the chest to reveal a cluster of tiny blue symbols on his chest. Behind the two figures a vast building project was proceeding-the raising of a palace or temple of some sort-the site swarming with hundreds of half-naked workers. “Mark the man in the coloured robe?” said Burleigh.
“Incredible…,” breathed Cosimo.
Burleigh moved to a third panel. “Now then,” he said, “things grow more interesting. Here is our man, Anen- older now, as you can see, and what is that in his hand?”
“Good lord,” said Cosimo, stepping closer to the wall and squinting his eyes against the shadows. “Is that…? It can’t be!”
The picture showed the priest standing alone in the desert under a brilliant blue twilight sky. One hand was raised skyward, forefinger extended; in the other hand he grasped what looked like a ragged banner shaped roughly like a truncated human torso. This curious banner was decorated with the same symbols that had appeared on the man in the striped robe of the previous painting.
“Gentleman, I give you the Skin Map!” announced Burleigh in triumph.
“Good lord, indeed,” breathed Sir Henry. “Of all places… here!”
“As if there could be any doubt,” said Burleigh, obviously relishing the effect of his revelations, “I direct your attention to this particular cartouche.” He indicated a small lozenge-shaped panel decorating the border of the painting.
Cosimo bent near and, in the glow of the gently wavering electric light, examined the hieroglyphs contained in the cartouche, working out the meaning. “The man… who is… map.”
“Precisely,” confirmed Burleigh. “The Man Who Is Map-none other than Arthur Flinders-Petrie.”
“He was here,” breathed Cosimo in astonishment. “Graphic evidence that Arthur was here.”
“Moreover, the map was here,” said Burleigh.
“How do you know that?” asked Cosimo.
Burleigh gave him a sly smile. “Because I was here with Carter and Carnarvon when this tomb was opened. I held it in my hands.” He gave his turbaned head a rueful shake.
“You knew Carter?” said Cosimo.
“Oh, yes,” replied Burleigh. “In a former life, you might say.”
Stepping to the stone sarcophagus, he reached in and pulled out an ancient wooden chest and presented it to Cosimo. The pale yellow lacquer was dry and cracked, but the rounded top, on closer inspection, was seen to be covered with the same blue symbols as those represented on the wall painting. “The map was in one piece, and it was in here,” said Burleigh, tapping the lid with a finger. “Unfortunately, at the time I did not know what it was that I held.”
Cosimo carefully opened the chest. “Was here,” he said, examining the dusty interior. “Once upon a time.”
“Yes,” replied Burleigh, “but that is beside the point.”
“Then, pray, what is the point?” demanded Sir Henry, accepting the empty chest from Cosimo. “Come to it, man!”
“Patience,” chided Burleigh lightly. “We must tread lightly, for here we confront the elemental mystery.”
Moving again to the last painting, he said, “Consider what our friend Anen the high priest is doing in this picture.”
“Certainly, he’s holding the map,” volunteered Cosimo.
“Yes, as we’ve already established. But what is he doing with his other hand?”
Cosimo followed the raised right arm of the priest to the extended forefinger. “Why, he’s pointing into the sky…”
“He seems to be pointing at a star,” added Sir Henry.
“Indeed, he is!” replied Burleigh. “But not just any star.”
“No?” wondered Cosimo.
“Think where we are, gentlemen,” coaxed the earl. “Egypt-the southern sky, yes? And what is the brightest star in the southern sky?”
“Sirius,” answered Sir Henry. “The Dog Star.”
“Bravo!” Burleigh applauded, his hand claps ringing loud in the empty chamber. “High Priest Anen is holding the Skin Map and pointing to the Dog Star.” He turned a keen and questioning gaze upon his two captives. “Now, why is that, do you think?”
CHAPTER 31
In Which the Quality of Mercy Is Strained
A razor-thin line of daylight stole into the forechamber of the high priest’s tomb, broadening as it sliced through the darkness. The tomb, empty now, scoured clean, its costly objects duly catalogued and carted off to Luxor’s new antiquities museum, remained steeped in a centuries-old silence altered only by the early morning song of a desert bird perched on the high wall of the wadi, its pipping note echoing through the canyon.
Inside the tomb, two bodies lay on the bare stone floor: two men, both asleep, one breathing heavily.
At the sound of the bird, one of the bodies stirred, and Sir Henry Fayth opened his eyes in the semidarkness of the inner chamber. He lay for a moment, listening-to the birdsong, to the man a few paces away whose breathing had become laboured during the night-then rose and went to his friend.
“Cosimo,” he said, giving his shoulder a nudge. “Cosimo, will you wake?” When that failed to rouse the sleeping man, he desisted and crawled to sit with his back against the massive stone sarcophagus dominating the centre of the room.
Now that he was awake, thirst came upon him with renewed ferocity-and with it his reawakened hatred of Burleigh. Enemy or no, it was inhuman of him to lock them away without food or water. Sir Henry would not have treated a mad dog so cruelly, much less another human being. Such behaviour was brutish and ignoble, far beneath the decency of civilised men.
He would, he vowed, protest in the strongest, most strenuous terms when the next opportunity presented itself, which would be… when? One full day and half of another had passed since they had last seen Burleigh or one of his toadies-thirty-six hours without food or water in the dark, airless tomb of Anen, the high priest of Amun.
That the quest should end here, like this, seemed a needlessly malicious fate for a God-fearing man such as himself. In the early days of their friendship, when he and Cosimo had first begun exploring the interdimensional highways and byways of the universe, there had been little danger, save from the local environment wherein they might happen to find themselves. Before the rot set in, before the race to find the map-that is to say, before the Burley Men-things had been much different.
Perhaps, he thought, they should surrender to Burleigh’s demands, give him what he wanted in exchange for their freedom. Or, better still, join forces, pool their knowledge. Obviously, the rogue possessed information that they lacked, and that would be useful to know.
For example, it would be helpful to learn how it was that the villains always seemed to know where and when to find them. Such had not always been the case. There was a time, when the Burley Men first appeared, that they had been ridiculously easy to elude. Once encountered, they would not meet them again for a very long time- sometimes years might pass between episodes. Not anymore. Now, each and every leap was likely to attract their interest and consequent involvement. How did they know? By what means or method were they drawn to the precise location at the exact time?
Burleigh also had knowledge of the map that they did not. Obviously, he knew Flinders-Petrie had once sojourned in Egypt, and that the map had once resided in this very tomb. What else did he know? Would it not be useful to find out?
As Sir Henry sat thinking, the light grew faintly brighter. Outside, he heard the mechanical engine sputter to life. That meant the Burley Men were up and about their nefarious duties for the day. He considered calling out to them, asking for water-just the merest sip to take away the metallic taste on his thickening tongue. Indeed, he was on the point of doing just that when he heard footsteps on the stonecut staircase leading down into the tomb.
