"Smith, Guy N - Accursed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

He shall not be shut in along with the souls which are fettered; he shall have power to deliver himself wherever he may be; and the worms shall not devour him.

Chapter CLXIV. Book of the Dead









Prologue



'HAS it ever occurred to you, Reverend, that you are a thief?' The small sunburned man spoke emotionlessly, his features impassive in the shadow cast by the scuffed and grubby sun-helmet which was tilted over his forehead. A dead cheroot adhered to his thin lower lip and bobbed up and down.

His companion stared at him, squinted. Arrogance except for the tone of voice. A statement of fact as Suma saw it.

'Then you, too, are a thief, Suma.' The Reverend Mason stroked his thick grey beard, his squat form hunched over the remnants of the campfire. Tomorrow both of us will go in through that door below. If you are not a robber then at the very least you are an accessory.'

'I'm just a guide.' Suma struck a match and attempted to relight his cheroot. 'I do what I'm paid to do and nothing more. I neither enter tombs nor remove anything from them. All I do is show my clients where they are. The natives do the digging.'

'So I have perceived.' The older man's tones were rich and gentle, a veiled remonstration such as he might have delivered during the course of a sermon. 'But I do not steal. I do not seek to acquire wealth, merely to take my finds to a place of safe keeping where they may delight an old man who attempts to understand the ways of an ancient civilisation. Take the British Museum, for example. The exhibits there could hardly be referred to as stolen property.'

'The treasures belong to the dead.' Suma stared into the fire, stretched out a sandalled foot and kicked the charred faggots so that they showered sparks and burst into flame. 'They have need of them in Sekhet-Aaru, the land of the dead. One day they will return for what is rightfully theirs and find that their belongings have been stolen.'

The clergyman refrained from an impulse to try and explain to Suma that in heaven one had no need of material possessions. It would have been a waste of time. Out of the corner of his eye he studied the other, a strange little man whom one might almost have taken for a sunburned European at first glance. Part Egyptian certainly, part...? It was anybody's guess. A wanderer of the wastelands, a desert nomad. They told you in Cairo that Suma was the best guide available ... if you could acquire his services. Sometimes he was not heard of for months at a time, then suddenly he would be back in the city looking for work. It was all according to his mood how much he charged; some said there were times when he did not charge at all. A hunter of tombs.

'I shall not come to Egypt again.' Mason spoke sadly, philosophically. 'Not just because I am an old man but because soon there will be nothing left to take. Surely the authorities must call a halt to it soon. So far they have been too pre-occupied with the aftermath of war, but I fear that we are witnessing the end of an era. This is surely my last expedition, Suma.'

'And maybe mine, too.' The little wiry man smiled whimsically. 'Methinks I should not have brought you here. Reverend. Not to the tomb of Dalukah and Aba-aner.'

'Dalukah was Queen of Egypt. Apparently her tomb was overlooked by Carter and other leading Egyptologists.'

'Not queen. A descendant, but by that time the royal bloodline had gone. I shouldn't have brought you here, Reverend, but there is still time to leave. We have not broken into the tomb yet. Fortunately!'

'You've got cold feet, suddenly, Suma. Why? I'm not backing down now. Like I said, I shan't come to Egypt again. This is my last tomb and I'm going in there whether you like it or not.'

That is up to you, Reverend.' Suma glanced behind him as though he expected to see something lurking in the shadows of the cave. 'As for me, my job is done. I have brought you to the tomb of Dalukah and Aba-aner. I have watched you dig. The rest is up to you. You need me no longer. You have the natives and a truck, enough to get you and whatever you ste-- . . . take back to Cairo. I shall leave in the morning at first light.'

'D'you mind telling me why?' Mason found himself peering into the shadows beyond the firelight, his gaze coming back to rest on the guide, a tiny shiver running up his spine.

'It is not for me to say.'

'You're frightened, aren't you? You're as superstitious as these natives. They won't camp near the tomb. They've retreated almost half a mile into the desert. How do I know they, too, will not have fled by dawn?'

'They might.' Suma smiled wryly. 'But they are poor. The money you are paying them may well overcome their fear temporarily. On the other hand it may not. It is fortunate you have not given them any money so far otherwise I fear that they would have been gone by now.'