Faff in the Desert

6

6.

Mahmoud was late. In the excitement of the day's events he had not kept abreast of the hour and he found himself rushing through Luxor to get home in time.

It had been a long afternoon trying to convince the diggers to enter the tomb to prepare the sarcophagus for removal. None of them would go in on account of the warning inscribed above the portal. They called it a curse and Mahmoud was inclined to agree. These Englishmen ran roughshod over any oriental superstition in pursuit of their goals.

Those who so disturb by their earthly desires, will have such desires disturb them, themselves.

What it meant, Mahmoud wasn't sure. It certainly sounded ominous enough. But he knew nothing good could come of flouting any law of the ancients. If the place was cursed, bursting in to the tomb without any due deference that would be a sure way to bring the wrath of the supernatural. The gods can play games on us all, even if they are not our deities, Mahmoud pondered. Such superstitions were beyond his understanding, but he knew them to be true. Should he warn Colonel Brand? He might get in trouble for questioning his employer. Money talks and Mahmoud was being paid handsomely. He could forgo any trifling qualms he may have. He wouldn't like to see his salary dry up only to brave the wrath of his disgruntled mother-in-law. Mahmoud reflected how the cow had certainly become very much used to the good life in which she was now accustomed. He was resigned to the fact now that he was saddled with that old bint until she had left this world and set about haranguing the next.

Mahmoud's wife was several social classes above him, and her mother had never let him hear the end of it. Now that Mahmoud was on the make, he got it in the ear less regularly, but it was better not to rock the boat.

The sun had already set, he would certainly not make it on time for the lesson. Mahmoud took pride in teaching. It gave him status, putting something back. For too long he had felt that the key to Egypt's success lay in education. He was fortuitous enough to be in a good job and it had allowed him to learn English. The best way he felt to contribute to his community and the country at large was to impart his knowledge.

Although, none of that mattered right now. He wasn't teaching English and mentoring the young men of Luxor, he was in a tizz with the relentless march of the clock bashing him over the head.

He hurried round the final corner and up the little hill where his house sat pride of place at the top of the street. Over the course of his life he had come far and felt a wave of pride wash over him. He would be able to style out his tardiness to his class, but bring dust into the house with his mother in law patrolling the rooms? No chance.

Mahmoud shook his things and tapped his sandals against his hand, It would have to do. He opened the door and went inside. Home, sweet home. He had great news for the family too. He had found King Tutankhamen of Egypt, and soon all, not just his neighbourhood, would know his name.

* * * * *

Archie floated into his lodgings as if he was surfing on a cloud. The day had been surreal. He must pen his thoughts immediately, commit them to his diary before the details escaped him.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror in the hall. Mr Archibald Plunkett-Pfaff indeed, finder of treasures and solver of mysteries.

Marvellous.

He felt a mixture of relief and euphoria as he went to the cabinet to fix himself a drink. He had made a discovery, but not just any find - King Tutankhamen himself. Surely there had not been a discovery of this importance in the last fifty years, if ever. He considered dashing out a telegram to Sir Charles Rankledown with an ever so slightly subsumed 'I told you so' tone, but decided against it. Sir Charles would find out in good time. He'd probably read about it in The Times before Archie would have a chance to tell him in person. Nevermind, Archie would just have to imagine the look on his face. He could be sure, however, that Archie was not going desk jobbing around London. No sir! Here he was, the freshly oiled, sparkling star of Egyptology.