“Your friends had to leave,” she observed, raising the pot. She poured and discovered that the vessel was all but empty. The last splosh came out in a gush along with some of the grounds—she had yet to devise a completely satisfactory filtering system. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “You’ve got the dregs. Don’t drink that—it will be too bitter. I’ll bring you some more.”
“It is not necessary,” said the young man, but she was already gone.
When she returned with a fresh pot, she found him gazing into the murky liquid at the bottom of his cup. “Here, I brought you a clean cup too,” she said, and made to take the old one from his hand.
“Please,” he said, still clutching the crockery with a tenacity that surprised Mina. “This sediment—this bitter earth . . .” He indicated the mud awash in the bottom of his cup. “What do you call it?”
“Um . . .” Wilhelmina thought of the proper German word. “Grounds,” she said with a shrug. “We call them Kaffee grounds.”
“If I may be so bold,” he said, “what do you do with them?”
“Do with them?” She gave him a puzzled look and sat down at the table. “Why do you ask?”
“Believe me when I tell you that I mean neither disrespect nor malice in any conceivable form,” he replied. “Indeed, I not only understand, but commend your instinctive reluctance. You wish to protect this unique and marvellous—some might even say exotic—creation. This I can well understand, as anyone might. . . .”
The young scholar’s articulate yet circuitous mode of expression made Mina smile.
“It is not too much to say that I possess the utmost esteem, reverence even, for your industry and acumen in bringing such an invention to its obvious fruition—”
“It isn’t that,” Mina interrupted. “I merely wondered why you might want my Kaffee grounds.”
“Ah! If you will, allow me to enlighten you, good lady,” replied the young man. “Nothing less than the advancement of the scientific arts compels me to ask.”
“I see,” answered Mina, suppressing a laugh.
Nevertheless, the young man noticed the mirth dancing in her eyes. “I discern full well that you are not wholly convinced of my veracity.” He sniffed a little haughtily. “Even so, if you will indulge me yet a moment longer, I believe I have within my grasp the power to allay your disbelief and assuage any doubts that may still linger in your mind.”
“Do,” said Mina, growing more fascinated by the moment, “by all means, continue.”
“Good lady,” he said, drawing himself up, “you are addressing a member of His Highness Emperor Rudolf ’s court. My name is Gustavus Rosenkreuz, and I am chief assistant to the Lord High Alchemist.” He dipped his head in a courtly bow. “I am at your service, good lady.”
“The men who were with you this evening,” ventured Mina, “are they alchemists too?”
“They are members of what the common rabble of this city, in their vulgar way, have named the Magick Circle, yes,” he answered stiffly. “But not all are alchemists. We have astrologers, physicians, prognosticators, kabbalists, diviners, and other scientists among the members of our eminent fraternity.”
Wilhelmina nodded. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the common rabble,” she said. “You are all more than welcome here.”
“On behalf of the Learned Fellowship, I thank you.” He swirled the dregs in his cup. “And I hasten to assure you, by whatever means you will accept, that my interest in this substance is purely scientific. One of my duties is to determine the properties of various materials and explore their potential usefulness for alchemical purposes. It is work of great consequence to our aims.”
“Oh, yes? That would explain it, I suppose.”
“It has occurred to me that this elixir, this Kaffee, is a most potent and particular concoction. No doubt we are only on the cusp of discovering its manifold uses. Further, the potency of this elixir must derive from the primary body with which you formulate the liquid.”
“That is true,” Mina granted. “You are very perceptive, mein Herr.”
“Seeing that you agree with my basic premise,” Gustavus continued, watching her closely, “it follows that a closer examination of the prime essence would be in order—would you agree?” Mina nodded. “Therefore, I would like to obtain a quantity of this bitter earth with which to perform experiments.” Noticing what he imagined to be a hesitation, he quickly added, “You will be well remunerated, of course.”
“You want to buy my Kaffee grounds?”
“Realizing the value of such a rare commodity, it is only appropriate.” The young alchemist, anxious to secure her agreement, said, “Your cooperation would be a most valuable contribution to the advancement of science and knowledge.”
“Since you put it that way, I don’t see how I can refuse,” she told him. “Would a pound or two be enough to begin?”
The young man, unable to conceal his glee, leapt from his chair, swept off his curious hat, and bowed low. “Good lady, I salute you. When would it be convenient to collect the material?”
“Wait here but a moment, and I will have a package prepared for you at once. You can take it away with you now.”
The alchemist rubbed his hands with eager delight and returned to his seat to finish his coffee while Wilhelmina proceeded to the kitchen to fetch some spent grounds. She returned bearing a fair-size bundle. “Accept these as a gift of the Grand Kaffeehaus,” she said. “Use them, with my blessing, for the advancement of science.”
The young man stared at the package. “Your generosity overwhelms me,” he said, glancing from the bundle to Wilhelmina. He licked his lips.
“Think nothing of it,” she said, adding under her breath, “I think little enough of it myself.”
“The gift will be reckoned, you may rest assured,” he declared. “All at court will hear of your unbounded munificence.”
“Tell them also about Etzel’s fine cakes and pastries,” replied Wilhelmina.
“Indeed, I will,” said Gustavus. He dipped his head again and took up the bundle in both hands. “And now I will wish you a good evening.” He all but bolted for the door.
“Good night,” Mina called after him.
A short while later, when the shutters closed on another day, she told Etzel about the exchange with the young alchemist. “It was good of you to give him the grounds,” he said. “It cost nothing to make him happy. We should all practice this more, I think.”
“Happy? He was ecstatic. You should have seen his face when I gave him the bundle,” she said. “I could not bring myself to tell him that ordinarily we just throw them away.”
“One good deed breeds others,” Englebert declared. “Good will come of it.”
And he was right. The next day just before closing time, a message came to Wilhelmina from her young alchemist. It was delivered by a liveried servant of the court, who said, “I am to await your reply.”
Wilhelmina accepted the parcel—a small square of parchment tied with red ribbon and sealed with wax.
“I wonder what it can be,” she said, turning the square in her hands and studying the seal carefully.
“Open it and find out!” urged Englebert, eyes glinting merrily.
She broke the seal and unfolded the thick parchment, scanning the flowing script there. “I can’t follow it,” she said, handing the message to Etzel. “You read it.”
The big man grasped the parchment and, holding it close to his face, began to read it out aloud, pausing to exclaim, “It is from the master of royal audiences!” He gazed at the parchment, his eyes growing large. “Did you hear? We are summoned to the palace tomorrow to receive the thanks of the emperor’s Lord High Alchemist. We are to be granted an honour.”
Mina expressed her amazement at the summons and asked, “What kind of honour?”
Etzel scanned the page again, very carefully. “It does not say.” He glanced at the waiting messenger, then at Mina. “What should we tell them?”
&nbs
p; “Tell them that, of course, we would be delighted to attend,” she said.
Etzel relayed this reply to the messenger, who made a small bow and informed them that a carriage would call for them at this time tomorrow, and that they should array themselves appropriately, for they could expect to dine with the emperor’s retinue.
“This is because of your gift,” Etzel said when the messenger had gone. “You have made friends at court—friends in high places.”
“Do you think so?” she wondered, flattered and impressed.
“In truth,” replied Etzel solemnly. “What else can it mean?”
CHAPTER 26
In Which a Sealed Tomb Gives Up Its Secrets
Sunrise was still some while off, but Burleigh could feel the coolness of night wilting and the day’s heat beginning to build—as if an oven had been lit and was being stoked somewhere beyond the horizon. It would be another scorcher, no surprise there, but he had prepared himself as best he could and was determined to enjoy the day. He had purchased a suit of loose, camel-coloured linen, complete with pith helmet, and a white kaffiyeh to keep the sun off his neck. Now, as he sat in the back of Lord Carnarvon’s customised touring car, jouncing along an unmarked path, watching the pale arid hills undulate past his open window, he wondered what the day would bring. Certainly, his host was in exceptionally high spirits.
The location of the tomb was being kept a close secret. Although rumours were rife, and many knew that excavation was taking place, only four people in the world knew where to find the site. Despite this, it had proved no great difficulty to a man of Burleigh’s skill and power of persuasion to wangle an invitation to attend the opening. His own knowledge and appreciation of Egyptian history and artefacts no doubt played a major part in convincing Carnarvon that he was genuinely interested in supporting the nascent science of archaeology; nor did his charm and good looks hurt his case where Lady Evelyn, Carnarvon’s daughter, was concerned. After drinks and dinner on the terrace at the hotel, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to invite him, a fellow countryman of one’s own class, to accompany them and witness what was surely going to be a monumental occasion.
“Have you visited excavations before, Lord Burleigh?” asked Evelyn. Dressed in a loose linen shirt and trousers, her hair hidden beneath a scarf, she sat in the jump seat of the jouncing sedan facing her father and his guest.
“Once or twice,” Burleigh replied, forgoing mention of the fact that his visits tended to be after midnight when the site guards had been bribed to look the other way. “I find it all endlessly fascinating, of course, but I never seem to be in the right place at the right time, if you see what I mean.”
“Today will be the exception,” Carnarvon informed him grandly. “I anticipate great things. Great things! I don’t mind telling you I scarcely slept a wink last night. I rarely do on such occasions.”
“Father is like a fretful child on Christmas Day,” Evelyn confided lightly. “He always feels someone else will get there before him and steal all his presents from under the tree. I myself slept like a baby.”
“This tomb,” said Carnarvon, “is thought to be a royal tomb. Very rare. Although we cannot be completely sure until we open it, Carter is convinced—at least, as convinced as one can be at this stage of the dig—that we have found something very special.” He tapped his knee lightly with his fingertips. “Very special indeed.”
“And I must thank you again for allowing me to be a witness to this historic occasion,” Burleigh volunteered. “Incredibly generous of you.”
“Nonsense!” bluffed Lord Carnarvon. “I won’t hear of it. Your presence falls in with my purposes admirably well. We want credible corroboration for our finds, you know—even as we desire secrecy right up until the moment the grave is opened.”
“Publicity, in other words,” Lady Evelyn added in a lightly mocking tone. “Father is never averse to a little publicity for his activities. It’s the thrill-seeker in him. He used to race cars, you know, for the same reason.”
“Now, now,” chided her father, “we’ll not bore our guest with that old chestnut.” Glancing at the earl, he asked, “Have you ever raced?”
“Horses, yes,” he replied, the lie slipping easily off his tongue. “As a lad—until I grew too big. Cars? Never—though I’ve often wondered if I might like to try. I suspect I’m a bit too long in the tooth now.”
“Pish-tosh,” scoffed Lady Evelyn. “You’re never too old to race automobiles. Father only gave it up because he injured himself in a crash. Otherwise, I harbour not the slightest doubt you’d find him in a grease pit at Brooklands right this very moment.” She nudged her father’s shin with the toe of her shoe. “Admit it, Daddy,” she said, “if not for the crash, we wouldn’t be in Egypt now.”
“My daughter exaggerates terribly,” allowed the Earl of Carnarvon. “But I did enjoy racing—almost as much as I enjoy a good dig. In retrospect, it was for the best—the crash, that is. Egypt has engaged me in ways that racing never could. I’ll admit that after the accident it filled the gap. I’ve put all my energies into my excavations since then.”
“Will Mr. Carter mind me tagging along?” wondered Burleigh.
“Can’t think why,” said Carnarvon. “I pay the bills. I can invite whomever I jolly well please. In any case, he’s a most amenable chap, Howard Carter. Extremely knowledgeable. You’ll like him once you get to know him.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” said Burleigh.
“You won’t have long to wait. We’re almost there,” Carnarvon announced. Leaning forward, he pointed past the driver through the windscreen to the hilltop rising before them. “It’s just over the next rise. We’re there in two minutes.”
At the top of the hill, the car braked and then started slowly down a steep, rocky incline along which a rudimentary serpentine road had been scratched for the few vehicles tending the site. They proceeded down to the valley floor and turned into a narrow, steep-sided ravine. They followed the undulating gorge deeper into the hills, the vehicle headlights sweeping the sides of the wadi until at last it opened out at a junction where two other ravines joined the first.
Even in the predawn gloom, Burleigh could make out a ramshackle camp made up of a few rough wooden shacks and canvas and timber awnings stretched over shallow holes in the ground; three tents large as houses stood in a line to one side; several smaller black Bedouin tents with tiny campfires lay scattered around the periphery.
The sedan rolled to a crunchy stop and the passengers disembarked. The larger tents were empty, the occupants already at work. “Carter will be at the dig,” called Carnarvon. “This way. Follow me, but watch your step!” He strode off into the near darkness.
“After you, my lady,” said Burleigh, offering his hand.
“I hope we can get this over with before noon,” Evelyn confided. “It gets so beastly hot out here. I positively liquefy.”
“Until today,” Burleigh confessed, “I was seriously doubting my sanity for even setting foot in Egypt in the summer.” He paused. “Mind you, winter isn’t much better. Fewer flies, I suppose.”
“I daresay you’d never make much of an archaeologist, my dear earl. You’ve got to have a hide thick as a rhino’s and a love of dirt in all its glorious forms. Mr. Carter, on the other hand, is desert born—with sand in his veins and the constitution of a camel. I myself think Egypt’s past is best explored from eight to midnight on the terrace of a grand hotel.”
“Spoken like a true daughter of the desert,” quipped Burleigh.
Lady Evelyn laughed, her voice deep and full. “Archaeology is Daddy’s passion, not mine. Although, I do enjoy the unveiling—like today. There is something terribly exciting about uncovering something that has been hidden from the world for untold centuries—when one beholds the glory of a distant age so long submerged in darkness brought back to the light.” Suddenly self-conscious, she glanced at the tall man beside her. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Whole
heartedly,” Burleigh replied. “Otherwise, I sincerely doubt I would brave the heat, flies, and scorpions to be here.”
They continued the rest of the way in silence, picking their way over a rough terrain of broken rock and piles of rubble, stepping over the stakes and guy lines of various awnings covering the works they passed. Up ahead, Lord Carnarvon had reached his destination: yet another low awning of dirty canvas stretched over a gaping hole in the rocky desert landscape.
“Here!” he called, waving to them. “Over here!”
He was standing at the rim of the excavation and calling down into it as they joined him. “Are you down there, Carter?” he shouted. “Carter?”
A faint and muffled voice came wafting up from the hole. “Here!” It grew louder as it continued. “. . . a moment . . . let me get you a lamp. All is ready.”
A thin light wafted up from the dark heart of the excavation before them, casting a pale illumination over the top step of a narrow staircase; a rope had been attached to one side of the hole to act as a handrail. Lord Carnarvon gripped the rope and quickly disappeared into the breach. “After you, my lady,” said Burleigh, offering his hand to help steady the young woman as she prepared to descend.
Burleigh followed, entering the steep-stepped passage into a fair-sized underground chamber lit by kerosene lamps in the hands of half a dozen workmen directing lanterns toward a stone doorway whose posts and lintel were carved with hieroglyphs. The door itself was stone bricks that had been plastered over with whitewashed mud, and from which all the plaster had been chipped off.
“We’ve just completed the removal,” Howard Carter was saying to Carnarvon. “In anticipation of your arrival—” He broke off abruptly. “Oh, hello—who’s this?”
“Ah, yes, forgive me,” Lord Carnarvon said, turning to his guest. “Allow me to introduce my friend, Lord Burleigh, Earl of Sutherland.” He quickly made the introductions, proclaiming his new acquaintance an enthusiastic amateur archaeologist.
Lord Burleigh extended his hand to the renowned Egyptologist —a man of middling height and ordinary appearance who gave the impression of a chap who might be more at home behind a desk in the head office of an actuarial firm than raking up the desert in search of buried treasure.