Chamber three had fallen into a shocked, confused silence. As Logan watched, Porter Stone slowly sank to his knees before the large onyx chest-whether from weariness or disappointment, or some other emotion, he couldn’t be sure. Wordlessly, Stone let the two objects slip to the floor.
Logan peered around the chamber, its black surfaces gleaming dimly in the reflected glow of the flashlights. He glanced at the bundles of ancient hemp, scattered around the floor in a corona of disarray. He glanced at the low bed at the rear of the chamber, almost too faint to make out, with its once-beautiful coverlet and pillow. He glanced at the gold-framed table, covered with carefully arranged papyri. He glanced at the small golden boxes, once sealed but now spilling their contents: curlings of copper, a spike of meteoric iron, filaments of gold. Finally, his eye came to rest on the two devices-he could think of no other word for them-that sat beside Stone: the white, bowl-like implement and the concave apparatus covered in red enamel. They rested upon the bags of woven gold that had held them: five-thousand-year-old enigmas, practically daring the onlookers to parse their secrets.
It all seemed impossibly strange.
From the beginning, everything about Narmer’s tomb had been unusual. It had been similar to those of the kings who had followed him centuries later-and yet, in many ways, so very unlike. His mummy had been found in the second, not the third, chamber: reason dictated the final chamber would contain something even more critical, even more important, for the afterlife. And yet, as Logan glanced around at the scrolls and bits of metal, he could not begin to imagine what it was.
He stared down again at the two devices. One red, and one white-just like the old crowns of upper and lower Egypt.
“Crowns,” he murmured.
His was the first voice to break the silence. A half-dozen heads swiveled toward him. Stone’s was not among them.
“Yes?” Stone murmured, his back to Logan.
“Those two devices. We know that, whatever they are, they’re meant to be worn on the head. After all, that’s the depiction in the painting, back in chamber one.”
Stone didn’t answer. He merely shook his head.
“There’s nothing else they can be but crowns,” Logan went on. “They’re red and white-the proper colors. They even vaguely resemble the elements of the double crown, based on the depictions we’ve all seen.”
“These aren’t crowns,” Stone said. His voice was low, distant. “These are the tinkerings of a mad king, indulged by his priests: toys, nothing more. No wonder his descendants broke with his ways.”
“They’re bizarre, I admit,” Logan said. “They’re not crowns in any decorative or stylized sense. But they must have value-and great value, at that. Otherwise, why place them in the most holy chamber of the tomb? Why seal them in enclosures of such magnificence? Why set such a terrible curse upon them?”
“Because Narmer went insane,” Stone said bitterly. “I should have guessed it. Why else would he have himself buried out here, in this godforsaken place, many miles from his own kingdom? Why break with a tradition that would endure for a thousand years?”
“Narmer was the tradition,” Dr. Rush said quietly. “It was those who followed that broke with him-not the other way around.”
During this exchange, Tina Romero had returned to the gold-framed table and was again glancing from one papyrus to another with rapt concentration. All at once she straightened, turned back to the group. “I think I understand,” she said.
All eyes swiveled toward her.
“I’ve said before that the ancient Egyptian pharaohs were interested in near-death experience,” she went on. “What they called the ‘second region of night.’ But if I understand these texts, they were more than just interested. It seems they-or at least Narmer-practiced them as well.”
“What are you saying?” Stone asked. “How can you practice a near-death experience?”
“I’m simply telling you what the scrolls tell me,” she replied, lifting a papyrus as if to hammer home her point. “Again and again, ib is mentioned here. Ib — the ancient Egyptian word for heart. The Egyptians believed it was the heart, not the brain, that was the seat of knowledge, emotion, thought. The heart was the key to the soul, critical to surviving into the afterlife. But ib, as written in these texts, isn’t being discussed in religious terms. It’s described in more like…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “More like clinical terms.” She put down the scroll. “I said before these read more like instructions than incantations.”
“Instructions?” Stone said, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Instructions for what?”
This was met by a brief silence.
“It sounds like a paradox.” Logan turned to Romero. “You say the ancient Egyptians believed the heart was critical for surviving in the next world.”
Romero nodded. “Once in the netherworld, the pharaoh’s heart would have been inspected, tested by Anubis, in a ceremony known as the Weighing of the Heart. At least, that was the belief of later Egyptians.”
“But death occurs when the heart stops. How could a stopped heart be of any use to Narmer in the next-” Logan paused abruptly. “Wait. What was it you said earlier? You said that this entire tomb seemed to be almost a rehearsal for Narmer’s death, for his passage to the next world. A dry run, so to speak. Right?”
Romero nodded.
Logan looked from her, to the contents of the tomb, and then back to her again. All of a sudden-with a flash like a thunderstroke-he understood.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered. “The Baghdad Battery.”
For a moment, nobody moved. Then-as slowly as he had dropped to his knees-Stone stood up again, turned, and faced Logan.
“Just before the Second World War,” Logan continued, “some artifacts were found in a village just outside Baghdad. The artifacts were very old, and their purpose was unclear. A terracotta pot; a copper sheet in the shape of a cylinder, topped by an iron rod. A few others. They were ignored until the director of Iraq’s National Museum stumbled onto them in the museum’s collections. He published a paper theorizing that these artifacts-when properly filled with citric acid, or vinegar, or some other liquid capable of generating electrolytic voltage-originally functioned as a primitive galvanic cell. A battery.”
Everyone remained silent, all eyes on Logan.
“I’ve heard of all this,” Stone said. “That battery was small, weak, perhaps used for the ceremonial electroplating of objects.”
“True,” Logan said. “It was weak. But it didn’t have to be.”
“Jesus.” Romero pointed to the objects sitting at Stone’s feet. “Are you implying-”
Carefully, Logan picked up the red-enameled object, topped by the iron rod and the curled piece of copper. Next, he picked up the bowl-shaped marble object, the long filaments of gold trailing. Very gingerly, he placed the red device atop the white one. They fit together perfectly.
“The double crown,” Romero said.
“Exactly,” Logan said. “But a ‘crown’ with a very special-even divine-purpose. Note the elements it is composed of. Copper. Iron. Gold. Add lemon juice or vinegar, and you’d have a battery-but potentially much stronger than the one found buried in Mesopotamia.”
“That urn in the corner,” Romero said. “It smelled like vinegar.”
“And those gold filaments,” Dr. Rush added. “You’re guessing they could serve as… electrodes?”
“Yes,” Logan said. “Properly placed on the chest, they could be used to stop the heart.”
“Stop the heart,” Stone repeated. “A dress rehearsal for death.”
“Perhaps more than one rehearsal,” Logan said. “Look at the extra materials stored in those golden boxes.”
Stone held out his hands. Logan carefully passed over the crown apparatus.
“A dress rehearsal for death,” Stone repeated. He gave the crown a brief, almost loving caress.
“It might be even more than that,” Romero said. “Remember the tremendous importance the ancient Egyptians placed on the heart. By stopping the heart-and then restarting it-it might not only be a preparation for King Narmer, but a validation of his divinity as well.”
“Of course,” said Stone. “A way to establish, prove, his divinity-and the divinity of his line.”
Logan looked at the expedition director. Over the last few minutes, Stone’s voice had grown a little more
