The Exodus Quest

III

Gaille showed Stafford and Lily to their rooms, then went in search of Fatima. No surprise, she was at her desk, swaddled in blankets, looking cadaverous with exhaustion beneath her shawl. It was sometimes hard for Gaille to believe that so frail and shrunken a frame could house so formidable an intellect. Born just east of here, she'd discovered her passion for Ancient Egypt young, had won a scholarship to Leiden University in Holland before becoming a lecturer there, returning to Egypt each year to excavate at Berenike. But her illness had drawn her back here, close to her family, her roots. 'I saw you were back,' she smiled. 'Thank you.'

Gaille put her hand upon her shoulder. 'I was glad to help.'

'What did you make of our friend Mister Stafford?'

'Oh. I really didn't have much of a chance to get to know him.'

Fatima allowed herself a rare laugh. 'That bad?'

'He's not my kind of historian.'

'Mine, neither.'

'Then why invite him?'

'Because we need funds, my dear,' said Fatima. 'And, for that, we first need publicity.' She clenched her eyes and produced a blood-red handkerchief, the inevitable prelude to one of her violent coughing fits.

Gaille waited patiently until she was recovered. 'There must be other ways,' she said, as the handkerchief vanished once more beneath Fatima's robes.

'I wish there were.' But they both knew the reality. Most of the SCA's constrained budget went to Giza, Saqqara, Luxor and the other landmark sites. So few people ever visited this stretch of Middle Egypt, it wasn't considered an attractive investment, despite its beauty, friendliness and historical significance.

'I don't see how having Stafford here will help,' said Gaille mulishly.

'People read his books,' replied Fatima.

'His books are nonsense.'

'I know they are. But people still read them. And they watch his programmes too. And some of them will no doubt be prompted to learn more, maybe even come here to find the truth for themselves. All we need is enough traffic to support a tourist infrastructure.'

'They said something about me going with them to Amarna tomorrow.'

Fatima nodded. 'I'm sorry to land that on you,' she said. 'But my doctor came today. He's not happy with my… prognosis.'

'Oh, no,' said Gaille wretchedly. 'Oh, Fatima.'

'I'm not looking for sympathy,' she said sharply. 'I'm explaining the situation. He's ordered me to hospital tomorrow for tests. So I won't be able to accompany Stafford as I'd promised. Someone must take my place. I've already banked my fee and I assure you I'm not paying it back.'

'Why not one of the others?' asked Gaille. 'They know more than I do.'

'No they don't. You spent two seasons excavating Amarna with your father, didn't you?'

'I was only a teenager. It was over a decade ago.'

'So? None of my people have spent anything like that much time there. And you studied the Eighteenth Dynasty at the Sorbonne, didn't you? And haven't you just been back there with Knox? Besides, we both know that Western audiences will respond more positively to a Western face, a Western voice.'

'He'll make it seem like I'm endorsing his ideas.'

'You won't be.'

'I know I won't be. But that's how he'll make it look. He'll take what he needs and ignore everything else. He'll make me a laughing stock.'

'Please.' Fatima touched her wrist. 'You don't know how tight our budget is. Once I'm gone-'

Gaille winced. 'Don't talk like that.'

'It's the truth, my dear. I need to leave this project in good financial health. It's my legacy. And that means raising the profile of this region. I'm asking you to help. If you feel you can't, I suppose I could always postpone my tests.'

Gaille blinked and clenched her jaw. 'That's unfair, Fatima.'

'Yes,' she agreed.

The wall-clock ticked away the seconds. Gaille finally let out her breath. 'Fine,' she sighed. 'You win. What exactly do you want me to do?'

'Just be helpful. That's all. Help them make a good programme. And I want you to show them the talatat too.'

'No!' cried Gaille. 'You can't be serious.'

'Can you think of a better way to generate publicity?'

'It's too early. We can't be anything like sure. If it turns out we're wrong-'

Fatima nodded. 'Just show them the place, then. Explain how your image software works, how you recreate those old scenes after all these centuries. Leave everything else to me. My doctor insists I eat, after all. I'll join you for dinner tonight. That way, if anyone's made a laughing stock over this, it'll be me.'