Free The Buried Pyramid by Jane Lindskold Page B

less for a demanding trip up the Nile. I was put on medical leave, and when some of my injuries festered and would not heal, I was rotated home. Arriving, I discovered that my mother was not well.
    “Faced with a need to regain my own health and to tend to my mother in what proved to be her final illness, it was not difficult for me to resign from the service without a stain on my character. After Mother’s death, I did not return to the army. Part of this was because my father, much older than my mother and devastated by his loss, begged me to remain. However, I would be less than fair to you if I did not admit that there was another reason.”
    He paused, and it took all Jenny’s reserves of self-restraint not to urge him on. Stephen, however, either knew Sir Neville well enough to feel no such compunction, or was simply too impulsive to care.
    “Tell on,” he said. “What could keep you from going after such a find?”
    Sir Neville lifted his tea cup, seemed vaguely surprised to find it empty, but made no effort to refill it. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, as if speaking of the matter aloud was somehow to be avoided.
    “The reason I did not return, Stephen, was that as I lay bleeding out my life onto the cobbles, one of the Arabs bent to cut my throat. As he did so, he hissed, ‘So is the Lawgiver avenged against sacrilege. So is the good king’s peace preserved.’ ”
    Stephen shuddered. “Not really!”
    “I assure you, my friend,” Sir Neville replied. “I did not invent the item to amuse you.”
    Jenny, who had been thinking that perhaps this final flourish had been included to scare her off, heard the sincerity in her uncle’s voice and rejected the idea.
    “One of the Greeks fired even as the Arab spoke his curse,” Sir Neville went on. “I do not think the shot hit my would-be assassin, but it did frighten him off. Instead of a cut throat, I received this.”
    He indicated the long slash that still disfigured his face.
    “Those words remained with me through the long illness that followed. Indeed, I came to feel that they had an element of ritual to them, as if they were sacred words that must be spoken. Or perhaps I was merely feverish, and attached too much importance to the chance words of an unbalanced assassin.
    “Before you reject the former out of hand, however, let me add this. A friend who came to visit me in hospital reported that my rooms had been ransacked. He thought it simple robbery, notified the appropriate authorities, had the rooms sealed to await my return, then commiserated with me on my foul luck. When I returned to those rooms, however, I began to wonder if mere robbery had been the burglars’ goal. The rooms had been thoroughly searched, but many small items of value remained. What had disappeared was every trace of anything having to do with archeology. Every book, paper, map, and notepad had either been removed or burned in the hearth. I could not help but consider a connection between this robbery and my being attacked. Yet very few knew that I intended to do archeological exploration over my holiday, and fewer still knew my goal. The idea seemed fanciful, yet it would not leave me.”
    “Half a tick,” Stephen interrupted. “You say that few people knew what you were after. How about the soldier who accompanied you on your first expedition? What’s his name? Bryce? Could he have told someone what you were after? Or that Arab girl? She helped save you, but might she have talked afterwards?”
    Jenny thought Uncle Neville must have considered this, but it didn’t hurt to present the matter. It might even prove soothing.
    “Mr. Holmboe does have a point, Uncle Neville. For that matter, what about Alphonse Liebermann or his valet? Might they have said something to someone? Were they involved in this venture?”
    Sir Neville steepled his fingertips.
    “I am pleased you are willing to take me this seriously. Stephen, if you would not be offended, I would like to