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The Sands of Time - Instalment Two

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The Legend of Osiris

When Osiris the king returned victorious from the campaign, his brother Seth feigned friendship. Together with Nephthys, his sister-wife, Seth invited Osiris to a great banquet to celebrate his safe return.

Isis, the wife and sister of Osiris, and the sister of Nephthys and Seth, begged her husband not to attend, fearing some treacherous intent. But Osiris was in good humour, magnanimous in victory. He spoke to Isis and together they agreed to go to the palace of Seth.

Seth had organised a great feast. There were grapes and figs, calves\x92 heads, the forelegs of oxen and hearts of cows. There were geese and ducks. The wine flowed freely and all the royalty and dignitaries of Egypt were in attendance.

Osiris was the guest of honour, made welcome by his brother Seth. He was seated at the head of the table, as befitted his position. And his brother Seth and his sisters Isis and Nephthys made merry with him.

Then, when the feast was ended and the wine was almost gone, Seth had a great sarcophagus brought into the banqueting hall. It was traced in gold and inlaid with lapis lazuli. The casket was the best workmanship of the greatest craftsmen in all the Kingdoms of Egypt. And Osiris asked his brother for whom such a rich gift could be intended.

Seth let it be known that the sarcophagus was a prize - the greatest prize in history. And the prize would be won by the man who best fitted the sarcophagus, that it should bear him in glory into the afterlife.

So the nobility of Egypt each tried the casket for size, eager to win so great a gift from the brother of the king. But they were each by turns too short, or too tall, too fat or too thin. And it seemed that none of the guests could win so great a prize. Then Nephthys urged her brother Osiris to try the casket himself. Osiris at first declined, his wife Isis fearing some entrapment. But Seth laughed at his brother\x92s apprehension, and Osiris agreed to try the test.

So Osiris lowered himself into the casket, laughing with his brother Seth. It fitted Osiris as if it had been made for him. And so it had.

When Osiris was lying in the casket, Seth slammed shut the lid and, still laughing, he sealed it. Then he called his guards, and had the coffin hurled into the Nile.

As the coffin floated into the night, Seth\x92s laughter mingled with the grief of Isis. And the tears of Isis dripped into the river and flowed after the entombed body of her brother and husband Osiris. And Nephthys saw her sister\x92s grief, and she found it good.

(Translated by Tobias St.John, from the inscriptions of the tomb of An\x92anka)

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Chapter Two

The water was clear, sunlight diffused through it like lemon juice. The liquid was warm and viscous. Tegan swam with increasing difficulty, her movements slowing as she struggled towards a surface that was not there. She had lost all sense of direction, and the light source had turned out to be the coral-covered expanse of the ocean floor. She twisted and turned, lost in the killing colour of the reef, her lungs bursting under the pressure, her eyes glazing. Then, as the strength slipped from her like the stream of bubbles rising from her mouth, she felt herself drifting, floating.

As she sat hunched on the edge of a heavy leather armchair in front of the fire, Tegan relived the swelling terror of an afternoon swimming on the reef. She clutched a glass of brandy she could not taste, staring at the flickering of a fire she did not see. She remembered the raw panic which welled up in her stomach and slowly permeated her whole being as she realized she had lost all sense of direction. She began to swallow water and to splutter her life away. She was barely aware of the Doctor and Kenilworth behind her as they examined the body of Nyssa, half heard their whispered discussions. But she knew she was sinking and that the surface was receding from her. This time she would not suddenly break free into the cool breeze of the Australian afternoon and gasp in retching lungfuls of air.

It had been difficult to cope with Adric\x92s death. But even that had been so much easier. She had not actually seen him, had not actually looked into his dead face and seen the calm silent form which life had deserted. She had not begun to imagine the horror of his last desperate moments of existence, had not re-enacted them in her mind and relived them in her imagination. In a sense, Adric\x92s death had been remote, reported, something written in a book or seen in a film. It was a death defined more by his subsequent absence that by the event itself.

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But this was different. This was the mind-numbing loss of a friend brought home with vicarious immediacy. When Adric had died, it had been a sudden shock. And Nyssa and Tegan had been able to help each other to cope with the loss, had been able to comfort each other in their grief, had shared emotions which the Doctor seemed unwilling or unable to risk.

Now Tegan was alone, drowning in her grief. She sat before the fire, unable to bring herself to look at the coffin or the body of her friend behind her. She clutched the lead crystal of the brandy tumbler, feeling the gut-wrenching emptiness of the loss which she had refused to imagine the whole time that Nyssa was missing. She wondered how long the Doctor had suspected the worst; wondered if he had somehow known; wondered why he seemed not to care.

Then the Doctor was there, kneeling beside her, folding his hands round hers as they clutched the warm glass. She could see for the first time the depths of emotion and the years of hurting in his eyes as he looked at her. She could see that he too felt the pain and the loss, even if he could not show it in the same way as she could. She knew that it would be best for him if he could give expression to his grief and voice to his pain and set it free.

\x91Oh Tegan,\x92 the Doctor said. His voice was barely more than a whisper, flickering in time with the pale flames of the fire glinting off the cut facets of the glass she held so tightly in her fragile hands. As he held her, Tegan released her first painful sob. Her whole body convulsed with each heaving choke. She lowered her head till it rested on the Doctor\x92s shoulder, and cried.

\x91Why?\x92 she managed to gasp between her tears. \x91Why Nyssa?\x92

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He shook his head. \x91I don\x92t know, Tegan. I wish I did.\x92 The Doctor turned and looked over Tegan\x92s shoulder, back towards the sarcophagus still resting unmoved in the corner of the now deserted drawing room. \x91It\x92s strange,\x92 he muttered. \x91So long, and yet so perfectly preserved.\x92 He shook his head slowly, still holding Tegan\x92s hands around the glass. \x91It\x92s almost as if...\x92 His voice tailed off, and he looked from the coffin to Tegan, then back again.

\x91I wonder,\x92 the Doctor said, leaping to his feet. He looked back down at Tegan, brow creased in thought for a moment. Then his expression suddenly brightened.

\x91May I?\x92 he reached down and took the glass from her hands. Tegan thought for a second he was about to help her to her feet. But instead, he drained the brandy in a single swallow, smacking his lips together appreciatively. Then he handed her back the empty glass and dashed across the room to where Kenilworth was still standing silently by the casket.

The Doctor reached inside the coffin. \x91Will you time me, Lord Kenilworth?\x92 he asked. \x91I\x92m going to feel her neck for a pulse again.\x92

\x91If you wish, Doctor.\x92 Kenilworth pulled a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and flipped open the front cover. \x91But there was nothing earlier.\x92

\x91Four thousand years is a very long time. An induced metabolic coma would explain the body\x92s preservation, and it would have to be extremely deep to be sustained for that length of time.\x92

\x91You mean - she might not be dead?\x92 Tegan put her empty glass down on the low mahogany table beside her chair and stood up. \x91Nyssa\x92s alive?\x92 she asked.

The Doctor was staring into the casket. \x91It\x92s possible,\x92 he said. \x91We did feel for a pulse just now, but only for few seconds - perhaps thirty. In a coma this deep, there might be a pulse only every few minutes.\x92 He paused, face creasing into a frown as if he was willing Nyssa\x92s heart to beat. \x91It is possible,\x92 he repeated. \x91Just possible.\x92

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The bed was hard, made of some sort of rough wood. In fact it was more like a bench than a bed. The smell of fish was everywhere, which might have given Nyssa a clue that she was somewhere very close to Billingsgate. Except that she was unconscious. And she had never heard of Billingsgate.

She drifted into and out of awareness, her mind hovering between blackness and a misty haze. Sounds wafted through the gloom as she floated nearer to the surface of thought, mixing with the smell of fish, insinuating their way into Nyssa\x92s mind. She heard rather than listened, absorbed the noises as she breathed in the smells.

\x91She was found at the appointed place. There at the appointed hour. She is the one.\x92 The voice was refined, cultured but with a guttural accent which caught the vowels at the back of the throat.

But the voice which answered rasped as if it was forced through broken glass: \x91You will send her back?\x92

\x91As it is written. As I remember it happening. I have seen her, and she is the one.\x92 A pause. Then the gravelled voice scraped again in the darkness: \x91Then the time is near. After all the millennia, a mere century and then...\x92

The blackness drifted in again. The mists clouded Nyssa\x92s thought and fogged her hearing. The sounds drifted away again into the distance. A few phrases, odd words found their way through the night.

\x91The journey... the alignment will be right tonight, the stars are set . . . power is building...\x92

\x91The watchers report the museum is clear . . . we must return at once . . .\x92

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Dinner was a rather muted affair. Usually when Lord Kenilworth was recently returned from an expedition, he and his wife would talk animatedly about what had happened variously in Cairo and London over the past few months. The previous night had followed this pattern, broken only by anticipation of the unwrapping, and by Kenilworth\x92s strange assumptions about what Atkins had been doing in his absence.

But tonight Atkins poured a little wine into his lordship\x92s glass, and listened to the silence. He had not attempted to understand why Lord Kenilworth supposed that he had accompanied him on his expedition. He must have known otherwise. And even if he did not, Lady Kenilworth was as insistent as Atkins was that Atkins had not stirred from London in the past four months. The conversation had been ended by Lady Kenilworth\x92s suggestion that they talk about the impending unwrapping, and Kenilworth\x92s half-heard mutterings that the Doctor had said there would be some confusion over events.

As Atkins removed the dinner plates and motioned for Beryl the maid to supply pudding bowls he reflected that the previous night had been crystal clear by comparison. After the subdued silence of the soup and the quiet politeness of the entree, conversation had risen to new levels. And confusion with it.

\x91Four thousand years, and you say she\x92s just asleep?\x92 Kenilworth shook his head and reached for his wine. \x91Dashed queer business, if you ask me.\x92

\x91It\x92s a metabolic coma,\x92 the Doctor repeated patiently, hand palm-down over his wine glass as Atkins reached forward with the bottle.

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Atkins moved on to Miss Jovanka. She watched glassy-eyed as he replenished her drink, and then all-but drained it in a single gulp. Atkins pretended not to notice, just as he feigned disinterest in the conversation. He had heard matters from the colour of the Queen\x92s bedroom curtains to the future foreign policy of the Empire discussed in this room, and he took it all in his measured stride.

Tonight\x92s conversation was more unsettling than others, though. Perhaps because of his involvement on the fringes of yesterday\x92s related discussions, perhaps because of the evident distress of the Doctor and Miss Jovanka, perhaps because of the seemingly lifeless body lying in an ancient casket in the next room... Atkins felt that tonight he might permit himself to discuss some small aspects of the deliberations with Miss Warne when they went over the plans for the household for the following day.

\x91Dashed queer,\x92 Kenilworth repeated. \x91Don\x92t you think, Atkins?\x92 he added as the butler passed behind him.

\x91I\x92m sorry, sir? Oh I really couldn\x92t say.\x92

Kenilworth snorted. \x91I must say, you\x92ve clammed back up since we returned. You know I value your views on these matters.\x92

This was news to Atkins, but he nodded politely and hazarded an opinion as he was asked. \x91If the young lady is merely asleep, sir, then could we not wake her up?\x92

\x91Good thought, good thought.\x92

\x91Well, Doctor?\x92 Miss Jovanka seemed to take her first interest in the conversation. \x91Can we help her?\x92

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\x91Perhaps, Tegan. Perhaps.\x92 The Doctor pushed his plate to one side, the food untouched. Atkins carefully removed it before the Doctor\x92s elbow could sink into the spotted dick. \x91It is possible, though rather tricky. I have to break into the coma in precisely the right way and that depends on how long Nyssa has been unconscious, where she was found, what condition the sarcophagus has been in, all manner of things. Even how she was transported here is important. Ideally the body should have been kept as level as possible.\x92

Kenilworth wiped his upper lip on a napkin. \x91Well, of course it was,\x92 he said through the double damask.

The Doctor stared at him. \x91Could I ask why?\x92

Miss Jovanka, the Doctor and Lady Kenilworth waited for the reply. Atkins contrived to fill a glass close to his lordship so as to hear properly.

Kenilworth eventually finished refolding his napkin. He seemed perplexed. \x91The sarcophagus was kept level, even to the point of stringing it up in a hammock on the return voyage, because you insisted on it, Doctor.\x92

The Doctor gaped. \x91I did?\x92

\x91Indeed. I\x92m not sure I follow what\x92s going on here, Doctor. Your memory seems as fickle as Atkins\x92 does. The other stuff you mentioned - location and condition of the body and all that - you know already.\x92 He stood and motioned to Atkins. \x91I think we\x92ll take port in the drawing room.\x92

\x91But how?\x92 Miss Jovanka called after Kenilworth as she got unsteadily to her feet. \x91How does the Doctor know?\x92

Kenilworth turned in the doorway. \x91Not you too, Tegan. He knows, as you do, because he was there when we found the tomb.\x92

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The carriage clattered to a halt in the snowy night. Nyssa had no way of knowing how long it was since she had last been here, but she recognised the impressive stone facade of the British Museum as she was dragged roughly from the carriage.She stumbled groggily down the damp wooden steps and slipped on the cobbled street. Her foot sank through the crisp crust of ice and skidded on the slush beneath. At once she was hauled to her feet.

\x91Gently, Yusuf, gently.\x92

Nyssa found herself looking into the tanned face of a short but broadly-built man in an opera cape. It was a round face, made to appear rounder by the complete lack of hair. The face was broken into a grim smile which looked as though it was set in position. Nyssa got an impression of a depth of experience which belied the apparent age of the man. Then she saw that while his skin was smooth, it was also cobwebbed with hairline cracks, like an old oil painting of a young man. He continued to smile humourlessly at her, talking over her shoulder to the man holding her arms behind her back.

\x91The goddess did not choose this one so that you could bruise her fair skin.\x92 He reached out a callused hand and ran a rough finger along Nyssa\x92s cheek. She flinched, tried to back away. But the man behind her held her still. \x91No, Yusuf, she has a better use for her than that.\x92 He stared into her eyes for a while. Nyssa held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, sought refuge in the dirty white of the churned up snow at her feet.

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\x91Does your father have other daughters?\x92 The hand on Nyssa\x92s cheek caressed her chin, gripping it suddenly and pulling it upwards so she was forced to look into the man\x92s face again. It was not a rough gesture, rather it was almost gentle. \x91It would be a shame if such beauty was unique.\x92

\x91My father\x92s dead.\x92 And for the first time Nyssa found she really believed that. He was not coming back; he had not just gone away; her father was dead. A short word that covered a condition that would last forever. No funeral, no time for tears, just an emptiness so deep that it ached. \x91Dead,\x92 Nyssa repeated, and the word hung in the cold air with a blunt monosyllabic finality.

The man nodded slowly. \x91I have heard it said that a father should not outlive his children,\x92 he said quietly, so that only Nyssa heard him. Then his mouth twisted into a sudden smile and he snapped his fingers. The bald man was immediately handed a thick roll of cloth. The man gripped the hem of the cloth and let a long cloak unroll. He draped it over Nyssa\x92s shoulders and pulled it tight around her. Then he stepped back to admire the result. \x91There,\x92 he said, \x91that\x92s better.\x92

\x91Who are you?\x92 Nyssa was aware that her voice was shaking. She hoped the man thought it was from the cold rather than from fear. \x91What do you want with me?\x92

\x91So many questions, so little patience.\x92 The man started to turn away.

\x91Why have you brought me back here?\x92

The man paused, then swung back to face her. His face was still set in its half-smile. \x91Oh Nyssa, Nyssa,\x92 he shook his head.

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She gasped. \x91You know who I am?\x92

\x91Of course. I have always known. Or at least, it sometimes seems that way.\x92 He gave a slight bow, barely more than an inclination of his bald head. \x91I am Sadan Rassul, High Priest of Sutekh and Nephthys, as was my father before me. And I have been waiting for you.\x92

He turned away again, cape swirling in the breeze, and started to walk slowly towards the main doors of the museum. Yusuf pushed Nyssa after him, and she was aware of others following behind him. A single flake of snow landed on the smooth back of Rassul\x92s head. It lingered for a second in the gaslight before melting slowly into a drop of water which ran down his hairless neck like a tear down a mourner\x92s cheek.

As she stumbled her way after Rassul, Nyssa realized that the others were walking with the same measured tread as their leader. It reminded her for a moment of a ceremonial procession on Traken.

It reminded her of a funeral cortege.

The candles guttered and danced in the draught from the open door. The light flickered across the relics and played along the walls. It pooled on the floor, reflected off the high windows.

If she had not remembered the path they had taken to get back there, Nyssa might not have recognized the relic room. As she was guided in, it seemed to Nyssa that every available surface hosted a candelabra. Each of the candles kept its own tiny halo within reach, allowing it to toss and twist but never to break free of the fizzling wick. Shadows crept across the room, and then jumped back into the gloom as a flame edged towards them for a second before changing direction again. Trails of oily black smoke spiralled upwards towards the ceiling as if rising through murky water, desperate to reach the air.

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The dark figures of her cloaked captors processed slowly through the room. A dark cat watched their progress with statue eyes; the dead faces painted on the sarcophagi followed their journey to the far end of the long room. Nyssa let herself be carried with the tide. She could smell the acrid candle fumes, could taste the caustic smoke in the back of her dry mouth. She tried not to cough and the effort brought tears to her eyes. Tears that she had been trying to keep inside.

As they neared the end of the room, Nyssa could smell something else. There was a perfumed, sweet, almost sticky smell. Incense and flowers, honey and myrrh. She looked round, trying to locate the source, and out of the corner of an eye caught sight of the flicker-lit blue of the TARDIS. She gasped, taking in a deep mouthful of the sticky sweetness. She almost laughed for joy, but the sound stuck in her throat as she was pushed forward, away from the hope of escape.

Her vision was blurring, hazing over as a firm hand on her shoulder drew Nyssa to a stop. She blinked back the smoky tears and saw that she was standing in front of the sarcophagus Tegan had been examining. A lifetime ago. The dark, impassive, carved face stared back at her. The arms were crossed over the chest, each hand holding a staff. Almost unconsciously Nyssa copied the gesture, bringing her cloak tighter about her. A phrase of Tegan\x92s lingered in the back of her memory: \x91Cross my heart.\x92

Beside the sarcophagus stood tall incense burners, one each side. Through the increasing muzziness of the sweet haze, Nyssa registered that the sticky smell was dripping from the smoking contents of the bowls of the burners. She swayed on her feet, feeling the weight of her body rock on the backs of her heels for a second.

Rassul stepped in front of Nyssa. He bowed low to the sarcophagus, then turned to face her. With a swift movement he shrugged off his cape. Beneath it his chest was bare, adorned only with a gold necklace which hung in heavy strands across his torso. Below it he wore what looked like an ornate skirt.

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Nyssa swayed again, as if in the breeze, and noted with a light-headed giggle that he wore sandals on his feet. The leather twisted into an oval over his toes. The shape mirrored the curled end of the stave the sarcophagus figure held.

The other figures clustered round behind Nyssa, attention fixed on Rassul. When he spoke, his voice had taken on a deep, plangent tone that echoed round the room, glancing off caskets and cutting a path through the smoke and incense.

\x91The time is now.\x92 He raised his arms above his head. \x91We bring the chosen one to the gateway at the appointed time. It is as it was written; as I remember it to have been.\x92 Rassul turned back to the sarcophagus, crossing his arms across his chest, imitating the carved figure. \x91I make the sign of the eye, and send you a new receptacle. The chosen one.\x92

Somewhere deep within the sarcophagus a hum of energy was building. A blue light flickered with the candles across the face of the casket.

\x91From across the ages, we provide your continuing imprisonment, and your ultimate release. When Orion is aligned, when power is rife, then it is said that you will live again.\x92

The noise was rising like a major chord on a large organ. The blue light strobed into a swirling vortex of colour, and the front of the sarcophagus dissolved into a whirl of light bleeding into its dark outline.

\x91The waiting is almost over. I begin the final act.\x92 Rassul\x92s laugh echoed over the chord.

Nyssa felt herself propelled towards the vortex. She struggled for a moment, but then realized that nobody was holding her, nobody was pushing her. But in the second she looked behind, she saw a figure through the incense-mist, a figure standing behind Rassul\x92s followers. Watching. The figure stepped back into the shadows as Nyssa turned away again. But she had caught a glimpse of him, had seen the shadow of his ruined face. But the image that her retina retained was not the pallid glow of the moonlight on the sunken, blackened features of his face. It was the snow clinging to his matted hair and his heavy cloak. The snow which seemed to have crystallized into a layer of ice, when it should have melted in the heat from his body.

Nyssa was being drawn closer, into the kaleidoscope of light. She clasped her hands tightly over her shoulders as the blackness closed around her and Rassul\x92s laughter faded into the hazy distance.

\x91Cross my heart,\x92 Tegan\x92s voice murmured in Nyssa\x92s ear as she fell from consciousness and into the casket. \x91Cross my heart, and hope to die.\x92

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\x91I\x92m sorry, Lord Kenilworth, but I\x92m going to have to ask you to trust me.\x92 The Doctor clenched and unclenched his hands as he spoke.

But Kenilworth snorted at his exasperation. \x91Well, wouldn\x92t be the first time, would it?\x92 He drew on his cigar and let out a breath of smoke. It drifted across the drawing room, thinning and dissolving somewhere above the mantelpiece. \x91Reckon you deserve that though, after everything.\x92

\x91Yes, well,\x92 the Doctor scratched his head, half stood up from where he was seated on the sofa, then sat down again. \x91I\x92d rather we didn\x92t discuss that in any detail, if you don\x92t mind.\x92

\x91Why not?\x92 Tegan was standing on the far side of the room, arms folded, staring down into the coffin. She looked up, and the Doctor had to twist in the sofa to see her properly. \x91What\x92s happening here, Doctor?\x92 She held his gaze for several seconds. \x91I want to know.\x92

\x91Well, if we\x92re to help Nyssa, there are some things I need to know. But I\x92m wary of knowing too much.\x92

\x91Not much fear of that so far.\x92

\x91Tegan,\x92 the Doctor chided.

\x91So what do you want to know, eh?\x92 Kenilworth was examining his port. He took a sip and nodded appreciatively.

The Doctor picked up his own glass, stared at it for a moment, then put it carefully back on the table beside him. \x91I must ask you to bear with me, Kenilworth. I\x92m going to ask you about things which you will tell me I already know. But please answer my questions about where and when the mummy was found as best you can. And please don\x92t add any extra information, I only want a direct answer.\x92

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Kenilworth shrugged. \x91Fire away, old man.\x92

The Doctor turned back to Tegan. \x91And I\x92d be grateful if you could curb your natural inquisitiveness for a while, Tegan.\x92

She stared at him. \x91Doctor, Nyssa is in a coffin here dying.\x92 Her voice had dropped an octave. \x91I want to know why. And I want to know how to save her.\x92

\x91So do I, Tegan. Believe me, so do I.\x92 The Doctor heaved himself out of the sofa and crossed to her. He hesitated a moment, hand raised, then he patted her gently on the shoulder. \x91But there are wider implications. There\x92s great danger in knowing too much. We will help Nyssa - I think we already have. But we can\x92t risk damaging the web of time.\x92

\x91Please, Doctor,\x92 Tegan whispered. \x91She\x92s all I have left.\x92

The Doctor blinked.

\x91Apart from you.\x92

\x91I\x92m doing what I can, Tegan.\x92 He shook his head. \x91If good old Blinovitch could see me now, he\x92d be turning in his urn.\x92

The Doctor gave a short laugh. Then he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and coughed, staring at the floor. \x91Sorry,\x92 he muttered, and turned away.

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A stream of bright sunlight made Nyssa blink. It brought tears to her eyes, and she rubbed at them as she sat up. She found herself sitting up inside a box. Or rather a casket - it looked like the same sarcophagus as she had fallen into in the British Museum, but without the lid.

She looked round the room. A large glassless window allowed the sun to shine directly into the stone-floored room. A gold jug and goblets stood on a low wooden table by the door, and heavy tapestries hung across the walls. Two chairs stood angled towards the casket, which was raised on a dais. In one of the chairs sat a man.

Nyssa\x92s first thought was that it was Rassul. He wore a similar necklace and kilt, and he was completely bald. But he was older, much older. Wrinkles creased his brow and the flesh on his chest sagged over a full belly. Behind him stood a young woman, her dark hair cut into straight lengths to her shoulders. She wore a skirt similar to the man\x92s kilt, and an ornate halter top which looked as though it was made of gold and studded with semi-precious stones. The stones glinted in the sunlight.

\x91Welcome,\x92 said the man. \x91I am Amosis, priest of the goddess.\x92

\x91Goddess?\x92 the sunlight seemed less intense now that her eyes had adjusted and Nyssa glanced back towards the window. Outside she could see the pointed silhouettes of two huge pyramids outlined against the horizon, the sun shining between them, hardening their edges.

\x91And this is Sitamun, handmaiden to the goddess.\x92 Amosis gestured to the woman. She smiled nervously and stepped forward so she was level with the priest\x92s chair.

\x91What goddess? What\x92s going on? What is this place?\x92 Nyssa was suddenly incredibly tired. She felt herself slumping back into the casket.

\x91Why, you are the goddess,\x92 Amosis said quietly. \x91Or at least, you will be.\x92

Nyssa felt the cold base of the casket hard against her back.

\x91I welcome you as the chosen one of the gods. The new Nephthys.\x92

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The Valley of the Kings - 2000 BC

The air was hot and close, sweat dripping from the stone walls of the passageway. Massud beckoned, waving the smoking torch to illuminate the way. The others stumbled after him, elation at their success so far tempered by trepidation about what lay ahead.

They had been digging for days. Or rather, for nights. Long nights, hidden from the daily observations of the priest-guardians of the tomb on the far side of the valley. The tunnel was low and narrow, in contrast to the high vaulted ceiling of the wide, sloping passageway they had intersected. Their goal, their calling, their goddess was in sight. So they stumbled onwards, oblivious to the heat and the humidity, not caring about the stale air or the darkness. They feared only the goddess, and failure.

The heavy doors were sealed with a crimson rope. It was tied tightly around the huge handles, knotted and dipped in wax. The decay of the ages clung to the cord, and it exploded in a cloud of dust and frayed fragments as Massud cut through it with his knife. With a backward glance to his comrades - sufficient to gain their confidence and approval, but not enough to be infected by their anxiety and fear - he pushed against the heavy double doors. And with a creak of ancient protest, they swung slowly open.

The eye of Horus watched unblinking, disapproving, from where it was inlaid in the passage floor. A faint glow suffused the air around the ornate pupil, a reflection perhaps of the torches above it as they clustered in the doorway. Then Massud stepped tentatively over the threshold. And the eye at his feet flashed brilliant red.

The wind ripped through the passage like a typhoon. Massud was the only one of them inside the doorway, and yet the hurricane that erupted from inside seemed to sweep past him. He staggered forwards in the eye of the gale, while his comrades were blown against the passage walls. He was oblivious to their fate as he battled his way onwards into the tomb.

Behind him, Massud\x92s brother Ahmed crashed into one of the open doors. Blood streamed from his face as he collapsed back on to the floor and tumbled away. Thutmos the camel trader clawed at the cracks between the stone slabs on the floor, his fingers tearing and the skin rippling on his cheeks. He clung on for several seconds, then bounced down the corridor like a Shabti doll hurled from the tomb doorway.

Page 20
  

Within the tomb, Massud struggled onwards. He was leaning into the wind, his loose clothing blown back against his body as he inched forwards. As he reached the sarcophagus, he lost his footing and crashed to the floor. His knee crunched on the flagstones and he screamed in pain. But he dragged himself onwards. So close now, so close.

In front of him he could see the relics placed on low shelves round the head of the casket. He could see the canopic jar, its stopper carved in the shape of the head of Anubis the jackal. The god\x92s ceramic eyes watched his progress unblinking. Massud\x92s hand reached out towards the jar, and the red glow from the passageway outside seemed to grow stronger even as the screams of his friends died away.

With a final effort, Massud hurled himself forward. His fingertips connected with the stopper, and the jar tottered for a long second. The wind dropped, as if holding its breath with Massud, while the jar rolled on its base and rocked back again. It teetered of the rim, then slipped from the low shelf into space.

The wind returned, stronger than ever. Massud was swept against the wall of the tomb, the back of his head smashing against the carved stone and splitting open like a rotten egg.

The last thing Massud saw before he died was the canopic jar rolling towards him across the floor of the tomb. It was still intact, but a dark crack ran the length of it. Perhaps it was enough, enough for him to pass through the Hall of the Two Truths and for the goddess to welcome him to the afterlife.

The jar rolled itself to a halt against Massud\x92s face. The glazed eyes of Anubis stared into those of the graverobber, and the wind died away. The jar rocked slightly in a growing, viscous pool of blood. And darkness returned.

Page 22
  

Rassul woke suddenly. His head felt like it was splitting. And through the crack in his mind he could feel something forcing its way in. Was it guilt? Anger? He did not need to ask himself what he should feel guilt or anger about. And that acceptance of the truth was itself unusual.

He rose stiffly from his wooden bed and went to the window. He was alone of course. He had not shared his bed since his only wife had died in childbirth. So long ago now, so alone for so long. Outside the pyramids stood stark against the night sky. A jackal called out somewhere in the distance, a long lonely wail.

As he turned to go back to bed, he saw a figure standing in the shadows by the door. He could not see who it was, but the servants all knew better than the disturb him without good cause. But before Rassul could say anything, the figure spoke. Its voice was cracked like an old flute playing in the wind. \x91The tomb was broken into tonight.\x92

\x91Robbed?\x92 Rassul did not need to ask which tomb. Only one mattered - the tomb he lived to protect.

\x91No,\x92 the figure said. \x91The robbers did not complete their task.\x92

\x91The gods be thanked.\x92

\x91But they have started something. Something that must be finished.\x92

\x91What do you mean?\x92 Rassul was worried now. For a second he saw the hourglass, sand dripping from the upper bowl as it sifted through the seconds of eternity. Why had none of the priests alerted him to the events if the robbers had been disturbed? \x91Who are you and how do you know this?\x92 he demanded.

The figure rattled a laugh. \x91A jar was cracked. The priests are discovering it even now, binding it with hessian and praying for guidance. They will come to you soon for advice. You are the one chosen to watch over the tomb, the one granted the lonely years of vigil. They fear for their lives, and for the life of Egypt.\x92

\x91Cracked,\x92 Rassul could taste the same fear, he knew how the priests would be feeling.

\x91But not broken?\x92

\x91No,\x92 the voice sounded almost sad. \x91But the crack is enough. The process begins. Your own feelings are proof enough of the power of the goddess.\x92

\x91My feelings?\x92 Rassul stepped back a pace. The guilt and anger had made him shout, had confessed the truth of what the man said.

\x91Your feelings,\x92 the voice repeated. \x91And my presence.\x92

A sudden thought occurred to Rassul. \x91Wait, how did they get past the test of the Shabti?\x92

The figure\x92s laugh was a dry, rasping death rattle. \x91We were told the answer before we entered the tomb.\x92

\x91You? Who by? Only one person knows the secret of the riddle.\x92

\x91Exactly. One who serves the goddess, and yet knows it not. One who will be her servant in the empty years ahead now that the chain of events is started, now that the inevitable is set on its course.\x92

The crack in Rassul\x92s head seemed to split wide open. He could see clearly for the first time, knew his destiny. And he remembered meeting the man in the marketplace, recalled slipping him the papyrus on which he had scrawled the answer. Sadan Rassul, the only living man to know the secret of the riddle, but until now he had not known his own purpose.

The figure\x92s croaking voice broke into his realization. \x91You know what you must do. You have always known. And now is the time.\x92

\x91A replacement vessel,\x92 Rassul murmured. But he knew that they must find another form of container, the canopic jar could not be repaired or imitated. They would have to pray that the gods again provided the means to their ends.

Page 24
  

\x91Yes,\x92 the figure in the shadows hissed. \x91You see, already the spirit of the goddess is within you. You will be a good servant to her in the long lonely ages ahead.\x92 The figure reached out its hand towards Rassul. It was holding something, gesturing for him to take it.

\x91Me?\x92 Rassul was aghast. \x91But why me? Why not you?\x92 Yet even as he questioned how he would come to serve the one he was sworn to keep in thrall, he knew that the shadowy figure spoke the truth. And he took the hourglass the figure was holding out to him, the sands spiralling down into the lower bowl. He had known already what he had to do, had known since the tomb was sealed and he had started the hourglass sands on their courses. It was the only way he would ever -

The figure broke into his thoughts again: \x91I am not fit for the years that lie ahead, for the waiting and the planning.\x92 The final words were almost a gasp as the figure collapsed: \x91I am dead already.\x92 It fell forwards into the room, making no attempt to save itself or break the fall. The body landed with a dull thud at Rassul\x92s feet.

Outside he could hear the commotion as the messenger from the priests hammered on the door and demanded to be let in. He could hear the servants moving around downstairs, and the bolts being drawn.

And at his feet, sudden in a shaft of moonlight, he could see the dark mass of congealed blood. It caked the back of the head of what had once been a man. The skull was smashed inwards, split open like a rotten egg.

Page 26
  

Chapter Three

The enamel of Tegan\x92s teeth was hard against her knuckles. She and Kenilworth stood at the end of the sarcophagus. In front of them, Nyssa\x92s bandaged body lay silent and still.

The Doctor had finished unwrapped her head, and was leaning into the casket. His right hand was against Nyssa\x92s cheek, her hair spread dry and dusty over his fingers. With his other hand he was pinching the bridge of his nose, head back and eyes tight shut in concentration.

Suddenly the Doctor moved. He took a deep, rasping breath, opened his eyes, and stretched. Then he yawned, blinked, and smiled broadly at Tegan.

\x91That should do it,\x92 he said with evident satisfaction.

\x91She\x92s going to be okay?\x92

The Doctor nodded. \x91Yes. A bit tired when she eventually wakes, but otherwise fine.\x92 He laughed and made his way along the casket, clapping Tegan on the shoulder as soon as he was within reach. \x91Ironic really, four thousand years asleep and she\x92ll be tired.\x92 He walked over to the fire and held out his hands to warm them.

Kenilworth and Tegan laughed with him.

\x91Well, that\x92s that then, eh Doctor? Glad it\x92s finally over, I must say.\x92

\x91I\x92ll stay with her till she wakes,\x92 Tegan said quietly.

The Doctor turned back from the fire. \x91Ah,\x92 he said. \x91Actually, there are a couple of things I should mention. I\x92m afraid it\x92s not over. Not yet. And I don\x92t think you\x92ll want to wait here for Nyssa to wake up.\x92

\x91Doctor, I want to be with her when she comes round. She should see a friendly face.\x92

The Doctor drew a deep breath. \x91I doubt it would actually be very friendly, Tegan.\x92

\x91What do you mean?\x92

The Doctor started a slow tour of the room. He picked up ornaments and ran his finger over dust-free surfaces, avoiding meeting Tegan\x92s gaze as he spoke. \x91Nyssa\x92s been in a deep coma for a very very long time. It\x92s rather like a diver going down to the deepest depths. The body adjusts to the change in conditions. And the deeper you go, and the longer you stay there, the more slowly you have to return to the surface.\x92

\x91Pressure?\x92 Kenilworth asked.

\x91Something like that, yes. Oxygen levels in the blood, pressure, whatever. In Nyssa\x92s case, her metabolic rate has been so slow for so long that it would be fatal to wake her too quickly. We have to raise the levels slowly. Very slowly, in fact.\x92

\x91So it will be a while before she wakes up?\x92

The Doctor nodded.

\x91How long?\x92

\x91Well, er, longer than you\x92d want to wait here I think, Tegan. I can\x92t say exactly but I\x92ve aimed for a good round figure. Should be accurate within a minute or two.\x92

\x91Twenty-four hours?\x92

The Doctor sucked in his cheeks and examined the frame of a particularly interesting portrait.

\x91A week, more like,\x92 Kenilworth suggested. \x91As the Doctor says, it\x92ll be a very slow process.\x92

\x91A week?!\x92 Tegan crossed to where the Doctor was now admiring the canvass. \x91Doctor, do we really have to wait a whole week to see if Nyssa\x92s all right?\x92

\x91Hmm?\x92 He seemed to realize Tegan was talking to him only when she tugged at his sleeve. \x91A week? Oh no. Nothing like.\x92 He returned his attention to the picture. \x91More like a century,\x92 he muttered. \x91Just look at the brushwork on that.\x92

Page 27
  

Tegan had never liked brandy, but she seemed to be drinking a lot of it recently. She gulped down the glassful that Atkins brought her. She was sitting on an upright chair beside the sofa where Kenilworth and the Doctor were comparing notes on the quality of the port. Her hands were shaking and she was barely aware of their conversation.

\x91Doctor,\x92 Kenilworth said at length, his tone becoming more serious, \x91will it really take a hundred years for your friend to awaken?\x92

The Doctor nodded. He drained the last of his port and held the glass up so that the firelight was caught dancing in its facets. \x91Could I ask you a favour?\x92

\x91Of course.\x92

\x91It\x92s a big favour,\x92 he warned.

Kenilworth shrugged. \x91Doctor, I owe you my life several times over. Whatever it is, it\x92s not a big favour for you to ask.\x92

\x91I don\x92t want to know - no details, please.\x92

\x91And the favour?\x92

The Doctor stood and placed his empty glass on the mantel shelf. \x91Look after our friend until she wakes.\x92

\x91I don\x92t think I\x92ll be here when she wakes, Doctor. I don\x92t think any of us will.\x92

\x91Maybe not,\x92 the Doctor said hesitantly, shooting Tegan a warning look. \x91But perhaps you could make arrangements of some sort? She must be kept level, and undisturbed.\x92

Kenilworth thought for a while, sipping at his port. Eventually he nodded. \x91There is a cellar we don\x92t use. I\x92ll have it cleared out and she can rest down there. We\x92ll block off the access except for a trap door or something. I\x92ll arrange for the responsibility for her safety to be passed on to someone I can trust when, well - when the time comes.\x92

Page 28
  

\x91Thank you.\x92 The Doctor smiled. \x91Now, I\x92d better wrap Nyssa\x92s head again. The bandages are impregnated with various chemicals which help preserve the tissue over the years. She\x92d never forgive me if she woke up with wrinkles.\x92 He grinned as Tegan managed a half-smile.

When he had finished, the Doctor sat down beside Kenilworth again. \x91There is just one other small thing,\x92 he said, patting his pockets.

\x91Oh?\x92

The Doctor took a card from his pocket. It was the printed invitation to the unwrapping. He held it up so that both Kenilworth and Tegan had a good view of it. Then he ripped it in half, taking care to make the edge ragged and uneven. He handed one half to Kenilworth.

\x91A hundred years from now,\x92 the Doctor said, \x91someone will come for the body, will come to see Nyssa when she wakes.\x92

Tegan looked up from her empty brandy glass.

Kenilworth nodded. \x91I understand,\x92 he said. \x91And to identify themselves...\x92

The Doctor nodded. \x91They will bring the matching half of the invitation.\x92

Page 29
  

Sitamun had been a handmaiden in the temple of Nephthys since she was a child. Her father had been a priest of the temple, and his father before him. Sitamun\x92s elder brother was also a priest, and his son would doubtless follow the same calling. But Sitamun was blessed above them all, for she was handmaiden to the returned goddess herself. And whatever might be written or said about the goddess Nephthys, this incarnation seemed kind and gentle.

The scribe followed Sitamun into the temple chamber. Together they kissed the floor in front of the goddess.

\x91I wish you wouldn\x92t do that,\x92 the goddess said again. She leaned forward on her throne and waved them away. The chair was wooden, with high arms and a low back. The seat and back of the chair were painted crimson, the rest was leafed in gold. Sitamun smiled and bowed. She knew she was being tested. Not to show due honour would be to invite the legendary wrath of the goddess.

The goddess was in a quiet mood. She did not speak of the strange things she had mentioned when she first appeared to them, and she seemed less distracted and annoyed than previously. Perhaps she was coming to terms with her earthly manifestation.

Sitamun stood to the side while the scribe set up his wooden palette.

\x91Who is this?\x92

Page 30
  

Sitamun bowed low. \x91He is a junior draughtsman, my goddess.\x92

\x91And what is he doing?\x92

\x91He is here to make a drawing of you.\x92

The draughtsman smiled nervously and held up the red ochre, reed brush and plaster sketchpad. \x91I am merely to capture the outline of the goddess,\x92 he bowed.

\x91Why?\x92

\x91Why? I\x92m sorry, I do not understand.\x92

The goddess leaned back heavily in her chair and sighed. \x91Why?\x92 she repeated. \x91What for?\x92

\x91So that the senior draughtsman can correct it with his black ink, and the painters may paint it.\x92 The goddess said nothing for a while. The draughtsman began to draw his grid on the pad. Sitamun hoped that the answer had satisfied the goddess.

\x91Then what? What is the painting for?\x92

The goddess seemed to be making an effort to keep her voice low and calm. Concentrating on trying to understand the question and the mood of the goddess, Sitamun answered without thinking. As soon as she had started to speak, she remembered the warning of the high priest, reiterated by the priest Amosis. But it was too late, the words were out. \x91For the lid of your sarcophagus, my goddess,\x92 she said. \x91For your funeral and burial tomorrow.\x92

Page 31
  

Atkins was discussing the arrangements for the next day with Miss Warne when the bell rang. They had gone over the menus for the day, and had exchanged views on the performance and demeanour of the new scullery maid. Atkins enjoyed their talks at the end of each day, though of course he could never tell Miss Warne that. The very suggestion that he might derive some satisfaction other than purely professional from such discussions was out of the question, but he did not wish to burden Miss Warne with that possibility.

The flag showed that it was the bell pull in the drawing room. \x91If you will excuse me, Miss Warne,\x92 Atkins said as he rose, \x91I shall just attend to his Lordship.\x92

\x91I should have thought he had already retired for the night,\x92 Miss Warne said.

Atkins felt a little discomforted to sense her gaze on him as he crossed to the door. He turned back, ignoring the brief smile Miss Warne flashed him, and deliberately failed again to notice how perfectly her dark hair framed her oval face. If he were ever to compliment her, it would be on her professionalism or perhaps her choice of correct attire rather than any cosmetic appearance. But aware that perhaps his eyes had lingered too long on the pale skin and the dark eyes, he decided a mild rebuke was more in order. \x91It is not for us to question the habits of his Lordship, or to try to predict his timetable,\x92 Atkins said sternly. Then he turned and walked stiffly and quickly from the room. If he knew that Miss Warne was watching him as he traversed the corridor, his deliberate stride did not indicate it.

\x91Ah, Atkins,\x92 Lord Kenilworth greeted his butler as he entered the drawing room. Kenilworth was standing in front of the dying fire, staring into the last embers as they glowed weakly in the grate.

\x91Sir?\x92

\x91Deuced annoying.\x92 Kenilworth turned to face Atkins. \x91The Doctor and Miss Tegan have just left. On their way back to the British Museum for whatever reason.\x92

\x91Indeed, sir.\x92

Page 32
  

\x91Fact is, what with one thing and another, all those instructions and so forth...\x92 Kenilworth\x92s voice trailed off as he looked across the room at the open sarcophagus.

\x91Instructions, sir?\x92

\x91Hmm? Oh yes, lots of them. We\x92ll sort it out in the morning, I think. Anyway, meantime I forgot to ask the Doctor whether we should replace the lid on the sarcophagus. He didn\x92t say, but you never know.\x92

Atkins waited patiently for his master to elaborate. He had little idea what Lord Kenilworth was talking about, but it was not his place to ask. His lordship always knew best.

\x91Well, anyway, the lid\x92s at the British Museum in any case. Along with all the other relics we donated to poor old Russell Evans for his collection there. So, perhaps you could catch up with the Doctor, or even meet him there, and ask?\x92

\x91Of course, sir.\x92 Atkins wondered if it was still snowing outside. He would need a coat for sure, like last night.

\x91Sorry to send you out in this beastly cold again tonight. But, you know, might be important.\x92

\x91No problem at all, sir.\x92 Perhaps Miss Warne would oblige by waiting up and organizing some hot soup for when he returned. It had been most welcome the previous night. He really ought to have thanked her, he supposed. But at the time it seemed quite natural that she should provide some warm sustenance.

\x91Good man,\x92 Kenilworth said.

Atkins took this as a dismissal, and saw himself out.

Page 33
  

As she slowly ascended the staircase, in marked contrast to their race down it the previous night, Tegan reflected that at last they were doing something. That said, she was not entirely sure what it was. Partly this was because of the Doctor\x92s inability to answer straight questions with a straight answer, and partly it was because her mind was still dulled by shock and the after-effects of the brandy. But for the first time since Nyssa had disappeared, Tegan felt the Doctor was displaying some sense of purpose and deliberation rather than rushing from one enigma to another.

Everything seemed to be going well. The Doctor was in a good mood, whistling his way through the light sprinkling of snow. The side door to the museum was, by some miracle, unlocked, and nobody challenged them as they made their way back up to the Egyptian Room.

But then they opened the door and went in.

The room glowed. Light flickered and spilled out on to the stairway as soon as the Doctor opened the door. They stepped hesitantly over the threshold and looked around. Every spare surface seemed to have a candles set upon it. Most had burned a good way down, some had burned themselves out into pools of congealed smouldering wax. The air hung with the smoke and the smell.

\x91Someone\x92s been busy,\x92 the Doctor commented quietly as he made his way further into the room.

Tegan followed. \x91I\x92ll say. What\x92s going on?\x92

The Doctor shrugged. \x91Wish I knew.\x92 He grinned at her through the smoky air. \x91Perhaps one of the mummies has a birthday and they thought they\x92d celebrate.\x92

\x91Yeah,\x92 said Tegan, \x91sure. They\x92ll be doing the Monster Mash next.\x92

Page 34
  

The Doctor rocked back on his heels and exhaled loudly. \x91I hope not,\x92 he said. Then he spun round and headed off down the room. \x91Still, it\x92ll have to keep,\x92 he called back as he went.

Tegan started to speak, then changed her mind. She shook her head and set off after him. \x91Looks like a cheap remake of Tales from the Crypt,\x92 she muttered, scowling at a sarcophagus lid standing upright against the wall as she passed.

Then she stopped, in mid stride, turned and went back. She peered through the smoke-haze at the face on the sarcophagus lid. Then she shook her head again, blinked several times, and went closer. \x91Look at this, Doctor,\x92 she called.

\x91Tegan, Tegan - what is it now?\x92 the Doctor asked as he spun round and headed back towards her.

\x91Look, Doctor. Look at the face.\x92

\x91It\x92s just a sarcophagus,\x92 the Doctor said, not bothering to look. \x91They painted representations of the, what shall we say - owners.\x92 He followed Tegan\x92s gaze and peered at the face painted on the lid. \x91Some of the paintings were actually quite good,\x92 he said slowly. Then he went closer and looked again. Finally he reached out and flicked a grubby handkerchief over the cracked paintwork. \x91Actually, it reminds me of someone,\x92 he said, puzzled. \x91If only I could remember who.\x92 He stared again at the female face, framed by curled brown hair. \x91Unusual for her not to be wearing a straight wig.\x92

\x91Doctor,\x92 said Tegan quietly, \x91it\x92s Nyssa.\x92

The Doctor spun round instantly. \x91Where?\x92 he demanded looking round the room.

\x91There,\x92 Tegan pointed. \x91The painting.\x92

Page 35
  

The Doctor looked again. \x91Do you know,\x92 he said after a while, \x91I think you\x92re right. This must be the lid of Kenilworth\x92s sarcophagus. I wonder how it got here.\x92

\x91You should know,\x92 a deep voice said, \x91Doctor.\x92 It came from somewhere behind Tegan.

\x91I\x92m sorry?\x92 The Doctor and Tegan both turned to see who had spoken.

As if on cue, figures stepped out of the shadows all round the room. They were cloaked and hooded, each holding a candle. The guttering flames threw sharp shadows across their faces, making them look to Tegan like characters escaped from a Munch painting.

\x91Sorry,\x92 said the Doctor as he and Tegan backed away, \x91we didn\x92t mean to interrupt. Please just carry on with whatever you were doing.\x92

\x91We\x92ll see ourselves out,\x92 Tegan suggested.#

But the leading figure shook his head beneath his hood. \x91Oh no,\x92 he said in his deep, accented voice. \x91I think now that you are here, we can find some role for you to play in our humble proceedings. Don\x92t you?\x92

He waved an arm, and dark figures leapt forward from either side, grabbing the Doctor and Tegan and dragging them into the centre of the room. Tegan struggled, kicking and trying to pull her arms free. But she was hampered by her own cloak and the restrictions of her Victorian dress. She could do little to prevent herself from being dragged across the room.

\x91At least they\x92re taking us towards the TARDIS,\x92 she hissed to the Doctor.

Page 37
  

\x91I\x92m not sure that helps, actually,\x92 the Doctor replied through gritted teeth. \x91Careful with that elbow,\x92 he warned one of his captors as he was wrenched away.

The shout came from the doorway, loud and clear, commanding and confident. \x91Stop that, do you hear?\x92 Another figure, tall and thin, stepped into the candlelight. \x91These people are colleagues and friends of Lord Kenilworth, and you will answer to him if they are mistreated.\x92

\x91Indeed?\x92 asked the leader of the cloaked figures.

\x91Yes, sir. Indeed.\x92

The leader laughed. \x91The admirable Atkins. I think perhaps you had better join our revels.\x92

Before he had time to react, two more silhouettes stepped from the shadows by the door and dragged him over to join the Doctor and Tegan.

\x91Good plan,\x92 Tegan said.

Atkins seemed a little flustered. \x91What the devil - what do these people want with us, Doctor?\x92

\x91I\x92m not sure yet. But I\x92m afraid Tegan is right, you would have been better advised to make a run for it.\x92

By now the Doctor, Tegan and Atkins had been dragged to the far end of the room. They were facing the sarcophagus which Tegan had seen glow the previous night. Behind them the TARDIS stood stark, and unobtainable.

Page 38
  

\x91How kind of you all to join us,\x92 the leader of the assailants said. \x91I feel I know you so well, that perhaps I should introduce myself.\x92

\x91Yes,\x92 Tegan told him, \x91perhaps you should.\x92

\x91I am Sadan Rassul, servant and high priest.\x92

\x91Really?\x92 asked the Doctor. \x91Of whom?\x92

\x91Of the one true goddess. Despised and rejected by her brother and her nephew, but her time is coming. Soon,\x92 Rassul whispered, \x91very soon now.\x92

\x91Well, I\x92ve nothing booked for the next few years,\x92 the Doctor hazarded. \x91I\x92m happy to wait around for an audience. How about you two?\x92 he asked Tegan and Atkins.

\x91I fear Miss Warne will have some broth waiting,\x92 Atkins said seriously. \x91And of course his lordship will wish to know that I conveyed his message to you.\x92

\x91Silence,\x92 Rassul hissed. \x91Your time is over.\x92 He stepped closer to them and threw back the hood of his cloak. Beneath it he was completely bald, the candlelight reflecting off the top of his head almost like a halo. The skin of his face was smooth, but Tegan could see faint hairline cracks just visible below the surface, as if his head were made of porcelain and the cracks ran under the glaze. \x91You know,\x92 Rassul said, \x91how Osiris was tricked by Seth and placed inside a casket which fitted him exactly?\x92

\x91No,\x92 said Tegan.

\x91Yes,\x92 said the Doctor, \x91I do recall something of the sort.\x92

Atkins nodded.

Page 39
  

Rassul ignored them all anyway. \x91The casket was sealed and thrown into the river.\x92 He paused and looked at his captives closely. \x91A fitting fate for those who seek to deny the goddess her freedom, her life.\x92

\x91And what makes you think we\x92d do a thing like that, eh?\x92

\x91Don\x92t be facetious, Doctor,\x92 Rassul snapped angrily. \x91I was there. I saw all that you did. But it will come to nothing now. The process is started, the goddess will live again.\x92

\x91You do take your religion very seriously, don\x92t you?\x92

Rassul\x92s answer was quiet, almost whispered. \x91You don\x92t know how seriously, Doctor. You just don\x92t know.\x92 He shook his head, almost sadly. Then he straightened up and snapped his fingers like a whip cracking.

Immediately Rassul\x92s followers started herding their prisoners across the room. As they retreated, Tegan looked behind her and saw that they were being driven towards a group of several large sarcophagi leaned against the wall. She felt a sudden tightness against the back of her legs, and with a crash the rope barrier fell over behind them.

Before long, their backs were pressed against a hard, cold wooden surface. In front of them, Rassul raised his arms high above his head. \x91As the legend said,\x92 he cried out, \x91they shall be sealed forever in a fitting coffin and cast into the flowing depths.\x92 He turned towards the darkest shadows in the corner of the room, as if to get some confirmation or assurance. And it seemed to Tegan that an even darker shape within the shadows nodded its approval.

Tegan could see the Doctor reaching out behind himself to try to keep his balance, felt the lid of the sarcophagus behind her move aside, and saw Atkins tumbled backwards into the darkness. With a cry, she followed, the Doctor a moment after her. She could heard Rassul\x92s laughter echo round the room outside as the door slammed shut on them.

Page 40
  

The snow had stopped falling, but the fog was heavy. The torches held by Rassul\x92s followers glowed eerily in the thick night as they made their way along the deserted streets.

It took eight of them to carry the heavy sarcophagus, holding it on their shoulders like pall bearers. They made their cumbersome way down towards the river, their path lit by the two lines of cloaked figures ahead of them. Rassul and another, darker figure followed behind.

When it reached the bridge, the procession slowed and halted. The bearers turned so that they held the sarcophagus out, over the parapet.

\x91So be it,\x92 said Rassul, his voice all but lost in the fog. And the men carrying the casket let it drop into the river below.

Rassul and the other figure leaned out over the edge. As they watched, the casket resurfaced, water sliding off its lid. Then it sank back into the river, almost disappearing from sight as it was swept downstream. It turned slowly as it was washed away, out of the torchlight.

\x91It is done,\x92 breathed Rassul, although he did not sound as if it was a relief.

\x91I have just one more journey to make,\x92 the figure beside him croaked huskily. It turned and, in the flickering torchlight, Rassul could see inside the hood the figure wore. \x91But for you, it continues.\x92

Rassul nodded. \x91But the end is approaching,\x92 he said, unable to look away from the ruined remains of the figure\x92s hooded face, trying not to inhale the stench of rotting flesh. \x91Soon the goddess will live again.\x92

In the kitchen of Kenilworth House, Susan Warne stirred a pot of vegetable broth and wondered where Henry Atkins had got to. Perhaps this evening he would thank her for her efforts. She knew that almost certainly he would not. But there was just a possibility that he might value her kindness, might show her some appreciation.