The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [100]
“Ramses,” I said. “You are not to go into any more pyramids, do you understand?”
“Unless it is wit’ you and Papa?” Ramses suggested.
“Well—yes, I suppose I must make that exception, since it applies to the present situation.”
The entrance to the interior of the pyramid was on the north side, thirty-nine feet from the ground. Thanks to the unusual slope, the climb was not as difficult as it appeared; at close range the seemingly smooth facing was seen to have innumerable cracks and breaks that provided holds for fingers and toes. Ramses went up like a monkey.
At the opening the guide lit his torch and preceded me into a narrow, low-roofed corridor that descended at a moderate gradient. The air became increasingly close and hot as we went on, down, down, ever down, into breathless darkness. I remembered from my reading that the corridor was almost two hundred and fifty feet long. It seemed longer. Finally it leveled out; then we found ourselves in a narrow but lofty vestibule whose ceiling was shrouded in shadows—and in bats. They set up an agitated squeaking, and began to stir uneasily; it was necessary for me to reassure them before they settled down again.
I was familiar with the general plan of the place from my reading, but Ramses had to point out the exit from this vestibule, which was more than twenty feet above the floor, in the southern wall of the chamber. Another room, with a fine corbeled ceiling—another passage…It was absolutely delightful, and I was enjoying myself immensely when the guide started to whine. The torch was burning low for lack of air; he was choking; he had sprained his ankle on the rubble littering the floor; and so on. I ignored his request that we turn back, but I was a trifle short of breath myself, so I suggested we sit down and rest for a while.
We were in one of the upper corridors near a great portcullis stone, which had been designed to block the passage and prevent robbers from reaching the burial chamber. For some reason it had never been lowered into place, and it provided a convenient back rest.
As we sat there, the full wonder and mystery of the place overshadowed me. We were not the first to penetrate that mystery; several modern archaeologists had entered the pyramid, and three thousand years before that, a group of hardy robbers had braved the physical dangers and the curses of the dead to rob the pharaoh of his treasures. When those intrepid but unscientific explorers, Perring and Vyse, explored the passages in 1839, they found only scraps of wood and baskets, and a few mummified bats, inside a wooden box. There was no sarcophagus and no royal mummy. Since Pharaoh Snefru, to whom the pyramid belonged, had another tomb, he may never have rested here; but something of value must have occupied the now-empty chambers or the ancient thieves would not have broken into them, with baskets to carry away their loot.
As I mused in blissful enjoyment, with the perspiration dripping from my nose and chin, there occurred the most uncanny event of that entire season. The stifling air was suddenly stirred by a breeze, which rose in an instant to a gusty wind. It felt cold against our sweating bodies. The torch flickered wildly and went out. Darkness closed in upon us—a darkness filled with movement. The guide let out a howl that echoed gruesomely.
I ordered him to be quiet. “Good Gad, Ramses,” I said excitedly. “I have read of this phenomenon, but I never thought I would be fortunate enough to experience it myself.”
“I believe Perring and Vyse mention it,” said the high, piping voice of my annoyingly well-informed son, close beside me. “It is indeed a curious phenomenon, Mama, leading one to de suspicion dat dere are passageways and exits to de exterior as yet undiscovered.”
“I had reached that conclusion myself, Ramses.”
“It was in de investigation of dat t’eory I was engaged when M. de Morgan’s men interrupted me. One of dem had de effrontery