Authors: George Mann
No doubt Arthur, up at the museum, would be lost in paroxysms of joy at the prospect of getting his hands on the new finds, but Gabriel wasn’t here for that. In fact, all of the flashbulbs going off around him were starting to become an annoyance, newspapermen snapping pictures of the crates, as if the wooden caskets themselves were objects of ancient beauty, deserving of celebration on the front pages.
Gabriel had come down to the docks for one thing, and one thing only: to be reunited with Miss Ginny Gray.
He’d missed her terribly in the months following her departure earlier that year. She’d written him once, a simple postcard, fronted by a sprawling monochrome photograph of Luxor. On the reverse she’d written simply “missing you”, and signed off with a kiss. It had been enough, an admission that everything was not finished between them, that she hoped to see him again upon her return. He’d clung onto that, and as the perpetual party had circled on around him, flowing like a melody through his life, he’d thought only of her, and not of the pretty but vacuous women who filled his house each weekend, rich with the musk of desperation, and the search for validation.
He had no idea what to expect upon seeing her again; whether he might hope to rekindle the affection they had clearly felt for one another, or if she’d made altogether different plans in the intervening months. He knew only that he wanted to see her coquettish smile, to brush her hair from her eyes, and to hold her in his arms. Provided she didn’t hug him too hard, of course—his ribs might not be able to withstand it.
He glanced up at the ship, searching the deck, but could see no sign of her amongst the press of passengers waiting to be released from their floating prison.
Vessels such as this had a tendency to spark an inexplicable sense of dread in Gabriel, particularly standing there, in its shadow, gazing up at the size of the thing. He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly; something to do with the sheer scale of it, he thought, and the notion that a machine that size had no business defying the natural order of things, ploughing its way across the surface of the ocean. That watery domain belonged to the whales and sharks and other terrible creatures that plumbed its otherwise unassailable depths. Skinny-dipping on a Long Island beach was one thing; propelling an enormous iron leviathan across the globe was quite another.
Ginny, of course, would have taken such considerations in her stride, much as she seemed to face most things in life. To her, long weeks holed up in a tiny cabin would have seemed like an adventure, a challenge to be faced head-on, and an opportunity to experience something new. Indeed, that was how she had faced the news of Gabriel’s double life, when it had all eventually come out. More than anything, she had wanted to be a part of it, to show him that the two halves of his existence didn’t have to be quite so separate, after all.
Gabriel dropped the butt of his cigarette and crushed it underfoot, blowing the last of the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The passengers had begun to file down one of the ramps now, jostling to be the first to hit dry land. Ginny, he knew, would take her time. She preferred to make an entrance.
He watched the others hit the dock and spread, like an oil slick comprised of fur coats and hats, sharp suits and briefcases. Behind them, men in overalls were lifting further crates down with a crane arm, lowering them tentatively to the dock, from where, he presumed, they would be loaded onto trucks to be hauled uptown to the museum. He wondered which of them contained the remains of the queen herself, and how she’d have felt about being dragged here, all the way to the New World, only to be placed on display in a cabinet before the glassy eyes of a thousand or more New Yorkers.
Gabriel hung back, avoiding the crowd. He was growing anxious. He’d expected to catch at least a glimpse of her by now, a slight wave from the deck, a wicked half-smile. Yet, there was nothing, not even a hint of her. He glanced redundantly at his watch, and then sighed, catching himself. It wasn’t as if he could have got the time wrong—the ship was right there, in the dock, in front of him.
He fished another cigarette from his pocket and pulled the ignition tab. The flood of nicotine in his lungs was a reminder of his cracked ribs, and he coughed, wincing in pain. Frustrated, he tossed the cigarette on the ground and began pacing instead.
The crowd was thinning now, with only a handful of stragglers still dragging their cases down the ramp.
It struck him then that she wasn’t coming. Her brief telegram, relayed through Henry, had informed him she was planning to return to New York, that she’d bought a ticket for the
Centurion
and he should meet her at the docks when it arrived. That, though, had been weeks ago. There’d been plenty of opportunity for her to change her mind and decide to extend her trip. Surely, though, she would have written ahead?
He watched the last of the passengers file off the ramp, an elderly lady in a wicker wheelchair, pushed along by a smartly dressed manservant. There was no one to meet her, and they disappeared a moment later beneath the stone arches, the wheels of the chair creaking loudly as they crossed the concrete.
Moments later, the dockworkers assembled around the disembarkation ramp and started to wheel it away.
Gabriel hurried over. “Hey there! Excuse me, but I’m still waiting for someone,” he said, gesturing to the ramp.
The nearest dockworker shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but all the passengers have disembarked. We got word from above.” He inclined his head, indicating the ship. “You sure you didn’t miss them? It sure was busy down here.”
Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure I didn’t miss her. Thanks.” He stood aside to allow them to roll the ramp back toward the storage hangar. Behind them, others continued to unload the cargo, shouting directions to one another as they sorted the crates into neat stacks.
It was surprising how quickly the dock seemed empty again, as the passengers all filed off, melting away into the city as if they’d never been gone.
He wondered what had happened to Ginny. Something had gone wrong and she’d missed the boat, or else she’d had a last-minute change of heart about coming back to New York. Whatever the case, she hadn’t been onboard. He was certain he hadn’t missed her.
Battling a creeping sense of disappointment, Gabriel quit the dock. It was still early, and he knew a great place nearby to get more coffee and eggs.
It wasn’t so much the sweltering heat, she decided, but the dreadful taste of the water that was causing her to feel so unwell. Every time she took a mouthful of the tepid stuff she had to fight the urge to gag. Even
here
, in the hotel bar, which was supposed to cater to tourists. She pushed the awful thing away from her, sliding it across the table. She would order a gin and tonic when the waiter returned. She’d been told that alcohol didn’t mix well with the heat, but what else was she to do? She’d been here for three days now, and if she didn’t drink something soon, she was going to be as desiccated as the mummies she’d seen in the museum earlier that day.
Ginny mopped her forehead with her handkerchief, and tried to focus on her book. She planned to take in the Luxor Temple the next morning, rising in the early hours to journey out into the starlit desert, and so was anxious to read up on what to look for. She’d hired a guide, of course, but she didn’t know whether to believe half of the stuff they told her, and she was anxious not to miss anything important.
The words swam on the page before her, all muddled, as if lost behind a shimmering heat haze. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair, fanning herself with the pages. Had she made a terrible mistake, coming out here alone? It had seemed such a romantic notion, taking a steamship across the ocean to a distant land, steeping herself in its history and mythology. A real adventure, and a chance to get away from everything that had happened back in New York.
She’d been running from that for a while now, and was beginning to think that running wasn’t going to be the answer. The creature she’d seen at the fairground still haunted her dreams, and some mornings she woke thinking she must be going mad. To even conceive that such things could exist in the world—the very notion appalled her. She needed time to let it sink in, for her view of the world to shift to accommodate what had happened. This trip was supposed to be that opportunity.
Now she was here, though, she found herself longing to see Gabriel, to be with someone who understood. She might have asked him along, she supposed, although she suspected he wouldn’t have come. She doubted anything could tear him away from that city, not now. Not even a woman.
She waved her hand to discourage a fly that had been buzzing around her head for the last few minutes. The bar was busier today than she’d seen it, populated by an array of people of all nationalities and creeds. She’d heard Germans talking in the lobby, met an Englishwoman in the restroom, and overheard the swarthy-looking chap at the next table ordering a drink in French.
The bar itself was luxurious and stately, reflecting the inordinate cost of staying here. The walls were comprised of glistening white arches, open to the elements, each of them adorned with a complex fretwork of interlaced patterns. The roof out here on the terrace was domed, and low hanging fans turned rhythmically, the sound of them leaving her feeling dozy and tired. They barely seemed to stir the hot, still air, and she found herself longing for the cool breeze of Manhattan, blowing in off the water and gusting along the broad canyons of skyscrapers, apartments, and shops.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the dizziness, allowing the darkness to swarm in.
The next thing she knew, she was in the arms of the swarthy Frenchman, who was dribbling cool water on her lips and gently mopping her brow with a serviette. She tried to stand, confused and embarrassed, but he shushed her quiet and carefully propped her back in her chair.
“There,” he said. “I fear the heat may have got to you.” He was crouched beside her chair, and he reached for a glass from his own, adjacent table, holding it out to her. “Drink this.”
She did as he said, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a cautious sip. The water was cool and pure, and she gulped at it thirstily, draining the glass. The man laughed. He stood, taking the bottle and pouring another.
“Where did you get this?” she said. After the tepid stuff she’d been drinking, it tasted like nectar.
“This is your first time, isn’t it?” he said, evidently amused. His Gallic accent tumbled wonderfully as he spoke. “No one’s told you to ask for the bottled stuff.”
Ginny shook her head, finishing the second glass and placing it on the table before her. She glanced around, still feeling somewhat embarrassed, but no one seemed to be paying her any attention. It was probably a regular occurrence around here, with inexperienced tourists passing out from the heat.
The man waved to the waiter, who hurried over. “We’ll take another two bottles,” he said. The waiter nodded enthusiastically, before rushing off to execute the order. Ginny wondered how he managed to operate so quickly in such heat, particularly dressed in his shirtsleeves.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It happens more than you’d think,” said the man. “Pretty ladies swooning by my table.”
She looked up at him, and laughed. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with a tanned face and thick black beard. His shirt was open at the collar, and his pale suit was stained around the cuffs with smears of what might have been ocher or rust. His brown eyes were sharp and alert.
“I’m Amaury,” he said. “Jacques Amaury.”
“Ginny Gray,” she replied. She noticed her book had fallen to the floor, and bent to pick it up.
“Ah, the Luxor Temple,” said Amaury, with a wry smile. “You’re here to see the sights, I see?”
“I suppose I am,” said Ginny. She beckoned to the empty chair at her table. “Look, I don’t mean to seem forward or anything, but if you’d like to join me? It’s the very least I can do.”
“Not at all,” said Amaury. “What sort of man would I be if I didn’t assist a lady in distress. All the same, I would be most happy to join you for a while.”
“You’re waiting for someone?” said Ginny, as he pulled up a chair. He seemed to sink into it, crossing his legs and leaning back in a surprisingly casual fashion.
“My companion, yes,” he said, “but he’s English, and so he’s always late.”
Ginny laughed. “I thought the English were supposed to be punctual?”
“At home, perhaps,” said Amaury, “but here, in Egypt, not so much. He’s too worried about ‘keeping up appearances’, seeing to his ablutions, pressing his suit. And then he comes out to visit the dig and finds himself covered in sand and dirt regardless.” He chuckled, indicating the marks on his sleeves. “Me, I have learned not to care.”
“You’re an archaeologist, then?” said Ginny.
“I think that is a grand word for what I am,” said Amaury. “A treasure hunter, perhaps, if you were being kind. A grave robber if you were not.” He smiled.
Ginny leaned forward, intrigued now. “Have you found anything out here?”
Amaury raised an eyebrow. “You’ve not come all this way to steal my secrets, have you?”
Ginny fixed him with a withering look. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure why I’m here. Searching for something I’m unlikely to find, I suppose.”
“Ah, then you understand the plight of a treasure hunter all too well,” said Amaury. “And yes, I’ve found something.” He looked up as the waiter came rushing over, bearing a tray of fresh drinks.
Ginny reached for one of the bottles as soon as he’d placed them on the table. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me?” she said, in a conspiratorial whisper. “You can’t leave a girl hanging like that.”
Amaury laughed. “I can do better than that. Why don’t you come and visit the dig tomorrow, see it for yourself? I promise you’ll be impressed.”
Ginny frowned. “But the temple,” she said.
Amaury waved a hand. “It’s been there for thousands of years, and it’ll be there for thousands more,” he said, pouring himself a drink. “How many other offers have you had to see the undisturbed tomb of an ancient queen?”