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Author's Notes - Justin Richards' guide to The Sands of Time.

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Instalment One

(Note that this contains some minor spoilers - so you might want to read it after reading the instalment)

The Sands of Time was the third Doctor Who novel I wrote for Virgin publishing after Theatre of War and System Shock. Having done one book set in the future well away from Earth, and one in - near enough - the present day, I wanted to vary it again. But I didn't just want to set a story partly in the past, I also wanted to play with the whole notion of time travel, which I felt had been largely neglected in the books and for that matter on television. There is far more potential to the concepts and paradoxes than just using the TARDIS to go to different times and places.

I also wanted to write a sequel to Pyramids of Mars. Again, the whole of Egyptian mythology and the legacy of the Mummy movies from Universal and Hammer had not, I felt, been fully exploited. Rebecca Levene was the editor at Virgin, and she was happy for me to produce a proposal for a sequel, but warned me that she felt it might be tricky given that Pyramids of Mars did rather establish that the last of the Osirans was now dead. But, undaunted, I set to work.

I always start a book by deciding what it is about (as opposed to what happens). This book would be about time and about Egyptology. That decided, I then roughed out a relatively simple storyline which I could embellish and expand. I had read about the 'mummy parties' that the Victorians occasionally held where people were invited to an evening event with drinks and food and the centrepiece was the unwrapping of an Egyptian mummy - ostensibly for educational purposes, but really just for the sensationalism of it. I loved the idea that the guests would gather, and someone would be late but they go ahead anyway - and when the decaying mummy is unwrapped, inside the genuine, ancient wrappings is the missing guest.

That idea obviously developed and evolved, and it gave me something to start from - how could this have happened? What had to take place before that moment for the story to work and where did it lead in consequence? Having got an idea of the shape of my story, I started to add detail. Research is a lovely academic-sounding term. In this case it meant I watched Pyramids of Mars to decide what elements I liked and wanted to include and expand on. Then I got myself copies of all the Universal mummy films and as many of the Hammer ones as I could find, and I watched them. As I went through I made notes of the sequences or ideas that really struck a chord with me and I wanted to include - like the mummy attacking an encampment of archaeologists in Egypt, or the image of the mummy carrying the heroine into a lake...

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Having got a very rough story and a list of things to include, it is then a case of fitting it together like a jigsaw - what happens when? How does it all fit together? There is a balance to be found between including things for the sake of it, and letting your imagination encompass those elements and benefit from the mental exercise of discovering out how it all works.Once you have a story, the next thing to decide is how to tell it. In this case it was made more difficult given that the events don't follow a simple chronological sequence. So whose perception of those events, whose experience of them should the reader be privy to?

There needed to be a central thrust of the narrative, from which I could then decide on occasion to depart in order to clarify certain points and to conceal others. The hardest thing was to decide how to mix it up so it intrigues along the way, and falls into place at the end. So the opening sequence is a defining moment for the story, but we only discover its personal relevance to Rassul at the end of his story. Equally, the Doctor's visit to the Cranleigh wedding might seem like a gratuitous character moment, but it is essential to remind (or inform) readers of certain things that will be necessary to their understanding of the finale...

Another consideration I took into account was that I had been given six months to write Theatre of War, five to write System Shock, and this time Rebecca was hinting that I would get four months - if I was lucky. And I knew that in the next four months I would be travelling a lot to the USA on business. Luckily, laptop computers had been invented and I had one for my work. So I needed to structure the story so that a large part of it was in the form of relatively short chapters or chunks so I could write a complete, discrete section whenever I got some free time while travelling. I can still remember which piece I wrote in a coffee bar in Miami airport, which was accompanied by weak, fizzy American beer and a plate of nachos in a Marriott hotel in Atlanta, which on an uncomfortable chair at the departure gate of Birmingham International... Most of the short sequences between chapters were initially written like this.

Rebecca was very keen on the proposal, but had three problems with it. One was that she didn't like the title as she felt 'The Sands of Time' was a bit of a clich\xE9. I liked it for the same reason, of course - and because it picked up on the Egyptian theme and the notion of time itself and an hourglass. Jokingly, I suggested we could call it Orion's Daughter and for a time it was going to be called Child of Orion - which explains some slightly stilted phraseology late on in the book. Luckily, rather than just insist, Rebecca asked her colleagues at Virgin what they thought, and everyone else liked The Sands of Time.

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Her second problem was that Peter Darvill-Evans had said he wasn't sure it all worked and the various strands of the story fitted properly together. That wasn't to say that he thought it didn't, but that he would like us to be absolutely certain. So to fix that, I produced a flow chart showing the different storylines and following each of the main character's personal time line. It showed the intersections and dependencies. Having been writing a manual and an online tutorial on how to go about designing and writing event-driven and object-oriented program code that seemed to me to be the best way to check my 'narrative design'. What I didn't know is that Peter has a background in those adventure books where you choose the path through the book depending on what action you think the characters should take - and those are designed with a flow chart, not surprisingly. So Peter was well able to interpret what I sent in, and was so impressed he had this huge chart (I think it was about a dozen A4 pages taped together) hanging on the back of his door for several months. Probably so he could marvel at the insanity of the mind behind it.

Story timeline | The Doctor's timeline

Rebecca's third point was really that she agreed with something I had worried about. In my letter accompanying the proposal (on 26 January 1995) I had said:

The main concern I have is that there is no character other than the Doctor and Tegan who goes right through the book. One way to fix this is to set the story after Time-flight, and have just the Doctor and Nyssa. Tegan's role can then be taken by another character - either one we already have (Atkins or Lord Kenilworth), or a new one (museum curator, street urchin, whatever). The only real change to the plot outline would then be to send the character to Norris's cottage by train and taxi rather than by car (in chapters 11 - 12). There again, it may not be a problem at all.

Rebecca agreed we needed to sort this out - with all the temporal to-ing and fro-ing, we really did need a point of view character for the reader apart from the regular TARDIS crew. Without this the book would have been mechanically sound and interesting, but somewhat cold and heartless. Luckily, I was able to fix this as I produced my flow chart and be certain I had not upset anything in the plot by having the character of Atkins travel with the Doctor for a while and experience the story pretty much as the reader does.

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It also gave me a great character who I came to like a lot - my plan for him was that he should start out like the Anthony Hopkins character in The Remains of the Day but then his experiences soften and liberate him to the extent that I could give him the happy ending that Hopkins' butler is unable to achieve simply because of who he is. One of the problems of writing Doctor Who books (and to a lesser extent of any series fiction) is that for a novel to work, your central character has to learn and develop because of their experiences. Now, thanks to Rebacca's perceptive comments, I had a character who could do this in a way that the Doctor never can and his companions rarely manage.

As I told Rebecca when I sent her a final version of the outline (which ran to about 8000 words in all) on 10 March 1995:

The villain, Rassul, now survives the whole book (well, almost). Also, Atkins goes with the Doctor and Tegan on their trans-temporal travels. The outline does not reflect their character development much, but I see Rassul as being a suave religious fanatic. He is rather like a 19th century version of a crooked US evangelist preacher, with more concern for his own style of life than for the after-life. Atkins I think will start off as Anthony Hopkins' character from The Remains of the Day. He is sexually and emotionally repressed and entirely devoted to his role in society to the exclusion of his style of life (spot the contrast with Rassul). He will develop during his travels, as his mind is broadened by exposure to futuristic science, alien menace, death, and - especially - Tegan) into a more balanced individual - to the point where he may even end up proposing to the otherwise dramatically-redundant housekeeper in the final paragraphs...

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Instalment Two

(Note that this contains some minor spoilers - so you might want to read it after reading the instalment)

Have set up a 'teaser' with the discovery that Nyssa has somehow been mummified millennia ago, this section of the book is to do with capitalising on the confusion of the readers and the characters. As the Doctor tries to work out what is going on, so the readers are on the same narrative journey.

That's not to say there isn't room for character work too. This confusion, and the situation, allowed me to explore Tegan's feelings. Without Nyssa and with the Doctor distracted she is very much alone - and Tegan is someone who I thought always puts on an act for whoever she is with. In this section she is in a daze, her world falling apart - in a later chapter she articulates that. It was a useful device later to be able to have Tegan alone with Nyssa's sleeping body in the tomb, thinking about who she really is and what's happening.

This is also a time when I could set up things for later pay-offs. We learn a bit about Rassul's background for example - both explicitly in the sequence where he is told of the grave robbing, and implicitly in his telling Nyssa that 'a father should not outlive his children.' This will be a key pointer to Rassul's motivation, a hook that helps us sympathise with the villain and realise that he, like everyone else, is being used by Nephthys...

It also mirrors the overall theme of time's circularity - Rassul tells Nyssa: 'I have heard it said that a father should not outlive his children.' He does not tell her that it was Nyssa herself who said it to him when he met her for the first time (in his timeline) in ancient Egypt. Nyssa recalls the phrase, and after she is sent back to ancient Egypt she says it back to him (watch out for that in the next exciting installment). Rassul's reaction is instructive, as is the fact that he still remembers her words thousands of years later...

One other thing to watch for - names. It's very difficult to think of names. I spend longer trying to come up with names for characters than anything else, it often seems. When I write an outline, just throwing down ideas and elements, I don't even bother now - it slows me down so much. So my initial outlines are full of people called Fred, George, Bert, Liz, Mary and Jane... Sometimes the name sticks (like George Wilkinson in Time Zero). Trying to find an 'academic' name for a translator I decided to reuse one I'd come up with for Theatre of War - Tobias St. John. I guess he gets about a bit. He's also taken from the first two names of my youngest brother...

e Father of Terror,\x92 Atkins said quietly as he joined them.

\x91Yes,\x92 the Doctor seemed surprised. \x91A rather literal translation, but accurate nonetheless.\x92

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The wrappings were tight and smelled of resin. Nyssa struggled, trying to tear her limbs from the priests who held them pressed against her body. But as the embalmers continued their work, seemingly oblivious to Nyssa\x92s shouts and struggles, she felt her power of movement more and more restricted. Sitamun had not returned, and Nyssa felt alone, helpless, and terrified. Rassul stood watching as the embalmers completed their work.

Only Nyssa\x92s head was now free of the linen wrappings. Amosis was behind her, and she twisted to see what he was doing. He seemed to be mixing powders in a small bowl. As she strained to watch, he dripped some liquid from a small earthenware bottle on to the powder. Immediately it started to bubble and smoke. Amosis held the bowl away from him, taking care not to inhale the fumes, and turned to Rassul.

Rassul took the smoking bowl. He too avoided breathing in the smoke which was now drifting across the room. Nyssa could smell the pungent aroma, it was like the ceremonial incense burned on Traken at religious ceremonies. As Rassul brought the bowl closer she tried to pull away. But her entire body was held firm within the wrappings.

\x91The start of eternity,\x92 Rassul said quietly as he held the bowl one-handed under Nyssa\x92s chin. \x91Drink deep of the fumes of oblivion and know what it is to join Osiris in his netherworld of darkness.\x92

Nyssa tried to keep her head upright, to pull her face away from the smoke rising from the bowl. But with his free hand, Rassul grabbed her hair and forced her to look down into the fumes.

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\x91No, the Doctor will stop you.\x92 Nyssa hoped she sounded confident, but she doubted the Doctor would find her now. \x91He always stops people like you.\x92 She struggled for a moment, shaking her head and trying to pull away. But already she could feel consciousness slipping from her.

\x91No, please -\x92

Nyssa\x92s eyes closed, the smoke stinging under her eyelids.

\x91Tell me about the Doctor.\x92 Rassul\x92s voice floated through the mist, quiet and reasonable.

The smoke was her world, and she felt herself drifting into a deep sleep. The sounds and smells of the room around her, including her own voice as she obeyed Rassul\x92s command, floated into the distance. Her last thought as she lost consciousness, her last thought for millennia, was that wherever she was going, she might find her father.


From his expeditions with Lord Kenilworth, and from general interest, Atkins knew a little of the history and geography of Egypt. When Kenilworth had first started his excursions, obsessed with the notion of making new and exciting discoveries, Atkins had been the only other member of the party. While he was not one to show overt appreciation or emotion, some of his employer\x92s enthusiasm and passion had rubbed off. Atkins had passed many of the lonely evenings in Cairo hotels, while Kenilworth tried vainly to drum up financial support, reading through some of his employer\x92s textbooks and reference works on the subject. If Kenilworth had noticed his manservant\x92s increased interest and erudition, he had been polite enough not to mention it. But he had taken more and more time and trouble to include Atkins in the running of the expeditions. Lady Kenilworth seemed content to leave them to their play, her interest in travel and things Egyptian being limited to her desire to be near her husband.

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When he had, sadly, been forced to suggest that Atkins look after Lady Kenilworth and the London house while he was away on his latest expedition, Atkins had secretly been devastated. But Lady Kenilworth was recovering from a fever and unable to travel, so she needed the support of her butler as well as her housekeeper. Atkins was sure it was for reassurance and because of her ladyship\x92s illness rather than any slight on the abilities of the supremely capable Miss Warne.

Atkins was pleased he had been able to offer some small assistance to the Doctor by translating Abu el Hob. He had felt the same suppressed tremor of delight at the Doctor\x92s appreciation and surprise as when he had first been able to offer informed advice to Kenilworth. So it was in a lighter mood, all problematic thoughts of travelling through the ages and across the continents put aside, that he followed the Doctor and the strange Miss Tegan.

He walked proud, bold and upright, and wondered if perhaps he could remove his jacket. After some deliberation he decided that it would probably be permissible, provided of course he did not loosen his necktie or collar. He carried his jacket over his arm, and wondered whether the Doctor, in his white sweater and long frock coat was not beginning to feel the heat.

\x91Do you know where we\x92re going?\x92 Miss Tegan asked the Doctor.

The Doctor nodded. \x91Of course. I took the precaution of ascertaining from Lord Kenilworth where the tomb was.\x92

\x91And where is it?\x92

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The Doctor stopped, and Atkins caught them up as he pointed to a small pyramid. It stood alone, smaller and closer than the main pyramids, nestled in a hollow as if it had been dug out of the desert. Unlike the other pyramids, which gleamed and shone in the bright sunlight, this pyramid was jet black It seemed almost to absorb the light rather than to reflect it. As Atkins looked, he fancied he could just make out small figures gathered at the base of the pyramid. Some sort of welcoming party for an ant-tiny procession which was making its way slowly across the desert sands towards the structure.

\x91I rather fancy that it\x92s over there,\x92 the Doctor said.


There were eighteen oxen, each steaming hot breath through its flared nostrils and kicking up dust from the sandy floor. The sledge they dragged through the dunes bore a single inlaid casket. Behind the dust-cloud followed the priests and then the mourners.

The shrieking and ululation wailed itself to a halt as the oxen drew up outside the black pyramid. They stamped and blew as the priests surrounded the sledge. The priests lifted the heavy casket and carried it ceremonially to the high doorway into the pyramid. The step up from the sand to the floor level formed a natural dais. The coffin was first lowered to the floor, then raised upright on the threshold so that the stylised female figure looked out over the assembled crowd.

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As at most funerals, almost all of the mourners were hired professionals. They tore their hair, smote their chests and shrieked as if the coffin contained Osiris himself. There was only one person present who could be termed a friend. Standing alone, crying quietly at the back of the mourners, was the handmaiden Sitamun. Alone until she was joined by the Doctor, Tegan and Atkins.

She watched them walk out of the desert and stand at the back of the crowd. Their clothes and their conversation were strange - just as the goddess\x92s had been strange when she first joined Sitamun and Amosis in the anteroom of the temple. Sitamun edged closer and listened, though she understood little of what the newcomers were saying.


\x91I\x92m afraid it looks as though we may be too late,\x92 Atkins pointed to the sarcophagus standing upright in the pyramid entrance. \x91That is the casket in which your friend was incarcerated, is it not?\x92

The Doctor nodded grimly. \x91Looks like Blinovitch was right after all,\x92 he said quietly. \x91Still, it was worth a shot.\x92

\x91A few hours, that\x92s all,\x92 Tegan wiped a tear from her cheek. \x91A few sodding hours earlier and we could have stopped them.\x92

\x91No, Tegan, no.\x92 The Doctor patted her shoulder. \x91It had already happened when we decided to come here. The web of time has crystallized at this node, it might as well be set in stone.\x92

\x91So what do we do?\x92

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\x91Well, we\x92ll just have to try something else. We still have a couple of options, and we\x92re no worse off now than we were before we came.\x92

Tegan was not convinced. \x91It\x92s just, you know - being so close and yet.\x92 She searched for a way to express her frustration, anger and grief. She gave up. \x91Oh, rabbits,\x92 she said.

\x91I am afraid I follow very little of this,\x92 Atkins confessed as they watched the priests fuss round the coffin fifty yards away. \x91But I\x92m not sure how rabbits will help. Unless you are planning some new feat of temporal prestidigitation?\x92

\x91I\x92m afraid not,\x92 the Doctor confessed.

\x91Why don\x92t we just go back to yesterday and try again to save your friend?\x92

\x91Blooming Blinovitch,\x92 Tegan told him.

The Doctor tried to explain more. \x91The link between the time zones - between us and the here and now, if you like - has already been established. Probably by the very fact that Nyssa was brought here. So from now on time moves on at the same relative rate. We spend a day hunting for Nyssa, and a day passes in this time. It\x92s as if the two times, yours and Nyssa\x92s, are joined together by a steel rod, so you can\x92t move one without adjusting the other by the exact same amount.\x92

\x91And why is that?\x92

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This threw the Doctor for a second. \x91Why? Er, well according to Blinovitch it\x92s something to do with temporal dynamics and their relationship to the real world envelope. But I think it\x92s really because otherwise things would just be too easy.\x92

Atkins considered. \x91So we really are too late.\x92

The Doctor did not answer immediately. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at the sand at his feet. Then he raised his head and looked Atkins in the eye. \x91That depends on what for.\x92

They held each other\x92s gaze for a long moment. Then the Doctor flashed a sudden smile, turning abruptly to the young woman who had moved so she was standing next to Atkins. \x91How do you do,\x92 he said, his teeth gleaming white in the sun, \x91I\x92m the Doctor. How can we help?\x92

The woman hesitated, looking from the Doctor to each of his companions in turn. Eventually she asked: \x91You are friends of the goddess?\x92

They looked at her blankly.

\x91Of Nyssa?\x92

The most senior priests removed the lid of the casket, leaving the base and the mummy inside standing in the pyramid doorway. The mummy itself was not completely wrapped. The head was still free of bandages, lolled to one side as if in sleep, dark hair falling in loose curls about the linen shoulders.

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At the back of the crowd of mourners, Tegan turned away, her hands to her mouth.

\x91Oh God,\x92 she gasped. \x91Doctor, I can see her face.\x92


High Priest Rassul, in full regalia, approached the mummy. He held up the ceremonial adze, the loose sleeves of his gold cloak falling like wings to his sides as he held it aloft. Then he turned in a swirl of golden motion and pressed the adze to the mouth of the mummy, parting the girl's lips so that the adze grazed her clenched teeth as she seemed to kiss the blade. As he held the adze in position, Rassul chanted the ancient words of power, the standard litany to restore sight, speech, and hearing to the dead.

Except that the woman was not dead, and would not have her senses restored. Her ba, her soul, would remain forever locked with the ka, the vital force of the body, within the mummified body. And together with them...

Next Rassul weighed the heart. He chanted the words of the incantation for the mummified woman: \x91Oh heart of my being, do not witness against me. Do not betray me before my judges.\x92 It was not her real heart, for that still beat, although more and more slowly, within the woman\x92s breast. Instead a golden replica of a human heart was placed on one side of the scales. The Anubis-priest dropped the feather than symbolised Maat on the other side. And as the scales fell in favour of the heart, the feather lifting away. The priest dressed as Anubis hissed his appreciation, and carried the scales from the pyramid doorway.

Then Rassul took the canopic jar. He carried it carefully, reverently, to the coffin. He held it high above his head so all could see, and then he turned and held it out to the mummified goddess. Rassul\x92s body blocked the crowd\x92s view, so they did not see him tear the stopper from the jar; did not see him thrust the open end towards the face of the goddess; did not see the goddess\x92s hair blown back as if by a breeze. And they did not see Nyssa\x92s eyes snap open, or the hint of a smile that traced across her mouth before the eyes closed again for millennia.

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\x91The weighing of the heart,\x92 the Doctor said, \x91is the ancient Egyptian way of sorting out the wheat from the chaff, or the sheep from the goats.\x92

\x91It is to test innocence and purity,\x92 Sitamun said. She did not understand what the Doctor had meant and felt she should explain.

\x91Huh,\x92 Tegan almost laughed. \x91Nyssa should have no trouble there.\x92

\x91But I don\x92t recognize that last ceremony,\x92 the Doctor went on, ignoring Tegan\x92s comment. \x91Do you know what it was?\x92 he asked the handmaiden.

\x91It was the return of the spirit,\x92 she said simply.

\x91Why?\x92 Tegan said. \x91Where\x92s it gone?\x92

\x91I do not know.\x92

\x91Well, what does the ceremony usually mean? What does it enact?\x92

Sitamun shook her head. \x91I have never seen it before,\x92 she confessed quietly. \x91You mean this is your first funeral?\x92

Sitamun looked at Tegan, puzzled. Then her face fell and she almost burst into tears. Tegan\x92s words seemed to her, a temple handmaiden responsible for the souls of the dead and their departure, an accusation of negligence of her most holy duties. It was Atkins who held her hands and spoke kindly to her.

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\x91I am in service too,\x92 he said. \x91We are not asking you to betray a trust or to dishonour your employers in any way. But the Doctor and Miss Tegan are desperate to help their friend - our friend. And to do that, we need your help.\x92

\x91It is not that,\x92 Sitamun told him when she had recovered her composure a little. \x91I wish you well. Nyssa was a friend of mine also.\x92 She turned to address Tegan directly. \x91I have attended many funerals, as is my station, but the ceremony of the return of the spirit is never performed.\x92 She looked round at her new friends. \x91It is a ceremony written solely for this occasion,\x92 she said.

The others exchanged glances.

\x91And what is it? What is the ceremony about? You must know something.\x92

\x91I know only that it concerns the jar, Doctor.\x92

\x91Jar? What jar?\x92 The Doctor grabbed Sitamun, her dark skin whitening under the grip of his fingers.

\x91Doctor,\x92 Atkins murmured, and gently removed the Doctor\x92s hands from Sitamun\x92s bare shoulders. \x91Any small detail may help us,\x92 he told her.

Sitamun decided to start from the beginning and tell them everything. Even what she was sure they must already know. \x91You friend, Nyssa,\x92 she said, \x91was sent to us by the gods. She appeared to us in the temple at the appointed place and hour as the perfect sacrifice to appease Horus.\x92

\x91Appease him for what?\x92

\x91Many years ago, many hundreds of years ago, grave robbers entered the sacred tomb of the goddess Nephthys.\x92

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\x91Who\x92s Nephthys?\x92 Tegan asked.

\x91Sister of Osiris,\x92 Atkins told her.

\x91And more importantly,\x92 the Doctor said, \x91the wife and sister of Seth.\x92

\x91So why the big fuss? What did they steal?\x92

\x91Nothing,\x92 Sitamun said. \x91They all died in the tomb. It was the will of the gods.\x92

\x91But?\x92 prompted the Doctor.

\x91But, a canopic jar was cracked.\x92

\x91So what was in this jar?\x92 Tegan asked. \x91Raspberry jam?\x92

\x91I do not know.\x92

\x91And why the importance for this ceremony?\x92

\x91I do not know. I say only what I have heard. But the jar was cracked many centuries ago, and recently it has started to crumble. The priests were worried, whispering in the temple corridors and meeting after dark.\x92 Sitamun considered, remembered some of the looks she had seen on the faces of the priests as they left the meetings. \x91The priests were scared,\x92 she said.

\x91And then Nyssa turned up, and everything was suddenly all right again?\x92

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Sitamun nodded. \x91Yes, Doctor. And now she will be entombed in the black pyramid with the mummy of the goddess Nephthys and the sacred relics of power.\x92

Behind them the priests replaced the lid heavily on the casket, and lifted it on to their shoulders.

\x91Entombed for all eternity.\x92

They carried it slowly into the black pyramid. As they crossed the threshold the stygean darkness swallowed them up.

They watched as the priests re-emerged and the stone door was slotted into the opening. Then the priests bowed, and the rested oxen were led away. The mourners lined up to be paid, and started to drift back towards the huge pyramids on the distant horizon.

The Doctor shook Sitamun\x92s bemused hand. \x91You\x92ve been very helpful,\x92 he said. \x91Thank you. And thank you for being kind to Nyssa too. I think she must have needed a friend.\x92 He turned to Tegan and Atkins. \x91Come along you two, we\x92ve got things to do.\x92

\x91Like what?\x92

\x91Like get back to 1896 and make sure Lord Kenilworth finds the mummy and gets it safely back to London. Otherwise, no matter what Blinovitch might think, we\x92ll never have found out what happened to Nyssa, and she really will rest in there for all eternity.\x92

Sitamun stood alone for an hour. She looked at the pyramid where her friend was buried while the three strangers walked back into the sandy wastes of the empty wilderness.

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London, 1975

The gleaming whiteness of the scientist\x92s newly-laundered lab coat contrasted with the stained bandages wrapping the mummy. The scientist smiled - white teeth, white coat, in a white room standing by a white-faced bank of equipment.

His assistant stood ready beside the stainless steel trolley, ready to wheel the mummy into the scanner. His lab coat contrasted with his dark skin.

\x91How does it work?\x92

The scientist turned to the control panel, tapped a dial and adjusted a knob. \x91It x-rays the subject from all angles to create a three-dimensional composite image of the body. It will show the outline of the body within the bandages, and any jewellery folded inside.\x92 He inspected a few more readings, then nodded to the assistant. \x91Right, let\x92s get started.\x92

The assistant gently rolled the trolley along its track into the circular opening of the huge metal tunnel of the scanner. \x91How appropriate that it should be a cat that releases the secrets of the goddess,\x92 he said quietly, shutting the heavy lead door behind the trolley.

\x91Releases?\x92 The scientist was beside him, checking the seals on the door. \x91And what cat is that?\x92 he asked. Not really interested, most of his mind on the task ahead.

The assistant gestured at the machine. \x91C.A.T.\x92 he spelled out.

\x91Ah. Computerized Axial Tomography.\x92 The scientist made a final minute adjustment, and threw the main switch. \x91Well, let\x92s see what secrets our friend is keeping, shall we?\x92

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The monitor screen glowed into life, throwing negative images onto the glass as the scanner recorded the details of the mummy from every angle. Somewhere outside an owl hooted in the night, and a train whistled in the darkness.

The images blurred across the scientist\x92s retina. The points of light against the dark looked more like the night sky than the innards of the mummy. He was vaguely aware of his new assistant standing beside him. The assistant was muttering something that the scientist could not catch or understand. Words in his native Egyptian tongue. Phrases that sounded full of strength and power. The volume built with the steadily increasing hum of the CAT scanner.

The scientist continued to watch the pictures of black and white intensity blasted across his retina. He watched the woman taken to the tomb; he watched the mummy placed in the casket; he watched the tomb sealed. He felt the energy and understanding building inside his mind.

And beside him, Sadan Rassul continued to intone the words from the scroll of Thoth, and called on the power of his goddess.