The Heretics Treasure

Chapter Fifty-Four

The scene ahead in the torchlight was breathtaking. They were standing at the opening of an underground cavern the size of the largest of cathedrals. The fire glittered off weird and wonderful rock formations.

‘This is fantastic,’ Kirby said, stepping forward.

‘Careful,’ Ben said, stopping him. He shone the torch downwards.

‘Whoops,’ Kirby breathed.

Below them was a deep abyss, falling away into blackness. Massive pointed stalagmites jutted up from the depths like huge stakes, waiting to impale anyone who fell into the chasm. Ben raised the torch higher, and the orange light flickered off great craggy stalactites that hung down from the cavern’s ceiling a hundred feet above them.

‘Looks like giant fangs,’ Kirby whispered in awe. ‘Like an enormous mouth. A shark’s mouth.’

‘Not a shark,’ Ben said. ‘A crocodile. You’re looking at the teeth of Sobek, the crocodile god. “Pass through the teeth of Sobek, and you will discover.”’

Kirby gasped at the realisation. ‘But how the hell do we get across?’

Ben stepped towards the edge and the torchlight glinted off something in front of him. A rope bridge, spanning the void, stretched far into the darkness ahead. Ben put out his hand and his fingers closed around the thick, taut rope. It felt strong and dry in his fist.

‘This way,’ he said.

‘No way,’ Kirby protested. ‘It’s thousands of years old. It’ll never take our weight.’

Ben stepped out onto the bridge. The wooden slats were cracked and grey with age, and the creak of the ancient ropes echoed through the cavern. But it held. He took another step. He was standing right over the abyss now. He turned to Kirby. ‘Are you coming or what?’

Kirby hesitated.

‘Fine.’ Ben took another step. ‘Then I’ll find the treasure myself.’

‘Not on your life,’ Kirby said, following quickly behind. The bridge creaked and swayed as they made their way towards the darkness.

Another deep rumble echoed through the cavern. Stone grinding on stone. Millions of tons of pressure bearing down above them. Ben glanced up at the jagged ceiling and sucked his breath in between his teeth. Something was not right up there. Something fundamental within the structural integrity of the rock had been dislodged by the enormous impact of the tank shell. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it would all come crashing down at any moment and this place would be their tomb. There was only one way to find out, and only one way forwards.

‘I feel like I’m walking into hell,’ Kirby said shakily behind him.

‘Maybe you are,’ Ben said.

Another grinding rumble from above, and a shower of small rocks fell from the ceiling. One shattered off a stalagmite. The rest dropped away into nothing. It was a long, long way down.

From somewhere below in the abyss came another sound. The distant rush of fast-moving water. An underground river, an ancient relic from the days when the Sahara desert had been a lush, green paradise.

The crossing of the rope bridge seemed like an eternity, but eventually they reached the far side. Kirby took the last few steps at a run. The sweat was shining off his face in the torchlight. ‘Thank Christ that’s over.’

‘Until you have to cross the other way,’ Ben said.

‘I really needed to be reminded of that.’

Ben didn’t reply. He was already pushing on into the tunnel, wrapping another piece of cloth around the torch as he went.

This was no longer a natural cave. The shaft they were following now was man-made, dug with amazing precision out of the solid rock. The walls were covered in faded paintings, strange images that didn’t look familiarly Egyptian to Ben.

‘I don’t know who carved this passage out,’ Kirby said. ‘But it wasn’t Wenkaura.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Sure as I’ll ever be. Look at these images. I’ve never seen anything like them before. These are nothing any scholar would recognise. Some Predynastic culture built this place. Or Nubian, or some other civilisation we don’t even know about. It’s incredible. How Wenkaura found this place, we’ll never know.’

A loud, echoing series of rumbling cracks made them spin around. Ben watched as a thin fissure slowly spread across the tunnel wall beside him and part of a painted image crumbled away.

‘This can’t be good,’ Kirby murmured. ‘The place is falling apart.’

Thirty yards further on through the dark, winding shaft they came to a dead end. The wall that blocked the tunnel was covered in ancient cobwebs and dust. ‘Hold this.’ Ben thrust the torch into Kirby’s hands and brushed away the webs, revealing the cracks between stone blocks. ‘There are more markings here. And these are definitely Egyptian.’

Kirby came up close. The firelight sent dark shadows into the carved hieroglyphs in front of them.

‘Can you read it?’

Kirby’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh, God.’

‘Can you read it?’ Ben repeated impatiently.

Kirby turned. ‘It says, “Amun is content. The treasure is restored.” This is it. We found it.’

‘Then let’s see what we’ve got.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Straight through this wall,’ Ben said. He took the blazing rifle from Kirby and swung the stock hard at the wall. The crash of solid wood on stone echoed through the tunnel. A block moved, maybe an eighth of an inch.

He swung the rifle again. The torch went out, and they were in darkness. ‘Stand back.’ He hit it again, blind. There was a crash of something falling. He kept swinging and swinging until the rifle stock broke and clattered to the stone floor. He felt for another strip of cloth, wrapped it around the barrel, flicked open his lighter and relit it.

He smiled at what he saw. There was now a hole in the wall just about big enough to crawl through. He stooped down beside it, and felt a sigh of warm air escaping from the chamber inside. Dust particles hovered in the torchlight.

‘Here we go,’ Kirby said. ‘Monte Carlo or bust.’

Ben took a deep breath and crawled through into the darkness. Shone the torch at a floating mist of dust.

Kirby struggled through the hole and jumped up to his feet. ‘What do you see?’ he whispered.

‘Nothing,’ Ben said.

But then, as the dust slowly settled, he could see.