Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [177]
From Manuscript H
Ramses passed through the monumental gateway of the cemetery, carved with figures of the mortuary deities, and began to climb the stairs. Sacred places that had once been out of bounds were open to them now; the guards had saluted and let him pass. It was the first time he had come here, but he remembered what his parents had said: that the tombs here were more recent than the ancient rock-cut chambers in the cliff. The tomb of Willy Forth, Nefret’s father, was among them. He was interested in seeing the place, but he couldn’t help wondering why Tarek’s message had asked him to come there, and why Tarek had been so insistent that he tell no one. He smiled a little as he remembered the inscription on the outside of the folded paper: Private. Confidential. Tarek must have got that from one of the English novels he read. The injunction had been repeated in the letter itself: Tell no one. Come alone.
Normally that was the sort of message that would have put him on his guard. However, there were only a few people in the Holy City whose English was that good, and he couldn’t imagine MacFerguson/ Sethos or Moroney laying a trap for him or being allowed within the sacred precincts.
He climbed slowly, enjoying the soft murmur of birdsong in the trees and the utter peacefulness. His own thoughts weren’t so enjoyable. He ought to be helping his father, who was working furiously to record as many of the Holy City’s monuments as he could in the few days remaining before their departure. He ought to be on his way to the northern valley, where Daria was still staying in Tarek’s villa. When he’d asked Tarek why she had not come, Tarek had only smiled and said something about women. Perhaps she expected him to go for her in person.
He wanted to, and yet he didn’t. He loved her. He intended to do what was right and what he desired (although he wasn’t looking forward to telling his parents). So why did he delay? Nefret was a far-off mirage, a dream he would never possess. She’d been acting odd. It was as if she were two women: one the brave, laughing girl he knew, the other a remote stranger with haunted eyes.
When he reached the top of the staircase and the small shrine that crowned it, a sleepy-eyed priest came out to give him directions. He followed the pathway the man indicated, and as he went on, scholarly fascination overcame his morbid thoughts. It was as if he had been transported back in time, over two thousand years of it, to see the tombs of Meroe and Napata in their pristine beauty. The tombs were on the right-hand side; before each of them the cliff had been cut back to make room for a porchlike chapel, with a miniature pyramid perched on its roof. In front of the chapels, round-topped stelae gave the names and titles of the dignitaries who rested within and, in most cases, those of their wives and children. The colors of the painted reliefs were still bright, the outlines of the carvings still sharp.
He had gone quite a long way before he came to the tomb that must be that of Nefret’s father. There was no sign of Tarek or of anyone else. He waited for a while, reading the curious inscriptions on Forth’s stela, before he ventured into the little chapel. The light was cool and dim. The first thing he saw was a pair of life-sized statues standing against the facade of the tomb. The facade was not smooth and unbroken, closed for eternity after the burial. A square opening gaped between the statues. Someone had broken into the tomb.
The few seconds it took him to assimilate this cost him dearly. Hands gripped him and a rope closed round his neck, tight enough to cut off his breath, darkening his vision, weakening his efforts to free himself. He felt his knees strike the stone paving. His arms were pulled behind him and ropes wound round his wrists. The agonizing constriction loosened and he heard a voice, soft and rapid, urging him not to struggle, promising no harm would come to him, and—he wondered if he was hearing