Get out your popcorn, tourists beware, here comes a paranormal adventure with a historical twist, set in Egypt--and Britain.
From Chapter 29 'Darkness': 'Did I just try to dive into that goo to get at a dead guy?' Trueth asked.
Define dead,' Me...
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'If she's the Walker, we need to find Iseret. Whereby now she's walked off, this might cover the bit with the lost one.' Trueth suggested. She wanted to lighten the mood, but Metjen would not have it.
'He who is lost. Not she,' he groaned.
Together, they sat on the stone wall overlooking the dig from where they had a good view of the workers shovelling and scraping away in the ditches.
Trueth admired their patience.
Metjen's father had told them about archaeologists in the past. They had been convinced they had found everything and given up. Then others made the most stupendous discoveries. So he persevered even if the professor's department head was unhappy with this tenacity. And they had nothing to show for their efforts, apart from two corridors, a small courtyard and a wall with a meaningless inscription.
The Servants huddled on the floor, muttering among themselves. Once in a while a priest would look up, sneer at Metjen and look away again. Then the mumbling continued. Trueth needed no magical talents to guess what their issue was.
Nebmutef sat cross-legged on the ground to the side of the others and was staring sullenly at the excavations knotting what would have been eyebrows had he not shaved them off. He hissed a warning, and the grumbling stopped. The black looks did not.
Metjen was wiping his grimy hands on his jeans. 'I think I may suspect what Iseret meant when she told you to go back, and your path would take you far.'
Trueth scrutinised him from head to feet, taking in a severe case of bad hair day, stubble as well as a stained T-shirt and ratty shoes. His whole appearance was completely at odds with the smooth personality he normally presented to the world. 'Do you? I won't just leave. Even if I wanted to go home, what would I do there?'
He sucked on the inside of his cheeks but said nothing.
She should probably cut him some slack given the bad shape he was in. 'Let me guess, there is something you haven't told me.'
It was never easy to tell what he was looking at. From the way he hung his head it had to be the top of his T-shirt. 'Yes,' his voice was hard to hear. 'When we were leaving for Cairo your people finally turned up. I decided you didn't need the confusion.'
Metjen must have been checking his moccasins rather than his shirt. The were a sorry sight, the sole peeling away from the upper part. He removed his shoes and put them next to the wall. Trueth suppressed a giggle. They kept having problems with footwear. Her sandals had never turned up again after that memorable confrontation and Metjen owed her a shopping trip to the nearest mall on top of an apology.
'I promised I would return for a visit, and I did a few days before you came back from the temple. There aren't many of them, and they appear to be—desolate?'
'What do you mean?'
'They haven't got much to hold them together, they simply gravitated towards Avebury. Don't ask me why. You could easily shape them into something if you join them.' Metjen's whole posture signalled defeat which made him likeable, even cuddly. Which she knew he was not.
