to accomplish that goal.
The risk was extraordinary but there was one man who could be counted on to find whatever he set out to find.
Clement pushed himself away from the workbench and crossed the stone floor of the laboratory to the quartz sarcophagus. The coffin had come from the tomb of a high-ranking priest of a small, ancient Egyptian cult. It was unlike any other that had been discovered in that the lid was not made of solid stone. Instead it was inset with a large piece of thick, transparent crystal.
The sarcophagus had been empty when he and Emma had discovered it. Initially they had believed that the mummy that had been encased in the stone box had been stolen by tomb raiders. It was only after Emma had deciphered the hieroglyphs etched into the sides that they had both understood the magnitude of their find.
He stood looking down through the crystal lid. The sarcophagus was no longer empty. Emma lay inside, locked in deep sleep. She was immersed in the Egyptian Water. Her eyes were closed. Her beautiful dark hair floated in the chemicals. There had been no room in the box for the voluminous skirts and petticoats that she had been wearing that terrible day. He had been forced to put her into the sarcophagus attired in her nightgown.
It was Gage’s fault that she had died. The bastard was responsible for everything that had gone wrong.
The rage inside welled up once more, threatening to choke him. He clenched his hands into fists.
“It is done, Emma. I have sent Gage to find her. He will not fail. He never fails. Soon she will be here. Until then, sleep, my beloved.”
He looked closer and noticed that the fluid level inside the sarcophagus was lower than it had been yesterday. The lid fit snugly but there was always some evaporation.
He went to the shelves on the far side of the room and took down the container that held his supply of the special salts. It was time to prepare some more of the Egyptian Water to refill the sarcophagus.
Twelve
Joshua sat on a hassock in front of the low, black lacquer table and concentrated on the candle that burned in the holder. A small gong suspended from a wooden frame was positioned to one side of the candle. There were no other furnishings in the room that he had converted into his meditation chamber.
There was a time when he had performed the mental exercises while sitting cross-legged on the floor, but assuming such a position now was impossible because of the injury to his leg. In any event, his physical position did not matter. He had been practicing the meditation routine since he was in his teens. He could put himself into a light trance under almost any conditions.
Although he no longer required the flame or the gong to achieve the deepest state, he found comfort in the familiar rituals. This morning he had much to contemplate.
He picked up the small mallet and struck the gong lightly. The low sound resonated in the atmosphere. He slipped into the breathing exercises first. One of his mentor’s axioms whispered through him.
Control the breath and you control the rest.
He found the inhale-exhale rhythm and struck the gong again. This time he followed the tone down into the self-induced trance.
In this state his senses still functioned. He could smell the faint scent of the candle and hear the clatter of carriage wheels in the street, but it was as if he was in another dimension. An invisible wall kept the outside distractions from affecting his concentration. In this realm he could contemplate things in a different light; see patterns and connections that were not readily visible when he was in a normal state of awareness.
He meditated on Beatrice Lockwood. He knew that she was critical to the success of his plan. But what he did not understand was how she was connected to all the other factors in the case. She injected a discordant note of chaos into the otherwise clockwork precision of his scheme. As a rule he did all he could to control elements of uncertainty. But sometimes the currents of chaos were precisely what were required to unlock doors that would otherwise remain closed.
Chaos, however, was, by definition, unpredictable. Chaos was energy that, by its very nature, could not be channeled or controlled. It was raw power, and power was always potentially dangerous.
He picked up the mallet and struck the gong a third