The Eye of the Serpent Page 3

  ‘Mickey!’ he shouted, and ran forward to shake the man’s hand. Mickey Randall was one of Uncle Will’s assistants, a wiry little fellow from Bethnal Green who had spent much of his life travelling to the far corners of the earth. Alec had got to know him on previous digs and the two of them were great friends.

  ‘Master Alec.’ Mickey grinned, revealing irregular rows of nicotine-stained teeth. ‘I’d say you’ve grown another foot since I last clapped eyes on yer.’

  ‘Maybe a couple of inches,’ admitted Alec.

  ‘Whatever, it’s good to ’ave yer back.’ Mickey glanced cautiously up at Coates. ‘You too, Mr Coates,’ he said, but his enthusiasm was a little muted: the two of them didn’t really get on. It was no secret that the valet thought Mickey a bit of a scoundrel.

  ‘Mr Randall,’ said Coates, with chilly politeness. ‘May I say you’re looking every bit as pugnacious as you did on the last occasion we met?’

  Mickey smiled. ‘Er . . . thanks, Mr Coates,’ he said, but it was quite evident he didn’t have the first idea what ‘pugnacious’ meant and Alec didn’t really feel like enlightening him. Mickey turned back to Alec and his sun-grizzled face registered an expression of regret. ‘Ain’t it terrible about Sir William?’ he said. ‘I couldn’t believe it when they told me what ’appened.’

  ‘What exactly did happen?’ Alec asked him. ‘Whenever I ask, I never seem to get a straight answer.’

  Mickey looked uncomfortable. ‘Something bad,’ he admitted, but seemed reluctant to say anything further on the matter. ‘And . . . I believe you’ve ’ad some terrible news yourself since I last seen yer. I ’eard about your mother, Alec. I’m really sorry. I never met ’er, o’ course, but everyone said she was a fine lady.’

  Alec nodded. As usual at such times, he couldn’t for the life of him think of anything constructive to say. There was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Perhaps you might care to change the subject,’ suggested Coates; and Mickey obligingly slapped a hand against the shining side of the automobile.

  ‘So . . . whatcha think of the motor, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Fantastic! Is it yours?’

  ‘No, these both belong to Mr Wade. Crossleys, they are, made in England – Manchester, to be precise. They say the Prince of Wales drives around in one of these blighters. There’s nearly twenty ’orsepower under the bonnet and she’s got a top speed of sixty-four miles per hour!’

  ‘Gosh!’ Alec tried and failed to imagine a car moving at such an unbelievable speed. Of course, they had a motorcar back in Cairo, but that was a sedate Ford, not a fabulous creation like this. He turned to look at Ethan. ‘Must have cost you a pretty penny, Mr Wade,’ he said.

  ‘Master Alec, it’s considered vulgar to enquire the price of things,’ warned Coates disapprovingly.

  Ethan waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Don’t sweat it,’ he said.

  Coates raised his eyebrows. ‘I shall do my very best not to,’ he said, ‘A quite repulsive habit – though of course, in this climate one cannot promise anything.’

  Ethan stared at Coates for a moment as though considering saying something further; but then he shook his head and turned back to Alec. ‘A car like that should cost around a thousand bucks, but these are war surplus models. I picked ’em up for a whole lot less. They were made for driving generals around the battlefields, so they could take a good long look at the destruction they’d caused. Thought I might put ’em to better use.’

  There was a bitterness in his tone, which prompted Alec to ask another question.

  ‘Were you in the war, Mr Wade?’

  Ethan frowned. ‘Yeah, I saw some action in France – enough to convince me that I never want to get mixed up in anything like that again.’ He glanced up as the two Arab boys came struggling out of the port exit, each of them bent double beneath the weight of a huge trunk. ‘You guys don’t believe in travelling light,’ he observed, grinning.

  ‘One has to be prepared for every eventuality, Mr Wade,’ said Coates evenly. ‘After all, it’s not as if we’re just staying overnight.’

  ‘I guess not. Guys, put the two trunks in behind Mr Randall there.’

  The two Arab boys did as he asked, standing the trunks upright in the back seat, and Ethan rewarded them with a couple of coins apiece. They grinned delightedly and headed back to the port, in search of more customers.

  Ethan turned back to his visitors. ‘Mr Coates, if you’d like to get in beside Mickey, he’ll take you over to the dig and you can get unpacked. Alec can ride with me in the other automobile. There’s a call me and him need to make along the way.’

  Coates looked doubtful. ‘Oh, I’m not sure about that, Mr Wade. My instructions are to keep an eye on Master Alec at all times.’

  ‘Relax, he’ll be fine with me.’ Ethan glanced at Alec. ‘Is it OK with you?’

  ‘Umm . . . yes, why not?’ Alec turned to look at Coates. ‘I’m sure I’ll be safe enough,’ he said.

  ‘Very well, Master Alec. But be warned, in deviating from the approved procedure you are accepting full responsibility for your own safety.’ Coates climbed into the passenger seat beside Mickey, but he didn’t look at all happy. He was a man who took his instructions very seriously.

  Alec followed Ethan to the other vehicle and got in beside him. ‘What’s his problem?’ muttered Ethan.

  ‘No problem,’ said Alec. ‘He’s just being Coates.’

  ‘Guy needs to relax a little.’

  Ethan hit the starter and the car’s powerful engine rumbled into life. They were just about to set off when a shout drew their attention back to the port entrance and they saw the hulking shape of Wilfred Llewellyn, dragging a heavy trunk behind him and even more red in the face than usual.

  ‘Mr Wade!’ he shouted. ‘Just a moment, please!’

  ‘Who’s the stiff in the ice-cream suit?’ asked Ethan, and Alec had to make an effort not to laugh.

  ‘His name’s Wilfred Llewellyn,’ he whispered. ‘We met on the boat. Claims he’s a reporter for a paper in Cairo.’

  Ethan scowled. ‘A reporter?’ he muttered. ‘That’s all we need.’ He didn’t appear to have much liking for reporters. ‘Those people have been making life a misery for Howard Carter and his team ever since they found Tut’s tomb. And since Lord Carnarvon died they’ve been inventing all this hokum about some ancient curse. I guess it’s only a matter of time before we get the same treatment.’

  Llewellyn came up and stood beside the Crossley. After his exertion, the sweat was literally pouring from his face. ‘This heat!’ he observed. ‘Quite unreal.’ He extended a hand towards Ethan. ‘Wilfred Llewellyn,’ he said. ‘Cairo Examiner.’

  Alec looked at him. ‘I thought, on the boat, you said the Cairo Herald.’

  Llewellyn didn’t even bother to look at him. ‘No, don’t believe so,’ he said. ‘You must have misheard me, young man. I’m with the Examiner.’ He fixed his attention on Ethan. ‘And you must be Mr Wade,’ he said, directing an oily smile at the American while completely blanking out Alec’s puzzled expression. ‘The gentleman who has taken over the directorship of the site while Sir William Devlin is . . . incapacitated?’ Llewellyn still had his hand out, but Ethan either hadn’t noticed or had chosen to ignore the gesture.

  ‘You’re well informed, Mr Llewellyn. What can I do for ya?’

  Llewellyn snatched back the hand, but his smile never faltered. ‘I take it you’re on your way up to the archaeological dig? I’ve been sent here to do a story about it and I was wondering if you might have room for one more in your fine automobile.’

  Now Ethan turned to look at Llewellyn, his face expressionless. ‘Nobody said anything to me about a newspaper,’ he said.

  ‘My editor did send a telegram. Oh dear, it must have gone astray. You know how communications are in this godforsaken country.’

  Ethan shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Well now, see, Mr Llewellyn, we got a problem.’ He jerked a thumb back at the Crossley Mickey was driving.
‘Ain’t no room in there, what with the luggage and all – and me and Alec here, we’re heading somewhere else entirely.’

  Llewellyn mopped his brow. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind tagging along. It might make for a more interesting story.’

  Ethan shook his head. ‘Sorry, but where we’re headed, the press ain’t invited.’ He gestured back towards the dock entrance. ‘If you ask around in there, there’s a guy called Mohammed Hansa – he has an automobile for hire. Not a very good one, but I expect he’ll take you out to the dig if you offer him enough baksheesh.’

  ‘Yes, but surely you could . . .’

  The rest of Llewellyn’s words were lost in the throaty roar of the Crossley’s engine as Ethan let out the clutch and they drove off, flinging up a great cloud of sand in their wake. Alec glanced back and saw Llewellyn, half choking in the thick red dust.

  ‘Coates doesn’t trust that chap,’ said Alec.

  ‘Coates is a good judge of character,’ said Ethan. ‘I don’t like him neither and I only just met him.’

  ‘He definitely told me the Cairo Herald back on the boat. Coates says he’s never heard of it.’

  ‘Me neither. We’re gonna have to keep an eye on that guy if he comes sniffing around the dig.’

  The Crossley coasted through the narrow streets of Luxor, passing coffee houses, street markets and whitewashed colonial buildings. Whenever they paused at a crossroads, small groups of Arabs appeared beside them, brandishing pieces of pottery, amulets and figurines.

  ‘Effendi, you buy, you buy! Very good price!’

  Alec looked at the items they were offering, all of which appeared to be authentically aged pieces.

  ‘Is that stuff genuine?’ he asked Ethan as they drove away from one raucous group.

  Ethan shook his head. ‘Not much of it,’ he said. ‘Oh, you’ll find the odd piece looted from some burial site or other, but most of it they make themselves – they’ve got real smart at getting it to look authentic. It’s got worse since Carter found King Tut. Suddenly every tourist wants to take home a piece of the real Egypt and, for the right price, those boys are more than happy to supply it.’

  They soon left the outskirts of the old town and headed out into the desert, the dirt road knifing through sand dunes so white they looked like snow hills. The heat seemed to intensify almost instantly and Alec was glad of the rush of wind that cooled his face. After driving for some twenty minutes, they came to a place where the road forked. Ethan took a left, but when Alec glanced back, he saw that Mickey and Coates had turned off in the other direction, heading towards the Valley of the Kings.

  ‘Where are we going, exactly?’ shouted Alec over the rush of wind.

  Ethan glanced at him. ‘I thought you might like to pay a visit to your uncle,’ he yelled back.

  ‘Uncle Will?’ Alec brightened. ‘I didn’t think he was up to having visitors.’

  Ethan frowned. He slowed the car a little to make it easier to be heard. ‘Tell you the truth, kid, I don’t know that he is. But I’m kind of desperate. See, William has spoken barely a word since they found him, the night that Tom Hinton disappeared.’ He glanced at Alec. ‘You heard about Tom?’

  ‘Not until yesterday, when Mr Llewellyn mentioned it,’ he admitted. ‘He seemed to think there was something very fishy about his disappearance.’

  Ethan nodded. ‘We tried to play it down, but the truth is, Tom just up and vanished. You remember him, I guess?’

  ‘Of course, I’ve worked with him twice before. A nice chap, very level-headed, knows everything there is to know about archaeology.’

  ‘Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him since the night he took a walk,’ Ethan went on. ‘His fellow workers looked everywhere they could think of, even talked to the local police, but they weren’t any help at all. It’s like he just vanished into thin air . . . and as for your uncle . . .’ He sighed. ‘Well, whatever happened to him, it must’ve shook him to the core. I thought maybe seeing another familiar face might get some kind of response out of him. Lord knows I’ve tried everything else I can think of. It’s like he just . . . shut himself away from the world. When he does speak, his words seem to make no sense at all.’

  Alec frowned. ‘But . . . he must have asked for me, otherwise why am I here?’

  Ethan shook his head. ‘Tell you the truth, that was my idea. I was reading your uncle’s journal to see if I could find a clue to what happened. William mentions you a lot. He thinks a great deal of you, Alec – reckons you’re going to be a big name in archaeology one day. Heck, I ain’t no expert, I can use all the help I can get. Only reason I’m running this circus is because I signed up to come back to work here a month or so back and I agreed to have my name put down on an insurance policy. I was second choice behind Tom. Who would have thought that neither of ’em would be in a position to continue?’

  They drove on for a while in silence. Then Alec said, ‘From the way you’ve been talking, it sounds as though Uncle Will found something.’

  Ethan grinned. ‘Oh, he found something all right . . . the very same day he was taken ill.’

  Alec could hardly contain his excitement. ‘Well, what did he find?’ he demanded. ‘I know he always hoped to find the last resting place of Akhenaten, but surely you’re not saying . . .’

  Ethan looked at him. ‘He found a tomb, Alec. We’re not sure yet, but it could be exactly what he was looking for.’

  ‘You’re joking! But that would be . . . an incredible find!’

  ‘Well, sure, the father of Tutankhamun. At the moment we’re doing all we can to play it down – at least until we know exactly what it is we’ve got. I’ve contacted an expert on hieroglyphics, some Frenchman called Duval. He’s due to arrive in the next week or so. Hopefully he’ll be able to tell us more. Unfortunately Will and Tom were the only two men in the tomb who had any kind of idea about that stuff. But in his journal Will says you know more than any kid he’s ever met. So I thought it would be good to bring you back on board and . . .’

  ‘And what?’ asked Alec.

  ‘And maybe seeing you might just jog something in Will’s mind. You might strike a chord. You up for that?’

  Alec nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ Ethan grinned at him. ‘You know, I get a good feeling about you, Alec. I figure you and me, we’re gonna be pals.’

  They seemed to be heading deeper and deeper into the desert and the horizon had that kind of shimmering, melting quality that happens whenever rays of light refract in fierce heat. Alec reminded himself that, beautiful as this landscape was, it could also be deadly. He had heard countless stories of people who had been stranded out here. Very few of the stories had happy endings.

  After driving for perhaps half an hour, they saw the outline of a small village on the horizon. Ethan headed into it and brought the Crossley to a halt outside a big, dilapidated whitewashed building.

  ‘This place used to be a governor’s residence,’ he explained. ‘These days it’s a hospital.’ He opened his door and climbed out. Alec followed his example. They walked towards the entrance of the building – a once grand portico supported by rows of crumbling stone columns. Before they stepped into the shade, Ethan paused and put a hand on Alec’s shoulder.

  ‘You’d better prepare yourself, kid,’ he said quietly. ‘William is . . . well, let’s just say he’s not the man you’ll remember.’

  And with that he led Alec up the short flight of steps to the entrance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Family Reunion

  A NUBIAN NURSE, CLAD in a dazzlingly white starched uniform, led them along corridors and up a flight of wooden stairs. They crossed a landing, their feet echoing on marble tiles, and finally came to a halt at a large mahogany door. The nurse reached into her pocket and withdrew a key, which she used to unlock it.

  Alec was surprised by this and a thought ran through his mind: What kind of a hospital locks i
ts patients in?

  The nurse handed Ethan the key. ‘Please secure the door when you leave,’ she told him in fluent English, ‘and hand the key in at reception.’

  Ethan nodded. ‘Has there been any improvement since I was last here?’ he asked.

  She gave him a sad smile and shook her head; then she turned and walked back along the corridor.

  Ethan took a grip on the door handle, then paused and looked at Alec. ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  Alec nodded, but he was now feeling horribly apprehensive. He really didn’t know what to expect. Ethan swung the door open and stepped into the room, removing his hat as he did so. Alec followed, closing the door behind him.

  His first thought was that they had come to the wrong room. Over by the far wall a man was sitting in a bath chair, but this was an old fellow of perhaps seventy or eighty years. He was staring intently at the floor, as though watching something, but when Alec followed the direction of his gaze, there appeared to be nothing there but the bare tiles. Alec noticed that behind the man, the room’s single window was closed, the heavy wooden shutters secured with a stout padlock.

  The absence of any fresh air made it very oppressive in there and Alec immediately felt beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, yet the man had a thick woollen blanket over his lap as though he felt a chill. Alec turned to direct a puzzled look at Ethan, but the American’s grim expression made him look once again at the old man: a shock went through him as he realized that this was indeed Uncle Will, but changed dramatically since Alec had last seen him.

  He had been a tall, rangy, dark-complexioned fellow of fifty, with broad shoulders and striking grey eyes. The man who sat there now seemed somehow shrunken, as though the hot sun had shrivelled his flesh and bones. His formerly dark brown hair was now a mop of snow-white wisps, and his moustache was of the same December hue. Worst of all were the eyes – weak and watery, the colour drained from them; and they seemed to be staring fixedly at something only they could see.