22 - The Sands of Time

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Prologue

Ancient Egypt - c5000BC

The woman was still alive as unnatural thunder cracked across the sky.

The lightning forked through the thrashing rain, stabbing at the desert sand.

Rain splashed across the dunes, running down the bank towards the

entrance of the tomb, washing over stone that had been parched for a

thousand years.

She was hardly more than a girl, her eyes betraying her fear as she

shivered in the warm rain. The priests stood either side of her, holding her

arms out from her body. Their heads were lowered - perhaps in shame,

perhaps in an effort to keep them dry.

She screamed as the spirit she hosted was split, ruptured and ripped from

her mind. She collapsed to her knees, held up only by the grip of the

priests. Damp sand gritted into the white cotton of her dress. The muscles

in her neck tightened with the pain and her cries echoed through the night,

blotting out the thunder. But she was still alive.

The gods watched from the ridge, silent and still. The rain running down

their masked faces and splashing from their robes. Then Anubis and Horus

stepped forward and made their considered way down towards the burial

party. The lightning flashed across their ritual masks, picking out the

reflective detail of the gold and deepening the dark holes of their eyes. The

woman raised her head slightly as they stopped in front of her. Her left

eyelid flickered while Anubis raised the lid from the canopic jar. Then her

body spasmed again as Horus touched her cheek, drew out the enclosed

spirit, left her with only the instinct and intuition she had inherited.

She was still alive, but Rassul did nothing.

He watched as they dragged the girl's sagging body towards the tomb. He

followed, taking his designated place as the last of the relics were carried

after her. The ring of Bastet, born on a velvet cushion; the snake statue of

Netjerankh; the scarab bracelet; the figure of Anubis, god of the rituals of

death. Rassul followed, holding the hourglass before him like the talisman it

was. And at his back he could hear the Devourer of the Dead snapping in

frustration as she was cheated of her victim.

The girl was still alive as they removed the dress. She could stand alone

now, unmoving apart from her eyes. She was still alive as Anubis directed

the priests to smear her naked body with bitumen.

She was still alive as they started to smother the bandages round her. And

Rassul did nothing.

As the wrappings reached her face she screamed again, head back and

mouth wide, as if to remind them she still had her tongue. A single word,

screamed in terror, anger and accusation. A single word hurled at Rassul

as he stood before her. And did nothing. The next twist of cloth cut off her

voice, bit deep into her mouth and gagged her.

She was still alive as the bandages covered her forehead, leaving a thin

slot through which Rassul could see her eyes widen. She was watching

him, locked on to him. And he could see her pupils dilate, could almost feel

her terror.

The opening of the mouth. Her scream had been like a pouring in of

energy. His muscles tightened and his whole body tensed. A single word.

In that instant he knew what he must do, saw his destiny mapped out like a

procession snaking across the desert. He felt his life stretch out ahead of

him, guided inexorably towards a new purpose.

Rassul placed the hourglass in the appointed position. He watched them

lower the mummified body into the inner sarcophagus and drag the heavy

lid across it. He watched the priests follow the gods from the tomb. He

turned back as they reached the doorway, bowed in reverence, and made

to join the procession.

Then he reached out, and turned the hourglass over. A tiny trickle of sand,

a thin line of time, traced its way into the lower glass bowl. Rassul watched

for a moment, then followed the last of the priests. He waited outside as

they closed and sealed the doorway.

The gods were already gone. The priests waited no longer than was

necessary to complete the final rituals. Like Rassul, they had heard the

thumping on the inside of the sarcophagus. Like Rassul, they knew she

was still alive.

Mena House Oberoi hotel, Giza - September 1896

Lord Kenilworth spluttered into his single malt, wiped a sodden

handkerchief round his damp collar, and looked again across the room. He

was sitting alone at a map-strewn table close to the window. He had been

examining the maps for most of the afternoon, tracing out routes to

possible sites and discarding them for lack of substantiating or

corroborative evidence. Across the extensive hotel gardens outside, if he

cared to look, he was afforded an excellent view of the pyramids. But for

the moment, the presence of the man who had entered the bar puzzled him

more than the ancient monuments he had spent a good deal of his forty-

seven years studying.

'Good God, Atkins,' Kenilworth blurted, half rising as the man approached

him. 'What the deuce?'

'I'm sorry, sir. I realize this is somewhat unexpected.' Atkins lowered his

head slightly as he spoke. 'But a matter has arisen.'

'Unexpected? I should say so.' Kenilworth waved the tall man to a chair,

and wiped his brow.

Atkins sat, assuming an upright posture which emphasized his near-

immaculate attire. If Kenilworth noticed the mud and sand clinging to

Atkins' shoes and the cuffs of his trousers, he did not mention it. He waited.

'So what is this matter that brings you all the way from London? What is it

that causes you to neglect your duties - and my household, I should add -

and come to Cairo in person rather than send a telegram?'

Atkins coughed politely. 'We are actually in Giza, sir.'

'I know where I am, thank you. And I rather think I may be permitted to

stray a couple of miles from my residence. Especially since my butler

seems to have wandered several thousand miles from his.' He gave a

single curt nod to emphasize the point. Then he laughed, a short snort of

mirth. 'You gave me quite a turn though, I don't mind admitting.' Kenilworth

set down his drink on one of the maps, rubbing his thumb against the cool

surface of the glass for a moment.

A shadow fell across the table, and he was suddenly aware that another

figure had joined them. The man was standing beside Kenilworth's chair,

silhouetted against the window and framed between the shapes of the

pyramids outside.

'Who the devil are you, sir?' Kenilworth asked, pulling the maps off the

table and rolling them up. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Atkins

grab the whisky tumbler a moment before the map was pulled from under

it.

'This gentleman, sir,' Atkins said quietly as he replaced the tumbler on the

table, 'has a proposition which I believe you will find of interest.'

'Does he indeed.' Kenilworth peered into the setting sunlight. The man was

tall, but Kenilworth could make out no features. There was just a shadowed

oval where his face should be. 'Well then, sir, out with it. What proposition

is it that causes you to hijack my man and bring him half across the globe?'

The man's voice was young, but at the same time it commanded respect. It

was cultured, lacking any discernible accent beyond being English. 'You

are looking for a tomb,' the man said. 'A blind pyramid south of Saqqara.'

Kenilworth's eyes narrowed. 'How do you know that?' He turned to his

manservant. 'Atkins?' he asked accusingly.

Atkins shook his head, a barely perceptible gesture. 'I think you should

listen to the gentleman, sir. I have good reason to suspect he can provide

useful information.'

Kenilworth snorted again, and reached for his drink.

'Really. And what information, pray, can you provide me with?'

The man straightened up again. 'You must be prepared for some hardship,

I'm afraid. There will be danger, death even, ahead of us. But if you're

agreeable I can offer my services to your expedition.'

'And what exactly are you offering?'

The man turned away, towards the window, and looked out at the

pyramids. The sun was edging down between them, its rays streaming

across the hazy desert sands. He was silent for a moment, as if

considering. Then he seemed to come to a decision and turned back to

face Kenilworth.

'I can lead you to the tomb,' he said.

Cranleigh Hall, Oxfordshire - 1926

The orchestra occupied a large area of the terrace. One end of the lawn

was taken up with the buffet and bar, the rest was free for the guests.

Some of them stood and ate; some of them chatted idly amongst

themselves; some of them danced in the small area of the terrace free of

musicians; some of them watched the dancers as they skidded merrily

through the Charleston.

Lord and Lady Cranleigh weaved their way endlessly and effortlessly

through the guests. They smiled and exchanged small talk. They nodded

and accepted good wishes and compliments. They agreed with any

comments offered unless they related to religion or politics, in which case

they went out of their way to be non-committal before moving hastily on.

'Beautiful, absolutely beautiful,' Smutty Thomas told them for the fourth

time as he waved his most recent flute of champagne vaguely in the

direction of the happy couple. 'Lovely church. Bishop's a good sort.'

Champagne splashed on to the grass at Lady Cranleigh's feet. She smiled,

pretending not to notice.

'Speeches - excellent. Superb,' Smutty Thomas concluded, nodding

enthusiastically.

Lord Cranleigh laughed. 'We haven't had the speeches yet.'

Smutty Thomas frowned with some difficulty. 'Well,' he decided at length,

'they will be good.'

'Indeed they will,' a voice said from just behind Cranleigh. It was at once

breathless and controlled, as if the speaker had just run a hundred yard

dash but not broken a sweat. 'I shall especially enjoy the anecdote about

the pig in Exeter College.'

Lord Cranleigh gaped. 'How could you possibly know -' he began, turning to

face the man who had spoken. As soon as he saw who it was his surprise

turned to delight and understanding. 'Doctor,' he said with a beam, 'how

good of you to come.'

'Not at all.' The Doctor smiled back and took Cranleigh's proffered hand.

'Congratulations. The wedding cake tastes lovely.'

'We haven't cut it yet,' said Lady Cranleigh.

But her husband just laughed again and waved an admonishing finger at

the Doctor. 'I can never tell when you're joking, Doctor.'

'Are you here alone?' Lady Cranleigh asked. She had been looking past the

Doctor, scanning the nearby guests for his companions.

'I'm rather afraid I am.' The Doctor's smile faded.

'May be just as well,' Cranleigh observed. 'I rather think Miss Nyssa's

appearance here might cause some little confusion.' He turned to the

swaying Smutty Thomas. 'You know she's the image of Ann,' he confided.

'Two peas in a pod. Quite uncanny.' But his friend seemed more concerned

with keeping his champagne within the confines of the wavering glass than

in Cranleigh's words.

Ann Cranleigh patted the Doctor's shoulder. 'It's nice to see you, anyway,'

she said. 'But you must bring Nyssa and Tegan and Adric to visit us soon.

You are always welcome here.'

'Indeed,' Cranleigh agreed with his wife. 'We owe you a lot, Doctor.'

'Thank you,' the Doctor said. He bit his lower lip as if pondering something

important.

'I know you're a little busy at the moment,' he said at last, 'but I was

wondering if you could do me one small favour.'

'Anything I can do, Doctor,' Cranleigh said seriously. 'So long as it's not

money,' he added with a wink.

The Doctor laughed. Then at once he was solemn again. 'No, it's not

money. And actually, it's really your wife I must ask. Though I can give you

a little while to think about it.'

'In that case,' Lady Cranleigh took the Doctor's arm, 'you can ask me as we

dance.'

'Dance?' The Doctor was dismayed. He twisted round as she led him

towards the terrace and shot Cranleigh a despairing glance.

Cranleigh raised his glass in response. 'See you later, Doctor,' he called,

turning back in time to catch Smutty Thomas as he fell.

Kenilworth House, London - 1965

Aubrey Prior froze. The glass hovered for a moment in front of his open

mouth, then he blinked suddenly and put it down. The light from the heavy

chandelier reflected off the cut facets of the lead crystal and made the

vintage port glow as if lit from within. It was one of the best of the many

ports that Aubrey Prior had tasted.

'How long have you known? Are they sure? My God, how do you -' Aubrey

shook his head. 'Sorry, I - Sorry.'

Cedric smiled sadly across the room. He was standing with his back to the

fire, resting his arm along the mantelpiece. 'I've known for quite some time

really,' he said. 'Though it took me a while to believe it.'

'But there must be something - some treatment or other. If it's a genetic

instability or defect in the DNA -'

Cedric held up his hand to stop his nephew. 'In a few years I can believe

that you and your colleagues will have tinkered around with our genes to

the point where you can cure anything, Aubrey.' He stared distantly at the

chandelier for a moment. 'But I don't have a few years. All I have is a few

weeks.'

'Weeks?'

Cedric Prior nodded. 'Three at the most, apparently. Though God knows I

feel better now than I have in ages.' He looked round the drawing room,

slowly scanning the furniture and ornaments. To his nephew he looked as if

he was seeing the room properly for the first time. Or the last. 'I was hoping

that he would come during my lifetime, that I would find out at last what it's

all about . . .' His voice tailed off and he shook his head slowly and sadly.

'He?' Aubrey stood up and went over to join his uncle at the fire. They were

friends as well as relatives, and Aubrey had been looking forward to the

evening for weeks. Probably for longer than his uncle had left to live. He

put his glass down on the mantelpiece. Suddenly he didn't seem to want

the drink.

Cedric Prior was still staring into space, his eyes glazed over. Aubrey

waited a while, but his uncle seemed deep in thought. 'Would you like me

to . . .' Aubrey gestured vaguely towards the door.

Cedric looked at him. 'What? Oh, no. No. Sorry I was -' He looked towards

the door where Aubrey had pointed. 'Yes, yes. We must go. It's time you

knew about your duties, knew about the task our family is charged with.'

Aubrey followed his uncle into the hall, wondering vaguely if his brain had

been affected by the illness. He was becoming certain of it when Cedric

Prior led him to the cupboard under the stairs and indicated that his

nephew should follow him inside.

'In there? Really, Uncle, I do think -'

'Come along, I've waited all your life to show you this.' Cedric grabbed his

hand and pulled him inside. Then he immediately stooped down and

started to fumble with the floorboards.

Aubrey peered over Cedric's shoulder, and saw that he was levering up a

brass ring set into the wood. As soon as his fingers could gain purchase on

the ring, he pulled. And a section of the floor of the cupboard lifted up

accompanied by a cloud of dust. 'A trapdoor.'

Cedric smiled and nodded. 'Down you go.' As his uncle stood aside,

Aubrey could see a set of stone steps leading down into the cellarage

beneath.

Aubrey had expected a dim area filled with cobwebs and dust. Instead he

was greeted with a large stone-floored room, brightly lit and draped with

deep red velvet curtains round the walls. On low tables and shelves around

the room were various ornaments and statuettes. But Aubrey hardly

noticed them.

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摘要：

PrologueAncientEgypt-c5000BCThewomanwasstillaliveasunnaturalthundercrackedacrossthesky.Thelightningforkedthroughthethrashingrain,stabbingatthedesertsand.Rainsplashedacrossthedunes,runningdownthebanktowardstheentranceofthetomb,washingoverstonethathadbeenparchedforathousandyears.Shewashardlymorethanag...

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22 - The Sands of Time

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