Time Dancers

I never mentioned to Sailor or Ray what I had discovered in the eyes of the Fleur-du-Mal. I don’t know why. For the entire four months, he had not been seen anywhere. He was out of sight, but not out of mind. I knew better, and on March 14, the news arrived that Lord Carnarvon had contracted blood poisoning from a mysterious mosquito bite. He was transferred immediately from Luxor to Cairo. Lord Carnarvon would die there a few weeks later and the rumor of a curse circulated instantly. I knew the truth. The Fleur-du-Mal had extracted all he needed from Lord Carnarvon and had still come up empty. Blood poisoning may have been the cause of death, but it did not come from a mosquito bite. The real insect and curse was the Fleurdu-Mal. He was angry, active, and probably very near.

The tomb of Seti II is quarried into the base of a cliff face at the head of the wadi, or dry wash, running southwest from the main Valley of the Kings. There is only one entrance and the tomb is cut in a straight line going over two hundred feet into the cliff face with no lateral rooms. Even Sailor would not have been able to get in without being seen. The bribe to the security force, one man in particular, was an absolute necessity.

The call came from Rais on the morning of April 6, the day after Lord Carnarvon died. All work at the site had been suspended in his honor. Rais said his man would give us one hour inside the tomb. We crossed to the west bank at noon and led our donkeys along the road to the Valley of the Kings. We were in place for our rendezvous just as the sun sank over the almost vertical cliff face surrounding the tomb of Seti II. The man met us at the perimeter of the temporary security. The air was cool inside the shadow of the cliff. He hurried us toward the tomb, then handed Sailor a portable gas lamp and a key to the makeshift gate across the entrance. In Arabic, he said he would be gone until his belly was full. If we were still there when he returned, he would arrest us. There was another man waiting inside. He would be our escort, our guide, and our guard. He knew by memory where every single object was stored, so behave. Without another word, he left, rolling a cigarette and whistling as he walked away. We were completely alone, ten yards from the gate. Sailor lit the lamp.

Before we took one step, I heard a sound above us. I looked up into the glare of the last rays of light coming over the cliff. Then I felt it everywhere, the net descending. The presence of the Fleur-du-Mal was coming directly toward us, down the stone wall of the cliff face at a rapid pace. There was a cloud of rocks and dust, but in his wake, as if he were skiing. In seconds we saw the reflection of his ruby earrings. We saw his white smile. He was climbing down the steep rock at an impossible speed and angle, as quick or quicker than Geaxi, and he was laughing. In a few more seconds he stood between Sailor and the lock on the gate. His legs were spread wide. He wore leather boots laced to the knees and a long black linen tunic embroidered with tiny diamonds. He was missing his green ribbon and his black hair hung long, uncut, and loose.

We said nothing. He looked at me and grinned, then glanced at Sailor, then Ray. “You are Ray Ytuarte, no?”

“Who’s askin’?” Ray said without hesitation or a trace of irony, a poker player’s voice.

The Fleur-du-Mal dropped his smile and stared at Ray, taking a short step toward him. Their eyes were the exact same color. “I beg your pardon?” he asked. He kept gazing at Ray as if he had never seen a Meq before. Then suddenly, he broke into a loud, bitter laugh, a roar that echoed off everything around us. “Perfect! And I must request your permission to use it myself, should the occasion arise. ‘Who’s askin’?’ Brilliant, absolutely brilliant, do you not agree, Sailor?” He dropped his smile again, producing a stiletto from under his tunic. He made a move and before anyone blinked, the point of the blade was pressing into Sailor’s stomach, just above the navel. “Do you not agree?” he said again, whispering through his teeth.

“You are repeating yourself,” Sailor said calmly.

The Fleur-du-Mal ignored the response, but released pressure on the stiletto. “Now, unlock the gate, Umla- Meq. Let us see what Monsieur Carter has stumbled on, shall we?”

“I want to know something first,” I said.

“Is it not obvious, mon petit? I care little or not at all about what you want. Do you understand? It is meaningless what you want. You are as stupid as your father.”

“Let’s leave him out of it. Why kill Lord Carnarvon? Why torture and kill Giles, which I’m sure you did? Why murder Unai and Usoa? Because of what might be stored inside this tomb? Is that it? Is that all?”

The Fleur-du-Mal sighed deeply, dramatically. “Oh, Zezen, I am afraid you are destined for a short, miserable, frustrating life of inglorious ignorance.” He paused and glanced at the point of his stiletto. “Business, mon petit, business,” he said. “I would have thought that old fool, Solomon, had taught you about the sacredness of contracts…and the consequences if they are breached. I am a professional, Zezen, do you know what that means? I have a certain…reputation to uphold. My word is my truth. Your ideas of truth, reason, and morality are false and archaic, as they always have been, and they have nothing to do with business. And by the way, I had nothing to do with those annoying little monkeys, Unai and Usoa.”

“Unai and Usoa?” Sailor broke in. “You did not murder Unai and Usoa?”

“Now it is you who are repeating yourself, Sailor, but to answer your rude query, no, I had nothing to do with it. Why should I?”

“But, then…” I couldn’t finish my question.

“Think, mon petit, think. Who wanted Baju dead?”

I remembered Baju whispering to me as he was dying, “This is not about theft.”

“Who was in Africa? Who hates everyone? I am certain she detests Opari and I believe the poor girl even hates me. She is riddled with envy. She also impersonates me from time to time. Once, not so long ago, I told you to ask Opari about these things. I said you had the wrong villain. There is one who was a protegee of mine and a student of Opari. She has been called many things, including the Pearl, however, her name is—”

“Zuriaa!” Ray burst out. “My sister, Zuriaa?”

The Fleur-du-Mal looked at Ray again, but this time he looked him up and down, as he would merchandise, or a victim. “She has a brother?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. “Interesting.”

He glanced up at the sky, which was darkening. A quarter moon hung just above the horizon. The world seemed stopped, balanced between night and day. But there was no time to assess the truth of the Fleur-du-Mal’s words. “Now, Sailor,” he said, “without delay, unlock the gate.” He kept the knife blade close to Sailor’s ribs and nudged him forward. As the gate swung open, he motioned for Ray and me to take the lead. By the light of the portable lamp, we walked into the once empty, but now crowded tomb of Seti II.

The short entryway was stacked floor to ceiling with empty wooden crates and pallets, ready for the next load. Three long corridors followed and each was nearly filled with artifacts and furniture. A medley of colors surrounded us as we walked. Every object still shone bright and clear in the lamplight—brown, yellow, blue, amber, russet, black, and gold, lots of gold. We walked slowly through the maze until we passed into a well room that connected to a four-pillared hall, which was also nearly filled with boxes and hundreds of neatly stacked crates. Each crate held smaller, more fragile artifacts, such as vases and jewelry. Off to the side, tucked into the only niche in the wall, a tiny, balding man sat behind a desk lit by a lamp similar to ours. He stood and took off his wire- rimmed glasses. He was no taller than we were. “I have been waiting,” he said in English. “What do you wish to see? To see everything is out of the question. You must be specific. All objects are undergoing notation. Everything is unsorted, except to me.” He wiped his glasses with a handkerchief, then put them back on. He looked at me. “What do you wish to see?”

“A black box of onyx and serpentine, inlaid on top with lapis lazuli in the shape of an octopus.”

The man paused and looked closely at each of our faces, switching rapidly from one to the other, checking for differences and similarities. Then he took off his glasses again and rubbed his bald head. Without explanation, he said, “This way.”

We followed him to the other side of the hall where a burial chamber had been carved from what was intended to be another corridor, had Seti II not died when he did. The king’s sarcophagus was located here. Next to it was a stack of crates. The man removed the top crate and set it carefully on the stone floor. “I will tell you lads the same thing I told the other one. I told her there is no touching until every object has been cleaned and catalogued. You may gaze, but you may not touch.”

“Who was here?” Sailor interrupted.

“A girl,” the man said. “Two nights ago. A girl that greatly resembled all of you, only…” He paused again and glanced at each of us.

“Only what?” the Fleur-du-Mal asked.

“Only the girl was black…black as an Ethiopian tribesman.”