Pyramids Read online

  Hours ago the Moon, pale representation of divine Aah, had gone down below the western horizon, entering the underworld domain of great Osiris and of night. Now only the stars and a few human eyes remained above the highest completed level of the pyramid to witness the imminent approach of the Solar Boat, the barque of the sun-god Ra.

  A handful of Ptah-hotep's assistants, who at his direction had been watching and praying and laboring here since midnight, were still busy with their sticks and strings and weights. They were sighting very carefully along the edges of the last stones put into place yesterday, the start of the fifty-first level of construction. The target of their careful measurement was the Pole Star, pale and yellow in the Thigh of the Bull, and their goal was to make sure that the pyramid as it rose did not deviate in the slightest from its strict orientation to the four directions of the world. Now the strings in the hands of Ptah-hotep's assistants were being stretched taut, and now Ptah-hotep himself was called to inspect them, and to seal their knots in the lines with clay marked by his seal. The engineers who would shortly be here to direct this day's work had now been provided with a trustworthy standard of true north.

  The sealing of the knots had scarcely been finished before another aide of Ptah-hotep, standing many paces away from him at the eastern edge of the plain of stone, called out softly to get his attention. When the Assistant Chief Priest looked that way, the aide raised a hand and gestured downward.

  Listening carefully in the morning stillness, Ptah-hotep could hear the faint approaching shuffle of many swiftly moving feet. It would be a party of ten or twelve bearers, transporting some person of importance up one of the ramps. The litter-bearers would be moving at a light trot in the coolness of the morning, and they would be preceded by a herald�whose voice now broke the stillness—to cry others out of the way. Not that there was likely to be any other traffic along the ramps now, when the day's actual construction work had yet to get under way.

  Ptah-hotep walked at a dignified pace toward the head of the proper ramp, that he might be able to be able to greet the occupant of the litter on his arrival. The priest, having a good idea of who that occupant might be, moved without haste or surprise. Once he had reached the head of the proper ramp he stood with arms folded, waiting patiently.

  Now, one by one, even the brightest stars were being extinguished from the heavens. Most of them were gone before the herald came trotting into sight, followed closely by the litter and its jogging bearers. Presently the conveyance had reached the top, and a voice from inside ordered the bearers to stop. Then before they had finished setting the closed chair down, the single occupant sprang out of it on youthful limbs, and moved quickly toward his friend Ptah-hotep. The two young men exchanged first the formal gestures of greeting appropriate to friends of equal rank, then smiles and a few informal words.

  The new arrival was Thothmes, a chief of scribes who served on the staff of the Chief Builder himself. The official title of Thothmes' post made it sound obscure, but it was actually one of considerable importance. He supervised several underlings who did the actual writing of most of the Chief Builder's voluminous correspondence. But in the case of any particularly confidential writings sent from the office of the Chief Builder, it was Thothmes' own hand that painted the papyrus or incised the clay. His family was indirectly connected with that of Pharaoh himself, the Great Khufu, mightiest monarch ever known in the Two Lands. Khufu had now reigned for almost eighteen years. Plans for this year's anniversary celebration were well under way.

  The two young officials began their early-morning conference by casually strolling diagonally across the artificial plateau toward its northern rim. Given the nature of their respective offices, it was perfectly consistent with logic and tradition that they should consult with each other frequently. Indeed, for more than a year now they had been meeting every week or so. To a casual observer it might well have seemed accidental that this talk, like many of the others, was taking place out of earshot of any other human.

  Today as usual the conversation between Ptah-hotep and Thothmes got under way with a routine, almost ritualized discussion of the Pharaoh's health.

  Thothmes, the shorter and plumper of the two officials, assured his friend that while it was true that Great Khufu had recently suffered from a minor ailment it was of no consequence. Pharaoh had speedily recovered, and was at this very moment busily smiting his enemies on the eastern frontier with even more than his usual enthusiasm.

  The Pharaoh's health was a universal topic of conversation; but Thothmes had not ordered out his palanquin so they could discuss it. Nor had he come, really, to discuss the problems of the construction of the pyramid; there was another topic that the two men really wanted to talk about today, one that they touched upon at almost every meeting. But today, as always, it was approached only slowly and indirectly. Sometimes the eyes and ears of the Pharaoh were truly divine in their omnipresence.

  When the two friends were standing at the very northern edge of the great plain of stone, many paces from the litter-bearers who had brought Thothmes here, and safely away from all of Ptah-hotep's assistants, the scribe at last felt safe in broaching the real subject of his visit: he had heard nothing about any new impending changes in the plans for construction, at least none that would affect the final positioning of the burial chamber itself, and the layout of the passageways that were to offer the only access to that vault.

  "That is good news," Ptah-hotep agreed gravely. Construction of the Horizon of Khufu, the great pyramid that bulked beneath them as they spoke, had now been under way for almost eighteen years, since the beginning of the reign; naturally one of the first concerns of any Pharaoh upon ascending to the throne was the design and construction of his tomb. The concern did not lessen as the Pharaoh, whoever he might be, grew older. But no Pharaoh in the past had ever planned his tomb on a scale anything like this one.

  Twice during the past eighteen years, as both men could well remember, the design of the passages within the pyramid had been extensively revised, and the location of the burial chamber had been changed. Each time it had been necessary for the outside dimensions of the planned structure to be correspondingly enlarged.

  The fact was that both of these young men had attained their positions as replacements for older men, whom the Chief Builder himself had considered were too closely wedded to the original plan—too fond of finding reasons why, even in the fact of Pharaoh's expressed wishes, that plan should not be changed.

  "But the last revision was six years ago. And since then very much has been accomplished. To revise again at this stage of the construction…" Ptah-hotep left the sentence incomplete, but his meaning was plain. No Pharaoh, not even this one, the greatest monarch in living memory, could count upon an indefinite length of reign. God and son of a god as any Pharaoh must be, this one was also an aging man. The outer details of a tomb could be finished after it was occupied; but here not even the burial chamber was completed yet. Suppose that, when Khufu died, his tomb should not be ready to receive his body? What then? How then, with his mummified body at risk, could even a Pharaoh hope to attain eternal life?

  Thothmes answered obliquely, by relating another story. Since his last anniversary celebration, Pharaoh Khufu had crushed yet another set of enemies, settling the double crown of the Two Lands even more firmly upon his own head in the process. And despite an occasional minor illness, Khufu's health was basically good: Pharaoh was gambling that years of preparation still remained to him.

  Both men voiced ritual thanks, praising the gods who were responsible for such good fortune. For this purpose they raised their voices somewhat, that perhaps the litter bearers and the assistant priests might hear, as well as the beneficient gods.

  Then Thothmes, speaking more softly again, asked: "And now, my friend, what news can you tell me?" Alas, there was very little that Ptah-hotep could tell Thothmes that he had not already told him. In the course of his daily work he could observe the actual lay
out of the constructed passages within the finished portion of the pyramid, as well as the materials used to line and plug the passages, the traps designed to kill or at least discourage thieves. Here on the job site there was as yet no indication that the Chief Builder was intending to change what had already been put in place. And if any plans or orders for a revision in the construction to come had reached the Chief Builder he was so far successfully keeping them to himself. That high lord visited the building site in person almost every day, and on most of his visits talked with the Chief Priest himself or with Ptah-hotep, his chief assistant. The loyalty of the Chief Builder to Pharaoh himself was, so far as Ptah-hotep could see, complete and unquestionable.

  Thothmes sighed faintly. "Each man must cope with the gods as best he can, my friend."

  Having concluded the most private and essential part of their conversation, the two men now strolled to the eastern edge of the new construction, where a small part of the next tier of huge stone blocks had already been fitted into place—it was along the inner edge of these stones that Ptah-hotep's assistants during the night had stretched one of their sighting lines, which at the first sign of dawn he had been quick to seal with his official seal. Now, exerting themselves in a brief scramble, demonstrating the agility of even sedentary youth, the two friends mounted to the top of the newest stones, reaching the highest possible point of observation. From here they could look out over the greatest possible extent of the Pharaoh's domain, the bottom lands along the river still shadowed by the dying night.

  Comparatively near at hand, right on the barren plain within an arrow's flight of the base of the pyramid itself, the work gangs were emerging from their rough barracks into the morning half-light, ragged formations of thousands of men lining up for roll call. Sounds carried faintly to the top of the truncated pyramid hundreds of feet above. Dogs raced barking through the alleys separating the barrack-huts, and the cooks and camp followers were singing, calling back and forth in their perpetual arguments regarding whose duty it would be today to fetch the water. Already a hundred thin plumes of smoke from morning cookfires were going up into the sky, from which even the very last and brightest stars were now steadily being driven by the Barque of Ra. The Boat of Millions of Years was very close to its appearance on the eastern horizon.

  In the distance, becoming ever more plainly visible from this height, the Nile flowed beautifully, silver reflecting dawn. To Ptah-hotep the omens of white birds were as always good to see.

  Turning restlessly—he had a habit of turning and looking, wanting always to discover something new about the world—Ptah-hotep came to a stop facing straight away from the rising sun. He put out a hand and touched his companion on the arm. "What is that?"

  A hands breadth above the western horizon, a cloud was drifting now. Ptah-hotep had seen clouds in the sky before; on occasion he had seen rain. But never before had he seen any cloud like this one. It was thin as a snakes trail, and as twisted. As they watched, it turned gradually from gray to pink to white in the brightening rays of Ra's onrushing glory.

  They gazed in silence at the strange cloud for a long time.

  At last Thothmes, oblique once more, said: "There is yet more news about the Pharaoh. Rumors. I did not tell you before because I do not like to repeat every wild story." Tell me now.

  "The great Pharaoh returned a few days ago from the eastern frontier. Since then he has been hunting out in the western desert, driving his chariot himself, passing close to the Land of the Dead."

  "Yes?"

  "The story is, that in the course of this hunting expedition, that Khufu has had dealings with the gods themselves. That the gods came from the sky, or perhaps from the domains under the Earth, and that they gave to Pharaoh a vast hoard of gold. So much gold that the like of it has never before been seen in one place in the Two Lands."

  "They came from the sky? Truly, and dealt with Khufu?"

  "It may be that in truth they did."

  In the distance the strange cloud paled, dispersing slowly in the clear morning sky.

  FOUR

  In the morning Becky was rather silent and uncommunicative. Her face looked a little puffy around the eyes, her blond hair disheveled. She was brisk in her movements, though. She even declined to stay for breakfast. Fifteen minutes after her eyes were fully open she was out the door and on her way back to her own apartment. Scheffler had had visions of sharing bacon and eggs and orange juice with her, of looking out at the early morning lake together, of… he wasn't sure of what the two of them were good for together, apart from sex. Nor was he sure of the present status of the affair. They hadn't quarreled, no. But Becky hadn't been happy when she left.

  He fried and ate his own bacon and eggs, and managed to enjoy them. Today the apartment was his own; Mrs. White wasn't scheduled to come in.

  After cleaning up his breakfast dishes, he went back to take another look around inside the enclosure of wealth. The curtain covering the central portion of the rear wall was hung on sliding rings from a dark, inconspicuous metal rod. Scheffler reached up and pulled the curtain to one side—and found himself standing before a door, a very real and modern-looking barrier of dark metal—right in the place where he had been told he would find only a false door, an ancient Egyptian spiritual symbol of some kind.

  Or had he completely misheard or misunderstood what his great-uncle had said to him? Scheffler didn't think so.

  This real, metallic door had nothing at all ancient or Egyptian-looking about it. Rather its smooth surface and sturdy frame suggested something on the order of a bank vault. Except that this door had no sign of a lock, only a simple handle that made it look as if it would be easy to open. An elevator, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was recessed about a foot into the stonework of the ancient-looking wall, and raised high enough above floor level to put it at the top of the two simple stone steps.

  Scheffler was still standing there looking at the mysterious door when the telephone rang. He moved to answer it on the nearest extension, which happened to be in the library, where now the ashes in the hearth were cold and dead.

  He picked up the receiver fully expecting to hear some kind of unhappy words from Becky. Not that he knew what she was unhappy about, but women were—"Hello?"

  "Hello. Tom?"

  "Yes sir." Scheffler had no doubt at all about the voice. Uncle Monty. It sounded clear enough to be a local call.

  His distant great-uncle asked him: "Have you encountered any problems yet?"

  Scheffler's eyes swung back to the other room, the open grillwork and the mystery beyond. He hesitated momentarily. "No sir, not really." He didn't want to explain that he'd already opened the grill-work; Uncle Monty might not be willing to classify his nephew's reason for doing so as a true emergency. "There was one phone call for you—the man you mentioned to me. He did identify himself as Peregrinus."

  That provoked immediate excitement at the other end of the line, signified by dry coughing. "What did you tell him?"

  "Nothing. Just that you weren't available, that he could leave a message if he wanted, and I'd see that you got it. But he wasn't interested in leaving a message."

  "Did he say he'd call back? Or what?"

  "He didn't say. I haven't heard from him again."

  "Well." Great-uncle Montgomery sighed. "You probably will. But that brings me back to my object in calling you. There's an alarm system I forgot to mention to you, connected to the place in the apartment where the most valuable items are—you follow me?"

  "Yes sir."

  "It's nothing to be concerned about, really, but I would appreciate it if you'd reset a certain control for me."

  "I see, sir." Was it possible that Uncle Monty already knew he'd trespassed in the sanctuary? Were there perhaps hidden cameras somewhere in the apartment? Electronic sensors, transmitting warnings all the way to Egypt? But that seemed crazy.

  His great-uncle's voice went calmly on. "You'll recall I showed you where I keep the key for the grillwor
k door."

  "Yes sir."

  "There's no hurry. But when you have time, get the key, please. In the rear of the false door—you remember?—you'll find some controls. One is marked with a little white label, days and months and so on. I'm sure you'll find it self-explanatory. Just reset it to the current date. Is that clear?" It was a courteous question, not a demand.

  In the rear of the false door. That didn't really make sense—did it? Not in view of the actual door that Scheffler could see at this moment from two rooms away. But he still didn't want to admit how far his explorations had already gone. So he hesitated, until the moment for confessing the truth had passed.

  "Yes sir. I'll do that. Sounds easy. I suppose if there's any difficulty I can call you back." That would be the way to play it, he congratulated himself silently. Call the old man back in a few minutes, and announce that the discovery of the real door had just been made. Good thinking, Scheffler.

  "Yes, certainly," said the voice on the telephone. "Call me back if any problems should come up. But I don't anticipate you'll have any difficulties. I'll be talking to you again in a little while."

  "Yes sir."

  And Uncle Monty had hung up, before Scheffler could decide whether to add anything else. As if, Scheffler thought, to forestall any last-minute questions. He stood there for a few moments looking at the phone in his hand. Then he replaced it in its cradle and went back into Gallery Two.

  As soon as he pushed gently on the handle of the dark metal door, it opened for him, sliding smoothly sideways into the wall of ancient brick.

  For the moment Scheffler forgot all about looking for the labeled control he was supposed to find. He was gazing into a room that was about the same size as the closet in his bedroom, maybe eight feet deep, seven high, and six feet wide. The walls were of some dark material that looked to Scheffler more like painted wood or plastic than metal. Scattered over all the walls of the chamber from floor to ceiling were small, dim lights. Indicators, perhaps, though they also provided faint illumination. Some of the lights were of an almost ultraviolet blue. Some of them were orange like fireplace embers, some were plain red and some were white. Standing in the doorway of this closet made Scheffler feel as if he were on the point of climbing inside some kind of three-dimensional instrument panel. What a control center, was his first thought. What an alarm system Uncle Monty must have.