The Pharaoh Key, page 17
“Look. If we escape and get captured again, there won’t be a reprieve—it’ll be the pit. Best thing is to keep a low profile—do nothing. Be cool. Build up more trust.”
A twinge shot through Gideon’s aching back. Garza had always been the one eager to press on, and he was a little surprised by this hesitation. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Starting to enjoy your position in senior management?”
An angry look crossed Garza’s face and Gideon realized that hadn’t been fair. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that…well, unlike you, I’m on a clock.”
The look on Garza’s face softened a little. “I know.”
“I’m not saying that we need to break out of here tonight. But we should be looking for opportunities to secretly scout out the Phaistos location. We need to at least see what’s there. Then we can make a break.”
“We’ll only get one shot at escape.”
Gideon nodded. “Yes. And to that end, we’ll need weapons. Better weapons than what they have.”
Garza looked skeptical. “Like what?”
“Don’t forget, I was a weapons designer.”
“Right. So what do you plan to do—build us a nuke?”
“In a manner of speaking. We need something that trumps their daggers and spears.”
“Such as?”
Gideon summoned to mind the inventory of ancient weapons he’d been mulling over while digging ditches. “Atlatl?”
“Too unwieldy. And too difficult to learn how to throw.”
“Rungu?”
“Hmm. Not exactly better than a spear.”
“Meteor hammer?”
“A what?”
“It’s like a flail with a round head. Very fast. You whip it around your head until you build up velocity, and then launch it at your opponent.”
“Sounds good against one enemy. What about the other five who are aiming their spears at you?”
They fell into silence, each looking down at his hands.
“Bow and arrow?” Garza ventured. “It’s amazing they don’t seem to have that.”
“No,” Gideon said suddenly. “Crossbow.”
Garza looked up at him.
“A crossbow’s got velocity and power. It doesn’t require the skill of a regular bow. It reloads fast. Sights and fires its arrows like a gun. It would have shock value, too—none of these people have seen anything like it.”
“A crossbow,” Garza repeated. “That might work. All the necessary materials are lying around this camp. I could pocket the bronze we’ll need for the bolt heads from the rock quarry tomorrow. And we can use a twisted rawhide strip from one of these pelts for the string.” Then he paused. “But we need a way to generate the necessary force. You know, to pull the bowstring back and cock the device.”
“The crossbows I’ve seen use some kind of winch or crank.”
“Too difficult to make.” After a moment, Garza snapped his fingers. “We could rig up a kind of lever system. With a hinge to increase pressure on the bowstring. If I can figure out the right measurements, the lever could also act as a trigger.” He stood up and made for the tent flap.
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you think? We’ll need a solid piece of wood for the stock, and some kind of flexible sapling for the bow. I can’t very well do my shopping in daylight, can I? Meanwhile—” he gestured toward a bundle of sticks in a far corner—“pick out half a dozen of the straightest pieces you can find and get to work fashioning the arrows—which, by the way, are called bolts. If we can get one of these to work, and figure out where to hide it, maybe I’ll consider making two more for you and Imogen.” And with that he disappeared into the darkness.
Gideon sat for a moment, still rubbing his back. He was just about to reach for the pile of sticks when the tent flap stirred again and Imogen entered.
“Hi,” she said, crossing over to her area of the tent. They had divided their living space into four quarters: three sleeping nooks and a common area.
“What kept you?” Gideon asked mischievously. “Dining on petits fours and caviar again with Her Majesty?”
“Very funny. I’ve been learning more of their language. Now I’m sure it’s some kind of Coptic. Think about it: these people have led almost totally insular lives, cut off from civilization, for maybe thousands of years. Who knows what kind of tribal memories they might retain? From what I’ve gathered about their myths and rituals, their beliefs might very well date back to the time of the Egyptians. They seem to worship some sort of embodiment of the sun.”
“Have those tribal memories given you any idea as to where your gold mines of the Middle Kingdom might be?”
“Gideon, you’re treating this like a joke. It’s the learning experience of a lifetime.”
“Easy for you to say when you’re not digging ditches from dawn until dusk.”
“Maybe I can put in a word for you.”
“You mean, get me a transfer? I’d appreciate it.” He lay back on his goatskins. “Don’t get me wrong. I can see how all this might interest you. But it’s not exactly in my line. Geoarchaeologist.” He chuckled. “Sorry, but it sounds like a mixture of the two most boring subjects imaginable.”
“That’s where you and everybody else are wrong. It’s fascinating. The past is the greatest mystery we’ll ever know. And it’s the key to understanding ourselves—who we’ve become, where we’ve gotten to today. For example, when people think of ancient Egypt, all they think about is mummies and horror movies. And that’s a shame. Because the Egyptian culture was incredibly rich—and advanced. Did you know their kingdom once covered an area stretching from Sudan to the Mediterranean? Or that their religion was as complex and multifaceted as any practiced today? The ancient Egyptians were obsessed with death. Outwitting death, overcoming the unknown, lay behind the mummies and the pyramids and the iconography and the Book of the Dead, the treasures left in the tombs, and everything else. Were you aware that the original idea of monotheism—a single god—was born in ancient Egypt?”
As she had spoken, her eyes began to glitter and her face flushed slightly in the reflected firelight. There was no doubt, Gideon thought, that this was in fact her real love. “I had no idea,” he said honestly.
“It’s true. Monotheism grew out of Egyptian religion, specifically through the Pharaoh Akhenaten, also known as Amenhotep the Fourth. He decreed the elimination of the many gods and declared that henceforth Egyptians would worship one god only, Aten.”
“Who was Aten?”
“Nobody is sure, but he seems to be some aspect of the sun. But the effort failed, and after Akhenaten died the Egyptians went back to worshipping their many gods. But he was the first to introduce that revolutionary idea—which would lead to Judaism and Christianity. The idea that there was only one god—which seems so normal to us now—was incredibly radical back then. There are even scholars who claim that the Old Testament God of Judaism had His origin during the captivity in Egypt. Aten in fact may have been the basis of the Hebrew word ha’Adon, or Adonai, meaning ‘the Lord’—”
At this point the tent flap rustled again. Imogen stopped in mid-sentence as Garza slipped in. He glanced back out through an opening in the flap, then pulled from beneath his garments a solid chunk of wood, a few sturdy saplings, some rawhide leather string, and a few bits of bronze, lining everything up on the dirt floor.
“What’s all that?” Imogen asked.
Garza looked from Imogen to Gideon and back again. “Ask Gideon. It was his idea.” Then he turned back to Gideon. “Haven’t you gotten started on making those bolts yet?”
“Sorry.” Gideon motioned to Imogen. “Come on. I’ll explain as we go.”
30
GARZA JERKED AWAKE in a cold sweat, the night split by screams. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Surely it hadn’t been more than five minutes since he’d dozed off? But suddenly it seemed as if the entire encampment had exploded into hysteria.
“What the hell—?” Gideon and Imogen came out of their sleeping corners, while Garza rose, threw on his robe, and lifted the flap of the tent to see what was happening. Burning firebrands were being lit, casting a lurid glow over the scene. A tent next to the chief’s had been partially torn open. People in hysterics were running about carrying brands, collecting spears, and shouting. Amid the hubbub he could hear a woman’s terrified screams again, off in the darkness.
Gideon and Imogen joined him in peering out.
“That tent up there has been slashed open by some animal,” said Imogen.
The chief had now appeared in the midst of the crowd. He was panic-stricken as well, waving his arms and crying out, gesturing with his staff toward a ravine above the rear of the encampment, from which the woman’s screams seemed to be coming.
Imogen listened intently to the babble. “It sounds like someone was dragged off by that one-eyed demon leopard they keep talking about.”
Garza stared at the scene. “Why the hell aren’t they pursuing it? Christ, if they don’t get to her right away, she’s dead.”
“They’re terrified of it,” said Imogen. “They won’t follow.”
And Garza could see it was true. The men were making a terrific racket, arming themselves and lighting torches, and the chief was hollering and gesturing at them—but nobody, not even Blackbeard, was actually running toward the ravine.
“Screw this.” Garza threw back the goatskin and grabbed the crossbow and the small bundle of handmade bolts.
“You just made that tonight!” Imogen protested. “You haven’t even tested it yet!”
Ignoring her, Garza sprinted from the tent and headed toward the mouth of the ravine. Along the way he yanked a planted torch from the ground to light his way and, he hoped, drive off the beast. He could hear a lot of unintelligible shouting behind him, but no one followed.
The mouth of the ravine was not far, just a few hundred yards. On the sandy floor of the wash he could see drag marks and blood. The marks were easy to follow, and they led to a big pile of broken boulders a hundred feet inside the ravine. The screaming had ceased and Garza realized the cat, or whatever it was, must have dragged the woman up into the rocks.
“Hah!” he screamed and picked up a rock, flinging it toward the pile. “Come out of there, you bastard!”
He heard an answering growl. Then an immense leopard appeared on the topmost rock, staring down at him with one luminous eye. In place of the other eye was an ugly, puckered scar that ran from ear to snout. It crouched, still growling.
Garza waved the torch. This was the demon cat the whole tribe was scared of. And he’d decided to run after it. Nice one, Manuel.
There were only two choices: either drive it off or get close enough to shoot it with the crossbow. And the cat didn’t seem to be going anywhere. That meant ascending the rock pile, with the beast crouched above. As he circled, trying to find a defensible route up, the leopard made deep coughing sounds, moving to keep Garza in view, tensing its muscles.
Using the crude lever, Garza cocked the crossbow, set a bolt into the groove, and aimed it—but the only exposed target was the animal’s head, and it was too far away to be penetrated by a bolt unless he scored a hit on the eye, which was highly improbable. He’d grabbed for the crossbow instinctually as he ran from the tent, and now he recalled Imogen’s warning: they hadn’t even tested the thing yet. Its aim might be out of whack…or it might not work at all.
He yelled at the creature and waved the torch again, trying to drive it off. It snarled again, baring its teeth.
“Hyah!” He threw another rock, which missed.
The leopard gave an answering roar, shaking its head at him. The sound echoed mightily off the canyon walls before dying away.
At least it’s distracted from eating, Garza thought.
Garza hoisted himself up one boulder. The leopard slid back a bit and growled again. He scrambled up another boulder, waving the torch ahead of him, hoping that fear of fire would drive it off. But the creature stood its ground, growling fiercely.
“Get away, you son of a bitch!” He hoisted himself up onto the next boulder. Now the leopard was less than twenty feet above him: not a good thing. At least it wouldn’t leap on him as long as he held the burning torch—or would it?
From this vantage point he could see, just behind the animal, the tuft of a robe: a girl. The leopard was evidently standing guard over its victim. She was probably already dead, but there was a chance she might still be alive. After all, he hadn’t given the beast much time to begin its meal.
Garza yelled again and waved the torch. The leopard rose up slightly, its one good eye reflecting the flickering orange torchlight, its glossy fur rippling with musculature. Garza took aim, but all he could see was the animal’s head and neck. What he needed was the chest. Why had he brought along an untested weapon, anyway?
He rose further and jabbed the torch at the snarling animal, shouting at the top of his lungs: “Go away! Get lost!”
The animal backed up and Garza had the sudden hope it would turn and flee. He yelled, jabbed again—and then the leopard leapt at him from above, descending with its great claws unsheathed. Garza managed to fire the crossbow just as the animal fell on him.
It was like being hit by a car. He was thrown backward from the boulder, the leopard tumbling with him, issuing a terrifying screech as the two landed on the sand, swiping at him with a massive paw, catching the side of his face and raking the flesh. Blood was suddenly everywhere, a fountain of it, as the animal—now on its back—thrashed and bit at the bolt buried in its chest. Garza tried to scramble backward, but the animal pinned his leg even as it clawed at itself. And then, with one convulsive growl, it shuddered and ceased moving.
Blood pouring down his face, Garza managed to pull his leg from under the dead animal. Abandoning the torch and crossbow, he struggled up the heap of rocks to the top.
In the faint starlight, he could see the young woman was lying on her back. He recognized her immediately as the chief’s young wife. Her shoulder was bloody and marked with punctures—evidently from being dragged. But otherwise she appeared untouched. He scooped her up and carefully picked his way down the rock pile to the sandy wash. Reaching it, he staggered slowly toward the mouth of the ravine, shaking his head to clear the blood from his eyes. His face was on fire and he felt his legs grow weaker by the second. Finally, at the mouth of the canyon, he sank to his knees, unable to carry his burden any farther.
Still on his knees, he was surrounded by a shouting frenzy of people. Someone—Gideon—picked up the girl and she instantly vanished. Garza felt dizzy, unable to maintain his focus. He was being congratulated, it seemed; hands were touching him, grasping him. And there was Imogen, forcing her way to the front, coming to his aid, trying to help him rise, but then the world folded in on itself and he collapsed.
31
GARZA FELT COOL water on his face and slowly opened his eyes. A boy was carefully dabbing at his cheek with a damp cloth. Gideon and Imogen were hovering nearby, staring down at him with concern. He was in a small, elegant tent. Some kind of hubbub was taking place outside.
“We told them you needed rest and quiet,” Gideon said.
“The chief’s wife?” Garza asked, raising his head to speak.
“Alive. Her shoulder’s a bit chewed up, apparently, but the rest of her is fine.”
Garza lowered his throbbing head. “And my face?”
A silence. “The cuts are superficial,” Gideon said. “You’re damn lucky it missed your auricular artery.”
Imogen leaned toward him. “I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met. Even if you are a nob some of the time.”
“Nobody was doing anything. I couldn’t let her just be eaten.”
“The reason they weren’t doing anything,” she said, “is because they thought that leopard was an invincible demon. It’s been killing them for years.”
“I just got lucky with my shot.” A thought struck him. “What did they do when they saw the crossbow?”
“We had some fancy explaining to do,” Gideon said. “We told the chief we were making it for him as a surprise. I’m not sure he believed it, but he kept the crossbow for himself. And decreed that no others should be made, on pain of death.”
Garza shook his head.
At that moment they heard a fresh commotion outside and the tent flap was thrust aside. The chief himself stepped in and spread his arms. He started speaking effusively and came over, embracing Garza once again.
“I think,” said Imogen, “he’s thanking you.”
“I figured that much out.”
More embraces. Garza saw that the old man’s eyes were full of tears. Then the chief rose and spoke.
“What’s he saying now?”
Imogen leaned forward. The chief slowed down, and she nodded. Her eyes went wide. She nodded again.
“He wants to know if you are well enough to walk.”
“Why?”
“It seems he wants to make some kind of announcement.”
Garza raised his head again. The world spun around him. “Christ. Do I have to?”
“If you can. Whatever it is, it seems pretty important.”
Helped by Gideon and Imogen, Garza managed to get to his feet. He put one arm over each of their shoulders, and the three of them ducked out of the tent and into the early-morning sunlight. The tent was in the high-rent district, only a few steps behind the chief’s own dwelling. And the chief was now standing on the little promontory of rock he used for important speeches, staff in hand, looking at Garza and smiling. The crone stood a few paces behind him. A crowd was gathering below—the entire tribe, from what Garza could make out—and there were smiles and approving nods all around. Then the world spun again and he paused to clear his head.
More slowly now, they approached the chief. The old man bowed. As Gideon and Imogen released their holds, Garza managed to return the gesture without collapsing to the ground.
