She switched off her com and then, in a tiny, trembling voice, she said, ‘I know you. You are Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands. You died young, but do not despair. You do not know it yet, but you will be the most famous of all the pharaohs. Your face is the face of Egypt. You should not feel ashamed before the gods. Your name will last until the end of time. Have no fear. Rest now. Sleep. Be patient. Your time will come. I promise you.’

The shadows swelled. For one heart-stopping moment she thought she would be swallowed up forever. Her throat closed with terror. Her chest was tight.

And then it was gone. She could breathe. The lightsticks burned without a flicker. The air was still. Whatever it was had gone.

13

13

Outside the tomb, Luke could hear the sounds of people making their way back along the valley floor. From the clatter of sliding rocks and the occasional curse, he assumed Grint’s team was on their way back.

Telling himself he was only doing his duty and following protocol, he slipped into a deep, vertical fissure, and waited until they were almost level with him. Then, in best Time Police fashion, he intoned, ‘Halt. Who goes there? Identify yourselves or be shot.’

Grint halted. Matthew was right behind him, followed by Anders supporting a limping Rossi and Kohl bringing up the rear.

Grint appeared to have suffered a sense of humour failure. ‘Stop pissing about, Parrish.’

‘Not the correct response. I may have to shoot you now.’

‘What did I just say about pissing about?’

‘I don’t know. Still waiting for you all to identify yourselves correctly and according to Time Police protocols.’

Anders lowered Rossi to a rock.

Grint stared around. ‘Where’s Lockland? She run away?’

Mentally crossing his fingers, Luke said, ‘Still in the tomb. As you instructed.’

Everyone turned to look at the dark tunnel. There seemed to be a general reluctance to approach.

Grint held Luke’s gaze for a long, disbelieving moment and then opened his com. ‘Lockland. This is Grint. Report.’

Luke held his breath, half-braced for hysterical sobbing or worse – ominous silence – and then, there it was. Jane’s voice. Miraculously normal.

‘The tomb is empty, sir. I searched every chamber. Parrish stood at the outer door. No one got past us. In or out.’

He grunted. ‘Right then, out you come,’ which, Jane recognised, was about the only acknowledgement she was ever likely to get. Not that she cared. She was pulling herself back up the passage almost before he’d even stopped speaking.

Luke, waiting for her at the other end, helped her down, whispering, ‘All right?’

‘Yes. You?’

‘Yes. Well done.’

‘Matthew?’

‘He’s fine.’