After a leisurely boat ride down the Nile, and a brief stop to haggle for the turban, Kit and Khefri had shaken hands and parted company at the steps of the Winter Palace hotel. “Shukran, my friend,” Kit had said. “If I have need of a boat, I will come looking for you.”
“May God be good to you, Kit Livingstone,” replied the young man. “Farewell.” The last Kit had seen of him, the young man was hurrying back to join his cousin in the boat.
Following Wilhelmina’s instructions, he had presented himself to the concierge at the reception desk and asked for the parcel that, all being well, was waiting for him. The concierge, a robust Egyptian in a black frock coat and fez, disappeared into an office, returning a moment later with a package. He held it in his hand and regarded Kit dubiously. “Could this be the parcel, sir?”
“Why, yes, I believe so.”
The fellow hefted it in his hand, but made no attempt to deliver it.
“No. Nothing at all. Why? Was I suppose to have something for you? I was not given anything—”
“A small gift, perhaps?” He regarded the parcel in his hand.
“Oh!” said Kit, as understanding broke upon him. “Yes, I see.”
The concierge smiled.
“But I am terribly sorry,” Kit offered. “I don’t have any money. I’ve been in the desert, you see.” He turned out an empty pocket. “Nada. Nothing. Sorry.”
With a shrug, the fellow handed over the small packet, and Kit wandered into the lobby to open it. About the size and thickness of an old-school exercise book, it was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string; a small hand-lettered note had been stuck in where the ends of the string were tied in a neat bow, and it was addressed to him. It read: Kit: Do not open this package. Take it—unopened—to Dr. Thomas Young at the Karnak temple dig just outside Luxor. You will find him there from late spring to early autumn. The parcel will serve as your letter of introduction. He will know what is to be done. Remember, DO NOT open this package. Not even a little!
He turned the parcel over. The folded flaps were sealed with a blob of old-fashioned sealing wax. Beside the seal was a message: Do not even THINK about opening this package!
“Okay! Got it,” muttered Kit. “Sheesh, what a nag. I won’t open the stupid package.”
Tucking the packet under his shirt, he had then made his way to the old temple. When he finally arrived at the shattered remains of the temple gate, he was perspiring from every pore, the sweat drying almost instantly as it hit the dry desert air. The huge blocks of the fabled pylons—the great slant-backed walls flanking the temple entrance—lay tumbled on the ground, though the parts of the wall extant rose to the height of several stories. Many of the courses still bore their original paint, and the colours glowed in the fierce light. Through the now-empty gate he could see collapsed pillars and more jumbled heaps of rubble across a very lumpy landscape, most of which was covered with low acacia bushes, stunted palms of various sorts, and coarse, scrubby saw grass. More beggars reclined idly in the broken doorways, while in the shadows he could see the furtive shapes of feral cats.
Kit wiped beaded sweat from his face, put his hand to the cargo he carried beneath his shirt, and started into the temple courtyard, climbing over a heap of rubble and into what had once been an immense expanse of gargantuan columns shaped like bundles of papyrus; some of these stood upright, proudly supporting their connecting lintels as if bearing the weight of the clear blue sky above. His presence was quickly seized upon by the more enterprising beggars, who hobbled to greet him with toothless whines and filthy palms outstretched. “La, shukran,” he told them as firmly and politely as he could.
“Sir! Sir!” one of the beggars called in English. “You need a guide, sir?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Kit did not even look up, since to do so would only encourage the fellow. “Thanks all the same.”
“You are looking for someone, maybe?”
At this, Kit glanced around to see a wizened Egyptian in a very dirty kaftan and skin like creased leather standing perfectly still a little apart from the importuning