The Exodus Quest. Will Adams

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      ‘Often we’re already familiar with the texts,’ answered Gaille. ‘Like with the Book of the Dead, for instance. Then it’s just a question of translating the fragments and seeing where they fit. But if it’s an original document – a letter, say – then we look for other clues. Maybe a line of text that runs from one fragment to the next. If we’re very lucky, multiple matching lines, putting it beyond doubt. More usually, however, we’ll put similar themes together. Two fragments on burial practices, say. Or two episodes about a particular person. Failing that, fragments are, by definition, damaged. Is there a pattern of damage? Imagine rolling a sheet of paper into a scroll, burning a hole through all the layers with a cigarette, then ripping it up. The burn-holes won’t just help you reassemble the scroll, they’ll also tell you how tightly it was rolled in the first place, by the steadily decreasing distances between them. And scribes often scratched guidelines on their parchment to keep their writing level. We can match those scratches from one fragment to the next, by tiny variations in the gaps between them, like checking tree rings.’

      ‘And there are similar indications with talatat, are there?’

      ‘Yes,’ nodded Gaille. ‘Though they tend to be more elusive. For example, talatat are made either from limestone or sandstone. Limestone talatat typically go with limestone; sandstone with sandstone. And the composition of the stone is useful, too, because walls were often built with stone from a single quarry. But you can’t rely too heavily on that. Paint residue can also be helpful, as can weather-damage. Maybe the bricks have been sun-bleached. Or maybe there was a leaky pipe nearby, and they’ve got matching water stains. Anyway, once we’ve done what we can, we try to reassemble them into scenes. Talatat are typically decorated either on their long side, which we call “stretchers”, or on their short side, which we call “headers”. Egyptians used alternate courses of stretchers and headers. That really helps. After that, it often really is a case of putting heads on torsos. Fortunately, many of the scenes are duplicates of each other, or of scenes that have already been reconstructed from talatat found elsewhere, so we know what we’re looking for.’

      Lily’s ears pricked up. ‘But not all?’ she asked shrewdly.

      ‘No,’ acknowledged Gaille. ‘Not all.’

      ‘You’ve found something, haven’t you? That’s why you brought me down here.’

      ‘Maybe.’

      ‘Well? Aren’t you going to tell me?’

      ‘Oh,’ said Gaille, dropping her eyes. ‘I think Fatima wants that pleasure for herself.’

      II

      Knox picked up one of the shrivelled ears. The tissue had a slight sheen to it where it had been severed from the body, suggesting the cut was recent. He checked the loculi, quickly found a mummy missing its right ear, then another. He frowned, baffled, before belatedly remembering he was on the clock. His self-imposed deadline had already passed. He needed to get out of here.

      He hurried back to the atrium, up the steps, was about to rush away when he heard an engine, and suddenly the pick-up reappeared over the rise, its headlights sweeping the shaft’s mouth like a lighthouse beam, so that Knox barely had time to duck out of sight and retreat back down to the atrium.

      Griffin and his crew were storing everything in the catacombs, so he headed the other way instead, down the right-hand passage. He soon reached another chamber, a huge mosaic on its floor, tesserae bright from a recent clean, though rutted from ancient footfall. A grotesque figure sat naked in the lotus position inside a seven-pointed star surrounded by clusters of Greek letters. He took a photograph, then a second, before hearing a grunt from back along the corridor, someone struggling with a box – and coming his way. He hurried deeper into the site, a confusion of passages and small chambers, the walls decorated with colourful ancient murals: a naked man and woman reaching up in supplication to the sun; Priapus leering from behind a tree; a crocodile, dog and vulture sitting in judgement; Dionysus stretching out on a divan, framed by vines and ivy leaves and pine cones. He was photographing this last one when he heard footsteps and turned to see Griffin approaching down the passage, squinting through the dappled gloom as though he needed glasses.

      ‘Reverend?’ he asked. ‘Is that you?’

      III

      Inspector Naguib Hussein was writing out his report at the station when his boss Gamal came over. ‘Don’t you have a wife and daughter to get home to?’ he grunted.

      ‘I thought you wanted our paperwork up to date.’

      ‘I do,’ nodded Gamal. He perched on the corner of the desk. ‘Word is, you found a body out in the Eastern Desert.’

      ‘Yes,’ agreed Naguib.

      ‘Murder?’

      ‘Her head was bashed in. She was wrapped in tarpaulin and buried beneath sand. I’d say murder was a possibility.’

      ‘A Copt, yes?’

      ‘A girl.’

      ‘Investigate, fine,’ scowled Gamal. ‘But no waves. This isn’t the time.’

      ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘You know how I mean.’

      ‘I assure you I—’

      ‘Haven’t you learned yet when to speak and when to shut up?’ asked Gamal in exasperation. ‘Don’t you realize how much trouble you caused your colleagues up in Minya?’

      ‘They were selling arms on the black market.’

      ‘I don’t care. There are crimes we can solve and crimes we can’t. Let’s deal with the ones we can, eh?’ He gave a companionable sigh, as though he didn’t like the way things worked any more than Naguib did, he was just more realistic. ‘Haven’t you been following what’s going on down in Assiut?’ he asked. ‘People out on the streets. Fights. Anger. Confrontation. Just for a couple of dead Coptic girls. I won’t risk that spreading here.’

      ‘She may have been murdered,’ observed Naguib.

      Gamal’s complexion was naturally dark. It grew darker. ‘From what I understand, no one has reported her missing. From what I understand, she could have been there years, maybe even decades. You really want to provoke trouble at a time like this over a girl who may have been dead for decades?’

      ‘Since when has investigating murder been a provocative act?’

      ‘Don’t play with me,’ scowled Gamal. ‘You’re always complaining about your workload. Concentrate on some of your other cases for the moment: don’t go chasing off into the desert after djinn.’

      ‘Is that an order?’

      ‘If it needs to be,’ nodded Gamal. ‘If it needs to be.’

       NINE

      I

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