The Third Gate Part 6

"Your stuff. You know: the ectoplasm detector, crystal ball ... and a dowsing rod. Surely you've got a dowsing rod around somewhere."

"Never carry one. And by the way, crystal b.a.l.l.s can be very useful--not for clairvoyance necessarily but for emptying the mind of needless thoughts and distractions, say prior to meditation, depending, of course, on the impurities in the stone and its refractive index."

She seemed to consider this a minute. "Won't you come in and have a seat?"

"Thanks." Logan stepped inside, chose a seat before the desk, and placed his bag on the floor.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be flippant. It's just that I've never met an ... enigmalogist before."

"Most people haven't. I'm never at a loss for conversation at c.o.c.ktail parties."

She shook out her black hair and leaned back. "What is it you do, exactly?"

"More or less what it sounds like. I investigate phenomena that lie outside the normal bounds of human experience."

"You mean, like poltergeists?"

"On occasion. But more commonly, scientific or psychical activity that can't be easily explained through traditional disciplines."

Her eyes narrowed. "And you do this full-time?"

"I also teach history at Yale."

This seemed to interest her. "Egyptian history?"

"No. Medieval history mostly."

The interest died as quickly as it had come. "Okay."

"As long as we're playing twenty questions, why don't you fill me in on your background?"

"Sure. Got my PhD in Egyptology at the University of Cairo." She waved a hand at the diplomas. "Studied under Nadrim and Chartere. I a.s.sisted them in the Khefren the Sixth excavation."

Logan nodded. These were very impressive credentials. "Is this your first project with Porter Stone?"

"Second."

Logan s.h.i.+fted in his seat. "Dr. Rush said you'd fill me in on the background. What you found at Hierakonpolis when you searched the Temple of Horus. How you managed to locate this particular spot for the tomb."

Romero slid her hands into her pockets. "Why do you want to know?"

To Logan, this translated to Why should I waste my time telling you? Aloud, he said, "It might help me with my investigation."

She paused. Then, slowly, she sat forward. "I'll make this brief. Porter Stone managed to locate something called an ostracon--"

"He showed the replica to me."

"Good, that'll save time in explanations. Stone learned, from the ostracon and from several other scholarly investigations, that Narmer used Hierakonpolis as his staging point for building his tomb." She looked at him. "You do know who Narmer was, right?"

Logan nodded.

"The first king of a unified Egypt."

"I believe there's been some debate about that. In the past, scholars believed King Menes should be credited with the unification."

"Many scholars--myself included--believe that Narmer and Menes are one and the same." She peered at him again. "So you do know ancient Egypt."

Logan shrugged. "In my business, it's helpful to know a little bit about everything."

"And how far does this erudition extend exactly?"

Logan nodded toward the framed Egyptian wall painting. "Enough to guess that dates to the Amarna Period."

"Really? What gives you that idea?"

"The busyness of the scene, the overlapping of bodies. The emphasis on the feminine form: hips, b.r.e.a.s.t.s. You don't see that in earlier Egyptian art."

For a moment, she looked at him. Then a smile slowly broke across her face. "Okay, Mr. Ghostly Detective. You're clearly more than just a face from a magazine. Touche."

Logan grinned in return.

She sat up again. "All right. Using geophysical a.n.a.lysis and remote aerial sensing techniques, we were able to identify what appeared to be the site of a funerary quarry. This was unusual, because the very early Egyptians usually buried their dead--even n.o.bility and royalty--in sand pits. So as a result, March began a targeted excavation."

"March?"

"Fenwick March. The head archaeologist for the project. He runs the show when Porter Stone isn't around."

"What did you find?"

"At first, what you'd expect. Early black-top pots with carbonized rims, pollen, paleozoological remains. But as work continued we realized just how large the site was."

"Big enough to be the city where tomb builders and engineers were based?"

"Bingo. And then, we found this." She stood up, walked over to a filing cabinet, and opened a drawer. Pulling out two rolled-up sheets, she walked back to the desk and handed one to him.

Logan unrolled it. He saw a color photograph of an ancient Egyptian inscription, incised and painted. It showed a seated ruler, along with lines and arrows and a variety of early pictographs.

"Recognize it?" Romero asked.

He glanced up. "It looks like some kind of stela."

"Very good. A slab stela, to be precise. Know what's written on it?"

Logan smiled. "My erudition only goes so far."

"It's a road map."

"A road map? To where?"

Romero raised one hand, index finger extended. Then, very slowly, she pointed straight down, between her feet.

"My G.o.d," Logan said.

"You must know how advanced the ancient Egyptians were in astronomy, in terms of mapping the sky. This stela was a map to show the engineers and builders how to get to the site of Narmer's tomb during its construction. No doubt it was supposed to be destroyed, smashed to dust, once the tomb was complete. Lucky for us it wasn't, because it allowed us to triangulate the tomb's location to within a few miles. Once on the site, geological and scholarly a.n.a.lysis allowed us to narrow it down even farther."

Logan thought of the Grid he'd seen on the flat-screen monitor in the dive Staging Area. "Incredible. Vintage Porter Stone."

"Indeed. But Stone found something else. On the far side of that site."

"What's that?"

"A giant, square piece of black basalt. Apparently, the plinth for some kind of statuary--perhaps of Narmer himself. It had been polished to an agate gleam, even after all the intervening centuries. It contained something, too." And she handed him the other sheet.

Logan took it. It was a photograph of another inscription, somewhat shorter.

"What is it?" Logan asked.

"It's the reason you're here."

Logan looked at her. "I don't understand."

She returned the look with a smile, but this time the smile didn't extend as far as her eyes. "It's a curse."

12.

"A curse," Logan repeated.

Christina Romero nodded.

Porter Stone had alluded to a curse. Logan had been wondering when the other shoe would drop.

"You mean, like the one supposedly on King Tut's tomb? 'Death shall come on swift wings' and all that? That's just a lot of rumormongering."

"In the case of King Tut, you may be right. But curses were quite common in the Old Kingdom--and not only for private tombs. As the first king of a unified Egypt, Narmer wasn't going to take any chances. His tomb could not be allowed to be desecrated--it could mean the dissolution of his kingdom. And so he left behind this curse as a warning." She paused. "And what a warning."

"What does it say exactly?"

Romero took back the photo of the inscription, glanced at it. " 'Any man who dares enter my tomb,' " she translated, " 'or do any wickedness to the resting place of my earthly form will meet an end certain and swift. Should he pa.s.s the first gate, the foundation of his house will be broken, and his seed will fall upon dry land. His blood and his limbs will turn to ash and his tongue cleave to his throat. Should he pa.s.s the second gate, darkness will follow him, and he will be chased by the serpent and the jackal. The hand that touches my immortal form will burn with unquenchable fire. But should any in their temerity pa.s.s the third gate, then the black G.o.d of the deepest pit will seize him, and his limbs will be scattered to the uttermost corners of the earth. And I, Narmer the Everliving, will torment him and his, by day and by night, waking and sleeping, until madness and death become his eternal temple.' "

She replaced the sheet on the desk. For a moment, the office was silent.

"Quite a bedtime story," Logan said.

"Isn't it a beaut? Only a first-cla.s.s bloodthirsty tyrant like Narmer could have invented it. Although come to think of it, his wife could have done the job, too. Niethotep. Talk about a match made in heaven." Romero shook her head.

"Niethotep?"

"Now she was something. One of those bathe-in-the-blood-of-a-hundred-virgins psychos, supposedly. Narmer imported her from Scythia, royalty in her own right." Romero turned back to the photograph. "Anyway, about the curse. It's the longest example I've come across. It's also by far the most specific. You heard the reference to the G.o.d of the deepest pit?"

Logan nodded.

"Notice he's not identified by name. Not even Narmer, a G.o.d in his own right, dared do that. He's referring to An'kavasht--He Whose Face Is Turned Backwards. A G.o.d of nightmare and evil that the earliest Egyptians were scared to death of. An'kavasht dwelled Outside, 'in the endless night.' Do you know what 'Outside' meant?"

"No, I don't."

"It meant the Sudd." She paused to let this sink in. Then she took the two sheets, rolled them up again, and returned them to the filing cabinet. "Within fifty years or so, the advancing waters of the Sudd would have made any secrecy unnecessary. The swamp took care of the hiding for him." She looked over at him. "But you know what? I don't think Narmer was particularly worried about concealment. Remember, he was considered a G.o.d, and not just in a ceremonial way. Anybody messing with the tomb of a G.o.d is asking for trouble. He had an army of the dead--and this curse--to guard him. n.o.body, not even the most brazen tomb robber, would dare defy such a curse."

"What is that business about the three gates?"

"The gates are the sealed doors of a royal tomb. So it would appear that Narmer's tomb had three chambers--three important chambers, at least."

Logan s.h.i.+fted in his chair. "And this curse is the reason I'm here."

"There have been several--how would March put it?--anomalous events since work started. Equipment malfunctioning. Items disappearing or turning up in the wrong place. An unusually high number of odd accidents."

"And people are starting to get spooked," Logan said.

"I wouldn't say spooked. Restless, yes. Demoralized, maybe. See, it's bad enough being out here in the middle of nowhere, floating in the world's nastiest swamp. But with these strange happenings ... well, you know how talk gets started. Anyway, maybe with you poking around, people will calm down."

Poking around. As she was speaking, Romero's initial skepticism, if not outright hostility, had slowly returned.

"So I'm to be a rainmaker," he said. "I may not do any good, but it's comforting to see me on the job." He glanced at her. "Now I know where I stand. Thanks for your candor."

She smiled, but it wasn't a particularly friendly smile. "You got a problem with candor?"

"Not at all. It clears the air. And it can be very bracing--even enlightening."

"For example?"

"For example, you."

"What about me?" she asked sharply. "You don't know the first thing about me."

"I know quite a bit, actually. Although some of it is, admittedly, conjecture." He held her gaze steadily. "You were the youngest child in your family. I'd imagine your older siblings were boys. I'd further imagine that your father devoted most of his attention to them: Boy Scouts, Little League. He wouldn't have had much time for you--and if your brothers noticed you at all, it would be to belittle you. That would account for your instinctive hostility, your academic overcompensation."

Romero opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.

"There was a famous, or at least distinguished, woman a few generations back in your family: an archaeologist, perhaps, or maybe a mountain climber. The way you hang your diplomas carelessly on the wall, slightly askew, suggests an informal approach to academics--we're all one big happy family, whether we have impressive doctorates or not. And yet the very fact you brought your diplomas at all suggests a deep insecurity about your standing on this expedition. A young woman, one of few among men, on a physically demanding mission in a harsh and unforgiving environment--you worry about being taken seriously. Oh, and your middle name starts with A."

She looked at him, eyes blazing. "And just how the h.e.l.l do you know that?"

He gestured over his shoulder with one thumb. "It's on your nameplate on the door."