Author's Note:
Prepared for the sudden shift in timelines? I really apologise if I'm starting to confuse any of you; but it really is necessary, I think.
To those who have continually looked forward to the continuation, a very big thanks to you. Your comments have been so encouraging; please keep them coming!
Chapter 7
1931, Cairo, Egypt
Alex Khalan wiped her brow in frustration as she sat among her trunks in the tiny Cairo Hotel. She refused a bigger one, refused bodyguards that the Cairo Museum had assigned to her, hated the fanfare that accompanied her arrival and hated the whispers about her that circulated in the Museum. She hurriedly stripped off her heavy linen jacket and replaced it with a white nondescript shirt of thin and lightweight Egyptian cotton and combed out her severely cut shoulder-length hair, exhaling heavily.
The council meeting is now closed, the president of Bembridge had nodded in satisfaction.
Upon the unanimous vote, it is agreed that Dr. Alexandra Khalan will undertake the task of retrieving the scrolls.
She didn't know why she was the first eager volunteer to raise her hand back in London when the scholars had met to discuss (or argue) over who should be sent to hot, dusty Egypt to oversee the excavation of the scrolls. And it was very right to say too that no one else was willing to brave the sands of Egypt; the old, distinguished gentlemen, many of whom walked with difficulty looked relieved at having the opportunity to send the youngest Bembridge member out into the wilderness, as they called it, while some others gaped at her audacity at requesting to go for an expedition given she had only obtained her doctorate only very recently.
Then she had felt triumphant; the expedition would do wonders for her bargaining power in the academic world, she thought.
Eager to prove that she was no less worthy of their cause, and because she was the only proficient reader of hieroglyphs and language specialist of the ancient Middle-East, she packed her bags almost immediately, without seconds thoughts that she was to stay indefinitely.
Just watch this young scholar - barely thirty years old - they probably thought, let's see if she is able to hold her own against the overwhelming research, nay, the amount of dust itself that flies up from the Egyptian ground!
Alex sighed again. It was intentional that she wanted herself to be first known as Alex before Alexandra; being a man in academia and in certainly most parts of the world had its far-reaching advantages. Had lightning not struck during the handshake, she might have even thought the expressions on Evelyn O'Connell's and Ardeth Bay's faces funny.
Was not Evelyn O'Connell a prominent figure too in her publications about Pharaonic Egypt? Did she not read hieroglyphics too? Why did the Cairo Museum then?
Too much to think and digest.
A knock on her door.
Great, she felt tired and dirty, but answered the door with good grace.
The concierge - a place like this had a concierge - who handed her a letter from an old friend back in England.
My dear Alex,
It never occurred to me that you were gutsy enough to move to Egypt indefinitely, but with your aunt's sad passing, I am never more convinced that I should write hastily to inform you that you are now Godmother to a bouncing treasure of a baby boy.
Alex scanned the letter rapidly, feeling her head droop in the afternoon heat, until a particular section caught her attention.
It surprised me greatly that your aunt had never revealed to you that your parents were partially Egyptian by birth - I think. My mum knew them at least, before she too, bless her soul, passed on. She knew that one day you would return to Egypt 'to search yourself out', in her very own words. Rightly so and high time, girl! Wag your finger, shake your head at me, but it is good that you finally leave for another adventure in the great outback of Arabia.
Alex grimaced. Did Ellen really think that the 'great outback of Arabia' was one adventure?
I will henceforth be awaiting whatever news you choose to relay to me,
Your friend,
Ellen
Her parents were half-Egyptian?
Brought up by her wealthy distant aunt, her only relative left in the world who died only the year before, who vaguely said that her parents were of 'mixed origin whose roots sank deep down' into the Sumerians, the Celts and the Mughal Empire, which probably explained her dark hair that contained stray strands of reddish-gold and her Eurasian flecked eyes.
That was all that Cordelia had revealed, and Alex had asked no more.
She chose to take the practical approach. Her parents were lost to her and that was left at that. Their being half-Egyptian did not matter; it did not help her insecurities and her trepidation of stepping out into an unknown land simply to read hieroglyphs in a country that boasts their origin.
But Aunt Cordelia was at heart, a nomad, a tale-spinner of extraordinary ability also, and Alex sometimes privately thought that Cordelia had romanticised her ancestry to give her a good night's sleep. Aunt Cordelia could not stay in one place for very long; and wherever she went, Alex was dragged along, sometimes for months on end; she had learnt to travel with little and the cumbersome luggage that accompanied her now surely seemed unnecessary if not for the fact that she needed academic reference material.
Egypt; barely any memory of it when she went with Cordelia at age four, Wales, at age 5, Turkey, age 9, Spain and Portugal, age 11, Italy, age 12, Romania, age 13, Hadhramout, at age 16, France, at age 17, Morocco, age 19 and the list went on. They always seemed to circuit the globe for months on end, but always returned to England somehow. Good for your education and language, my young girl, Cordelia had repeated to her time and again.
They stopped travelling when Alex turned 23; Cordelia had insisted that Alex studied as much as she could in England. Her old knees and back were getting to her too, but Cordelia's stubborn pride would have never admitted that. Alex knew what this meant to her dear nomadic aunt - a sacrifice to be immobile because of her. She often wondered if her aunt had died happy, in a house that she felt chained to but adamantly stayed in so that Alex could complete her doctorate without feeling obligated to go country romping once more.
A reply as soon as possible would be best, she thought.
Dear Ellen,
It does seem that you have an uncanny ability to track me wherever I choose to put my feet down. I happen to be in Egypt, my darling, not quite in Arabia, even though the very name of Arabia and its shifting sands suggests a lot more scandalous nights and masked pirates and does a girl's fantasies a lot more justice.
She sighed again.
Dr. Alexandra Khalan -The salutation sounds like a joke to my very own ears, also synonymous with years spent clustered up writing page after page about the ancient Egyptian script. You know that it is merely bluster, Ellen, this whole academic business. Yes, I love history very much, and I love the things that I work with, but I hate the protocol and the very necessary administration that comes with it!
The voyage here was uneventful, the only highlight being that I got to throw 2 men overboard for cheating me at a card game.
I will leave that up to you to decide whether that sentence was written in jest.
People whisper about me -I do not walk about and survive for so long with my ears turned in, you know. Most of the time I stay silent or keep to myself because I do not know how to react or react in a way that might 'please' people. So it's better this way. And you thought that a life of adventure around the globe with Cordelia has made me an open personality?
Evelyn O'Connell is the other academic who I'm attached to, indefinitely and it is going to be a long day from the looks of it.
Ardeth Bay...not a good idea to mention him, she thought.
Ellen, is it necessary that I end here; forgive me in advance if I am not able to correspond for a while until I settle in. I hear that the repercussions of the Wall Street Crash is still keenly felt in Europe and some dynamic Austrian born soldier is starting to stir up the already boiling pot of Germany is it not? Your father is in politics; it will be an exciting time I think.
With warmest Regards
She wondered about the house she stayed in with her old aunt, wondered about its occupants, wondered about what might have happened had she decided to stay in England. The war had indeed made Europe and Britain a very different place.
Idle wonderings aside, who then, was Ardeth Bay?
Suddenly and inexplicably she wanted her ordered life back; not that it was anyway ordered to begin with, but it was a life that had not been yet introduced to the person of Ardeth Bay, his mysterious eyes, manner of dressing and his fearsome touch. It felt safer then, and meeting him seemed to plunge her into a constant flurry of nerves that she did not quite know how to interpret.
The glimpse she had of the dark warrior with markings on his cheeks and foreheads had left her with the vague impression that there was an equal amount of the dramatic in his appearance that was probably part of the intimidation tactic. The Protectors of the ancients and of the eternal. Ardeth Bay...yet he still caused more discomfort than uneasiness than anyone she had been acquainted with; even with his startlingly fluent English and civil manners, nothing concealed the fact that this man probably slew more people than she would see in her entire lifetime.
It wasn't as if Ardeth Bay was a repulsive man, she conceded grudgingly to herself; he was indeed more than just pleasant to look at, overly dramatic and romantic hair that would take flight on horseback, imposing figure in black, the colour of intimidation, (so would his horse be, she believed) and a figure too excellent and prominent to be hidden by those heavy robes. Tattoos, cheekbones and a nicely trimmed beard - did it not all seem calculated to increase his appeal? A man like him would stand out easily among any others, a man of men, she thought sardonically, who was probably a paragon in the obscure tribe that he hailed from. Women who draped themselves over him -he had to be someone important to be found in the office of Dr. O' Connell in the museum, didn't he?
And that handshake!
The blinding flash of white and red that annihilated all possible thought in that space of a millisecond. That nightmare of a vision would have lasted longer had he not thankfully removed his hand from hers. She saw his reaction - the mirror image of hers when he snatched his hand away; he probably whispered a prayer to his Allah as he did so.
Alex frowned. Perhaps it was best that she kept her cool with him. It was her best way of dealing with people, she reflected with an ironic twist of a smile.
Her aunt Cordelia had murmured cryptically that destiny would shape Alex's future -the academic and the factual side of her never took Cordelia's ramblings too seriously; what was empirical was the real to her, period. She was no witch, no treasure hunter; just an explorer uncovering facts, facts and facts. She had no gift of prophecy; the unexpected ways of destiny are simply to be cried or rejoiced upon.
Her musings had taken her past lunchtime, but she had no appetite -seasickness was something her colleagues often joked about when they saw her occasional green face even on relatively short voyages. Her gait was shaky even as she left for the museum earlier that morning and surprised even herself by appearing upright and composed for the meeting with the museum experts.
There was still the meeting with Evy O'Connell in 2 hours, more papers to sign for her clearance, unpacking to do, the search for a rented house
Alex tilted her chin upwards, stretched her neck and screamed inwardly. Administration had never been and never will be her forte.
