After Emerson strode away in the direction of the dig house, his expression formidable, I ascertained that von Raubritter’s body had not been disturbed by man nor beast. I repositioned my second-best parasol, which had toppled, with a few more rocks. Satisfied that I had done my best, I opted to explore for structures of potential interest in the future. I strolled along the once-grand Siket es-Sultan, gazing with great curiosity at what had been discovered by previous archaeologists. It had first been mapped by Napoleon’s corps de savants in 1798, and had been a source of intense interest to Egyptologists from numerous countries.

I turned to gaze at the cliffs, where Alessandro Barsasti had discovered the king’s tomb twenty years ago. This is when I first saw her—a woman against a backdrop of gunmetal clouds rimmed with gold by the sun. She moved like a wounded bird, her black draperies flapping about her. I called to her to stop. Either the rising wind carried my voice away, or she would not heed it. I went after her as fast as I dared on the uneven terrain, but somehow she managed to keep ahead of me as she limped along the wadi at the base of the cliffs.

I have already mentioned that toward the middle of the afternoon the sky had darkened, but we had hardly noticed. Rain is so rare in this part of the world that I was astounded when it was loosed in a hammering downpour. Muttering under my breath, I opened my parasol and continued in pursuit. The rocks beneath my feet grew slippery as the water rose. The anonymous woman seemed to have difficulty as well. I shrieked at her but she did not look back.

A trickle of water dampened my boots as I persevered. The trickle rose rapidly to a stream. I knew from past experience the water would continue to rise and it would carry with it boulders and other objects that would threaten my safety. I would have to reach higher ground, and soon. The walls of the wadi rose steeply, and rivulets of water precluded any hope of scrambling up them. There was, if memory served, an abandoned tomb in the cliff nearby, but I lacked the means to take sanctuary there. I began to panic as I struggled to keep my balance in the treacherous stream.

Then I heard a cry like that of a falcon—but it pronounced the syllables of my name. Looking up, I beheld a human form perched on a ledge. The darkening sky prevented identification, but I had a very good idea as to who it might be.

A rope dropped down. It was a sufficient message in itself, and I knotted it firmly around my waist. I had time only to close my parasol before I was drawn upward with such velocity that certain parts of my anatomy came into painful contact with the cliff face.