Thirty-Three
T he space under the boulder had grown crowded. Zeinab had arrived a few moments before, immediately taking charge. She crouched over the fissure in her black abaya, carefully withdrawing the lantern.
Neil was squished in between her and Ellie. The others hovered outside—all except for Sayyid, who had displayed no interest in getting a turn under the rock.
“I have no desire to crawl into a scarab nest,” he declared firmly.
A coil of rope spilled through the gap, sliding to a stop near Neil’s boots. Adam lowered his face into view behind it. “We’ve tied it off,” he reported. “You should be all set.”
“Dr. Fairfax?” Zeinab prompted impatiently.
Neil quailed—but he was the one who had found the opening in the rocks and insisted on investigating it. Who else did he expect would squeeze into the fissure to see where it led?
“Shouldn’t Bates do it?” he blurted out hopefully.
“I’ve got about thirty pounds on you, buddy,” Adam replied from outside.
“Maybe I should go,” Constance eagerly suggested, dropping down beside him to peer in at Neil and the others. “I’m the smallest of us, and if there are any wild animals down there, I have a better chance of overcoming them than he does.”
“How’s that?” Neil returned with a note of panic. “Why would you be better at dealing with wild animals than I would?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Constance returned.
“Dr. Fairfax goes,” Zeinab ordered. “Preferably quickly, before someone from that dig hears all of the talking you are doing.”
She punctuated the remark with a glare at the rest of the party, who quickly clammed up.
Neil stared down at the dark mouth of the fissure. The opening looked barely wide enough for him to squeeze into, which begged unpleasant thoughts of what might happen to him if he got stuck.
“Dr. Fairfax goes,” Neil echoed in a wretched whisper. “And why wouldn’t he? Who else is qualified to descend into a pit full of beetles?”
But even as he loathed the notion of lowering himself into an unknown scarab-lined hole in the mountain, another part of him was drawn toward the fissure like a moth to the moon.
Yes, his instincts urged. This is right.
He faced the descent with a new sense of determination. “Pass me the lamp.”
“You are not taking the lamp,” Zeinab replied.
“What?!” Neil exclaimed.
“You cannot climb down a rope while you are carrying it. I will lower it down to you once you are inside.”
Neil imagined climbing forever until the rope simply ran out. Or perhaps he might get caught in the increasingly tight space until he was no longer able to move.
Or the gap in the floor might open into a labyrinthine and inescapable cave system where Neil would slowly die of thirst.
“Couldn’t you drop the light down there first?” he suggested hopefully.
“Who would untie it so that we could bring the rope back up for you?” Zeinab returned. “And what if you kicked it over when you landed? We only have two lanterns. We cannot risk one getting broken.”
“I’m not going to kick it over!” Neil protested.
Zeinab answered him with a raised eyebrow.
With a resigned lurch in his gut, Neil took off his spectacles, tucking them carefully into the pocket of his waistcoat. He shuffled awkwardly around the two women until he was positioned above the fissure.
He slid his legs into the opening, then took the rope in both hands, pulling to test it. It held firm against whatever Adam had tied it to.
In all probability, there was very little chance that it would come loose and plummet him into an impenetrable abyss from which he would never escape.
“Get on with it already!” Constance hissed through the entrance slightly above him. “Some of us would like to know what’s down there before we die of old age!”
Neil flushed with embarrassment and lowered himself into the gap.
The space was tight. Stone scraped at the back of his waistcoat as he slid inside. He struggled to find footholds, as there was barely any room to maneuver his legs. He tried to brace himself with his back and his knees instead, quickly earning a few new scrapes.
A scarab took flight near his ear, buzzing an inch from his nose as it dove past him. The surprise of it nearly made him lose his grip on the rope.
He fell, skidding down the fissure. The fibers of the rope rasped against his palms as he tightened his grip and lurched to a stop.
A spill of dust showered down on him from above. The back of his waistcoat snagged against the rock.
He sneezed.
“Keep quiet!” Zeinab hissed.
She glared down at Neil from above, her sharp features lit by the soft glow of the lantern he had left behind. Constance joined her, her face framed by tendrils of dark hair that had come loose from her Gibson.
She frowned. “All I can see is Stuffy!”
“He’ll get out of the way in a minute,” Zeinab replied.
Little stones peppered his face as Neil dropped himself lower—and swung his boot out into nothing. It waved there helplessly, his efforts to find a foothold utterly failing.
He nearly let go of the rope in shock and dismay. He managed to stop himself after another short slide, his palms burning.
Neil’s other foot reached the nothingness. He flailed until he caught the rope between his boots, which took some of the weight from his aching shoulders.
Thick, silent darkness surrounded him.
His arms made another fiery protest, and he forced himself to climb, sliding awkwardly down until his soles struck the ground.
Neil planted them there, terrified to move lest he step over the edge of some hidden abyss and plummet to his doom.
“What is happening?” Zeinab demanded impatiently.
Neil could just make out her face overhead. “I think I found the bottom.”
“Then will you release the rope?” she pressed dryly.
Neil realized that he had been clinging to it like a lifeline. He hurriedly let go, and the rope slithered up in front of him like a quick-moving snake.
His eyes began to adjust. Just enough distant light filtered down through the fractured stone to let him make out the vaguest form of the space around him. He instinctively fumbled at his pocket for his spectacles and slid them on… which made absolutely no difference at all. He was left with only the dim impression of a still, silent space that had more in common with a grave than anywhere else.
He brushed his burning palms on his trousers and waited, trying not to feel utterly abandoned in the dark.
A soft glow rose from above him. Neil breathed a shuddering sigh of relief as he looked up to see the lantern bobbing down through the fissure.
As it reached the bottom, illumination spilled over the space that surrounded him. It burst into startling color—blue, green, and gold leaping out at Neil from the walls.
Palm trees bent over stands of papyrus flowers. Courtiers rode on barges rowed by lines of slaves with glossy, curling hair. Spears flashed over charging chariots while leopards lunged toward waiting prey.
A mother held a child to her breast. Worshipers piled up offerings under a golden sun.
Neil wasn’t in a cave. He was standing in a gallery—a long hallway painted in rich color from floor to ceiling.
“Well?” Ellie’s urgent tones echoed down to him from above. “What do you see?”
“Everything,” Neil replied, his voice thick with wonder.
The images were bold and pristine as if someone had just paused working on them to step out to lunch—as if Neil might turn and find a paintbrush discarded on the floor, its tip still wet with rich red ocher.
His gaze stopped on an image of the sun. Some of the plaster below had broken away with the weight of time, taking part of the artwork with it, but Neil could still see the myriad rays that fell down from the golden disk, ending in delicately cupped hands. One of them caressed the remains of a linen-clad shoulder. Another brushed against the distinct curve of a crown—the white hedjet of Upper Egypt.
“It’s a tomb,” Neil forced out through the shock and awe that had paralyzed him, his voice hoarse. “An Amarna period tomb.”
A whispered, excited consultation sounded from atop the fissure, and Sayyid’s wife called down again.
“Does it look as though it is about to fall in on you?”
Neil tore his attention from the paintings to answer her question. He skimmed past the art to look at the walls themselves, picking out the fine lines in the plaster before he raised his gaze to the ceiling.
It was covered in glittering golden stars. The sight of them stole his voice.
“There are hairline fractures,” he reported when he was able to speak again. “I can see two places where some of the plaster has broken away. And the fissure in the ceiling goes another several yards down the hall.”
He thought nervously of just how much stone must be pressing down on that crack from above. Neil swallowed thickly. “But nothing appears to be actively unstable.”
Neil startled as a pair of sandaled feet slipped through the gap above him, and Zeinab slithered down the rope like a gymnast.
A small pile of rubble lay by Neil’s boots, fragments of the ceiling that had crumbled to the ground with whatever minor seismic activity had opened the crack in the first place. Neil skipped around it to make way as Zeinab landed.
She automatically stepped aside, the line of her mouth tightening with worry as she studied the murals.
Ellie descended behind her. Her eyes went wide as soon as she dropped past the ceiling. “I see archers!” she exclaimed. “And wine makers! And a temple dancer!”
The rope spun her in a lazy circle as she craned her neck to try not to lose her view.
“Bet you can see it better from the ground, Princess,” Adam called down wryly.
Ellie slid the rest of the way down and hurried over to a portrait of nobly dressed hunters pursuing a diverse array of water birds. She gazed at it with an expression of pure joy, raising her hand to where a heron swept up from the clustered reeds, each feather depicted in perfect detail. Her fingers hovered above the ancient pigments as she drew in a careful, uneven breath, her eyes glistening.
“Aw hell,” came the sound of Adam’s voice from above.
Ellie forced her attention away from the paintings to call up to him. “Are you stuck?”
“Just… a little… tight…” Adam grunted, and a scattering of stones came loose to join the rubble under the fissure. “Got it. Guess I should’ve laid off the extra kofta.”
He dropped from the opening, his battered boots landing solidly on the ground. As he straightened, his broad shoulders took up most of the span of the hallway.
“I don’t think the kofta are the problem,” Neil commented a little weakly.
Adam’s expression sobered as he took in the wonder around them. He crossed over to where Ellie lingered, her eyes shimmering with joyful tears as she studied the vivid artwork.
“It’s… I…” she began, helpless to find the words.
Adam slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Yeah,” he agreed softly.
Neil was feeling shaky himself. The images that lined the hall were beautifully rendered snapshots of life in Egypt three thousand years ago, from the farmers in their fields to warriors flying into battle.
One figure in particular began to leap out at him from the murals—a woman with high cheekbones, fine almond-shaped eyes, and generous lips. The gold-wrapped cylinder of a false beard extended from her chin, a masculine kilt wrapping her curved hips. Her elegant head carried the weight of all the various crowns of Egypt—the double pschent, the striped and cobra-topped nemes headdress, and even the broad blue kephresh, worn when the pharaoh marched to war.
She was everywhere—holding her hands out over ripe fields of wheat as the rays of the Aten brushed her shoulders. Riding into battle with a lance in her hand, feet braced on the floor of her chariot. Raising up offerings to her god or playing with infants on her knee. She stood over every aspect of life in Egypt, from the pressing of grapes to the raising of monuments, her slender hands outstretched to offer bounty or serve justice.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Ellie breathed from beside him as Neil stared at an image of the woman scattering seeds while washed by the compassionate rays of her sun. “It’s Nefertiti.”
“Neferneferuaten,” Neil countered, his voice still numb with awe. “She isn’t a queen here. She’s pharaoh.” His gaze drifted along the hall, every inch of which was rich with color. “This is Neferneferuaten’s story.”
“She must have been extraordinary,” Ellie softly said with a reverent look at the noble figure on the wall.
Neil found himself struck by the significance of Ellie’s observation. Even if Nefertiti had been named heir by her husband before his death, women in Egypt did not come to hold the throne without exerting a great deal of power, cleverness, and determination. There would have been rivals to overcome, generals to woo, courtiers to manipulate—and then the immense challenge of ruling itself. The pharaoh of Egypt had led an empire that stretched from the Mediterranean to the mountain forests of Punt, a distance of over two thousand miles.
That Neferneferuaten’s name had fallen into obscurity—nearly disappearing into the cracks of history—spoke more to the enemies who had come after her than it did to the scale of her accomplishments.
That, and the unusually short length of her reign.
The reminder that the elegant, powerful woman depicted on the walls of the hallway had ruled for only three or four years before succumbing to some unknown fate was sobering.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Constance exclaimed as she released the rope and stepped into the tomb, looking around with wide-eyed wonder.
Sayyid descended behind her and immediately hurried from place to place along the murals. “But there are the offerings being made at the Great Temple of the Aten! And a depiction of the pharaoh as sphinx—and there’s the royal family in the Window of Appearances!”
His eyes sought Neil from across the hall, alight with a shared understanding of the immensity of the discovery as he instinctively looked for the person he knew would understand its significance. Neil beamed back at him, warmed by it—until the light flickered, then shuttered entirely as Sayyid quickly turned away.
“That is all of us. Jemmahor and Umm Waseem will stay above to keep watch.”
Zeinab’s words were a splash of cold water. In his excitement over the painted hall, Neil had nearly forgotten that he wasn’t entering this extraordinary place as part of a proper scientific expedition. This survey was happening under the noses of a batch of ruthless villains who would happily shoot the lot of them.
“But where did all of those bugs go?” Constance wondered.
“Good question,” Adam commented, pulling his focus from the paintings to look more carefully around the hall.
“One might expect them to have scurried away under cover,” Ellie suggested, lifting one of the larger pieces of debris piled under the fissure with the toe of her boot.
A cluster of shiny black scarabs scurried out from beneath it. Sayyid skipped back with a gurgled noise of protest as they raced past him, darting to the end of the hall, which still lay in relative gloom.
“Could I have the light?” Neil distractedly asked.
Zeinab handed Neil a lantern.
The shadows fled as he pressed forward, revealing a door made up of two narrow panels framed by carved posts and a stone lintel. The scarabs shimmied through the bottom corner, where the ground had shifted over the centuries to open a narrow gap.
The panels were carved with the dim forms of a pair of noble figures. As Neil drew closer, the soft glow of the lamplight fell more fully across the carvings.
The material of the door captured the illumination and shone with it as though from within.
“Goodness!” Ellie said as she joined him. “Is that alabaster?”
“I… think it is,” Neil returned wonderingly.
The stone was subtly translucent, shining with a pale ivory hue. The glow made the images carved on its surface flare to astonishingly vivid life.
On the left stood the woman who appeared in so many other places in the hall—the pharaoh Neferneferuaten, who had once been Queen Nefertiti.
Facing her, hand extended, was a tall man with sharp cheekbones and a long jaw, his figure lanky save for the soft droop of a potbelly.
His face was one that Neil knew almost as well as his own.
“Isn’t that…” Ellie began.
“Akhenaten,” Neil finished for her, his voice tight.
The visionary pharaoh who had revolutionized Egyptian life. Who had birthed a new faith, one whose influence might very well still be felt across the world. Genius or tyrant, prophet or heretic—the views on who he was and what he meant to history were as varied as the stars.
Akhenaten’s reign was known for its hyper-realistic artistic style, one that may have even over-emphasized the physical imperfections of its subjects. In the glowing panels of the alabaster door, Neil could see the crow’s feet accenting Neferneferuaten’s eyes. Her husband had the body of a scholar rather than the warrior’s physique imposed upon most other pharaonic images of the New Kingdom, regardless of how well they actually fit the men being depicted.
The flaws only made the two figures feel more real—more human as they glimmered magnificently from the rare and precious stone.
Sayyid hung back a step, torn between his desire to examine the panels and his trepidation about the possibility of more scarabs.
“There are a few Old Kingdom alabaster quarries to the south of here,” he noted. “The builders of the tomb might have mined the material there and carried it to the wadi.”
Sayyid’s revelation did not come as a surprise to Neil. Egypt was riddled with quarries. How else could the Egyptians have built their massive monuments and temples? They had sought out places in the hills and mountains framing the Nile where particular varieties of stone could be found, then either scooped them out like taking fruit from a bowl or cut straight into cliffs to carve out what they wanted.
Alabaster was perhaps the most sought-after and precious stone in the Egyptian world. These two doors alone were masterpieces.
“It’s terribly sad, though. Isn’t it?”
Neil startled at the sound of Constance’s voice. He had been so absorbed in the discovery that he hadn’t noticed her arrival.
She was standing very close to him. The hallway was narrow, and they had to avoid brushing against the delicate artwork on the walls. Her proximity triggered an involuntary flush.
It was a silly physical reflex, and Neil rallied himself against it. She might be a lovely young woman, but she was still Connie . He hardly needed to act like a stammering adolescent just because she came nearby.
“Sad?” he echoed in purely professional tones.
“When the door opens, it will pull them apart,” Constance pointed out.
Neil felt a less-than-entirely-professional pang at her words.
Constance was right, of course. When the doors parted, Akhenaten and the pharaoh who had once been his queen would be torn from each other—just as death had divided them three thousand years before.
The poignant twist in his heart surprised him. He was a scholar, after all, not a romantic.
Perhaps the notion hit him harder because so much of the art of the Amarna period showed the royal family together in such ordinary ways—celebrating, worshiping, or playing with their children. It made Akhenaten and his queen feel like people that Neil had actually known.
He glanced down at Constance. Her eyes were wide and liquid with sympathy.
“But can it be opened?” Zeinab demanded impatiently from behind them.
Neil straightened, trying to shake off the unexpected wave of emotion and act like the scholar he was supposed to be. “New Kingdom tomb entrances were typically blocked up with rubble and then sealed over with plaster from the outside—not that we can usually see much of it. It’s always been ripped away by looters.”
“How do you know that this is the entrance?” Zeinab pressed. “And not a passage deeper into the tomb?”
Neil opened his mouth to answer—and realized he didn’t have one.
“Well, it’s…” he began. “I mean, obviously…”
Sayyid shot him another of those impenetrable, thoughtful looks. “I think Dr. Fairfax is correct. The entrance to the tomb is typically where one would expect to find these imprecations against disturbing the burial.”
He gestured to a block of hieroglyphs on the wall.
“You mean curses?” Constance brightened with interest. “I was hoping for a good curse! It really wouldn’t be a proper tomb without one.”
Neil peered over Sayyid’s shoulder and smirked with a hint of old mischief. “Looks like it’s your favorite. Keper… wanam’ef… san. ‘ It is the scarab who will eat him,’” he finished cheerfully.
“ Khe per,” Sayyid corrected him automatically, making the guttural, distinctively Arabic sound at the back of his throat.
“If this is the front door, why’d they build it into the middle of the mountain?” Adam asked, frowning absently as he brushed some of the dust from his hair.
Neil turned to stare at him, as did the others.
“Based on how far we are from that fissure, this oughta be sitting right in the middle of the ridge,” Adam clarified with a wave at the alabaster panels.
Ellie looked from the crack in the ceiling to where they stood. “Of course! How very odd.”
“Perhaps it’s a false door,” Neil suggested.
“A false door?” Mrs. Al-Ahmed prompted.
“They are a common feature in tombs of this period,” Sayyid explained. “They are generally believed to serve as a means of communication between the mundane world and the afterlife. But one usually finds them in burial chambers, not corridors.”
“If it’s false, why does it have hinges?” Constance countered.
She pointed up at the top corner of the alabaster slab, where a round bronze peg was just visible through the slight gap between the glowing stone panel and the bedrock.
“That… admittedly looks very much like a hinge,” Neil conceded, blinking at it with surprise.
Ellie plucked a pin from her hair. She slipped it carefully into the thin crack between the two sides of the door, prodding gently. “There is something blocking the far side.”
“Rubble, perhaps?” Neil suggested. “Or the seals of the necropolis?”
“Or the mountain,” Adam offered dryly.
“Why don’t we just open it and see?” Constance suggested.
Neil stiffened, a posture he saw echoed in Sayyid’s red cheeks and Ellie’s sudden stillness.
“I’m sorry, but that isn’t strictly—” he began.
“Connie, one must really ensure that the context has been fully documented before—” Ellie started.
“The stone would need to be thoroughly inspected and stabilized—” Sayyid hurriedly offered.
Zeinab silenced them with her authoritative tones. “It does not matter. If it is blocked from the other side, then it is not the entrance to the burial chamber—and that means it is not where we need to go.”
Without waiting, she turned and stalked back up the corridor, her black abaya swirling magnificently around her ankles.
Ellie lingered by Neil’s side as the others followed. “Though one does have to wonder… if this opens into the middle of a mountain, then where did those scarabs go?”
Her words rang through Neil’s mind with a strange significance as he stared at the softly glowing images of the two kings—husband and wife, separated by a thin black line that led to who-knew-where.