Valley of the Kings by Cecelia Holland Read Free Book Online

cracked out, and I exclaimed and broke into a run.
    There was a light ahead on the edge of the cliff. I tripped over a rock and fell to my hands and knees. The elder from the village huffed and gasped in my tracks.
    Ahead of us someone shouted.
    My knees hurt. I staggered on a few steps and stopped. Before me in the middle distance was a group of men, standing near the edge of the gorge that opened to my left. One of them was carrying the light. They were arguing, but one of them saw me and pointed, and they hushed.
    â€œIt’s Howard Carter,” I called. “I’m coming up; don’t shoot.” I strode toward them. I couldn’t give them a chance to think; I had to take charge of them. I walked straight in among them, standing as straight and tall as I could.
    There were four or five of them, mostly boys. One had a large revolver that he was aiming around him, first at one boy, then at another. His face was wild. I put out my hand for the gun.
    â€œNow, what’s this?” I said, in the loudest, firmest voice I could muster. “Give me that gun. Yes, give me the gun. The rest of you, stand up straight, hands at your sides, there.”
    The frightened boy with the gun put it in my hands as if he were glad to see it go. The others stepped self-consciously together, although none of them straightened up or put his hands to his sides.
    With the gun in my hand, I really was in charge, and I lowered my voice considerably.
    â€œWhat are you doing? The valley belongs to the government, you know—and everything in it. Tell me exactly what you are doing here.”
    The old man reached us. His glance raked the boys, whose faces were lit by the lantern the middle of them still carried. My old friend turned to me.
    â€œAhmed is not here. It is Ahmed who does everything evil in Kurna, now that the men have gone to the army.” He turned back to the boys. “Where is Ahmed?”
    The young man who had held the gun pointed down over the edge of the gorge. “There. He is in the cave.”
    â€œWhat cave?” I went to the lip of the Valley of the Kings. Black shadow filled it. Near my foot a rope was hanging over the edge. I followed it back with my eyes and saw it was secured around a great rock. “How many feet down is it?” I said, and knelt, and tested the rope.
    â€œI was standing guard,” said the boy behind me. “These —dogs—swine—”
    The other boys growled at him. Wildly he went on, “They tried to scare me away! So they could rob him, when he comes up!”
    â€œWho is Ahmed?” I asked of the old man. I made my own rope fast to the boulder.
    â€œYoung,” the old man said. “Bad. A very restless bad young man. What are you doing, Carter?”
    â€œI am pulling up Ahmed’s rope,” I said. I did so. The other boys were watching me, standing close together, Ahmed’s sentry with the others. “Go home,” I said, “and put your heads under your pillows, and don’t come out until your mothers call you for breakfast.”
    â€œMy gun,” the sentry said.
    The other boys were already moving off, relieved, I suppose, that I wasn’t arresting them. I had no authority to do that, naturally, nor any inclination. With Ahmed’s rope raised, I dropped my own rope, which I trusted, down over the cliff.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Carter?” the old man said. “You cannot go down there tonight. Are you mad? You have trapped him—he cannot get away now. Wait until morning.”
    â€œWhen I signal,” I said, “pull the rope up, and don’t let it down again until I call you.”
    â€œCarter!”
    By morning Ahmed could have broken into anything he found in the tunnel. I shook my head. The old man wagged his from side to side, bemused. He pointed to the boy who remained with us.
    â€œYou stay here and help me.”
    The boy nodded. I swung myself down over the cliff