The Secret of the Lost Tomb

“We’re dead.”

“Oh come on, look at the bright side—at least we’re going to die rich.”

The day had not turned out the way I had expected. When I had arrived to work at the Cairo museum that morning, I had anticipated another interesting but relatively quiet day spent cataloging some recently acquired artifacts. Instead, I had ventured out in search of a lost tomb, and as a result I had become trapped there with my professional rival, Wes Hamilton. However, I was trying to stay optimistic, even if my fellow captive wasn’t. He gave me a withering glance.

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better,” he said. “What have you got there?”

I was holding a small statuette, and I held it out to him for examination.

“Take a closer look.”

He took it, eyeing me dubiously. He sized up the object, and I could tell he appreciated its value, even if it wasn’t for the same reasons I did.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” I said, “Late 5th Dynasty, I’d say.”

“Early 6th, actually,” he replied.

“That’s your opinion,” I said with a shrug.

I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. He usually was.

“How much would you say it was worth?” he asked.

“At least twenty thousand dollars. But don’t quote me on that—I’m an archaeologist, not a treasure hunter like some people.”

“I prefer the term collector of antiquities.”

“Yes, well, as much as I’d love to discuss semantics with you, I think we’d better focus on finding a way out of here.”

“How?”

“Look around—there has to be a way out somewhere.”

We slowly circled the room, playing our flashlights along the walls, then I heard Wes make an odd noise.

“What is it?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, and I turned to see him staring at one corner of the room, his eyes wide. Coming up beside him, I followed the beam of his flashlight, and I let out a gasp as I found myself staring into the eyeless sockets of a human skull.

“This must be the last person who tried to find the tomb before us,” I said.

“I knew it,” said Wes, “we’re dead.”

“Just keep looking.”

I knelt beside the skeleton to examine it, suppressing a shudder. Its clothes were frayed and worn, practically falling to pieces in front of me, but they were intact enough for me to tell the style of clothing dated at least ten years prior. One hand rested on a small rectangular object, and I delicately pried it loose, wincing as I heard the cracking of dry bones.

“What’s that?” asked Wes.

“It’s a notebook.”

It was bound in black leather, and like the corpse’s other belongings, it was falling apart. The brittle, yellowed pages were covered with sketches and notes.

“I have one just like this. Maybe not quite this old, but similar.”

“Fascinating, but how is that going to help us? If this guy had figured out how to get out of here, he would have actually done it, not written about it.”

“He could have found something useful and not realized it. I have no concept of time in this place, but I suspect I have been here several days now. My meager supplies have run out, and I barely have the strength to write these words…”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough, thank you,” said Wes quickly.

“Wait, listen to this. The hand of god is extended to you, Take it and find your salvation.”

“Was he a Jehovah’s witness?”

“It’s the translation of an ancient Egyptian poem. According to the caption, our explorer friend believed it was written by one of the people who worked on the tomb.”

“How does that help us?”

“Well obviously he thought it was important. Maybe it’s a clue.”

I straightened up and began slowly pacing around the room. It wasn’t easy, as I had to step around piles of treasure that glinted softly in the light from my flashlight. I paused to study a statue of Anubis that loomed at least a foot over my head, carved entirely from polished black stone. One hand was clenched in a fist by its side, while the other was outstretched, palm facing up.

Could it really be that simple? I wondered to myself.

Reaching out, I placed my hand on top of the statue’s, which felt cool and smooth. Nothing happened.

“This stone looks different from the others,” said Wes.

He was standing in the middle of the room, studying the floor. I frowned and looked back at the statue again. Slowly, I applied some pressure to the hand, and I felt it give slightly. When I pressed harder, the hand lowered, and I heard a deep grating sound.

“Ahh!”

The floor under Wes moved, and he dropped out of sight, his arms flailing wildly.

“Wes!”

I rushed over and peered down. The stone slab Wes had been standing on had tilted, falling into a passageway below, where Wes sat in a crumpled heap.

“I’m okay,” he called up.

Climbing down, I helped him get to his feet, and we hurried along the passageway. For a while, there was only the sound of our footsteps and heavy breathing. Finally, Wes spoke.

“Shouldn’t we be going up at some point?” he said breathlessly.

He was right. The ground had been completely level the entire way, which meant we were still underground.

“Just keep going—this has to end sometime,” I said.

“I hope it does before we do.”

Sure enough, we eventually rounded a corner and came face to face with a solid wall.

“Dead end,” said Wes.

“No, there’s a way out. There has to be. Let’s retrace our steps…”

I heard a rumbling noise of stone scraping against stone, and with a sick feeling I turned around, just in time to see a stone panel slide into place, blocking our retreat. A soft rustling sound came from over my head, and I felt something brush against my cheek. Raising my flashlight, I saw a steady stream of sand pouring in from somewhere over our heads.

“Great,” said Wes drily, “at least in the other room we could have died sitting on top a pile of treasure.”

“We’re not dead yet. We can find a way out.”

Brushing sand out of my face, I scanned the walls, searching for a hidden panel, but my fingers only found solid stone. The sand was already almost up to our ankles.

“That’s it!” I cried.

Searching the walls over our heads, I located the opening where sand was coming into the room.

“What, what is it?” asked Wes.

“Our way out. Here, give me a boost.”

“Wait, what about me?”

“I’ll pull you up.”

He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “How do I know you won’t leave me down here?”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“Then why don’t you give me a boost and I’ll pull you up?”

“We’re wasting time, just do it!”

He knelt down and interlaced his fingers to form a step, then lifted me up. Sand streamed into my face, but I managed to clamber onto the ledge, half blind and spluttering from the sand in my mouth. Once I was up there, my body blocked most of the sand from coming down, and Wes had a moderately easier time climbing up behind me. We crawled on our hands and knees through the tunnel, and to our relief, we found ourselves traveling along a steep incline. It was precarious going at times; the sand was surprisingly slippery, and it wouldn’t have taken much to send us sliding backward into the pit. Eventually, however, we reached the top, and crawled out into the blinding sunlight. We remained on our hands and knees for several minutes, catching our breath, then we shakily got to our feet.

“At last!” Wes sighed. “I thought we’d never get out of there.”

“Yes, we’ll be cleaning sand out our hair for a week, but we made it,” I said.

“We make a pretty good team.”

“I suppose we do.”

“It’s a shame our partnership has to end prematurely.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. I was already shaky and exhausted from our ordeal, but somehow I had enough adrenaline left in my system to make my pulse quicken.

“Wes, what are you doing?”

“Relax, I’m not going to shoot you,” he said with a smile, “but I will be taking that little black book.”

“You want the notebook?”

“How else am I going to navigate the booby traps when I come back to clean out this place?”

“You dirty, cheap, b---”

“I’ll stop you there before you say something really unladylike. I’m an opportunist, that’s all. Now, the book please.”

I didn’t have any choice. Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out the book, brushed some sand off of it, then held it out to him.

“Thank you,” he said, stuffing it into his coat pocket, “I meant it when I said we were a good team. If you ever want to get into the collecting business, let me know.”

“I’m not interested in business the way you do it.”

“Suit yourself. Well, be seeing you.”

We had emerged relatively close to the entrance, and his car was close enough for me to watch him walk over to it and drive away.

It was dark by the time I got back to the museum, and I found my assistant still working at her desk. I hadn’t even made it all the way through the door before she had rushed over to me and started brushing sand off of my clothes.

“Where have you been?” she said, “And what happened to you?”

“It’s a long story—first things first, take a look at this.”

I reached into my jacket and pulled out a notebook.

“Your field notebook?”

“Nope, I gave that to somebody else. This one is a very special little black book…”