The Laughter of Dead Kings (20 page)

Feisal growled and I said, “I hope you didn’t do that on purpose.”

“No, no, it was a fortuitous joke, you understand. The quotation means, ‘One does what one can,’ and the German verb form
‘tut’
is the third-person—”

“We get it, Schmidt. Lead on.”

Schmidt led the way past Ramses (a much smaller figure next to him was female, presumably his queen) and through another gateway into a forest of stone. I had been in the Hypostyle Hall once before, but that had been in the daytime. At night, with only the moon to light them, the towering columns were even more overpowering. We were midgets, insects, next to those mammoth shapes. They surrounded us and diminished us. A few other insects crawled in and out of sight among them.

My idea of romance is a cozy little room with a fire on the hearth and a lot of soft cushions and a bottle of something on ice. Or maybe a secluded pool, surrounded by palms and hibiscus and vines waving gently in a tropical breeze. Or maybe…Whatever it was, it wasn’t a big dark stony place where the shadows whispered words I couldn’t quite hear.

“Romantic?” I said aloud.

“Shh.” Schmidt came to a halt and pointed. “There. Is that not—”

Pale light sifted down between the giant columns and glimmered off a head of fair hair.

“Not John,” I said.

“How can you be sure?”

“If it were John you wouldn’t see him at all. Probably some visiting archaeologist.”

We went on along the main axis, stopping to look down the intersecting aisles as we crossed them. The futility of our search became increasingly apparent to me; the few people we spotted were so diminished by distance and darkness, I couldn’t even tell whether they were men or women.

I caught hold of Schmidt’s sleeve. “This is only one part of the temple, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, there are long sections beyond. Several more pylons, a temple of the Eighteenth—”

“Why wouldn’t Ashraf be meeting his contact there? This is an impossible place to search.”

“But it is perfect for a private rendezvous. One cannot be cornered,” said Schmidt triumphantly, “because there are no corners! And concealment can be attained in a split second.”

And one could go on playing hide-and-seek indefinitely. Every column looked like every other column and each was big enough to hide several people.

I didn’t have the heart to call a halt, though. Schmidt was having a wonderful time, tiptoeing and squinting at nothing in particular, and I was getting over my fit of nerves.

Then Schmidt let out a stifled shriek and disappeared.

I wasn’t looking at him when it happened. He had fallen behind Feisal and me—not far behind, only a few yards. Having concluded that nothing nasty was going to happen, I had relaxed my guard and was going through the motions, peering dutifully from one side to the other. I spun around. No Schmidt. Gone, just like that.

I ran back, yelling his name, and made a quick right turn into the next intersecting aisle. There was enough light for me to see some distance along the line of huge columns. At the far end, a long way off, was a human figure. It couldn’t be Schmidt, he couldn’t have got that far. Oh, God, I thought, please, no—not Schmidt…

A hand covered my mouth and a muscular arm pinned my arms to my sides. I kicked back, heard a grunt, and then a swear word. “Stop that,” Feisal muttered. “He’s okay, I found him.”

I went limp with relief. Feisal let me go. “Keep quiet,” he said softly. “This way.”

I hadn’t gone quite far enough. Schmidt was in the next aisle down. He was talking to someone. They were both hidden from view by one of the damned columns, and their voices were so low I couldn’t make out what they were saying until we stood on the other side of the column.

The other person was speaking. It’s hard to identify voices when they whisper; the speaker might have been male or female. The first words I heard were “…want to help. I’m on your side, you know.”

“Do you really mean it?” came next, in Schmidt’s version of a whisper.

For several long seconds there was no sound except for some heavy breathing. Feisal squeezed my arm. I looked up at him. He grinned and raised his finger to his lips.

I was sorely tempted to burst upon the pair with rude comments, but discretion dictated otherwise. No, I would wait to hear what Schmidt had to say. If he fell under the spell of Suzi again, we would have to deprogram him. The other person had to be Suzi; Schmidt hadn’t had time to make another conquest. She must have followed us from the hotel…Unless Schmidt had told her where we were going. Honestly, I thought, you can’t trust anybody.

Feisal put his mouth against my ear. “I’m going to follow her. Get hold of Schmidt and go back to the entrance.”

“He told us not to—”

He faded into the shadow and became invisible.

I had had enough. Reaching into my pocket, I took out Schmidt’s flashlight and switched it on. A faint sound behind me made me whirl in that direction; in the beam of light I thought I saw something duck back behind a column. Another sound from the opposite direction. Shadows raced from the light as I turned back to see Schmidt step into view. He raised his hand to shield his eyes.

“What—” he began.

I grabbed him by the collar with my free hand and shook him. “What do you mean, what? I’m the one who should say ‘What?’ How dare you scare me that way?”

“It was Suzi,” Schmidt said calmly. “She caught hold of me and pulled me behind that column. She is very strong for a woman. I was too surprised at first to resist, and then she persuaded me that I must listen to what she had to say. Where is Feisal? I told him not to leave you alone.”

“You left me alone.”

“It was not my fault, but I don’t blame you if you are angry.” Schmidt tried to appear penitent. He didn’t really succeed; the very curve of his mustache was smug. “I found out much of interest, and got back into her good graces. She begged my pardon and said she believed me; that she is on our side now.”

“Did you believe her?”

“Of course I did not. But it seemed to me wise to act as if I did. Vicky, she says John is here at Karnak. She saw him not five minutes ago. Turn off the flashlight and I will take you—”

“Damned if I will. I’ve had enough dark.”

“He will see us approaching.”

“No, he won’t because we aren’t going…Hmmm. Where was he when she saw him?”

Schmidt pointed down one of the endless aisles. “Going in that direction. What will you bet me that he is following Ashraf?”

“Ashraf is being followed by John who is being followed by Suzi who is being followed by Feisal and us? This is ludicrous, Schmidt. I’m going back to the entrance and you are coming with me.”

“Feisal is following Suzi?”

“Just come quietly, okay?”

There was only one way of making certain he did, and that was to start back myself. I knew my Schmidt wouldn’t leave me alone.

We had only gone a little way when a long, high-pitched cry echoed down the aisles. The sound was as shocking as an explosion in the pervasive silence, and it went on and on, broken by brief pauses which wrenched at the hearing almost as painfully as the cries themselves.

The flashlight beam wobbled violently as I pivoted, trying to locate the source. Schmidt tugged at my arm. “This way!”

“Schmidt, we can’t—”

But I knew we had to. Feisal was out there somewhere.

As we swerved around columns we ran into a man coming the other way—another way, anyhow, there weren’t any discernible directions in that maze. I directed my light at him in time to keep Schmidt from knocking him flat. He was even chubbier than Schmidt; they bounced off each other and rocked to a stop.

“Wolfgang!” Schmidt exclaimed.

“Schmidt! Is it you?
Was ist gefallen? Wer hat geschriehen?
”

“Ich weiss nicht. Kommen Sie mit.”

“Your flashlight, Schmidt,” I said breathlessly.

“Ach, ja, ich habe vergessen.”

He had, understandably, neglected to introduce Wolfgang; I deduced that he was a member of one of the archaeological groups working in the Luxor area. The screams had stopped, but after we’d gone a little way I began to hear voices. We weren’t the only ones who had responded. Some must have been closer to the scene than we, since already a small group of people had gathered around a figure seated on the ground, hands clutching his head. Everybody was talking at once, offering advice in a variety of languages.

“Don’t try to get up.”

“Lie down, you are bleeding.”

“Send for an ambulance!”

“Stand back, give him air.”

Among the spectators was Feisal. We trotted up to him and he spared us a quick glance. “It’s Ashraf. He’s not badly hurt. All right, friends, your assistance is appreciated but unnecessary. He slipped and hit his head, that’s all.”

“I was afraid it was you,” I mumbled.

“No, that was me screaming. I heard a muffled cry and the sound of a fall, and found him flat on the ground. I didn’t want to leave him alone while I went for help.”

“He didn’t slip, did he?”

“Later. Come on, Ashraf, let me give you a hand.”

“He may have concussion,” Schmidt said. “Should we not wait for a medical person?”

“He could die of old age before we got a stretcher in here,” Feisal said. “Are you offering to carry him?”

Ashraf lowered his hands and looked up at us. Blood trickled down his neck. “I don’t require to be carried. A slight accident, as Feisal said. I hope I have not spoiled this experience for you.”

He got slowly to his feet, waving Feisal away. The spectators made polite disclaimers, but they began to drift away singly and in pairs, returning to the entrance. The show was over, in any case. The light had faded. The gibbous moon was setting.

“Take my arm,” Feisal said. “Nobody’s looking, you needn’t show off any longer.”

“Go away,” Ashraf said through his teeth. “Leave me alone.”

Wolfgang, the only one of the outsiders left, took this personally. He chugged away, muttering and shaking his head.

“You too,” said Ashraf, squaring his manly shoulders and distributing an indiscriminate glare at the rest of us.

“Fat chance,” I said. “You owe us an explanation, Ashraf. Whom did you meet? Where did he go?”

“She,” Feisal said.

“What?” I stared at him.

“I saw her running away,” Feisal said. “She had a scarf pinned round her head and she was wearing a skirt. And don’t try to tell me it was a man in a head cloth and galabiya, I know the difference.”

“I suppose,” said Ashraf, “that if I told you I had an appointment with a lady friend—”

“We wouldn’t believe it,” I assured him. “So your contact was female.” I succumbed, I admit, to sexist prejudice.

For all his bravado, Ashraf wasn’t at his best. He sagged a little, and when Feisal put an arm round him he didn’t shrug it off. “It was clever,” Ashraf admitted. “I had come prepared to defend myself should it be necessary. Finding a woman lowered my guard.”

“Why did she hit you?” I asked.

“She didn’t. We were getting along nicely when someone came up behind me.” Ashraf showed his teeth in what was certainly not a friendly smile. “It was your friend Mr. Tregarth.”

A
shraf refused to see a doctor. He was steady on his feet, and it was two o’clock in the morning, so we decided to take him back to the Winter Palace. The yawning guard assured us we were the last to leave the temple. I doubted, not his veracity—he probably thought he was telling the truth—but his accuracy. But by that time I didn’t give a damn who was still chasing whom around the columns or climbing over which walls.

After protesting our intent, to no avail, Ashraf lapsed into silence and refused to answer questions. The streets of Luxor were dim and deserted, with not even a taxi in sight, but of course the director’s car awaited. Nothing so prosaic as an ordinary EgyptAir flight for Ashraf; he had had his chauffeur drive him to Luxor.

When we arrived at the hotel, I stopped at the desk to ask for messages and was informed, with appropriate hauteur, that they would
have been delivered to our room. Mr. Tregarth had not picked up the one we had left earlier. The news came as no surprise.

Schmidt dug out his first-aid kit and Ashraf submitted fairly graciously to my ministrations, such as they were. The blow had landed just behind his right ear, resulting in a bump and a small cut. He refused my offer to shave off the hair around the cut, so I had to settle for dabbing on an antiseptic cream. I smeared on quite a lot of it, messing up his nice haircut, since by that time I had had it up to here with Ashraf.

He had resigned himself to the inevitable by then—the inevitable being three annoyed people who were prepared to use force to prevent his leaving—and he’d also had time to think things over.

“How did you know?” he inquired, taking a sip of the fizzy lemon drink with which Schmidt had supplied him.

“We’re asking the questions,” I said, folding my arms. “Why didn’t you tell us you had heard again from the thieves?”

“The second message warned me of what would happen if I confided in anyone else.”

“Another piece of Tut?” I asked.

Ashraf shuddered. “Please, don’t say such things.”

“But we aren’t the police,” Feisal said. “That was an idle threat; they couldn’t know whether you had told
us.
”

“They would know if you turned up at the right place at the right time,” Ashraf said with sudden fury. “Which you did. You were seen. She was extremely angry. I swore by every saint in several pantheons that I hadn’t said a word to any of you. Fortunately she believed me.”

“What a nice, trusting lady she must be,” I said. “Some conspirator!”

Ashraf leaned back, legs extended, ankles crossed, lips curving in a smile. “She was amenable to persuasion. But perhaps I should start at the beginning.”

He had found the second message waiting for him when he arrived at his house in Luxor. (He had others, Feisal told us later, at Sharm el Sheikh and Alexandria.) It instructed him to meet his contact in the Hypostyle Hall at Karnak between twelve midnight and 1:00
A.M.
They were thoughtful enough to give him twenty-four hours to arrange the matter. If he failed to show up, he would have cause to regret it.

“I came to you to ask whether you had made any progress. You presented me with a variety of unfounded theories, but no facts. It became evident to me that you were incapable of carrying out your assignment, or unwilling to do so. So…” He took out a fancy silver case, extracted a cigarette, and lit it with a fancy silver lighter. “I decided to proceed on my own. I invited a number of dignitaries and archaeologists to justify my reason for opening the temple. I staked myself out near the entrance in the hope of identifying my contact when he entered; when I saw you three, I realized I ought to have anticipated that Dr. Schmidt would learn of the occasion from one of his several thousand dear friends, and that you would be unable to resist enjoying the experience.”

“Enjoy, hell,” I said. “We went because we had figured out what you were up to. The fact that you hadn’t invited us was suspicious.”

“It was ratiocination of the most brilliant kind,” Schmidt added.

“If you say so,” Ashraf said, not believing a word of it. “In any event, I decided your presence would not interfere with my plan. I had been given a specific cross-reference, and the area is extensive.” He blew a perfect smoke ring and leaned back to admire it.

“Go on,” I said. We should have banged him on the head again in order to keep him off balance. He was enjoying his place in the spotlight.

“As I said, when I encountered a woman I was taken by surprise. However, she gave me the word I had been told to expect—”

“Mummy?” I couldn’t resist.

“How did you know?” Ashraf demanded in surprise.

I had meant it as a feeble joke, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Smug is a game two can play. I gestured for him to continue.

She had been angry and visibly nervous at first, “but I soon put her at her ease. We—er—negotiated. I promised her immunity and a safe haven if she accepted my offer.”

“How much?” Feisal asked bluntly.

Ashraf hesitated. “Two hundred and fifty thousand, for herself.”

“In exchange for Tut’s current address?” I asked.

Feisal and Ashraf both flinched. “I wish you wouldn’t be so frivolous about this,” the latter said. “In essence, yes, that is what we agreed. We were about to set up our next and final meeting when your friend interfered. When I recovered from that cowardly blow, he and she were both gone.”

He lit another cigarette, looking pleased with himself.

He’d told a plausible story, one that made him look like both hero and victim. I wondered how much spin he’d put on it. I was prepared to believe that one of the gang was ready to make a deal. Criminals are not noted for loyalty to one another. Ashraf had private means. He could probably raise that much if he had to.

“Ashraf, you damned fool,” I said. “Didn’t it occur to you that someone would be keeping an eye on your lady friend? I hope for her sake the other guy didn’t overhear too much. Crooks have ways of dealing with traitors.”

“He must have overheard a good deal,” Ashraf admitted. “He struck me down just as we were about to come to an agreement.”

We had to come to it, sooner or later. “He was behind you,” I said, in a last-ditch effort. “How do you know it was John—Mr. Tregarth?”

“I caught only a glimpse. I heard a sound, and started to turn. But I saw enough. How many fair-haired individuals were present tonight?”

“Several, I should think.”

“But only one who is involved in this affair,” Ashraf said triumphantly. “Up to his neck, I should add. Why would he have gone to the temple unless he knew a meeting was planned? You claim you were able to anticipate my intentions through—ratiocination, was it not?—and I am willing to consider the possibility that Tregarth has deceived you as he tried to deceive me; but the evidence against him is strong. If he was not there, where was he? Where is he now?”

“He’ll turn up,” I said. “With a perfectly good explanation.”

“Let me know when he does.” Ashraf put out his cigarette and stood up. “It is late and I am feeling a trifle fatigued. Can I give you a lift, Feisal?”

Feisal looked as if he would like to refuse, but exhaustion overcame pride. None of us was in the mood to go on rehashing the affair. The two men left; Schmidt trudged off to his room; I hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door into the hall, peeled off the outer layers of clothing, and collapsed into bed.

I was so tired, every muscle in my body ached, but my brain wouldn’t shut down. Ashraf had presented a circumstantial but damning case. He wasn’t the only one who claimed to have seen John. Suzi had too, if we could believe her. And what had become of Suzi? Feisal had been following her when he heard Ashraf being attacked. Could it have been Suzi who hit him? She had blond hair, cut short like a man’s. That was all Ashraf had seen, the glimmer of light on a head of fair hair. Feisal had only seen a woman who was wearing a head scarf.

The windows were rectangles of pale gray. Dawn wasn’t far off. I
was too exhausted to get up and close the drapes. I pulled the sheet over my head and fell asleep.

B
right sunlight hit me in the eyes and woke me. My watch informed me it was almost ten. I rolled over onto the cold, empty space next to me. The rustle of bedclothes produced a knock at the door.

“Are you awake?” Schmidt, who else. He must have been standing right outside, with his ear pressed to the panel.

“No.”

“I will order breakfast.” Footsteps retreated.

Having been left with no choice in the matter, I dragged myself into the shower. In fact, I felt better than I had any reason to expect. My subconscious hadn’t come up with any answers to the questions that had kept me awake the night before, though.

I got dressed, realizing I had better send some laundry out too. I was buttoning my last clean shirt when the door opened, after what I can only call a perfunctory knock.

“You are dressed,” said Schmidt.

“Sorry about that.”

“There is coffee,” said Schmidt, resigned. “And Feisal is here.”

I didn’t ask whether John had returned. Schmidt would have said so.

The waiter had been and gone and Schmidt was tucking into a plate of eggs and turkey sausages. I accepted a cup of coffee from Feisal.

“Did you get anything useful out of Ashraf?” I asked.

Feisal made a wry face. “All he did was gloat about his cleverness and scold me for queering the deal.”

“How much of his story do you think is true?”

“The basic facts, I believe,” said Schmidt thoughtfully. “But there are many unanswered questions. I have now heard Suzi’s version of what transpired.”

“You’ve been a busy little bee this morning. Sorry I overslept.”

“A man in my physical condition does not require much sleep.” Schmidt smeared jam on a roll. “In accordance with my new policy I expressed concern over her safety and offered to tell her what had happened to Ashraf, since I assumed she would already have heard of it.”

“Well done.” The jam was all gone. I opened a little pot of honey. “Well? What did she say?”

“She did not see the attack itself, only Ashraf’s fallen body. Hearing Feisal approach, she hid herself and watched.”

“Those useful columns,” I murmured. “How did she get out of the temple?”

“Walked out, I expect,” Feisal said. “The guard wasn’t told to keep track of people leaving. Isn’t anybody going to ask how I spent the morning?”

I made encouraging noises, through a mouthful of bread and honey.

“Not happily,” Feisal said. “Ali’s family wants his body back. They sent a delegation—all the men in the family—to my office. I had to tell them the autopsy wasn’t finished. They didn’t like it.”

“According to Muslim law, the body must be buried before sunset of the day of death, or at latest the following day,” Schmidt informed me.

“It was too late for that when the body was found, wasn’t it?” I asked.

“You don’t reason with people who are in emotional distress,” Feisal said. “I’m going to the village to see the rest of the family, try to explain. Do you want to come with me?”

I didn’t want to. It was bound to be an upsetting experience. But maybe our presence would make it easier for Feisal.

He waited while I got my laundry together and Schmidt loaded his pockets with a variety of useful and useless objects, including the beloved magnifying glass, which Feisal had returned to him. One never knows when one will stumble across a Clue.

Since we did not have the limo at our disposal, we crossed the river on one of the boats. I like the boats; they have bright awnings and soft, if faded, cushions on the seats, and they have names like
Rosebud
and
Cleopatra
and
Nefertiti.
Watching Schmidt wobble across the gangplank added a certain element of suspense to the entertainment. Feisal’s Jeep was waiting on the other side.

“I have to stop by the Valley later,” he explained. “But I want to get this over with first.”

This encounter was a repeat of the first—the same swarm of importunate kids, the same darkened room and watching eyes, the same offer of tea and biscuits, the same chicken, or a close relative of same. I ended up sitting next to Umm Ali, who ducked her head in greeting and returned my mispronounced
“Salaam aleikhum”
with a few words in Arabic that weren’t in my current vocabulary. Schmidt sat in a chair across from me, his face somber. Everybody stared at Feisal.

They listened in silence to his brief speech. The silence lengthened. The chicken flapped up onto Schmidt’s knee. He patted it absently.

“Please, Feisal, express our sympathy to the family.”

“I did. We may as well go. My explanation wasn’t well received,” he added morosely.

I put my glass of tea on the little table and stood up. I felt a need to do or say something, not just walk out. Feeling miserable and ineffectual, I said, “I’m sorry. So very sorry. If there is anything we can do…”

The old lady got to her feet. One bony hand shot out and caught
hold of mine. Standing on tiptoe, she looked up at me. The sharp black eyes were blurred with tears. She spoke softly and urgently, squeezing my hand. Her fingers felt like birds’ claws, thin and strong.

Feisal translated, his voice hoarse. “‘My son was murdered. Find his murderer, sitt, so that he can rest in peace.’”

“I will,” I said. “
Aywa.
Yes. I promise.
Inshallah.
”

Feisal didn’t have to translate. The old lady nodded and sat down.
“Inshallah,”
she echoed.

God willing. Nobody makes a promise without adding that. In the end it is in the hands of God. But by her God and mine, I meant to do my damnedest.

Schmidt was openly wiping his eyes when we emerged from the house. “That was very beautiful, Vicky.”

“It was the right thing to say,” Feisal admitted. He gave me an odd look. “I can’t imagine why she should appeal to you. In this culture—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, men rule the roost. Maybe some of the women know better.”

F
eisal’s Jeep needed new springs (among other things). Schmidt kept bouncing off me as we hit potholes and swerved to avoid various fauna and other vehicles. A cloud of dust traveled with us, most of it inside the vehicle.