Silver Tomb (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 2) (11 page)

“It wasn’t long after I discovered tomb KV55—Akhenaten’s tomb. He approached me under the guise of a wealthy American businessman newly arrived in Egypt with a wish to pursue his passion for Egyptology. I suppose some of it was true. He seemed to have a passable layman’s knowledge of Egyptology, and I have to confess that I was seduced by his wealth and the idea of a rich foreigner financing my future digs.”

“Seduced?”

“Oh, not like that! Goodness! But perhaps as a fellow antiquarian, you have some understanding of the constant need to fundraise. It is a daily struggle. Money simply soaks into the sand here. No, my attraction to him was purely on a professional level. Where else would I get the proper funds needed to explore my theories that a second city to the Aten was out here somewhere?”

Lazarus felt a deep gush of relief, although he could not account for it. Before he had met Eleanor, he found the idea of Thackeray’s fiancé running off with another man highly amusing. Now that he had met her he could not see the funny side at all. “So you dislike the man?”

“Intensely. We live up at the dig together and converse only when it is in our mutual interest. The rest of the time he works on his projects and I on mine. We sleep on opposite sides of the complex. But I am in a quandary. I wish I had never met him, but at the same time how would I have found the City of the Silver Aten without his help?”

“What are his intentions towards you once his work is complete? It seems terribly unfair to let you make this fantastic discovery and then shroud it in secrecy so you might not even get the recognition you deserve.”

“I suppose he will relinquish the site to me once he is done using it as his private laboratory. Then I will be able to reveal my discovery to the world, and see that the artifacts there receive the proper protection and respect they deserve.”

“And Lindholm?”

“He will take his monstrosities back where he came from.”

“I was afraid of that. I can’t let him do it, Eleanor.”

“Isn’t the British Empire on friendly terms with the Confederate States?”

“Yes. But you’ve seen those creatures. No sane person would allow them or the research behind them to fall into the hands of a foreign nation, friend or foe. The C.S.A. would build an army of such monsters and I can’t stand by and let it happen. Will you help me?”

“I would dearly like to help you, Lazarus, for you seem like a fine and decent man and God knows there are few enough of those in the world. But I am tied to Lindholm...”

“You are not his prisoner,” Lazarus stated firmly.

“It is good of you to say so, but I fear that I am.”

“Look around you! You are in Cairo, in my company, and he is out in the desert still. What is to prevent you from taking the first steamer back to England?”

“I cannot leave the artifacts and the mummy of Kiya alone in his hands,” she replied. “They mean too much to me. It is only my promise that I will return to him that stays his hand from turning her into one of those abominations.”

“You would sacrifice your freedom for a three-thousand year old mummy?”

“I told you that I feel a bond with her. And... there’s more. If I were to go with you, you would reunite me with Henry?”

“I suppose so.”

“Lazarus, please believe me when I tell you that there has been nothing...
sordid
between Lindholm and I.”

“I do believe you, I promise.”

“It’s just that, well, I know I should feel lucky in marrying Henry, but...”

“You don’t want to return to him,” said Lazarus, allowing a faint smile of triumph to cross his face.

“Do you know that he wants me to give up archaeology once we are married?”

“He doesn’t!”

“That is something I can never do. But what I can do right now, I have no idea. Both our families expect us to get married, how can I call the whole thing off?”

“That’s not something you need to worry about now,” said Lazarus, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “One megalomaniac at a time, eh?”

She allowed herself to giggle at that. “You have a history with my fiancé, don’t you? Although, he’s never mentioned you.”

“I am as sore a memory for him as he is for me, I fear. We were once the greatest of friends.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, we were never anything alike. He was so headstrong and masterful, and a fine upholder of imperialism. I was more laid back and not quite so proud of my country’s dominance of the seas. But we shared a common interest; the pursuit of ancient civilizations and lost cultures. We were working together at the ruined city of Great Zimbabwe, trying to establish its trade routes to the coast.”

“Great Zimbabwe?” she exclaimed, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “You were part of that expedition? He never said...”

“We had a falling out. While he was suffering from fever miles from the site, I was approached by an agent of the British government. He offered me a chance to find what he thought was the source of King Solomon’s great wealth.”

“Yes, Solomon’s mines! Henry is convinced they and Great Zimbabwe are one and the same.”

“The very cause of our falling out. You see, while Henry was at death’s door, I and this British agent found a much more likely site miles away. I do not believe it really was the mines of Solomon, but the nature of our business there meant that I could not speak of it or give any indication of its location. Henry was furious and felt like I was shutting him out. He thought I had found King Solomon’s mines and was keeping it to myself.

“He got back to England before me and immediately began slandering me to the Royal Archaeological Society. He also claimed that I had promised to pay for the expedition, which was an outright lie. The costs were to be divided between us. When I returned, I was forced to pay and that cost me dear. Then we got involved in a very public quarrel. He would criticize my methods in the papers and then I would discredit his theories about Great Zimbabwe being King Solomon’s mines. It all got rather childish, I’m afraid.”

They found a quiet cafe to have tea in and whiled away a few hours talking about other things. She quizzed him about his work for the government and he told her all he felt that he could.

“I must say, it all sounds terribly exciting,” she said. “To think that a government would employ antiquarians and archaeologists as special agents.”

“Anything that might help them dig up loot to finance their expansion,” said Lazarus, with accustomed cynicism.

“It’s getting late,” she said, looking at the lengthening shadows.

“Allow me to walk you back to your hotel,” said Lazarus. “Where are you staying?”

“On my boat. A steam-powered
dahabeah
. It’s really quite comfortable.”

They walked together down to Port Bulaq and Lazarus saw for himself her mode of transport and residence. It was the usual size for a
dahabeah
, only without the sails. Instead, a single funnel poked up, like on a steamship.

She turned to him at the gangplank. “What would you say to taking an aperitif with me on board? We could go out for dinner, perhaps.”

Lazarus was sorely tempted. “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea.”

“Oh, my servants are on board,” she replied. “It would be quite proper, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure you know that it wouldn’t be,” he replied.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said, not masking her disappointment. “I suppose you’ll be dining with that Russian woman. Are you at all...?”

“Katarina? Good Lord, no! We occasionally find our paths crossing in the pursuit of our respective government’s interests, but we don’t actually get on all that well at all.”

“I see. Well, goodnight, Lazarus.” She leaned forward to kiss him on his cheek. It was only a small mark of affection but it made him burn inside. “I’m beginning to think that I fell in with the wrong one who returned from that African expedition,” she said.

Chapter Eleven

In which two warnings are given and both go unheeded

Lazarus wasn’t tired, and decided to take a walk along the docks. He passed the rows of
dahabeahs
and steamers, deep in thought. His cheek burned where Eleanor had kissed him and he felt a churning in his gut—a churning he had felt before—and it never boded well. He had loved before, and that girl had ended up dead when the British sacked the Colombian village on the shores of Lake Guatavita. That event had broken his heart and shattered his loyalty to the empire he served. But eventually, inevitably, he had been drawn back to its service. The empire had turned him around and pushed him back out into the world with a gun in his hand and orders to serve Her Majesty. He had always supposed that his ability to love would return to him, but he had not thought it would come back so soon. He didn’t feel ready for it.

And then there was Katarina. She was a hard woman to like and even harder to love, but their weeks travelling across America in the
Santa Bella
had stirred something in him towards her. He wouldn’t quite call it love—fondness, perhaps? Despite her barbed insults, scathing sarcasm and general disgust of him, they had developed a sense of camaraderie on their adventures. And on those nights, as the clouds drifted past the portholes, the space between their bunks seemed agonizingly close, and yet it might have been the Atlantic between them. For, as much as he would have relished a more intimate or even a physical relationship with her, he never managed to muster the resolve to take any kind of step in that direction.

And so, after weeks of travelling the east coast, they had decided that they had both seen all they needed to in the United States and that their journey had run its course. They had set down in Boston. It had been raining and, without much passion, they had parted. He had doubted then that he would ever see her again and thought it probably just as well.

His thoughts were halted in their tracks when he realized that he was near the Bayoumi Shipping Company. He decided that he had walked far enough and headed back towards Azbekya.

He went to the Grand Hotel with the mind of calling in on Petrie to see how he was getting along with his studies, and found some sort of commotion in the foyer.

“Now, please, sir,” a woman was saying in a firm, foreign accent that Lazarus instantly recognized, “I thank you for your help but I really must be allowed to take it from here.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it, madam,” said another foreign voice—
Prussian?—
“until you are settled in your room and the police are called. I recommend a large brandy to settle your nerves.”

“My nerves are quite in order, I assure you!”

Lazarus had to cover his smile. Katarina’s new friend was insistent on playing the hero and was likely to get a black eye for his troubles if he persisted for much longer. He thought it best to intervene.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, walking over to them. The Prussian was a tall man with large graying side-whiskers and a monocle. He looked at Lazarus in surprise at this intrusion, and Lazarus noticed an expression of relief cross Katarina’s face.

“This man is pressing his help on me when I clearly don’t need it,” she said.

“Sir, do you know this lady?” the Prussian asked.

“We, ah, we’re in the same line of work,” Lazarus replied. “And just happened to be in Cairo at the same time.”

“Work? A New Woman, eh?” said the man, his whiskers bristling. “I might have known by her stubbornness.”

“What happened?”

“She was attacked down at Port Bulaq.”

“Attacked!”

“I was not attacked!” Katarina exclaimed. “Do I look like I have bruises? Wounds? I was merely chased several streets,”

“Until she ran in to me who, as luck would have it, am also staying at the Grand.”

“He practically dragged me back here like an errant schoolgirl,” Katarina said, her eyes spitting fire at the Prussian.

“Who chased you?” asked Lazarus, knowing that it could not have been an ordinary thief, for Katarina would merely have shot them dead.

“One of you-know-who’s little friends,” she replied, her words mouthing the cryptic message to him.

“Here, in Cairo?” Lazarus hadn’t really believed that Lindholm would risk all by sending one of his creations into the city. It was far too conspicuous. “How exactly was he dressed?”

“Like a woman,” said Katarina.

“Good Lord!” exclaimed the Prussian.

“It—
he
—had on one of those long black garments some women wear here that covers all, including the face.”

“That’s a devilish trick,” the Prussian said. “Didn’t want you to recognize him, eh? Who is this fellow sending his people after you?”

“An ex-lover,” said Lazarus, enjoying the expression on Katarina’s face as he said this. “She jilted him and he’s been on her trail since she left Moscow.”

“Moscow? I thought the accent was distinctive. Well, madam, I’m sure you had your reasons for leaving him, and by the sound of it this fellow is one to be well rid of.” He turned to Lazarus. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Baron Friedrich von Eichendorf.”

“A baron, no less?” said Lazarus, bowing low. “I am Lazarus Longman, and Katarina here is an acquaintance of mine. I thank you for bringing her back here safely. She may hide it well, but she no doubt required the aid of a gentleman and you stepped up magnificently.” He tried not to smile at the blazing indignation on Katarina’s face.

“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you,” said von Eichendorf. “I do hope you will call the police on her behalf, young sir, for it would be a crime in itself to leave this cross-dressing bounder at liberty to threaten this lovely young lady further.”

“Come, on,” said Lazarus as the Baron moved away. “Let’s get a drink and you can tell me all about it.”

They took gin in the bar and Katarina related her tale. “I had an inkling I was being followed as I left the docks,” she said. “I ducked into a doorway to see if my pursuer would walk right past or loiter somewhere down the street. It did neither and came in on me in the doorway and I knew then that its mission was to kill me. It was so heavy, and was pressing me down against the door. Its furnace was so terribly hot that I could get no hold on it.”

“Hmm,” said Lazarus. “It seems sensible to think that this creature was the very same that murdered Petrie’s friend and stole the cosmetic container he was carrying. The victim’s hands were badly scorched. And his wallet was not taken.”

“And so by extension,” said Katarina, “the creature also stole that relief fragment from the museum?”

“I’ll buy it.”

“So will I.”

“Did you scream?” Lazarus asked her. “When it attacked you?”

She glared at him. “What would that have achieved? No, I didn’t scream. I put a bullet in its chest at point blank range.”

“Ah, as we know, only a bullet to the heart does it in for these things.”

“I didn’t exactly have the time or the range of movement to take a proper shot, so one in the gut was all I could manage to knock it back a pace and allow me time enough to free myself. It came charging down the street after me and I turned and fired off two more rounds—I don’t know if either hit it—but while I had my head turned I was nearly knocked down by a carriage. I had run right out into a main street. The passenger in the carriage was that infuriating Prussian fellow who insisted on manhandling me back to the hotel. I looked around to see some sign of my pursuer, but it had vanished. Evidently, it doesn’t trust the effectiveness of its disguise enough to wander into the more populated parts of the city. That probably explains why it attacked me at night.”

“What exactly were you doing down at the docks, anyway?”

“Taking the night air,” she replied, knocking down the rest of the gin in one and motioning the barman to refill her glass.

“Oh, come off it, Katarina!”

“What?”

“You were spying on me!”

“What on earth are you getting at?”

“I suppose it was a coincidence that I happened to be down at the docks also? It’s a wonder we didn’t bump into each other!”

“Longman, it may surprise you to know that I have better things to do with my evenings than keep up with your petty romances.”

“Romances? For a start that’s incorrect and secondly, you have just exposed yourself. How did you know what I was doing?”

“Oh, all right, for God’s sake! I was spying on you! How else am I supposed to find out where this woman sleeps at night and what she gets up to on her trips to Cairo? She’s my only connection to Lindholm, and if I can’t return to his hidden city in the desert then I will have to go through her to get to him.”

“You just be careful,” Lazarus warned her. “I don’t want her getting hurt.”

“You’re her guardian angel now, are you? Good God, man she’s got you wrapped around her little finger!”

“Rubbish! She’s an innocent in this whole business. It’s Lindholm that’s got her tied up. She doesn’t even dare run away for fear of what he’ll do to her.” That wasn’t strictly true but Lazarus didn’t feel like going into Eleanor’s bizarre sentimentality towards Kiya’s mummy.

“Very well, Lazarus,” Katarina replied. “I just think you should be careful. Or it may be you who ends up getting hurt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just be prepared for the possibility that Miss Rousseau may not be as innocent as she seems. Don’t you think it strange that the mummy came after me the night she was moored up in the city? Don’t you wonder where this creature is kept in the daytime? Who controls it?”

“Oh, this is going too far, Katarina! What are you suggesting? That Eleanor keeps a stock of mechanical mummies on board her
dahabeah
?”

“Well, whoever controls the mummy is interested in artifacts pertaining to Kiya. Just as your friend Rousseau is.”

“Well, it still may be coincidental. Petrie only made the connection between the kohl container and the relief fragment after they were stolen. It seems unlikely that anybody else would know that the fragment depicted Kiya. Not even Eleanor Rousseau.” He let the matter rest at that.

“Goodnight, Longman,” said Katarina. “I’m tired and am feeling the effects of these drinks too much to argue with you further. I think I shall rest a while before dinner.”

The following morning, Lazarus found a telegram waiting for him in reception. It was from London and worded in the usual cryptic mumbo-jumbo he had come to expect from Morton’s office.

LONGMAN

PROCEED WITH PROCURING THE PARISIAN PERFUME. FORGET THE AMERICAN WHISKEY. HAVE IMBIBED TOO MUCH LATELY

M

Lazarus cursed. Morton’s timing was impeccably inconvenient, as ever. The ‘Parisian Perfume’ clearly meant Eleanor, so his original mission was still in effect. But somebody in Morton’s outfit had evidently found out that Lindholm was no rogue scientist, but a minion of the Confederate States conducting experiments for the army. So the ‘American whiskey’ was not to be touched, eh? Once more Lazarus cursed the Empire’s association with the C.S.A. The world could go to hell so long as Britannia kept her head above water and her friends friendly. Even if they were a lot of murdering bastards, like General Reynolds.

Later that evening he went to Port Bulaq and asked Eleanor if she wouldn’t mind reopening that offer of dinner. She did not mind one bit, and they found a pleasant little restaurant not too far from the water’s edge where they watched the sunset over the pyramids in the south. They seemed to glow with a dusty rose color, and set the mood for a fine dinner wonderfully.

He did not mention the attack on Katarina, for he did not want to spoil the evening He was still too angry with her accusations to think about it, much less discuss it with Eleanor. Instead they talked of other things; Egyptology, Maspero’s dig at the Sphinx, Lazarus’s government work and Eleanor’s life in Paris before she had met Henry Thackeray.

“He can’t understand why I still want to spend my time chasing down relics of the past instead of building a future with him,” she said.

“Perhaps your reluctance to relinquish Kiya’s mummy is in fact a reluctance to relinquish Egyptology itself,” said Lazarus.

“Perhaps. But I really do feel for that woman. I want to get her remains and effects out of Egypt as soon as possible.”

“Out of Egypt? There’s certain difficulties with that, as you and Lindholm had no concession to dig there. Maspero would likely see you both as treasure hunters, despite your previous archaeological successes.”

“I know, and yet, if I tell anybody, the site will be taken away from me and Kiya will wind up in the basement of the Bulaq Museum. I must get her to Paris. There, in the Louvre, she can receive the honor she deserves, surrounded by the artifacts I found at Akhetaten—not to mention being reunited with her husband. Will you help me do it, Lazarus? Please say that you will!”

“Eleanor, I’m not really in the business of smuggling antiquities out of Egypt. Not only do I disagree with the practice but it’s not in my line of work. Please do not misunderstand, I do not put you in the same class as those who would despoil Egypt of its treasures. I know that you have the interests of knowledge and preservation at heart. But it’s simply not my mission here.”