Silence was the only answer.
‘O Haroun,’ the Caliph shouted out again, ‘the moment has come for you to display your mastery over the powers of life and death!’
Still no answer came.
‘O Haroun,’ the Caliph shouted for a third time, ‘give to me what I am promised, or I shall order your daughter slain!’
As his words echoed across the desert hills, the Caliph saw that Masoud had begun to quail. His teeth were chattering, and his eyes were staring wide, and he slowly raised his arm to point behind the Caliph, who spun round at once, and saw, standing upon the very crest of the plateau, silhouetted against the stars, the figure of Haroun. Yet his face, for all the shadow, seemed strangely illumined, a flickering, deathly silver; and the Caliph thought, as he gazed upon it, that he had never seen a look of such ravening hunger in his life, for it seemed to pinch Haroun’s cheeks and hollow out his eyes, so that the Caliph imagined that their depths might drain the very stars. For a long minute he stood there frozen; then at last he breathed in deeply and ordered Masoud to follow him. But Masoud would not be moved, and so the Caliph cursed him and set off alone. The ascent was harder than he had imagined it would be, for the path was steep and rocky underfoot, and it took him a while to reach the crest of the plateau. But when he did so at last, it was to find that he was standing there alone, and though he gazed all about him there was not a trace of Haroun.
The Caliph could feel a great terror now, very soft and sickly, rising from his stomach and mottling his throat. He tried to call out Haroun’s name again, but he found that his voice was no longer his own, and so he started to slip and slide back down the hill, and at last he found his voice and he cried out for Masoud. A shadow rose ahead of him, and the Caliph exclaimed in relief, ‘Masoud, Masoud, we must leave here at once!’ But then the shadow turned and the Caliph saw it was Haroun, the look of hunger utterly banished from his face. ‘Welcome, O Caliph!’ he called out with a bow. ‘The moment has come when all must be fulfilled!’
‘Masoud?’ the Caliph whispered. Where is Masoud?’
Haroun smiled. He gestured to something bunched up by his feet. It appeared to be nothing but a pile of shredded rags; but when he knelt by it, the Caliph found it was the blackamoor, his flesh picked clean in strips from his bones. The Caliph rose again slowly. ‘You swore . . .’ he whispered, ‘you swore you would not slay me.’
‘Nor shall I,’ answered Haroun, ‘for all has been done, and will be done, just as I vowed.’
‘My sister . . .’ The Caliph licked his lips. ‘Where then is my sister? You vowed she would be well.’
‘I vowed,’ Haroun answered, ‘that I would seek to keep her forever preserved from death.’
What then have you done with her?’ the Caliph cried.
‘Why’ Haroun answered, ‘did you imagine that an afrit lacks the power to make of a mortal his own kind?’
‘I . . .’ The Caliph swallowed. ‘I do not understand . . .’
Haroun smiled but did not answer, and gestured with his arm; and the Caliph saw, emerging from the darkness of the road, a glimmer of silver, flickering and ghostly, like the flesh of Haroun. And then suddenly he did understand; and he screamed and sought to flee. But already his limbs had frozen, so that he could do nothing to escape the gaze of his sister, burning bright with need and hunger as it was. Instead, the Caliph stood waiting for her like a block of stone; and his sister embraced him; and still he did not move.
Haroun, though, had not lingered to watch, but had already set off along the road, even as the Princess had taken the Caliph in her arms. And where he went, and what he became, it is not related and cannot be known. For only Allah in His wisdom can see all things, and with Him alone lies the knowledge of the future and the past. Praise then be to Allah, and blessings on His name, for His mercy and His wisdom and His power must guide us all!
Interpolation, inserted within the sheets of the manuscript given to Lord Carnarvon
The Turf Club,
20th Nov, 1922
My dear Lord Carnarvon,
Time indeed, it appears, will wait for no man, and it so happens, even as I finish skimming through this tale again, that I am told that my cab is come to take me to the station. What, though, I now wonder, will you make of it yourself? Is it just my folly to have glimpsed what I have done -- beneath all the many layers of fantasy and myth, the accretions of millennia of superstition, can it be, truly be, that a tomb of gold lies hidden? Within a week, maybe less, we shall know for certain. Come soon then, dear Lord Carnarvon. Hot and harsh the Valley may be, yet the very thought of it fills me with a wonderful energy! I am sure you too, when you behold it, will find all your strength and fitness returned.
I shall await you and Lady Evelyn with all the patience I can muster.
H.C.
THE TALE OF THE OPENED TOMB
As the train hissed and steamed to a shuddering halt, Howard Carter, standing upon the platform of Luxor Station, braced back his shoulders as though standing to attention. He was fully aware that every eye was fixed upon him, for such was the interest in the news of his discovery that even the Governor of the province was in attendance, drawn by the rumours of mystery and gold. Carter, however, impervious to all the stares, stood with his own gaze fixed firmly ahead as the door of the first-class carriage swung open. A young woman stepped out, and then turned to take the arm of a much older man who descended -- not without difficulty for his leg was somewhat lame -- and stood a moment blinking in the sun. He was tall and slight, and fastidiously dressed, as though for Pall Mall rather than any excavation, yet in his face could be glimpsed, so Carter imagined, a great strength of will and a fondness for adventure.
He stepped forward, the Governor of the province by his side.
The Earl of Carnarvon, still shielding his eyes, suddenly saw the two men, and at once his frown was lightened by a smile. ‘Carter!’ He took his colleague’s hand and shook it vigorously, and then in turn, as he was introduced, the hand of the beaming Governor. Once greetings had been exchanged, he gestured to the young woman who stood by his side. ‘And may I present to you my daughter, Your Excellency, Lady Evelyn Herbert.’ Again the Governor beamed; and again there was a profuse exchange of salutations. As they proceeded, Lord Carnarvon turned back to Carter. ‘I trust you will not take it amiss,’ he whispered with an apologetic sloping of his shoulders, ‘but I could not possibly come without her, for my daughter, as you will know, has long followed your work with the keenest sense of interest. Also’ -- he lowered his voice still further and winked -- ‘she insisted she come so she could continue to fuss at me.’
Carter bowed. ‘It is always a pleasure, of course, to meet with Lady Evelyn.’
Overhearing this, she extended her hand and, as Carter kissed it, she smiled at him in a conspiratorial manner so that, glancing between her and her father, he could not restrain a sudden frown of concern. He waited with impatience now for the ceremonial of the Governor’s greeting to be concluded, and when all had been brought to a finish at last, he turned hurriedly and began to push a way through the crowds, out from the station to the waiting motor-car beyond. Lord Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn both followed in his wake, and as they waited for their luggage to be brought, Lord Carnarvon paused next to Carter and took him by the arm.
‘We have both read your document,’ he whispered, ‘Lady Evelyn and I.’
Carter knew that his concern must again have been immediately apparent, for Lord Carnarvon smiled nervously and raised his hands. ‘Please, please, my dear Carter, you have nothing to fear! My daughter, I can assure you, is the very soul of discretion. And upon my word’ - he smiled with his customary diffidence -- ‘one can quite see why you wanted to keep the matter quiet.’
Carter glanced round at the porters, who by now had finished loading up the car. ‘Come,’ he muttered, opening the door for Lady Evelyn, ‘you must both be tired. Let us get you to your rooms.’ He waited until she had eased herself down, then walked round the car to sit next to Lord Carnarvon, as the engine was coaxed into spluttering life. ‘So then,’ he whispered, ‘you say you have read all my papers? And what did you think? A queer business, is it not?’
Lady Evelyn smiled across at him. ‘ “Queer”, Mr Carter, is barely sufficient an adjective.’
‘What in the world might lie behind it?’ Lord Carnarvon asked.
‘Something very . . . well . . .’ - Carter shrugged -- ‘queer.’
‘You truly believe, then, that the tomb
is
that of Tut-ankh-Amen?’
‘I have found no proof as yet upon the stonework itself, yet the evidence of the manuscript seems to suggest as much, at least.’
Lady Evelyn leaned forward, her eyes sparkling brightly. ‘The manuscript claimed that he had been buried with every splendour!’
‘So he would have been,’ Carter nodded, ‘for such was the immemorial custom of the Pharaohs.’
‘My goodness! Then what do you think we might find?’
Carter shrugged again. ‘More than treasure, more than gold, I hope for anything -- inscriptions, papyri, whatever -- which might serve to shed light upon Tut-ankh-Amen’s reign. You have read your stuff. You both know how he was heir to the most extraordinary episode in history. What would I not give to know more about that!’
‘We have your manuscript,’ said Lord Carnarvon softly.
Carter snorted. ‘That has no value whatsoever without corroboration.’
‘Then we must pray that the tomb has not been plundered.’
Carter smiled thinly. ‘One must always, I am afraid, be prepared for that chance.’
But Lady Evelyn shook her head. ‘Yet surely it cannot have been robbed,’ she said brightly, ‘or else the monster inside it would have escaped.’
‘Monster?’
‘Yes, yes, the ghool - King Tut himself!’
‘I see that you are as droll as ever, Lady Evelyn.’
‘You do not think, then . . .?’
‘What,’ Carter scoffed, ‘that there is a demon, a curse?’
‘You truly do not think so?’
He laughed curtly. ‘Indeed, Lady Evelyn, I must apologise, for so unaccustomed am I to the company of ladies, as you yourself will know, that I can scarcely tell whether you intend to pull my leg. The tale is a compound of superstitions and fantastical romance, for all its undoubted underlay of historical truth. Each age must reinterpret the past in its own light. Our light, fortunately, is that of reason and documented fact. That, after all, is why I am so eager to know what Tut-ankh-Amen’s tomb contains.’
With such decisiveness did he pronounce this, and with such a grim-set expression, that it served almost to extinguish Lady Evelyn’s smile; but then faintly, after a pause, it flickered once again. ‘Even so,’ she murmured, ‘there must be something strange within the tomb -- and I for one, I will confess it, cannot wait to find out what!’
Carter did not reply but sat in silence, almost stony-faced, as their motor-car pulled up by the Winter Palace Hotel. All three passengers then descended from their seats, but still Carter remained silent, even as they entered the lobby. Lord Carnarvon turned to his colleague, to shake him by the hand. ‘Just spruce ourselves up a bit,’ he said, gesturing to the stairway. ‘Dust of travel, and all that. Then we’ll join you in the Valley and inspect our tomb.’ Carter nodded.
‘Well . . .’ Lord Carnarvon pointed to the stairway again. ‘Jolly good! See you in a while.’
Carter nodded a second time, but still he did not leave and then suddenly he reached out for Lord Carnarvon’s hand again. ‘I say’ he blurted out, ‘I really am most terribly grateful.’
‘My dear fellow!’ exclaimed Lord Carnarvon in some confusion. ‘It is I who should be grateful. Why, I would rather see inside that tomb than win the Derby’ He shook Carter’s hand once again, then turned and hurriedly climbed the stairs. Lady Evelyn, however, as though waiting for her father to be out of earshot, still lingered in the hall by Carter’s side.
‘You know this is the most thrilling adventure imaginable for him,’ she said at last.
‘I meant what I said. Without him all my work would have been for nothing.’
‘Yes.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘Yes, yes, I know’
Carter tensed. ‘What is it, Lady Evelyn? You have something more to say?’
‘He is not well,’ she blurted out suddenly. ‘Yes, yes, he will tell you that he is as fit as a fiddle, but it is not true. He has been really jolly ill. So please, Mr Carter . . .’
‘He should rest, then. Take it easy. After he has seen the tomb, of course.’
‘Yes.’ Lady Evelyn smiled. ‘Yes. That would be best.’ She squeezed Carter’s hand, then turned slowly and began to climb the stairs.
‘Lady Evelyn!’
She paused.
We are drawing very near the finishing post. Your father would not want to miss it for the world.’
‘Of course not.’ She smiled. ‘How could you think I don’t understand that?’
Carter bowed his head and turned, then paused once again. ‘Oh,’ he added, ‘there is one other thing.’
Lady Evelyn arched an elegant eyebrow.
‘The steps to the entrance of the tomb -- I am reliably informed that they will be cleared by tomorrow afternoon.’
Howard Carter crouched by the doorway on the bottom step, sifting through the rubbish which still obscured the base of the entranceway. He picked up a shard of pottery and held it to the light; then he placed it on a pile of similar shards which he had stacked carefully behind him.
‘Carter! I say! What have you found?’
He glanced up, then smiled and rose to his feet. ‘Lord Carnarvon, Lady Evelyn. Please -- come down.’
As they both did so, he stooped and picked up a couple of the shards. ‘See,’ he said as they stood beside him, ‘you can trace the cartouches stamped upon the clay. “Smenkh-ka-Re”.’ He read out the hieroglyph. ‘And here’ - he pointed -’ ”Akh-en-Aten”.’
Lord Carnarvon took the fragment with a reverent care. ‘So this proves that the tomb must date from that period, do you think?’
‘Almost certainly. But I suspect . . .’ -- Carter crouched down once again -- ‘that we will very soon know precisely whose it is.’