Eve of the Pharaoh: Historical Adventure and Mystery Read online

  Praise for

  Eve of the Pharaoh

  “Enthrall[ing,] action-packed … vivid scenery, complicated characters, and unexpected turns that erupt around an ancient mystery …”

  — JENNIFER ANNE DAVIS, AUTHOR OF THE TRUE REIGN SERIES

  “Rich and vivid imagery … sucks you in …”

  — BARBARA KLOSS, AUTHOR OF THE PANDORAN SERIES

  Era of Shadows Series

  BOOK ONE

  Eve of the

  Pharaoh

  R.M. SCHULTZ

  Copyrighted Material

  Eve of the Pharaoh: Era of Shadows

  Copyright © 2017 by R.M. Schultz. All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without prior written permission from the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  For information about this title or to order other books and/or electronic media, contact the publisher:

  R.M. Schultz

  email: [email protected]

  website: https://www.facebook.com/historicadventurestories/

  ISBN: 978-0-9988918-1-1 (print)

  978-0-9988918-2-8 (eBook)

  Printed in the United States of America

  Cover and Interior design: 1106 Design

  To all the great mentors I was lucky enough to have in my life and who inspired me: my parents, brothers, teachers, and coaches—Lou Kallery, Bob Fischer, Mark Plumlee, Russ Tucker, John Graham, BPak, Erik Wisner and so many more. To Matt, my best friend, for all of his help and insight. To those who said I never could. And above all, to Creslin and Jocelyn, who lie at the heart of my emotions and teach me everyday what it is to be human.

  This story is based on numerous written records referencing historical events and people of ancient Egypt. The discovered monuments, temples, and architecture are factual.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  About the Author

  Note from the Author

  KNUCKLES RAPPED AGAINST WOOD. Jumping in my seat, my book smacked into the desk. Beyond flickering candlelight stood the door of the meager hotel room, but the sound hadn’t come from the hall. The ruckus arose from the other side of the door to the adjoining room.

  Grabbing my cane in a shaky hand, I crept across the floor. The knocking ceased. I didn’t know anyone else staying here. Someone who’d had too much to drink? Pressing my good ear against the thin partition, I held my breath. Cool air seeped under the door, like an evil spirit trying to slither in. Floorboards creaked inside the adjacent room, drowning out a man’s muffled ranting. The tapping of metal on glass followed. Was this neighbor trying to get out to his balcony, or was someone else out there attempting to break in? I wiped the sweat from my trembling palms onto my pants.

  A fist pounded again, rattling my skull. I stumbled backward as my heart thundered against old ribs. The crushing grip of terror squeezed my chest, allowing only faint breaths to spew in rapid succession. Should I wedge a chair against the door and jump out a second story window? I took a deeper breath. No, I’d pretend my room was vacant and hope the disturbance would disappear.

  Silence. Could he be in serious trouble, like choking or a heart attack? I might not have been much of a hero, but I wasn’t the type to ignore suffering because of fear and the late hour. Gurgling followed, and maybe a muted cry for help. Guilt gnawed at my gut. Maybe I should just peek in. I inched toward the deadbolt and quietly slid it over. The door burst open, revealing an unkempt man in a suit and fedora. He leapt at me. Grabbing the front of my waistcoat, he yanked, pulling me within an inch of his face. Bloodshot eyes bored into mine. My fingers slipped off the cane and it clattered to the floor. A rank stench of smoldering whiskey billowed through my nostrils. I couldn’t move or breathe.

  “L-listen!” the man whispered. His stinging breath poured over my face as he swayed, his words slurred. “D-don’t let ’em know I talked to you. Get this out of the country! Please, for the sake of mankind, take it and contact Dr. Shelsher’s office in Cambridge. I’m the last of his colleagues here. Find another who knows!”

  The man’s hand dove into his jacket and produced a small picture frame, thrusting it against my chest. Instinctively seizing the object, I acted more in defense than for desire. He spun around on one heel and retreated back into his room. A drawn curtain veiled the door to his balcony, but the glass shuddered, and muffled voices clawed their way in from the outside.

  Glaring back at me, he pointed. “Hide it, lock your door, put that flame out, and go to bed! You never s-saw me. Best depart first thing in the mornin’.” He eased his door shut. A metal bolt slid against wood, issuing a scratch and a dull thud.

  I slammed my own partition door shut and bolted it. Forcing deep breaths, I braced myself against the thin wood. What had just happened, and what did that crazy man give me? My knees gave way and I slumped to the floor. My hands held a sepia-style portrait of a group of men in suits. They wielded tools and stood outside an excavated tomb in the desert—an immediate reminder of the recent discovery of a new pharaoh of ancient Egypt, King Tut. Howard Carter had uncovered the boy king’s tomb last fall, November 1922. But this picture wasn’t of Tut’s tomb. I brushed a hand across the surface in wonder, disturbing a thin layer of dust. Something sharp poked into my other palm. Wincing, I jerked my wrinkled hand from the frame. A gap revealed itself between lengths of wood. Hidden treasure lay tucked inside. My pulse quickened in anticipation. I stuck my fingernail through the slit.

  A gunshot exploded next door, penetrating the walls of the hotel, and resonating out into the desert night. Dogs barked and hotel guests screamed. I dropped the frame and extinguished the candle, hiding in the dark. Quiet. Sneaking over to the bathroom, I huddled against a far corner. Pain compressed my throat, reminding me I still had to breathe while listen
ing for intruders. Seconds dragged by like hours. I remained frozen, even as my muscles cramped in displeasure. Ten minutes later someone pounded on a nearby door in the hall. I lurched. “Open up—police!” a man shouted in Arabic. A door creaked opened. More shouting. Banging and muttering carried through the adjoining wall for hours.

  Before sunrise I departed for Cairo. But as I shuffled through the lobby, a clerk whispered to a bellhop and mentioned a suicide. My blood turned cold. Stopping to eavesdrop, I feigned innocence by rifling through my luggage as if I had forgotten something. The clerk described a gruesome fountain of blood spewed across a room. The victim had supposedly taken his life with his own gun. Hugging my cane, I felt defenseless. A suicide? Or perhaps a murder committed by the strangers out on the balcony last night. I needed to escape with this secret or I might be the next to die.

  The aged paper of the diary I read from crackled as I slipped it inside the picture frame, nestling it alongside another hidden message penned by Dr. Shelsher himself.

  Present Day

  THE JAGGED, BLACK SCRIPT UPON the ninety-year-old parchment raced through my mind. Dr. Shelsher’s final words appeared scribbled in haste or fear. “What transpired on this, my last expedition, has intensified beyond words. If you find and read what I’ve hidden, I didn’t survive to share my discovery of the lost secrets of the ancients, the legendary Hall of Records. The Hall, the mystery I’ve been fascinated with and have chased all of my life.”

  A shudder of unmatched excitement vibrated up my spine. How did my dad even find these letters? Recalling more, I searched through the darkness. “I was the first person, nay the first living being to enter the Hall of Records since it was constructed, sealed off, and hidden over 3,000 years ago.”

  The beam of a flashlight arced over, blinding me. “Gavin,” a soft female voice said, her body hidden in the shadows beyond, “if you want to become one of the greatest living Egyptologists and join the ranks of Howard Carter, we have to keep digging. This is the last night I can help you.”

  My body locked up with apprehension, but I forced a slow nod. If I discovered the lost tomb of Amenhotep, then I could attempt to follow the path to the Hall of Records and its treasures, legendarily unmatched in the ancient world. I’d publish related scientific articles and books for the rest of my life; I’d be saved from my current path and dilemma. Back home my family all expected me to do the right thing, follow their dreams and become a doctor. But a lack of enthusiasm had led to carelessness—and a terrible medical mistake. I’d transformed from a kid with a brilliant future to a continuous disappointment. This trip could change everything. It had to, no matter the risk. Even if I died out here, it’d be easier than returning home …

  Pale moonlight peeked over my shoulder, my core tingling again with anticipation. Wind whipped across my face, stinging my dry eyes. Noting the GPS coordinates, I probed the sand with gloved fingers and a shovel. As dirt spilled up my forearms and into the glove, I grimaced with disgust. Touching grime sent chills through my limbs, but this pursuit was too important. The cool soil encasing my hands made it difficult to imagine that a few short hours ago the same dirt baked under the relentless Egyptian sun. Also as others often imagine, I didn’t stand upon a vast desert. Mountains dominated the skyline, encircling me like shadowed guardians of the valley. The Valley of the Gates of the Kings.

  Damn, nothing but pebbles and more earth. Was this the wrong location? If not, did we still have enough time, or would someone catch us? I tipped my fedora back and wiped thick sweat from my brow and stubble-covered cheeks.

  “Maddie, you still think we interpreted the professor’s letter correctly?” I asked, kicking a mound of excavated dirt in frustration.

  The wind picked up and she shouted, “What? You’re mumbling again!”

  I yelled back as loud as I could, trying to enunciate. “The papyrus everyone has access to says 120 cubits below the horn of the mountain, but I’d say we’re at least five times that … if the horn is the summit!” Soaring into the night sky, the mountain peak blotted out half of the moon. My stomach cramped with pain. Popping a couple antacid tablets into my mouth, chalky grit caked my tongue as I chewed and tried to swallow. This bout better pass. We couldn’t turn back for a hospital now, not after coming this far.

  “But we’re north of the House of Amenhotep-of-the-Garden,” Maddie said. She had an obsession with ancient Egypt as all-consuming as mine, but also pursued a PhD in Egyptology.

  Throwing back a swig of warm water, the chalk thickened to a paste before washing away. “The entire Valley of the Kings is north of that. Plus the lost tomb of the first Amenhotep may’ve already been discovered in Dra Abu el-Naga, and they didn’t bury pharaohs here until after—”

  “Allegedly discovered,” she said. “Not everything you read online is accurate. What if his wasn’t the last royal tomb of the New Kingdom to be built outside the Valley of Kings, but the first within? Or what if he was relocated—”

  The clang of steel on rock filled the night. My heart leapt with excitement. Swinging her flashlight around, she focused the beam on our guide. The whites of Mr. Scalone’s eyes glinted under the artificial light, like a crocodile sighting prey. He wiped large hands on tight jeans and straightened a white shirt, buttoned only to his rippling upper abs. A smirk expanded across a ruggedly handsome countenance. “You kids may’ve taken classes, but you need a man with experience to find anything out here,” he said with a thick Italian accent, tossing back wavy locks of black hair. My stomach cramped again in painful anticipation as the guide stood basking in glory instead of prying at the buried object with his shovel.

  Shaking my head in irritation, I gritted my teeth. Unfortunately, this muscular Italian who I already didn’t like and two local hands made up the remainder of our current team. A couple others stayed back in Cairo. I had hoped Maddie and I would work alone, but how could we pull this off? We didn’t know anything about the complexities of foreign antiquities regulations, not to mention illegally exhuming artifacts.

  I imagined I’d excavate the tomb and help Maddie inside. We’d lift our flashlights, gazing upon glistening images of wonder, figures not seen in thousands of years. She’d slip her little hand into mine and squeeze as we’d descend into the unknown, our hearts pulsating with exhilaration. Maybe a linen-wrapped mummy would saunter toward us, moaning, its arms reaching out for our throats. I’d protect Maddie by fighting the walking corpse off with a pickaxe. But just as a rotting hand nearly crushed my beating heart, I’d use my knowledge of the past to dispel the ancient curses of the dead and save us. We’d find answers to all of life’s biggest questions, reinvent history, and I’d carry Maddie out in my arms—

  Mr. Scalone cursed and flung a cluster of rocks at my feet, bringing me back to the present. My fluttering stomach crashed back down in disappointment at the sight. He hadn’t found the burial chamber after all. So many meaningless stones lay under the desert.

  A howl carried through the gorge, echoing off the cliff faces. Whispering to each other in Arabic, the two local guides’ flashlights darted about. An inbound breeze pricked the stubbly hairs on the back of my neck and blew the fedora off my head. A dark cloud blotted out the moon. Splattering raindrops broke upon my back, soaking my shirt with their chill. Our piles of parched dirt released a musty odor.

  My hand cramped with tension and something snapped, digging into my palm. “Ouch!” I yelled in surprise, tearing off my glove and shining a light downward. Dark liquid streamed over my thumb and dripped into the night. A large splinter from the shovel had embedded itself into my skin. My quivering fingers plucked out the shard, and I sucked thick liquid oozing from the wound.

  “What was that howling?” Maddie asked, her light scouring the nearby ridges.

  “Probably a jackal,” Mr. Scalone said. “They won’t come after the living, so don’t run away.” He glanced about. “The Egyptian militia and police are our biggest concern. If they catch us, we’ll spend our lives in a
cell resembling a medieval dungeon. That is if they don’t shoot us dead first. Reminds me of the time I was tracked by bushmen in Botswana …”

  The guide’s words faded under the screaming wind and pounding rain. Squeezing down on the bronze bracelet I always wore on my left wrist and forearm eased my escalating fear.

  Forgotten crypts still lay buried in these canyons, the work of millennia-old flash floods carrying tons of silt. We stood at the bottom of a natural pyramid, the one Maddie hoped Dr. Shelsher alluded to. Writing on the backside of the professor’s letter had appeared as nonsensical notes referencing the Egyptian trinity of man, woman, and child, but combining the third letter of every word revealed a message. “Inside the lost tomb of Amenhotep the path begins. An enduring clue still suppressed by time. Primeval units of measure are stated on papyrus, but shrouded is the buried location. Expose the ancestral base, the oldest pyramid of them all, athwart the tomb of the boy-king. Feel the eye of Horus give way … a secret entrance!”

  Expeditions utilizing sonar had even revealed anomalies across from King Tut’s tomb, although no one had yet unearthed anything. The reason why remained a mystery to me and all of Maddie’s peers. But I’d convinced myself of glory before, only to be thoroughly disillusioned.

  Shaking my head in disappointment, I shone my light up through cascading rain toward the triangular peak of the mountain. Rock composed the summit. My jaw fell open in realization. “Forget the sonar scans and modern technology,” I yelled to Maddie through the gale. “The ancients wouldn’t bury their pharaoh beside a pyramid, even if the divine symbol was a mountain of solid rock. A god-king would be sleeping inside!” Scrambling up the wet slope, I perspired and heaved for breath. Eventually arriving at a location matched by 120 cubits and a specific orientation encrypted by Dr. Shelsher, I kicked to drive my shovel into the incline.

  “Wait!” Maddie yelled, climbing up beside me. “How do you suppose we find a secret entrance along the face of a mountain this size?” Extending a small arm from behind her flashlight, she motioned at the massive ridge.