let out his breath again. Still raw and reeling from the loss of Cosimo and Sir Henry, and the prospect of his own demise narrowly averted, Kit stood contemplating his next leap and thinking that everything was happening way too fast. Off to the east, the sun was just breaching the ragged hill line. If he did not go soon, he would have to wait until evening, and that would very likely be an invitation to disaster. “Might as well get on with it,” he muttered to himself.
Mina had told him to start his walk at the fifth sphinx from the end of the row, and to be at full stride by the eighth ram-headed statue—a distance of thirty or so paces. If he had not made the crossing by the time he reached the eighth sphinx, he was to stop dead in his tracks, carefully retrace his steps, and try again. Wilhelmina had been most emphatic about that. Making the leap at the precise spot on the avenue would bring him to the predetermined time period—give or take a few hours, days, or perhaps weeks. Any more than that and he would be wildly off course in time, if not in place as well.
He paced back to the appropriate sphinx at the end of the avenue farthest from the temple, turned, and paused to locate the eighth statue in the long double rank. “Ready or not, here I come,” he said, and started walking briskly.
He felt the air quiver around him and sensed a prickling on his skin. The wind gusted sharply as he approached the designated statue. Stepping up his pace, he drew abreast of the eighth ram-headed statue and braced himself for the transition.
Nothing happened.
Against all natural inclination, he forced himself to stop as instructed by Wilhelmina.
“Terrific.” He turned, stepped off the ley, and hurried back to the starting place. “Second time lucky,” he muttered, and strode off again. Once again he felt the now-familiar tingle on his skin, as when, just before a lightning strike, the air becomes electrically charged. The wind gusted, driving fine grit into his eyes, which instantly started watering so that he had difficulty seeing where he was going. He must have unconsciously slowed a step, because he reached the eighth sphinx and still had not made the leap.
“Bugger!” he muttered. Had he lost the knack?
The thought that he might be stuck in 1920s Egypt with the Burley Men on his tail did not bear thinking about, so he dashed back to the starting point and took his place, putting his toes to an imaginary line. Lowering his head like a sprinter awaiting the gun, he muttered, “Third time lucky!” and shot off.
This time, with a determination absent from the first two attempts, he willed himself to leap. Perhaps it was this heightened resolve that turned the trick, for upon approaching the eighth sphinx he felt the air quiver; the ground beneath his feet trembled, and the world around him grew dim and indistinct, but only for the briefest of instants—the merest blink of an eye. He lurched forward and, like a drunk who has misjudged his footing, tottered dizzily for a few steps before righting himself and stopping.
When his head cleared he found himself standing almost exactly where he had been standing before—in the centre of the avenue at the eighth sphinx. The temple at the end of the avenue was still a ruin and empty, the ragged hills just as arid and dusty as before, but the sun was now high overhead and blazing down on him with a ferocity that brought tears to his eyes.
The discomfort of the crossing quickly passed. He noted with satisfaction that with each jump he was a little less nauseated and disoriented. The first had left him dazed and confused and upchucking over his shoes; this last spate of dizziness was nothing compared to that.
Now to get himself to Luxor. Assuming that the leap had been successful, and that he was in the time zone anticipated by Wilhelmina, he knew in general what he had to do: get to the river and follow it downstream until he came to the town, which was ten miles or so as the crow flew—depending, of course, on the crow. Then he was to make his way to the hotel and collect the package. Simple. Mina’s letter would tell him what to do next.
He set off. Reaching the river meant working his way up and over the hills—no