny gave his hostess a meaning look in reply.

“To an, er, certain extent, yes.”

“Uumph! Well, what I want is for you all to stand on the same side, here; then put the hooked end of your jemmy under the slightly overlapping top of the lid. When I give the word you start heaving upwards; the idea bein’ the top’ll come up an’ slide down on the opposite side so exposin’ the interior—got it?”

Helen and Kenny again looked anything but reassured or confident but took up their allotted positions without further comment.

“Just hang on a mo, while I see about the dam’ glue holdin’ the lid on.” Mel bending over the waist-high container with a long sharp steel instrument in one hand. Using this as a scraper she scratched along underneath the overlapping lid from end to end and round the whole circumference; Helen and Kenny seeing small particles of a white substance falling to the floor as she ran the tool along the inside edge of the lid.

“That’s done it, much’s possible, anyway.” Mel standing tall again. “OK, Jan, in your own time.”

All four jemmies’ in place, each holder bending low to get the firmest grip, they awaited Janice’s command with bated breath.

“OK, every time I say heave, dam’ heave, OK?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Right, here we go. Heave!”

At this first attempt there came a loud crack, like a dry branch snapping, that caught Helen at least off-guard.

“Christ! What the hell was that?”

“Just the rest of the glue breakin’ free’s all.” Mel reassuring the amateurs. “Don’t worry about it, might happen again, next thrust. You’ll know well enough when the lid starts t’move.”

The next few heaves on the jemmies strained the arms, legs, and backs of the participants but apart from a few more lesser cracks as the remainder of the glue gave way under the pressure exerted all along the lid’s edge nothing much else seemed to be taking place.

“OK, let’s give it five, OK? Get our breath back.” Janice calling a halt with a wave of her hand.

“Didn’t think it’d be this difficult.” Helen confessing her naïve outlook on the matter. “Dam’med hard on the arms.”

“Yeah, a good work-out.” Janice, as always, taking the positive view. “Ready again? OK—heave!”

The next handful of efforts provided just as much non-movement as before, Kenny gasping for breath at the end again.

“Nothin’ happenin’! Must say, I never thought it’d take this long. We could be here all dam’ night, just tryin’ t’get this dam’ lid t’move a fraction. Sure we can get it free?”

Janice wasn’t having any back-sliding on her watch however.

“Of course—done this sort’a thing umpteen times in the past. Just takes elbow grease, stamina, and that outlook which doesn’t allow for defeat before the job’s done is all. Come on, let’s get to it again. I’ve a feelin’ we’re on the cusp.”

Whether of success or defeat, neither Helen nor Kenny felt it politic to remark as they all buckled to the task at hand yet again. In unison they heaved three more effortful times then, on the fourth, something happened. The lid gave a screeching cry, like an animal in pain, and the lid slid away from the workers a couple of inches towards the far wall, leaving a small dark opening into the interior before the treasure-hunters’ eyes.

“Ah! At last!” This exclamation from Mel, wiping her brow with a red and white bandanna fished from a pocket in her long skirt.

Another three heaves on the metal tools and the lid, giving up the unequal struggle, slid away from the women to crash out of sight on the far side of the now open sarcophagus, a slight cloud of dust rising from behind the sarcophagus as they all held their ears against the loudness of the crash in the confined space.

“Stand aside, you two, away from the sarcophagus,” Janice gesturing with some anxiety. “never know what miasmas might come out’ta freshly opened tombs, best t’let it dissipate before we get to leanin’ in the thing, OK?”

“Meb’be we should go back t’the front chamber?” Kenny ever apprehensive of his overall health in situations not dissimilar to this.

Janice nodded, turning to the passage entrance to lead the way.

“Not a bad idea, we can get some fresh air out at the entrance, then come back for the final push—let’s go, folks.”

Ten minutes later, refreshed by cups of lukewarm tea from thermos flasks, they re-entered the burial chamber with renewed vigor, ready to attack the rest of the plan come what may.

“OK, jemmys’re all here, sledge-head over there, my pickaxe leanin’ against the sarcophagus here.” Janice making sure of the details before proceeding. “OK, we’re ready. Remember, inside’ll only be the next wooden coffin, so don’t get your hopes up prematurely.”

As one all four women leaned elbows on the top edge of the now open tomb, leaning over to gaze inside at the contents. What this revealed was much as Janice had prophesied; a wooden coffin, in the usual curved shape of a human figure lying flat was revealed, a painted representation of a woman’s face at the top end with various designs covering most of the rest of its visible surface. Janice then holding a candle over the dark interior peering down with gimlet eyes.

“What’s up? Helen mystified by this procedure. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Nah, jus’ wan’na see if any objects have been placed round the outside of the coffin; a usual procedure in these cases, y’know.”

Helen hadn’t known but peered into the tomb along with her more experienced leader.

“What’s that, sort’a doll-like thing, at the foot of the coffin? Ain’t the scarab.”

Janice nodded, well aware of the object in question.

“It’s just a shabti figure, a faience figurine representative of the person entombed. Normal thing to find in these circumstances.”

“How’re we gon’na get this wooden coffin out? Kenny addressing a significant detail. “Only around an inch or so all round it and the stone of the sarcophagus.”

“You saw all that equipment, poles an’ ropes, pulley-blocks an’ such, lyin’ on the floor of the front chamber?” Mel cocking an eye at the two tyros.

“Yeah, didn’t think about what it was all for, though.” Kenny admitting his failure in this respect. “Thought it was just something the workers used during their time in the daylight here.”

“No, it’s all especially for us.” Janice knocking this idea on its head. “Put t’gether it’ll all make a series of pulley winches that’ll have enough power, with us workin’ the ropes, t’haul the coffin out’ta the sarcophagus.”

Helen and Kenny here exchanged yet another glance of astonishment.

“How long’ll that take?” Helen nearly spitting this out in her displeasure. “I mean, I’m near enough on my last legs as it is, with all this heaving t’get the dam’ lid out’ta the way; now you say we’ve got’ta rig up a dam’ winch, an’ work it by hand? It’ll take dam’ hours, won’t it?”

Mel, unconcerned, shrugged her shoulders.

“About an hour, actually. Don’t get distressed; after all, how long’s this mummy been waiting here already? Near on three and a half thousand years! Another hour won’t change anything in the wider scheme of things; just hold onto your impatience, an’ let’s get what’s needed done, OK?”

“Jee-sus!” Was about all Helen could find in reply.

It actually took another hour and a half before the series of interconnected winches; three sets of angled poles with various ropes running up and over them through a triple set of double-pulley blocks apparently rescued from a sailing-ship, were in place and ready to perform their allocated job. Mel had climbed into the tomb, legs astride the inner coffin, to wrap the ropes round the top and bottom ends of the slightly rounded coffin, tying them off with knots learned from her days as a Girl Guide. Then all was finally ready for the hard work to begin.

Surprisingly, when Helen and Kenny began the task of hauling the ropes under the strict observation and orders of Janice they found the task much easier than they had expected. The ropes ran through the blocks like water out a tap, the coffin rising slowly fractions of an inch with every pull on the ropes, but rising all the time. Twenty minutes hard labor in this direction and the coffin hung just above the lip of the sarcophagus; a little more maneuvering of the winch by the two experts there and the coffin swung sideways enough for the ropes to be eased, letting it slide down smoothly and slowly till it rested on the stone floor of the chamber beside the tomb it had lain in for so long previously.

Another break outside, with the remainder of the tea and a carton-full of sandwiches, let the workers regain much of their energy before returning to the burial chamber to finish their job once and for all.

“Can’t we get more light?” Kenny standing by the coffin looking gloomy and tired. “I mean, it’s like trying to work in the full dark, these candles only give a feeble light at best, and the flickerin’ shadows make it hard t’make out just what’s goin’ on anywhere in here.”

“We light an electric torch, all Hell’s liable t’break loose. You both know that, don’t you?” Janice taking no prisoners. “If the scarab gets the least peek at strong light who knows what the result’ll be! I ain’t gon’na take that kind’a chance; not at this late date.”

Mel had been crouching low examining the coffin from end to end, nodding silently to herself as she recognised various aspects of the container’s details.

“Let me run my scraper along the edges of the top. It’s sealed all the way round, but with what looks like ordinary red wax. Shouldn’t present any difficulty in gettin’ rid of it. Gim’me a minute.”

The three observers stood in various states of exhaustion or eagerness, depending on their particular interest in the ongoing operation; Helen and Kenny just glad to have time to breathe and ease their strained muscles while Mel finished her self-imposed, though still needful and expert, task.

“Will we need to get out again, when the top comes off?” Helen worrying about their previous necessity to do so.

“No,” Janice shaking her head confidently. “There won’t be any gas or miasma from this. We’ll just take the top off an’ then we’ll see the real mummy for the first time. Everything, of course, will go from there!”

“Jan?” from Mel, giving her paramour a bright look.

“Yeah, what, dear?”

“It is Nefertiti! Look at the cartouche just under the chin of the face-painting.”

Janice, who hadn’t up to this point been taking much interest in the fine detail of the coffin, now leant forward to do just what her lover had requested. Another instant and she stood tall and sure of herself once more.

“Dam’ right it’s Nefertiti! Well spotted, gal! OK, boys n’gals, here we go. Helen-Kenny, - lift the lid slowly an’ carefully then place it on the ground over there. Stay back while I look inside; if I see the scarab I’ll try’n haul it out too, place it on the ground by my feet then attack it with my pickaxe. Got that?”

“Yeah.” Kenny nodding. “What about Mel an’ her sledge-hammer head?”

“She’s back-up.” Janice pursing her lips as she spoke. “If the pickaxe doesn’t seem t’be havin’ the requisite effect she’ll step in with the heavy brigade an’ try’n give the dam’ thing the worst headache it’s ever experienced from the year dot t’the present moment!”

Kenny sighed, defeated and exhausted; just wanting the whole fiasco to be over.

“It’s a plan—a dam’ uncertain one, but—”

Raising her eyebrows, as if partially agreeing with this assessment, Janice waited till the two visitors had accomplished their part of the plan, lifting the lid without much effort at all and rapidly carrying it across the chamber to the far corner, before she strode to the coffin, pickaxe ready in hand.

She glanced inside the coffin, nodded quickly, then glanced at Mel with a meaning look. Mel, well versed in this form of non-verbal communication, came to her lover’s side, glanced in the coffin, saw what was required and leant down to pick-up something lying at the feet of the interned mummy within.

On being brought into what trifling level of light the flickering candles afforded Helen and Kenny saw the object was a small wooden box around twelve inches long, four inches deep, and six inches wide with a slightly curved top and painted all over with hieroglyphics high-lighted in reds, whites, and blues. Quickly placing the box on the stone floor beside the coffin Mel grasped the top and lifted it aside with ease; inside, for the first time, all present caught their first glimpse of the source of the whole lengthy safari and expedition—the small innocuous looking green scarab lay inside on a bed of green satin for all to see and admire.

Just large enough to sit in the palm of one’s hand it scintillated with an inner light as if alive, green flickers of emerald light increasing with every passing second and lighting its form throughout.

“Oh—Oh!” Janice stepping forward with pickaxe raised. “Better get to it before it gains strength!”

With this she raised her weapon high, paused for a split second to aim precisely, then brought the sharp end of the pickaxe down on the scarab with careful precision.

The blow didn’t seem to have any physical effect at all; but a huge blast of intense light, like a veritable explosion, blasted throughout the whole chamber blinding those within in an intensity of the purest green radiance none had ever experienced before. For an instant, hardly long enough to register on the brain, Helen thought she caught a glimpse of everyone there’s bone structure from head to foot as if they had all been bathed in a strong X-ray light; then the glow wavered and fell away, leaving the scarab still glowing slightly but otherwise undamaged.

“No-go!” Janice grunting this with a tight throat. “Try again—get ready, Mel!”

Her second blow against the scarab caused the object to react as it had previously, but this time with an even more powerful blast of light; this time the internal structure of each person’s body clearly visible by everyone there for an extended period before the glow once more diffused—though the scarab was again glowing, this time with apparently much more intensity than previously.

“F-ck it!” Janice giving up and turning to Mel. “Sister, it’s your turn. Helen—Kenny, get ready t’run if things go belly-up in the next few seconds!”

Mel, no slouch now, stepped up to stand over the box containing their Nemesis, the piece of solid iron in her hand taken from an old sledge-hammer head, raised high above her own head now. With the angry look of a Valkyrie denied her lawful number of warriors’ souls killed in battle, she dropped the huge heavy lump of cold iron on the box and scarab with all the power she could muster.

This time, although yet another blast of scintillating emerald light washed throughout the whole chamber, it seemed less powerful, no X-ray vision appearing this time, but accompanied by a scream so powerful it seemed to those within the chamber that a whole horde, an entire army, had raised their voices in pain, distress, and agony to the top of their capacity for what seemed an eternity of Time before everything fell back to an eerie silence. Staring at the box all four could see the scarab seemed to be still there, apparently unharmed yet again; then it began to glow once more, but this time with a wavering uncertain shimmer of evilly varying tones of darkest malachite that boded no good to one and all—Janice first to react to this change in its manner.

“It’s gon’na blow—everyone, get the hell out’ta here!”

As one the four raced through the short passage to the outer chamber, tripping over the remains of the winch gear scattered on the floor, then arrived in the open air of the ledge trail; but this wasn’t good enough for either Janice or Mel.

“Keep runnin’, down the trail!” Janice heading the group on their way. “We got’ta get as far away from here as possible; it may take out half the bloody cliff when it blows completely!”

“If not the whole bloody world!” Kenny thought, though keeping this stoic reflection to himself as he ran beside Helen.

A few seconds later, though not yet having made anywhere near as much distance as they wanted, the cliff behind them did indeed disappear in a mighty explosion that rocked the entire remainder of the terrain all round the fleeing group. A vast dust cloud, sand particles catching in the throat and small swiftly flying fragmented pebbles bouncing off their legs and backs, enveloped them as in a sand-storm forcing them to come to a halt, crouching low, till it had dispersed, Finally it cleared enough to let the survivors gaze around at their changed surroundings.

Changed because where the ledge trail had previously led further up behind them along the cliff edge to the new tomb, now only the bare vertical face of a newly exposed cliff section was to be seen, all sign of the former path and tomb vanished without trace in the still clinging thin cloud of dust covering that portion of the cliff; a new wide lower scree of pebbles, boulders, and sand now stretching down the freshly revealed vertical cliff-face to the plain far below.

"Well, it’s gone!” Janice reflecting the obvious as she wiped her brow with a less than clean handkerchief. “You OK, Mel? You two, too?”

Kenny nodded wordlessly, gasping for breath against the time when he could speak. Helen simply nodded in reply, speechless for the moment herself before finally regaining a portion of her ability to ask questions.

“Is it really gone? Not just buried in the cliff; the tomb still there under all that fallen rock?”

Janice turned to give the area a close examination before replying in her turn.

“Look, you can see where the whole face of the cliff’s gone down t’the plain, a heap of dust an’ rubble, where the tomb used t’be. That area’s gone entirely. Doesn’t even look like there’s the slightest trace of anything of its contents left either; looking down at that new scree down there. I think the whole tomb’s been comprehensively pulverized, along with every iota of its former contents—tomb decorations, sarcophagus, Nefertiti’s coffin an’ mummy; an’ best of all, the dam’ green scarab in toto. Nothing left at all, thank the Gods!”

Kenny groaned in relief, hugging himself tightly.

“Come on, then, let’s head back t’camp fast’s we can manage; I wan’na tumbler full of strong waters, bottle t’hand; an’ I ain’t gon’na stop drinkin’ till there’s nuthin’ left in the bottle t’drink!”

—O—

Chapter Eleven.

Kenny’s house, in Otago Lane, Glasgow, seemed an oasis of perfect silence and calm after their recent adventures as he and Helen sat in his living-room with coffee cups on the low table beside them, basking in the diffuse light of a dull Autumn afternoon; it being just over a month since their return from Egypt, both just about now getting over their late experiences.

“We’ll never be able to convince anyone t’believe our story; you know that don’t you?”

Kenny, faced with this observation, could only nod agreement.

“Yeah, even talkin’ about it between ourselves I hardly believe our own memories of the whole dam’ affair!”

“Yeah, like a bad Fantasy novel, with us as the unwilling heroes.” Helen sighing softly. “Ken?”

“Yeah? If it’s that you wan’na go back t’Egypt anytime this century you can think again, bid me a fond farewell, an’ do as you please, but without me, ducks!”

“Huurph!” Helen having none of this. “As if! No, I was just wondering, on an associated theme—would you consider takin’ a break from your, ah, usual evenin’ hobby? Enterin’ other people’s premises at dead of night for felonious purposes? I only ask because you seem to attract the most unseemly persons, activities, an’ unwanted outcomes about you and yours when you do so. Just a thought, baby.”

Kenny considered the matter for all of thirty seconds before replying in a soft voice.

“All things considered, lover; for you, anything!”

“Thank the Gods for that!” Helen leaning sideways to thank her lover with a lengthy kiss apropos of greater things to come.

The End.

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