Eighteen
The blackmailer unlocked the door of the great hall. The key rattled in the lock. He did not understand why his hand was shaking but there was no getting around it, he was very nervous tonight; far more anxious than he had anticipated. Then again, a large amount of money was at stake, more money than he had ever seen in his entire life.
He had come a long way, he thought proudly. From his early days as a footman stealing small valuables from his wealthy employers and a career as a small-time con artist, he had always managed to scrape by making a modest living. But now he was about to vault into the highest ranks of successful businessmen. Tonight was only the beginning. From now on he would live a very different life—a life of luxury—and all of it financed by those in the upper classes, who would pay any price to keep their secrets.
He finally got the door open and slipped into the thick darkness that cloaked the chamber full of artifacts. The uneasy feeling that had been rattling his nerves all evening intensified into a far more ominous sensation. For a few beats of his heart he had trouble catching his breath.
It was the atmosphere of the place, he told himself. Some of the relics around him had been removed from tombs, after all—ancient tombs, but tombs nonetheless. The dread that gripped him was not unlike the crawling anxiety that he got when he walked through a cemetery late at night.
A man had to guard against the effects of his own imagination.
He got the door closed and fumbled around in the absolute night until he managed to light the shielded lantern. He breathed a little easier when the yellow glare consumed some of the darkness in the immediate vicinity. Then he saw the hellish shadows that moved among the artifacts and a shudder went through him all the way to his bones. It was frighteningly easy to imagine that he was surrounded by the gods and demons of the Egyptian underworld.
He found himself standing next to a granite statue that had the body of a man and the head of a falcon. In the lantern light the eyes of the god seemed to glitter with life.
He moved hastily away from the falcon-headed figure and hurried toward the large stone platform that held the massive sarcophagus and the stone box. The lantern wobbled in his hand. He was shaking harder than ever. The faint scent of incense drifted in the chamber.
Get ahold of yourself, man. Nothing to be alarmed about in this room. Just a collection of old relics that belong in a proper museum.
But his fear grew with each step. The monstrous figures around him seemed to shift in the shadows. Earlier in the evening he had heard talk of curses. Some of the guests had laughed at the notion. So had he at the time. But now he wondered.
Don’t think about curses and tombs. Think about the money.
The plan was simple. He would conceal himself among the clutter of artifacts and wait for Hannah Trafford’s companion to deliver the payment. She had been instructed to leave it inside the stone box that sat at the foot of the sarcophagus. As soon as she left the chamber he would take the money and disappear.
He saw the box at the foot of the sarcophagus. The flaring light of the lamp illuminated the figure of a cat surrounded by a hunting scene carved into the quartz. He’d overheard someone say that the box was actually a miniature sarcophagus designed to hold the mummified body of a cat, but he did not believe that. He could not imagine anyone going to all that trouble just to bury a cat.
Not that he cared about the original purpose of the box. All that mattered tonight was the money that would be placed inside.
As soon as he had collected the payment he would return to his room downstairs. Tomorrow he would disappear. No one would take any notice of him. No one ever did. His disguise was perfect. He was just one more servant among the many who had accompanied their employers to the country-house party for the weekend.
The lantern light splashed across the great sarcophagus as he went past. He averted his eyes and tried not to think about the nonsensical legends and stories with which Lord Alverstoke had regaled his guests that evening. But it was difficult to put aside the fantastical images that his lordship had conjured when he had enthusiastically described the embalming practices of the ancient Egyptians. “. . . Brain and other vital organs removed with special tools, bodies packed in natron to dry, magical spells chanted . . .”
He must stop thinking about death and focus on his future as a wealthy man.
He saw a massive stone altar. It would make an ideal hiding place. From that vantage point he could watch Trafford’s companion deliver the blackmail money without being seen.
The scent of incense was growing stronger now. The faint smoke was making him dizzy. For the first time he wondered about the source. One of the servants must have indulged in a cigarette before locking up for the night.
But if that was the case, why was the incense growing stronger?
It dawned on him that he might not be alone in the chamber. A cold chill slithered through him. He held the lantern aloft, searching the shadows.
“Who’s there?” he said, trying to sound authoritative, like the valet he was impersonating. “Come out, whoever you are. No one is allowed in this room at this time of night.”
Someone or something stirred in the deep shadows between two of the tall statues. A figure moved toward him. In the yellow glare of the lantern he saw with horror that one of the gods had come to life. It had the body of a man and the head of a jackal.
The blackmailer remembered Alverstoke’s description of the god associated with death and embalming. Anubis.
“No.” The blackmailer struggled for breath. The single word came out as a hoarse whisper.
Anubis raised a dagger.
“Put the lantern on the altar,” Anubis ordered.
The god spoke with a thick Russian accent.
“You,” the blackmailer whispered.
“The lantern.”
Brass clanged on granite when the blackmailer set the lantern on top of the altar.
“What’s this all about?” he demanded. “Why are you wearing that ridiculous mask?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“See here, we had an arrangement.”
“Your services are no longer required.”
The blackmailer floundered backward and came up hard against the granite altar. He tried to scream but fear tightened a fist around his lungs.
He saw the dagger flash in the hellish glare, felt the cold shock when it struck, and then he knew no more.