His Tomb Raider (Magic of the Lost Temple Book 1)

“Swarming—no, teeming is a better description.” He fought the urge to scratch, as camels, donkeys, dogs, and people, wearing little more than pajamas, scurried along streets. Sand-colored buildings with faded red, geometric designs, crept through the city, in such orderly blocks, they might give him a headache.

He already missed the meandering streets of Oxford. The twists and turns in no discernible pattern were somehow soothing to him.

“And, I would like to point out, we are here minus a guide,” he groused. Nothing on this trip had gone according to plan. “How will we ever find our way about this...?” He indicated the busy train station. Cairo was so unlike his beloved university town with its orderly traffic, pavements, and stately trees of the coniferous and deciduous kind. “It is insulting to be left waiting, and what if no one comes for us? What if the scoundrel absconded with our deposit?”

“Well, no matter. We can ask for directions, check into our hotel to rid ourselves of the baggage, and then tour the city.”

“But I do not know which hotel our guide booked us into.”

“Oh, Spindle,” she said his nickname as if he were an underperforming student again. But then she turned and beamed at him. “It is settled then. We will find the closest hotel, and then go sightseeing. Is this not wonderful? I cannot wait to visit the Necropolis and the Hanging Church. I read all about them, and, well, everything else. Just look at the pyramids.” The tops of which, with their weather battered stone, could be seen over the city in the distance. “So much to do here. Will we have time to see them all?”

Dylan wiped moisture from his brow and his handkerchief came away soot covered from the locomotive. And then he picked out the important part of Bertie’s ramble. “No matter? It is rather a large matter. This is a crucial expedition. We are in a city with a shabby reputation, no guide, no guide’s assistant. Damnation, not even an errand boy—”

“It can hardly be any shadier than parts of London.”

He took a deep breath, “Not even an urchin awaiting our arrival. We are only a day late, there should be—”

“Oh, look over there, Dylan. I believe those carpets are for sale. Have you ever seen the like? Help me with the bags. I must witness this.” She grabbed three pieces from their copious pile of luggage, and he reached for one end of a battered trunk. “We shall need a cart and a man—”

“Oh, there’s a porter.”

“Excellent, he can take us to...” He dropped the handle, the trunk boomed onto the wood planks, and he searched for the address in his waistcoat pocket. He waved over the man, and then handed the slip of paper to the porter. “We must find this address.”

The porter whistled and a young man who appeared barely old enough to blow his own nose, but was old enough for a uniform, trotted over with a pushcart and collected their luggage. He and the porter made arrangements, and Dylan handed over the requisite coin.

Bertie glared over the porter’s shoulder at the address and whined. “We are going to start work? Immediately? But why not enjoy some of Cairo first? After all, you didn’t let me set foot in any of the other cities we stopped in. Not even when we changed ships in Spain!”

“That was our goal in Spain. To change ships.”

“And there was Alexandria!”

“Not true. We set several feet into Alexandria.”

“The dock, a carriage, and then a train platform do not count, Spindle.”

“We set foot on soil, Flirty,” he added emphasis to her notorious nickname, since she was using his. “I have the mud stains to prove it.”

“That was refuse, not mud. Besides, this is our first time off English soil.”

“Also, not true.” He smirked at Bertie’s back. “We have both been to Scotland.”

“That does not count.”

“I beg to diff—”

She stepped closer to the edge, and he grabbed her belt before she flung herself over in excitement.

“Take a deep breath, Spindle. Do you smell that? So exotic, like...like...”

“Christmas.”

“Yesssss,” she said, elongating the word as if trying it on for size, “Like Christmas cooking.” She inhaled a huge lungful. “Cinnamon, cloves, and, and...other spices I cannot name. Come on, let’s go.” She hiked up her serviceable saffron day dress, showing sturdy boots and, in his opinion, too much calf.

She was halfway down the ramp before he realized they were actually doing this. They were in Egypt and were about to get lost in an environment foreign to them both. He laughed. “Well, if you insist, my dear.”

She linked their arms as they left the station, and they weaved through the crowds, following the boy with their luggage.

They traversed claustrophobically narrow dirt streets with lattice-covered balconies, and canopies which thankfully blocked most of the sun, and then larger, paved thoroughfares, which had little shade. Hawkers pushed fruits he could not recognize in their faces, along with silks that would make the fashion-minded matrons cringe with envy back in England, and spices in a multitude of intense hues. He took a deep breath and thought a person could rather become intoxicated by the marvelously intense aromas. It was almost as if they stepped off the train onto another planet.

The sun, directly overhead, reflected off paved streets and yellow stone buildings. It was scalding for November, as the porter warned them before they left the train. ‘Unseasonably hot for this time of year,’ he’d said. Dylan removed his boater and wiped his brow but could do nothing about the shirt that stuck to him like a limpet. “Bother, what I wouldn’t give for a nice hot cup of tea.”

“No, a lager.” Bertie added. “A lager would be more refreshing in this heat.”

They stepped around a man sitting on the ground in front of his meat shop which took up a good portion of the street.

Bertie waved away a few flies which got too close. “It appears as though families live on the top floor and run their businesses on the ground floor.”

Vibrantly hued laundry sporting stripes, stars, embroidery, and decorations of all types, hung from windows, and the merchants indeed occupied the bottom floors of the buildings. Everything from exotic animals to cooking utensils were for sale. There was even a brothel. He tried to distract Bertie, but of course her inquisitive nature had her head bobbing this way and that. She saw the ladies dancing to flute music in gossamer scarves and not much else. They wore veils decorated with metal charms that tinkled as they gyrated.

And of all things, Bertie stopped right in the middle of the road, and the constant flow of people and animals swarmed around them. With her research training and astute observations, she homed in on an aspect he’d missed. She whispered her theory in his ear, but with the cacophony of dogs barking, clanging of metal pots, clinking of money changing hands, and what was that bloody whistle anyway?

“What did you say, Bertie?” he yelled.

She yelled back, “Those beautiful ladies are not women.”

He gaped at the dancing trio. “Bertie, be quiet. You cannot shout things like that in public!” But even while chastising her, his gaze swept in the direction of her stare. “I...I believe you are correct.” Just like that, the dancers spiked his interest. Maybe if they had some time after their quest, he would visit this establishment to see what they offered. But right now, he pulled her away from the spectacle.

“Now, Dylan. You didn’t even—”

He pointed to their luggage rolling farther away.

They jogged to catch up, and she finished her scolding. “Really, Spindle, did you not read anything about Egypt before we left on this trip?” She managed a maternal demeanor with hands on hips even while hurrying.

“I did. I read things. Many things.” He had, in fact, read volumes, so why did his intonations sound like questions? As if he was not sure. Perhaps because he only brushed up on cuneiform and gave himself a hurried course from Easy Lessons in Arabic, which he had found in the library, but it did him no good. He still could not understand one sentence spoken by the inhabitants.

They meandered through streets, and thoughts meandered in his head.

“Dylan. Did you not hear me?”

He had not, and when a smile formed on her lips, he realized his thoughts were still back with the agile dancers. This was a hectic, unhealthy place. He should not get distracted by the exotic sensations of this city. He forced his mind off tinkling bits of metal on agile hips and wondered if they viewed sex differently in this country. And during that minor distraction the serpent struck.