Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
A CURSE DOES NOT FADE WITH TIME . . .
To everyone’s relief, the power remained on, no dogs howled, and Gerald didn’t die by the so-called ‘curse’ of Tutankhamun.
Inside the hot, airless tomb, the physical effort and heat had overwhelmed him, and because he was dizzy and dehydrated, Gerald felt faint and he tumbled forward, crashing to the ground.
Anouska sipped chilled water from her vacuum bottle. ‘I’m not surprised he almost passed out,’ she said. ‘He drank too much last night and doesn’t hydrate. I’m tired of telling him.’
Their party had gathered at a shaded café near the tombs, drawn by the promise of refreshments. Gerald’s complexion was pale and his energy depleted. He glared at his wife while Sam fussed over him, anxiously inspecting the grazes on his knees and hands.
Hattie sprang into action. She swung her bag off her shoulder, set it before Gerald and rummaged to pull out a Dioralyte sachet.
She mixed it briskly into his water. ‘Magic powder.’ She smiled, handing him the bottle.
Next, kneeling beside Gerald, she reached for antibacterial wipes, antiseptic cream and plasters, swiftly dressing his wounds.
‘I told you to wear long trousers, not shorts,’ Anouska called out to her husband. ‘It serves you right, and you’ll probably be covered in mosquito bites.’
Hattie seized a tube of repellent and sprayed Gerald’s legs. ‘Strike before the little buggers strike you!’ She gave him a brisk once-over. ‘You need carbs, something to mop up last night’s excess.’
Diving back into her bottomless bag of tricks, Hattie produced a packet of ginger biscuits and pressed several into Gerald’s hands. ‘I swear by a bit of ginger,’ she said.
‘Don’t fuss so.’ Anouska yawned and retrieved a compact from her bag. Inspecting her lips, she applied a layer of gloss.
Hattie resisted the urge to take Gerald’s water and pour it over Anouska’s impeccably groomed hair. Instead, she slicked antibacterial gel onto her hands and briskly rubbed them together. ‘Anyone else?’ she asked, holding the bottle out.
‘My word, it’s lucky you were on hand,’ Sam said, squirting a generous dollop onto his palms. ‘You’re a walking medic. Have you had training?’
‘I like to be prepared,’ Hattie replied. ‘You never know what life is going to throw at you.’
‘Well, I’m extremely grateful to you, as I’m sure Gerald is too.’
Gerald finished the drink and looked up.
With Hattie’s magic powder hitting the spot and his electrolytes replaced, his heat exhaustion had passed, and with a sugar boost from the biscuits, Gerald grinned.
‘You’re a lifesaver, Hattie, my dear,’ he said.
‘There’s a very large drink on me when we get back to the boat. ’
‘Terribly generous.’ Anouska sneered. ‘Have you forgotten we’re all-inclusive?’
Keen to get the guests on their way to the next tombs, Sam clapped his hands. ‘If everyone is ready, we’ll move on.’
‘I think I’ll stay here for a little while,’ Gerald said.
‘Thank goodness.’ Anouska took her hat and placed it carefully on her head. Adding her designer shades, she ignored Gerald and walked away.
‘My, there’s no love lost there,’ Sylvie whispered to Hattie as they followed Sam’s instructions and set off for the tombs of Ramesses V and Ramesses VI.
Ezra walked alongside them, nose buried in a guidebook. ‘I hope there’s a curse in these tombs too,’ he said. ‘It would sure liven things up again.’
‘Honey, will you stop all that foolishness?’ Sylvie replied. ‘If Sam says there isn’t any silly curse, then we have to believe him.’
‘Why?’ Ezra stopped short. ‘Of course the guides will say that. They don’t want to spook the tourists.’
Hattie watched him from the corner of her eye, trying to work out what Ezra was up to. She put it down to a Gen Z thing. He’d grown up online, where everything had an alternative theory. A curse wasn’t superstition to Ezra. It was probably content, and a myth to have fun with.
But at least Sylvie was letting him speak for himself today.
Glancing at her watch, Hattie was surprised to see that it was only half past nine.
The heat was intense, and she wondered what on earth it would be like by midday.
Inside the Valley of the Kings, the air was trapped by the cliffs, and the vast stone bowl felt like a gigantic pot, boiling the bodies within.
No wonder they’d had such an early start.
Sylvie and Ezra had gone ahead, and Hattie followed. She handed in her ticket, and the entrance attendant held out a square of board, cut from a corrugated box. Realising that it was to fan herself, she thanked him and moved on.
Leaving the blinding desert sun behind, she began to descend into the darkness. The floor steeply sloped, and Hattie felt that the tomb was pulling her in. The walls, she noted, were densely covered with hieroglyphs, and she racked her brain to remember what Sam had said to look out for.
‘Wow, the gods and guardians of the tomb are watching us,’ Sylvie whispered as she studied repeated painted figures, including the sun god Ra.
‘It’s a passage of death,’ Ezra said with a teasing edge to his voice.
The oxygen in the air had begun to thin. Hattie paused, mopping perspiration from her brow, and wondered how she would find the strength to climb out of this endless tunnel. Gerald, she realised, had made a wise decision.
Removing her Tilley hat, she looked up and was staggered by the vibrancy of the ceiling painted deep blue, almost black, curving endlessly above her.
‘Look, it’s covered with golden stars.’ Sylvie pointed, wide-eyed. ‘The colours are so strong after all these thousands of years.’
‘The night sky, like the cosmos,’ Ezra added, his eyes wide too. ‘The guidebook says it’s to symbolise Ramesses V’s rebirth among the gods. Perhaps he was murdered and buried alive down here.’
‘Now you know that’s not true,’ Sylvie tutted.
Finally, they entered the burial chamber and, waving her cardboard fan, Hattie studied the painted ritual scenes on all the walls. Surprised that there was no sarcophagus, only broken pieces placed together, she thought that the room felt haunted and had an urge to get out of the eerie tomb.
‘I’m leaving,’ Hattie told Sylvie.
‘We’ll be right behind.’
‘Scared of another curse?’ Ezra asked Hattie with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
‘Stop mischief-making,’ Hattie said and gently slapped Ezra’s arm.
As she slowly began to climb, she remembered Sam explaining that in this tomb, they should look out for cartouches on the walls, depicting Ramesses V.
Many, he’d said, had been overwritten by Ramesses VI.
As Hattie’s heart hammered and she fought to catch her breath, she realised that the images were blurring.
‘If you’ve seen one cartouche, you’ve probably seen them all,’ she mumbled.
Wishing there was a chairlift, Hattie felt twice her age as a group of young American students bounded past, but she plodded slowly on. Reaching the top, and emerging back into the harsh Egyptian sunlight, Hattie handed the fan to the attendant at the entrance.
‘That was so helpful.’ Hattie smiled.
She began to walk away but felt a hand tugging on her trousers and turned to see the man clicking his forefingers and realised that he wanted a tip.
Not again!
After fumbling for a dollar, she handed it over, resisting the urge to ask if there was a loyalty card, should she revisit.
‘Did you enjoy the tomb?’ Sam greeted her. ‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, er, yes, it really is . . .’
Hattie stared at Sam and tried not to have inappropriate thoughts.
Quickly replacing her hat, she was grateful for the shade of its wide brim as she tried to cover her flushed face.
Her shirt clung damply to her skin, and she was aware of every wrinkle and fold of flesh snuggling around her midriff.
Reaching for her water, Hattie took a long drink.
Calm down! she told herself, putting her amorous feelings down to the heat. Sam looked as cool as a cucumber, while Hattie felt herself wilting.
‘And the good news is,’ Sam continued, as the group began to drift back together, ‘there’s plenty more to see today.’
Hattie inwardly groaned and thought of the boat where the shaded top deck was cooled by gentle fans, and deep sofas invited guests to relax in comfort. A cocktail bar promised icy refreshments, and beyond luxurious loungers, the swimming pool’s water lapped softly.
Reluctant to admit that she was all tombed out at ten-thirty in the morning, Hattie looked at Sam and smiled. ‘Great,’ she said, ‘I can’t wait.’
After ending the visit, the guests boarded their bus. As they settled in, Sam announced the next stop: the Temple of Queen Hatshepsut. ‘We’ll have about forty-five minutes there,’ he said.
Hattie gazed out at the pale limestone terraces of the vast temple as it came into view. Stacked against the sheer cliffs of Deir el-Bahari, she was astonished by the size and grandness of the architecture.
‘My goodness, this is amazing; everything is so memorable,’ Sylvie said. ‘But it sure looks hot out there. I’m so glad that I’m keeping cool in your lovely kaftan.’
Hattie glanced at Sylvie and noted that the kaftan, damp with Sylvie’s perspiration, had acquired a coating of dust. It was, she suspected, beyond recovery.
Guests stepped down from the bus and began to make their way into the wide forecourt. Letting everyone go ahead, Hattie held back, pacing herself as she walked towards the temple in the glaring heat that bounced off the ochre-coloured stone.
‘It’s hotter than the gates of hell, I’d say,’ a voice came from behind, and she turned to see Gerald.
‘Hello, you’re joining this tour – that’s good.’ Hattie smiled.
‘Taking it slowly,’ he said and gently moved towards her.
‘How are the knees?’ Hattie glanced at the plasters covering Gerald’s grazes.
‘Right as rain, thanks to you, although it never rains in Egypt,’ he added.