Napoleon's Pyramids by Dietrich William

Author:Dietrich, William [Dietrich, William]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2009-03-16T16:00:00+00:00

Despite Talma’s misgivings, I decided after careful consideration to leave the medallion with Enoch. I agreed with Astiza’s reasoning that it was safer in the cellar of an old scholar than bandied about Egypt. It was a relief not to have the pendant around my own vulnerable neck and have it safe from robbery when I went back down the Nile. While leaving the pendant was clearly a risk after carrying it so carefully from Paris to Cairo, its possession was pointless if we didn’t know what it was for, and I still had little clue. Enoch seemed my best bet for an answer—and I am, after all, a gambler. Given my admittedly soft spot for women, I gambled that Astiza felt some loyalty to my quest, and that Enoch was more interested in solving the puzzle than hawking the bauble for money. Let him keep thumbing through his books. Meanwhile, I would examine the calendar in the hold of L’Orient in hopes it could supply a hint to the medallion’s purpose, and together perhaps we’d crack the mystery. I urged Astiza to stay safely inside, and told Ashraf to keep both of them guarded.

“Should I not guide you to the coast?”

“Bonaparte says your presence here ensures I’ll want to return. And it will.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “We are a partnership, all of us in this house, Citizen Ash. You will not betray me, will you?”

He drew himself straight. “Ashraf will guard this house with his life.”

I didn’t want to carry my heavy rifle for a brief trip in a conquered country, but neither did I want it toyed with. After reflection, I remembered Ash’s remark about superstition and fear of curses and stored it and my tomahawk in one of Enoch’s mummy sarcophagi. It should be safe there.

Uncharacteristically, Talma made no comment on my decision to entrust the medallion to the Egyptians, instead mildly asking Astiza if she had any message she wanted him to bring to Alexandria. She said no.

We hired a native felucca to take us back down the Nile. These able sailing craft, skimming up and down the broad and slow Nile under their triangular sails, were the taxis of the river in the way donkeys filled that role in the streets of Cairo. It took several minutes of tiresome bargaining, but at length we were aboard and headed for Abukir, steered by a helmsman who spoke no French or English. Sign language seemed sufficient and we enjoyed the ride. As we once more entered the fertile delta downriver from Cairo, I was struck again by the serene timelessness of the villages along the river’s banks, as if the French had never passed this way. Trundling donkeys carried monumental heaps of straw. Small boys jumped and played in the shallows, indifferent to the crocodiles that lay like logs in quiet side channels. Clouds of white egrets rose flapping from islands of green reed. Silver fish darted between papyrus stalks. Clumps of vegetation bearing lilies and lotus flowers drifted down the Nile from the high reaches of Africa.

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