Page 141 of Tomb of the Sun King

Constance tucked herself against the ragged cliff that framed the entrance. Neil leaned out from behind her as she peered around the corner. Light spilled down into the chasm from somewhere ahead.

“Julian has set up on a ledge about forty feet high,” Constance reported in a whisper. “The whole thing is lined with lanterns.”

“Have they found something?” Neil demanded, his nerves tightening.

“There’s no way to see from down here.” Constance looked up, nearly bumping into Neil’s chin. He took a quick step back. “But I think I know how we can find out. Follow me.”

She led him to a spot where the wall of the canyon had been softened by an ancient spill of water. The path formed a rough trail that wound up the side of the ridge.

Constance climbed it confidently. Neil struggled after her, biting back a yelp as loose rocks shifted under his boots.

At the top, the path decayed into a scramble up a steep wash. As Neil painstakingly scaled it, he glanced back at the way they had come.

It was a mistake. Though their path had looked reasonable from the floor of the canyon, it revealed itself to be sheer madness when viewed from above.

Neil tore his eyes away, forcing himself to breathe as visions of plummeting to his doom danced through his mind. He set his boot carefully to another foothold—which promptly crumbled beneath him. The loosened stone tumbled down the cliff with a racket like a peppering of gunfire.

Constance shot him a warning look.

Sorry, Neil mouthed.

Several terrifying minutes later, he collapsed onto the top of the mountain with blissful, shaking relief. He rolled, flipping onto his back to better relish in the feeling of being on solid ground.

He gazed up at a sprawling blanket of stars. They pierced the ebony fabric of the sky in astonishing quantity, stealing his breath—the same stars Akhenaten might have seen had he slipped from his palace out into the desert to gaze up at the firmament that had given him his god.

“I’ve… It’s…” Neil started in a hoarse whisper, unable to find the words.

“Entirely lovely,” Constance agreed, glancing up. “But do refrain from nattering on about it, lest we get ourselves shot.”

Neil slammed back to earth, turning over to squirm forward on his elbows to where Constance crouched at the edge of the cliff.

From their perch, Neil could see Julian’s work site halfway up the wall of the wadi in perfect detail. Several crewmen from theIsiswere digging out a section of the hill that was buried in loose rubble. A smattering of Al-Saboors were positioned at various places around the excavation. Neil counted three rifles and a pistol among them, along with an assortment of swords, cudgels, and knives.

The weapons were all held loosely. The men were obviously bored.

“I don’t see any sign of the tomb entrance,” Constance whispered as she studied the site. “They must not have reached it yet. We’ll have to find a way to thwart them before they do. Perhaps if we…”

A creeping sensation flared at the back of Neil’s neck. He turned—and found himself staring at the point of a large sword.

The blade was steadily held by a bearded man whose layered robes fluttered elegantly in the ghostly breeze that winged across the cliffs. The kaffiyeh scarf on the stranger’s head suggested he belonged to one of the Bedouin tribes who roamed Egypt’s deserts in search of pasture—or things to raid.

The man was gray-eyed, hawk-nosed… and possibly the most objectively attractive person Neil had ever seen.

“C-Connie…” Neil stammered softly, flailing out a hand to bat at her without taking his eyes off the sword.

“Just a minute, Stuffy,” she retorted crossly. “I’m thinking.”

“But there’s, ah…” Neil swallowed thickly. “There’s a very nice gentleman here with a large… er, sharply pointed...”

Constance whirled. Instead of flattening herself to the rocks like a bug—as Neil had done—she whipped into a dangerous-looking crouch, her hands raised for battle.

Her aplomb faltered as she stared at their assailant with surprise. “Goodness! That fellow is unreasonably good-looking.”

“Emshi,” the sword-bearing Bedouin ordered flatly.

“He is strongly implying that we should go with him,” Neil translated.

He was still the one at the wrong end of the Bedouin’s sword, which struck him as rather unfair. Constance was by far the more substantial threat out of the two of them.

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