Prologue
Valley of the Kings.
Egypt
October 1922
Hussein paused to take a deep breath and wipe the sweat from his eyes. It was hard work lifting the heavy water jar from the back of the donkey. The jar was almost taller than he was. But the workers at the dig site would be thirsty by now. He needed to hurry. Hussein should have gotten there earlier, but the stubborn donkey wouldn’t move fast enough no matter how many times Hussein pushed and whacked it with his stick.
He had been doing this job for three months now, delivering water from the well far down the valley to the men working in the scorching sun.
The man in charge was an Englishman, Mr Carter. He has been in Egypt so long that his skin was tanned brown. All these men were working hard in the blazing desert sun because Mr Carter was convinced that somewhere beneath these sands, a Pharaoh’s tomb remained hidden. Hussein was only a boy, he knew little of these matters, only that Mr Carter paid well, and his family needed the money.
Hussein stepped slowly away from the donkey, taking care not to spill any of the precious water. He carefully used his foot to smooth out a flat surface in the sand so that the jar would sit upright, rather than tipping over.
And that was how he found it.
A firm surface, under his foot. Hussein set the jar down, brushed more of the sand away and stared.
There was a flat stone, buried just under the sand.
Hussein ran off to find one of the workers, watching their faces light up as he described what he had found.
A team of men quickly gathered around, excitedly digging the sand away. The flat surface revealed itself to be a step.
Just below it was another.
Then another.
The water jar was soon forgotten.
* * *
The boy, Hussein, had no idea that day of how significant his discovery was.
But Howard Carter, lead archaeologist on this dig, most certainly did.
The tomb.
The fabled tomb of the boy pharaoh.
Now, many months later, Carter was sweating as he worked methodically, slowly uncovering the secrets of the lost tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamun.
The temperature inside of the tomb was cooler than the heat of the searing Egyptian desert outside. Nevertheless, Carter was hot as he meticulously worked through his labelling and cataloguing process.
The discovery of the intact tomb of the boy-king continued to make worldwide news. The idea that, in this modern age, there were still literal treasures to be discovered, just buried underground, had gripped the imagination of millions around the world.
But Carter preferred to leave all the newspaper enquiries and magazine interviews to his sponsor, Lord Carnarvon. He would much rather be where he was right now, working on the crowning archaeological find of his career.
With no electric lights yet installed, Carter was working by candlelight. Each item found in the tomb needed to have its position mapped, then it needed to be tagged, sketched, described, and photographed from several angles. And this was only the antechamber. They hadn’t even reached the burial vault yet, where the Pharaoh himself lay.
On that hot, early summer afternoon, Carter was so engaged with his work that he didn’t notice the ever-present water-boy at his side. Hussein was not only a hard worker, but Carter considered him a good luck charm. It was his accidental discovery of that first step, buried in the sand, that led to all this.
“Mister Carter, what’s that?”
Carter looked up and took the tumbler of water the boy was holding out. But the boy was looking at something else. Something in the tomb had caught his eye.
“Is shiny,” said the boy.
“Lots of shiny things in here,” said Carter.
“No,” said the boy in his broken English, “is too shiny. Not belong.”
Carter looked at where the boy was pointing.
The boy was right.
Something shiny was gleaming in the lamplight, from inside the war chariot parked against the opposite wall. The chariot was so well preserved that it looked as if the Pharaoh had stepped out of it only moments earlier.
But the chariot wasn’t what the boy was pointing to.
Carter had trained himself, over years of experience, to not be impatient when involved in excavations, especially something of this size. It was far better to be painstakingly slow and get it right than to rush things, or jump ahead, and get it wrong.
However, the glint of gold inside the chariot piqued his curiosity.
He hadn’t noticed gold there before. And he had been working in this room for months.
“It won’t hurt to have a look”, he told himself, and he stood up from his small, wooden footstool. The light wasn’t quite the same once he reached the chariot and the object was no longer glinting. Carter crouched down and peered into the dark recesses of the ancient machine.
“Can you see it?” he said over his shoulder.
“Yes Mister Carter, is still shiny.”
Carter reached in.
There was something there, on the floor. Something that didn’t belong. The boy was right. Carter held his candle closer to get a better look and almost dropped it in shock.
It was a watch. A pocket watch. Sitting covered in the same ancient dust as the chariot. With a small chain looped around the structure. There was no mistaking it.
Carter stood up and stepped back, astounded. His mind flew in a thousand different directions. How could a pocket watch be in the tomb? Was this a fake? A forgery? Or had the tomb already been opened much more recently?
Enormous fear and frustration boiled up inside of him, Carter forced himself to slow down his breathing, to take a few long deep breaths. His heart rate slowed.
Nothing else in the tomb appeared to be anything but authentic. The seal on the door had been unbroken since ancient times. The tomb itself looked to have been undisturbed for millennia. He decided that, in this case, he would need to skip the cataloguing and photographing.
He reached in and gently untangled the chain from the structure, before pulling out the whole watch. The timepiece was coated in dust – centuries worth of dust. The attached chain was stained with age, rust patches showing through. It looked to be just as old as the rest of the tomb.
But that was impossible!
At once, Carter knew that this was a problem he was going to need help with. He held the watch tight in his hand.
He turned to Hussein.
“Tell the men…” he hesitated, then spoke again, “tell the men we’ll have to close the site. I’ll be away for a few days.”
“A few days, Mister?”
“Yes,” said Carter, “I need to go to Cairo.”
Carter travelled to Cairo that very night, needing advice. The watch was an anachronism. Something that belonged to a completely different time-period. Its presence in the tomb made no sense.
A day later, he was standing on the plush rug in a suite at the Continental Savoy Hotel in Cairo. It was a hotel suite he knew well. He knew the suite almost as well as he knew the distinguished-looking older gentleman who stepped through the door, followed by his valet.
“Carter!” exclaimed Lord Carnarvon. “No one told me you were coming. What news from our tomb? Riches beyond our wildest dreams?”
Lord Carnarvon was Carter’s financial backer and main sponsor. The two men had a relationship that went back fifteen years.
Carter reached into his pocket. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve found something that might interest you.”
Carnarvon gave him an amused look. “That would be an understatement, Howard. Over the past few weeks, you have given the entire world something to talk about.” Carter smiled, acknowledging Carnarvon’s compliment.
“Well,” said Carnarvon, “what brings you to Cairo then? Until this moment I doubted I could drag you from the tomb, let alone that you would come of your own volition.”
Carter sat down and Carnarvon’s valet handed him a drink. He looked down at the watch. “I think, Sir, you may need a drink yourself.”
Lord Carnarvon sat and listened while Carter explained how and where he had found the watch, including the accumulated dust which suggested it had lain there undisturbed for centuries. To his surprise, Carnarvon’s face showed neither disbelief nor astonishment at the story. Instead, he listened, with closed lips, and waited until Carter finished.
Carter himself took a quick, fortifying drink as soon as he finished, and waited for Carnarvon’s response. Carnarvon took his time, nodding thoughtfully and running his finger around the top of his glass before speaking. “I think it would be best if you gave me the watch.”
Carter wordlessly handed it to him, his eyes never leaving the older man’s face.
“My driver will arrange transport for you. I want you to go on vacation for a few weeks; I’ll cover the expense. Then, head straight back to the site and continue the dig. I’ll make sure the tomb remains undisturbed while you’re gone.”
Carter opened his mouth to protest that he was far from wanting a vacation. Carnarvon stopped him. “I’m prepared to keep funding you for as long as you need to do the excavation properly. Years if necessary. But I think it best you don’t mention the watch to anyone.”
Carter read something in his tone. “Sir, I really think…”
“Yes, a vacation is a splendid idea. You have been working so hard.” He signalled to his valet, and a protesting Carter found himself escorted from the room.
