Free Ghosts of Karnak by George Mann Page A

protest. “I’m just glad that I didn’t wear a nice dress.”
    “It’ll be worth it,” said Amaury. “Trust me. You’re only the fourth westerner to visit this tomb. You have a chance to see it before the tourists descend and my friend Landsworth here strips it of everything valuable for his colleagues at the museum.”
    “What? What was that?” said Landsworth, suddenly jerking awake now that the engine had cut out. He twisted in his seat, looking back at Amaury. He narrowed his eyes. “You were talking about me, weren’t you?”
    Amaury laughed. “I was telling Miss Gray here that you’ll soon have plundered the tomb for your exhibition, is all.” He turned to Ginny. “That’s why he’s worried about the press. Doesn’t want them giving everything away before he has chance for a grand unveiling.”
    “Which museum do you work for, Mr. Landsworth?” said Ginny.
    “I’m more of a… freelancer,” said Landsworth, “although this particular exhibition is being sponsored by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.”
    “My home town,” said Ginny with a grin. “I’ll make sure all my friends come along.”
    “Very kind of you,” said Landsworth. “Now, what about these ruddy camels?” He clicked the door open and almost fell out of the car as his foot sank into the sand. Ginny stifled a laugh; Amaury wasn’t so kind.
    “Watch yourself there, Landsworth,” he said. “We need you to keep the bank off our back.”
    “Glad to know I’m good for
something
,” muttered Landsworth, before stomping off toward the camp, his feet kicking up little clouds of sand in his wake.
    “Come on,” said Amaury. “It’s not far from here. Just another hour or so.”
    “An hour, on one of
those
things?”
    “You’ll be fine,” said Amaury, opening his door. “What is it you say? ‘It’s just like riding a bicycle.’” He clambered out of the car, holding it open for Ginny to follow.
    “I never learned to ride a bicycle!” she called after him, but his only reply was another heartfelt laugh.
    * * *
    An hour later, and Ginny had just about figured out how to remain seated on top of the creature as it lumbered ponderously across the sweeping sands.
    The sun had risen now, bringing with it the first indication of the heat to come, and while the men had simply wrapped scarves around their heads—all beside Landsworth, who had insisted on wearing his hat—Ginny had managed to balance a parasol over one shoulder whilst clinging onto the saddle for dear life with the other.
    She’d only fallen off twice, and while the others had found this rapturously funny, she was counting it as a success.
    The landscape around them had altered, too; now there were rocky formations amongst the dunes, peeking out from beneath the golden sand. They’d passed the ruins of an ancient structure, now just a collapsed pillar and a tumbledown wall, still guarded by the gargantuan feet of the colossus who had once stood here. She was reminded of Shelley’s “Ozymandias”, and wondered what it had been like here once, in that long-lost era of great kings and bizarre ritual. Perhaps Amaury’s tomb might provide some insight, some glimpse into the ancient past, a sense of what it must have been like to live amongst these people.
    She watched him now, balanced expertly upon the back of his camel, quietly surveying the landscape. A cigarette drooped from the corner of his mouth, and his hand was raised to his eyes, shielding them from the harsh glare. He was handsome, she supposed, and amusing, and there were clear overtones to his interest in her. Yet she found she could not even consider him in that way. Or rather, she did not
want
to consider him like that.
    All the way here she’d thought of Gabriel, and even now, thousands of miles away on a different continent, thirsty and perspiring on the back of a camel, her thoughts returned to him. She would send him a postcard when she returned to Luxor that evening,