Denibus Ar Page 5

  Langley veered in for a closer look. “What are they? How old do you think they are?”

  “Oh, probably not too old. They could be just any desert creature’s, a mouse or a critter, dug too deep, maybe in the last century or so. What do you think? Should I bring it over for carbon dating?”

  Langley grinned. “No, it had better be put into study.” He frowned. “Why’re you hiding it in your pants like that? Those blokes are pretty serious over there about hidden artifacts.”

  Yasser squirmed. “Yeah, I know all about Ghaas. He’d have a conniption if he knew I was sneaking things out. Say listen, you wouldn’t have a smoke for me, would you?”

  Langley shook his head. “You know I don’t do that stuff. Besides, Chesla has banned weed, something about the ashes buggering up the soil analysis.”

  Yasser croaked in bleak fashion. “What a crotchety old witch. And all this time I thought you were a cool guy.”

  “To use your own words, ‘amigo’—you thought wrong.”

  The advantage of working with Yasser was that one could enjoy the anonymity of safe, friendly banter without the plodding overtones of company like Ghaas or Groedig, a chore that demanded sobriety and word-watching. Now he would have the shady side for the next hour or so. A grin split Langley’s face. The squares-to-do were adjacent to a pile of red earth, which for the time being offered a reasonable amount of shade.

  A quick glance over his shoulder showed a glimpse of the Egyptian workers hauling away fallen blocks. Beads of sweat ran down their cheeks and forearms. Langley could never understand why the Egyptians wore heavy wool sweaters despite the heat —only to roll their sleeves up to the elbow. It was a habit that the other ethnic workers seemed to follow also religiously—as too, the long shawls that they draped round their heads like turbans. At any rate, Langley was thankful not to have been posted out there in the hot sun with those who had to cart off the broken masonry.

  The privilege gave Langley a sense of accomplishment. As much as he did not take to Ghaas, the supervisor did for the most part, leave him alone, with the freedom to choose what he wanted to work on.

  With a grudging sigh, Langley set about his work. He selected an area to excavate, then grabbed a spade, and strode toward an earthen plot, where he lightly sliced a few centimetres of earth with its sharpened edge. The action proved to be difficult, for there were many larger rocks to be moved. Not surprising, the ground was mostly solid 4M below the sands—evidence of a wadi in the far distant past—it could not be moved or cleared by any conventional tools. Any heavy rocks or objects discovered would have to be drilled to facilitate their removal, and only those that were not structural items. The electric jackhammers served this purpose, those that stood idle nearby. The electricity came courtesy of a gas generator managed by the soldiers in the compound just down the valley to the east.

  After the soil had been loosened, Langley used dust pan and whisk to clean up the earth. This was then placed upon a wire-meshed screen set up nearby. A vigorous shaking revealed shards, bones, fauna, flora or any other ‘interesting’ objects that might crop up. The artifacts were bagged, then brought to Ghaas’s attention, or the attention of any of his Egyptian helpers.

  An hour later, Langley had completed two squares without discovering anything of interest. A normal procedure, so he accepted the lack of results with a stoic shrug. As did Yasser, who on his third square now, had only added another few paltry bones of some unfortunate creature.

  At 9AM, both paused for a water break. Looking up along the northern ridge, Langley saw a great open sky, free of clouds. The landscape, however, was saturated with an intense yellowish glare that rained down hard on them and hurt their eyes when the sunglasses were removed.

  Soldiers in white were in full force now, patrolling the hills and marching about the site itself. The majority ranged north and south of the perimeter, with rifles at their sides. At first, it had been a disconcerting sight, but Langley and his friend got used to it. On some of the dunes behind the pyramid, a soldier rode a camel. The back of his turbaned hat flapped in the wind and Langley could just make out a straggling line of sycamores edging up along the bases of the hills to the south. Along the highest slopes, natural columns were fluted and had been carved slowly over the aeons by the incessant bite of winds carrying drifting sand.

  The sun began to rise and the brief shady respite was almost over. Sweat began to ooze from Langley’s brow. He sighed and worked on…

  Chapter 4

  Without event the two toiled on through the morning. Before long Langley’s tanned, muscled arms and grey, short-sleeved shirt were doused with sweat. The air was stifling. He was on his fifth square, which meant it was nearing the time for the accustomed 11AM lunch break. His trowel suddenly struck something hard.

  Langley scooped with his hands and uncovered a curious, curved object. It was strangely cool to the touch. He brushed it off with admiration, then let out a low whistle. It had the shape of a medallion, or some sort of coin but with a curved surface crafted in likeness to a large scarab. Crude, but faint inscriptions were cut on its smooth, shell-humped back. The relic was cylindrical at its sides, about three centimetres thick, six centimetres long, and quite heavy. Too heavy for its small size.

  Again, Langley wiped the object on his pants, strained his eyes, but beyond its dull, grey-bronze sheen, he could discern no legible markings. The inscriptions on this aged piece had once perhaps registered meaning to an intelligent eye, but they had long since been effaced; only inconsequential scratches and squiggles remained.

  He called over to Yasser but was surprised to find him missing—the Nubian had likely taken early leave for lunch—and rightly so, Langley thought, for he already had finished his first square before he had even arrived on the site.

  Langley paused to examine the new find. The next logical step was to bag the mystery and pass it on to Ghaas. But something stayed his hand. Common sense told him it was the right thing to do, but to his discomfort, his limbs would not obey him. He felt a weak pull, as if dazed from a dream.

  Langley shook himself, tried to rationalize the fact that the midday heat was getting to him. But something piqued his brain. At the threshold of earshot, a dim voice told him—no commanded him—that this ‘thing’, whatever it was, was not meant to be ‘bagged’. The object was to bypass all such inspection.

  Langley had to laugh. Bypass inspection. That’s rich. Every time he tried to reach for a clear plastic bag, the bag simply slipped from his grasp, as if he had no strength in his hand, the same phenomenon one has who laughs, losing all strength.

  Langley curled lips in a frown. Quite by accident, he put the amulet in his pocket and immediately felt soothed. The object was safe—yes, from prying eyes and questing fingers.

  A flash! A lucid recollection. An impossible feeling of déjà vu.

  Was it not Yasser who had dismissed the prospect of turning over the bone fragments to Ghaas? Come to think of it, nowhere had he seen his friend bag any of the bones over the course of the morning and pass them onto the inspection squad. Langley shook his head, trying to grasp the significance of the detail.

  His attention was struck with the weight of watchful eyes from somewhere near. He looked up; locked eyes with Sarsenska who stood hovering over the brink of the pit, looking down at him with air of disfavour. Langley felt a strange surge of guilt. Quickly he averted his gaze, clutched at the object in his pocket. His fingers worked with nervous energy. He shook his head, snatched at a nearby trowel. Some minutes passed while he trowelled around in one of Yasser’s completed plots and he didn’t know why he did so but he dropped the amulet in and hastily covered the hole up. He felt relieved, but not by much. Now that the amulet was out of his person he felt certain relief, but also confusion. Like someone who wakes up and doesn’t remembering whether he had dreamed something or not.

  So peculiar! Why before had it been so difficult to let the object go, and now he was suddenly glad to be rid of i
t?

  He felt very tired. A growling lurch in his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten a proper breakfast. Thirst gripped him also—he sank weakly down on his haunches. Why was he feeling so fatigued? Finally he muttered, “Too much sun, old boy, you should take a break.” He hauled himself to his feet, staggered his way back along the ancient pave-stoned way. Most of the workers had cleared the pit and he was one of the last ones up the wooden ladder.

  It did not surprise Langley to find two soldiers waiting for him at the top of the landing. Their faces were stony and their hawk-eyes roved over him something like vultures scanning for a pieces of carrion. He moved to sidle past the guards, but a strong, hairy arm reached out and grabbed his wrist.

  “Carl Langley, come with us! The captain wishes to speak with you.”

  “What?” Langley gaped at the soldier. An innocent enough request for a sergeant, but one that hit him like a ton of bricks. “Whatever for? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  The taller of the two soldiers gave a dismissive shrug. “That’s for the captain to decide. We have our orders. Hop to, let’s go.”

  Each to a side, they escorted Langley to a khaki-tarpaulined tent—the captain’s headquarters. Langley watched the other workers heading in the opposite direction, to the workers’ dining tent.

  One soldier pulled aside the tent flaps and another forced Langley inside, where he had to quickly duck his head to avoid the low wooden crossbeam running across the flap’s upper edge.

  The smells of old sweat and stale cigarettes hit Langley’s nostrils like a ton of bricks. The room was rectangular, with a hard-packed floor glaring at his feet. He saw that another door led to storage rooms at the back.

  Sarsenska sat at his desk, puffing a noxious cigarette. He immediately doused it in an overfilled urn. Langley noticed the cigarette pack at his side read of a rare Egyptian label in Arabic.

  The captain rose to greet him. “Ah, Langley, so glad you could make it. Please,” he beckoned him forward with a genial gesture, as if it were an everyday ordinary affair.

  Langley’s voice was both tense and suspicious. “What’s the meaning of all this, Captain?”

  Sarsenska held up a patient hand. “Not to worry. I will not detain you for long.” An arched brow was all it took for his two soldiers-at-arms to jerk themselves forward and conduct an invasive search on their guest: first his pockets, sides and armpits, finally his crotch. Despite Langley’s indignant resistance, their grip was strong and their combined efforts had them probing his privates with rough and unsympathetic fingers. Mumbling with dissatisfaction, the first forced him to strip to the waist where his partner examined his underclothing, particularly his shoes. The search was thorough, and now Langley, visibly shaken and practically naked, was forced to ponder anew what the mysterious voice had advised, or rather ordered him, not to conceal the relic on his person. What were these people after—if not the bizarre curio he had just uncovered?

  The captain worked his jaw, contemplating some morose course of action. The lack of finding anything significant was evidently an unforeseen event on the Captain’s program.

  There was a long pause before he spoke. “I saw you earlier fiddling in your pockets and peering about like a guilty man. I know the sign of a thief. What were you doing? Hiding an artifact?”

  “Scratching my dick, if that’s ok with you,” came Langley’s hot retort.

  Sarsenska lifted a monitory finger. “That kind of language will earn you no points, boy. You were hiding something in the pit. You found something and wanted to keep it for yourself. Possibly smuggle it out of the compound. Admit it.”

  Langley felt a certain cold fear grip him—the accusation was not altogether untrue. In all his wildest dreams he never thought it would come to this: the captain baiting him and ready to clap him in irons. He played now a dangerous game with Sarsenska—one slip and he could find himself in serious trouble. “You have no proof, Captain, hence, no reason to detain me. I’ve committed no crime.”

  “That’s quite possible, but somehow I doubt it. I’m a shrewd man, Mr. Langley. I’ve been in this business quite a long time. I’m a representative of the army and the government and you are now on Egyptian soil, not your native Australia. You understand? Now tell me, what was it you found?”

  Langley remained sullen, his tongue pressed to his pallet, feeling a woodenness crawl over his tongue.

  “What about your pal, Yasser? Do you have anything to say about him?”

  “What of him?” Langley shrugged indifferently. “We work together, that’s no secret.”

  Sarsenska’s gave a hissing sneer. “Don’t play dumb with me. You think we are all a bunch of greasy, sleepy Arabs here, don’t you? Dulled by the sun, not with an ounce of brain in our heads. Don’t delude yourself. My men are savvy. They saw him show you something in his pouch. We’ve been ordered to be on the alert for thieves, and,” he added with a menacing grin, “what better persons to steal artifacts than the archaeologists working on the site?”

  Langley gave a harsh laugh. “You’re reaching, Captain. You want to know what Yasser was hiding? A handful of broken bits of mouse bones! Grand theft and larceny! That’s bloody what. Those ought to fetch a high price on the black market.”

  The captain licked his lips. A snort was growing in his throat. From his trousers, he pulled a golden timepiece and gazed at it, frowning, then speared his henchman another significant glance that made Langley’s heart lurch. The soldier nodded, acknowledged the signal and made a grab for Langley’s crumpled shirt lying on the bare earth. Quietly, the soldier ran his fingers along its seams. He turned the limp garment inside out and shoved his big hands in both of the pockets, grabbing at whatever loose threads there were to be found.

  Nothing was there.

  Something was not right, and Langley scowled at this drama.

  With excitement, the soldier pulled out what appeared to be a small gum-wrapped package. But the motion was jerky, deliberate. There were some quick, gun-blast exchanges of animated words in Arabic before the soldier tossed the package over to his superior.

  “And what do we have here?” Sarsenska crowed. He bent his crooked nose to sniff at the package. He blinked, eyes wide with surprise. “Well what do you know?—Hashish! Now that is a serious offence.”

  Sirens roared in Langley’s brain. “You’re a blackmailing bastard!” He leaped at the captain like some crazed animal. But the soldier closest to him bore him down to the ground, pinning him there like an insect.

  “You planted it!” snarled Langley. “You planted it, and now you want to frame me!”

  A few deliberate steps brought Sarsenska before the soldier who pinned Langley on the ground. He leaned down low, putting his face near Langley’s. He blew a puff of smoke in his eye. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. But, considering the fact that this is Egypt, and narcotics in Egypt are illegal for foreigners and civilians, who do you think they’ll believe—me or you?”

  Sarsenska’s stale smoky breath stuck in Langley’s nose. He jerked himself about, trying to turn his face away from the offensive odour.

  The captain continued, “Now listen carefully, Mr. Langley. You’re a cocky swine. And your ass is on the line. Don’t forget that, because…” He produced the white drug-laden gum-pack and shoved it under Langley’s nose. “I’ve got possession of this! And I’ll keep it around for—” he mused idly at the ceiling “—let’s say a future occasion should that prove necessary. But, maybe this all won’t come to pass. Maybe we can be friends. If you help me, I can help you. What do you say?”

  Langley peered at him with contemptuous eyes, a flood of despair plaguing him. “You conniving bugger.”

  “Yes, I think we understand each other very clearly. Now get out.”

  * * *

  So ends the preview for Denibus Ar.

  Read the exciting conclusion on kindle:

  Denibus Ar

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  Future Destinies

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