The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [85]
“Please state your name and your purpose, dear heart,” she said and squeezed my fingers with surprising strength. “For all to hear.”
“My name is Ralph M. Trilipush, associate adjunct instructor of Egyptology, Harvard University, author of Desire and Deceit in Ancient Egypt, Collins Amorous Literature, 1920, new edition projected from Harvard’s press next year. I am the leading scholar of King Atum-hadu of Egypt’s XIIIth Dynasty. I have come—”
And with that the candles extinguished themselves. Neither Len nor Sonia blew them out. And, Margaret, they did not snuff out as if blown, the flame leaning first to the side opposite the source of the wind. No, they turned themselves off, darkened from the top down, with no scent of smoke. I was stunned, as anyone would have been, and assumed some trick, though I cannot say what or how.
“Oh, that’s remarkably good!” said Sonia, pinching off the circulation in my fingers. “You’ve been heard very fast indeed!”
“Is that Your Majesty, great King Atoom-hadoo?” intoned the chief salesman of Minnesota’s largest food manufacturer. And, Margaret, the table jumped slightly off the floor. A trick, of course, Margaret, of course, and yet, the effect, then, was really astonishing. And they are very old to be lifting tables with their knees.
“Do you have a message for our dear friend the professor?” she asked, and the table bumped the floor again.
“Do you wish to be found by the professor?” Bump.
“Do you wish to tell him where he can find you?” Bump.
“Will he succeed in finding you?” Bump.
“Will anyone help him?” Bump.
“Someone on this boat?” Bump.
“Do you wish to speak through the board?” Bump.
“Your wish is our command, great king,” said Len, very much the polished courtier.
“Please just wait one second there,” said Sonia, asking His Majesty King Atum-hadu the Engorged to hold the line while she fetched a piece of paper to take a message. She released my hand and stepped away from the vibrating table, rummaged in the dark of the room for a moment or two. She relit one of the candles and laid on the table a board of some sort, I can hardly describe it, this oddity. It was a folding piece of wood painted with an ornate alphabet and numbers. On top of the board she placed a kind of lens with crosshairs in its centre, large enough to point at one of the painted letters at a time. The glass was set into an ivory disk on tiny rolling wheels, with delicate indentations to hold in velvet-lined luxury the tips of your fingers. Sonia placed my hands on the disk, and in the dim light of the one black-and-white-striped candle, their four ancient hands seemed very pale and soft on the peculiar device, as if made of the same ivory.
“So ask, ask, dear boy. He’s waiting for your question.” I did not understand what I was meant to do.
“Oh, I’ll get the ball rolling,” says Len. “Great King Atoom-hadoo, who will be of the greatest help to our friend Ralph in his quest for you?” And the glass and ivory absolutely begins to skitter across the table under our hands, stopping here and there, very precisely cent-ring its crosshairs over the letters A H A H R T N W.
“Ah, well,” chided Len. “His Majesty seems to be having a bit of fun at our expense.”
“Majesty, we’re not here for your amusement. Perhaps you don’t know just how we view kings in our day (no offence intended to you and yours, Ralphie). If you don’t wish to speak to us, so be it, but we won’t stand for any—” and Sonia positively scolded the spirit of the last king of the XIIIth Dynasty for engaging in “immature shenanigans.” There was a moment of silence and calm, and then the disk flew again, nearly throwing my fingers from it in its haste: A H A H R T N W.
“Maybe he just wants to stay with yes and no,” suggested Len.
“No, no,” I finally found my voice. “Let me try. Lord of the Nile, Master of Two Kingdoms, where shall I find you?”
R X K S T.
“Oh, this is really too much,” exclaimed Sonia, removing her hands from the ivory, which