The jar rolled itself to a halt against Ma.s.sud's face. The glazed eyes of Anubis stared into those of the graverobber, and the wind died away. The jar rocked slightly in a growing, viscous pool of blood. And darkness returned.

Ra.s.sul woke suddenly. His head felt like it was splitting. And through the crack in his mind he could feel something forcing its way in. Was it guilt?

Anger? He did not need to ask himself what he should feel guilt or anger about. And that acceptance of the truth was itself unusual.

He rose stiffly from his wooden bed and went to the window. He was alone of course. He had not shared his bed since his only wife had died in childbirth. So long ago now, so alone for so long. Outside the pyramids stood stark against the night sky. A jackal called out somewhere in the distance, a long lonely wail.

As he turned to go back to bed, he saw a figure standing in the shadows by the door. He could not see who it was, but the servants all knew better than the disturb him without good cause. But before Ra.s.sul could say anything, the figure spoke. Its voice was cracked like an old flute playing in the wind.

'The tomb was broken into tonight.'

'Robbed?' Ra.s.sul did not need to ask which tomb. Only one mattered - the tomb he lived to protect.

'No,' the figure said. 'The robbers did not complete their task.'

'The G.o.ds be thanked.'

'But they have started something. Something that must be finished.'

'What do you mean?' Ra.s.sul was worried now. For a second he saw the hourgla.s.s, sand dripping from the upper bowl as it sifted through the seconds of eternity. Why had none of the priests alerted him to the events if the robbers had been disturbed? 'Who are you and how do you know this?'

he demanded.

The figure rattled a laugh. 'A jar was cracked. The priests are discovering it even now, binding it with hessian and praying for guidance. They will come to you soon for advice. You are the one chosen to watch over the tomb, the one granted the lonely years of vigil. They fear for their lives, and for the life of Egypt.'

'Cracked,' Ra.s.sul could taste the same fear, he knew how the priests would be feeling.

'But not broken?'

'No,' the voice sounded almost sad. 'But the crack is enough. The process begins. Your own feelings are proof enough of the power of the G.o.ddess.'

'My feelings?' Ra.s.sul stepped back a pace. The guilt and anger had made him shout, had confessed the truth of what the man said.

'Your feelings,' the voice repeated. 'And my presence.'

A sudden thought occurred to Ra.s.sul. 'Wait, how did they get past the test of the Shabti?'

The figure's laugh was a dry, rasping death rattle. 'We were told the answer before we entered the tomb.'

'You? Who by? Only one person knows the secret of the riddle.'

'Exactly. One who serves the G.o.ddess, and yet knows it not. One who will be her servant in the empty years ahead now that the chain of events is started, now that the inevitable is set on its course.'

The crack in Ra.s.sul's head seemed to split wide open. He could see clearly for the first time, knew his destiny. And he remembered meeting the man in the marketplace, recalled slipping him the papyrus on which he had scrawled the answer. Sadan Ra.s.sul, the only living man to know the secret of the riddle, but until now he had not known his own purpose.

The figure's croaking voice broke into his realization. 'You know what you must do. You have always known. And now is the time.'

'A replacement vessel,' Ra.s.sul murmured. But he knew that they must find another form of container, the canopic jar could not be repaired or imitated.

They would have to pray that the G.o.ds again provided the means to their ends.

'Yes,' the figure in the shadows hissed. 'You see, already the spirit of the G.o.ddess is within you. You will be a good servant to her in the long lonely ages ahead.' The figure reached out its hand towards Ra.s.sul. It was holding something, gesturing for him to take it.

'Me?' Ra.s.sul was aghast. 'But why me? Why not you?' Yet even as he questioned how he would come to serve the one he was sworn to keep in thrall, he knew that the shadowy figure spoke the truth. And he took the hourgla.s.s the figure was holding out to him, the sands spiralling down into the lower bowl. He had known already what he had to do, had known since the tomb was sealed and he had started the hourgla.s.s sands on their courses. It was the only way he would ever - The figure broke into his thoughts again: 'I am not fit for the years that lie ahead, for the waiting and the planning.' The final words were almost a gasp as the figure collapsed: 'I am dead already.' It fell forwards into the room, making no attempt to save itself or break the fall. The body landed with a dull thud at Ra.s.sul's feet.

Outside he could hear the commotion as the messenger from the priests hammered on the door and demanded to be let in. He could hear the servants moving around downstairs, and the bolts being drawn.

And at his feet, sudden in a shaft of moonlight, he could see the dark ma.s.s of congealed blood. It caked the back of the head of what had once been a man. The skull was smashed inwards, split open like a rotten egg.

Chapter Three.

The enamel of Tegan's teeth was hard against her knuckles. She and Kenilworth stood at the end of the sarcophagus. In front of them, Nyssa's bandaged body lay silent and still.

The Doctor had finished unwrapped her head, and was leaning into the casket. His right hand was against Nyssa's cheek, her hair spread dry and dusty over his fingers. With his other hand he was pinching the bridge of his nose, head back and eyes tight shut in concentration.

Suddenly the Doctor moved. He took a deep, rasping breath, opened his eyes, and stretched. Then he yawned, blinked, and smiled broadly at Tegan.

'That should do it,' he said with evident satisfaction.

'She's going to be okay?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Yes. A bit tired when she eventually wakes, but otherwise fine.' He laughed and made his way along the casket, clapping Tegan on the shoulder as soon as he was within reach. 'Ironic really, four thousand years asleep and she'll be tired.' He walked over to the fire and held out his hands to warm them.

Kenilworth and Tegan laughed with him.

'Well, that's that then, eh Doctor? Glad it's finally over, I must say.'

'I'll stay with her till she wakes,' Tegan said quietly.

The Doctor turned back from the fire. 'Ah,' he said. 'Actually, there are a couple of things I should mention. I'm afraid it's not over. Not yet. And I don't think you'll want to wait here for Nyssa to wake up.'

'Doctor, I want to be with her when she comes round. She should see a friendly face.'

The Doctor drew a deep breath. 'I doubt it would actually be very friendly, Tegan.'

'What do you mean?'

The Doctor started a slow tour of the room. He picked up ornaments and ran his finger over dust-free surfaces, avoiding meeting Tegan's gaze as he spoke. 'Nyssa's been in a deep coma for a very very long time. It's rather like a diver going down to the deepest depths. The body adjusts to the change in conditions. And the deeper you go, and the longer you stay there, the more slowly you have to return to the surface.'

'Pressure?' Kenilworth asked.

'Something like that, yes. Oxygen levels in the blood, pressure, whatever.

In Nyssa's case, her metabolic rate has been so slow for so long that it would be fatal to wake her too quickly. We have to raise the levels slowly.

Very slowly, in fact.'

'So it will be a while before she wakes up?'

The Doctor nodded.

'How long?'

'Well, er, longer than you'd want to wait here I think, Tegan. I can't say exactly but I've aimed for a good round figure. Should be accurate within a minute or two.'

'Twenty-four hours?'

The Doctor sucked in his cheeks and examined the frame of a particularly interesting portrait.

'A week, more like,' Kenilworth suggested. 'As the Doctor says, it'll be a very slow process.'

'A week?!' Tegan crossed to where the Doctor was now admiring the canva.s.s. 'Doctor, do we really have to wait a whole week to see if Nyssa's all right?'

'Hmm?' He seemed to realize Tegan was talking to him only when she tugged at his sleeve. 'A week? Oh no. Nothing like.' He returned his attention to the picture. 'More like a century,' he muttered. 'Just look at the brushwork on that.'

Tegan had never liked brandy, but she seemed to be drinking a lot of it recently. She gulped down the gla.s.sful that Atkins brought her. She was sitting on an upright chair beside the sofa where Kenilworth and the Doctor were comparing notes on the quality of the port. Her hands were shaking and she was barely aware of their conversation.

'Doctor,' Kenilworth said at length, his tone becoming more serious, 'will it really take a hundred years for your friend to awaken?'

The Doctor nodded. He drained the last of his port and held the gla.s.s up so that the firelight was caught dancing in its facets. 'Could I ask you a favour?'

'Of course.'

'It's a big favour,' he warned.

Kenilworth shrugged. 'Doctor, I owe you my life several times over.

Whatever it is, it's not a big favour for you to ask.'

'I don't want to know - no details, please.'

'And the favour?'

The Doctor stood and placed his empty gla.s.s on the mantel shelf. 'Look after our friend until she wakes.'

'I don't think I'll be here when she wakes, Doctor. I don't think any of us will.'

'Maybe not,' the Doctor said hesitantly, shooting Tegan a warning look. 'But perhaps you could make arrangements of some sort? She must be kept level, and undisturbed.'

Kenilworth thought for a while, sipping at his port. Eventually he nodded.

'There is a cellar we don't use. I'll have it cleared out and she can rest down there. We'll block off the access except for a trap door or something. I'll arrange for the responsibility for her safety to be pa.s.sed on to someone I can trust when, well - when the time comes.'

'Thank you.' The Doctor smiled. 'Now, I'd better wrap Nyssa's head again.

The bandages are impregnated with various chemicals which help preserve the tissue over the years. She'd never forgive me if she woke up with wrinkles.' He grinned as Tegan managed a half-smile.

When he had finished, the Doctor sat down beside Kenilworth again. 'There is just one other small thing,' he said, patting his pockets.

'Oh?'

The Doctor took a card from his pocket. It was the printed invitation to the unwrapping. He held it up so that both Kenilworth and Tegan had a good view of it. Then he ripped it in half, taking care to make the edge ragged and uneven. He handed one half to Kenilworth.

'A hundred years from now,' the Doctor said, 'someone will come for the body, will come to see Nyssa when she wakes.'

Tegan looked up from her empty brandy gla.s.s.

Kenilworth nodded. 'I understand,' he said. 'And to identify themselves...'

The Doctor nodded. 'They will bring the matching half of the invitation.'

Sitamun had been a handmaiden in the temple of Nephthys since she was a child. Her father had been a priest of the temple, and his father before him. Sitamun's elder brother was also a priest, and his son would doubtless follow the same calling. But Sitamun was blessed above them all, for she was handmaiden to the returned G.o.ddess herself. And whatever might be written or said about the G.o.ddess Nephthys, this incarnation seemed kind and gentle.

The scribe followed Sitamun into the temple chamber. Together they kissed the floor in front of the G.o.ddess.

'I wish you wouldn't do that,' the G.o.ddess said again. She leaned forward on her throne and waved them away. The chair was wooden, with high arms and a low back. The seat and back of the chair were painted crimson, the rest was leafed in gold. Sitamun smiled and bowed. She knew she was being tested. Not to show due honour would be to invite the legendary wrath of the G.o.ddess.

The G.o.ddess was in a quiet mood. She did not speak of the strange things she had mentioned when she first appeared to them, and she seemed less distracted and annoyed than previously. Perhaps she was coming to terms with her earthly manifestation.

Sitamun stood to the side while the scribe set up his wooden palette.

'Who is this?'