The Lost Labyrinth

III

The delegates suddenly started arriving at the pavilion in a flood. The buses from the hotel had evidently arrived. Nico entered with them, talking animatedly with a member of his staff. Knox went to join them, and they went together up to the podium, where they talked him through the controls. He felt a sudden flutter of nerves, that coppery taste at the back of his mouth. Public speaking didn't come naturally to him.

'Fifteen minutes,' said Nico. 'Okay?'

'Okay.' He walked back and forth across the rear of the stage, keeping a lid on his nerves as he gave Augustin's text a final read-through. The lights in the main part of the pavilion went down; the stage grew brighter. He went to sit upon his appointed chair. Nico took his good time about making his way to the podium, where he tapped the microphone to make sure it was on, then cleared his throat, milking the moment. The auditorium was now packed, people standing at the back, even a few journalists, to judge from the notepads and cameras, presumably looking for new angles on Petitier's death.

'I'm sure you've all heard by now of the terrible events of yesterday afternoon,' began Nico. 'My first instinct, of course, was to cancel today's proceedings. But you good people have come so far for this conference, and it's so rare to have so many of the world's great authorities on Eleusis in one venue, that I felt we owed it to scholarship to persevere, however tragic the circumstances. And I'm glad, to judge by this excellent turnout, that so many of you agree.'

All the talks were being filmed for posterity, and the cameraman now swept the audience. It gave Knox an idea. Anyone at yesterday afternoon's talk had an ironclad alibi for Petitier's murder, with the Athens hotel a good forty minutes away. But anyone not there had some explaining to do, particularly if-

His name was called out suddenly. He looked up to see Nico beckoning. There was a polite smattering of applause that grew louder as he walked across and shook Nico's hand. He oriented himself at the podium, checked the controls and the teleprompter.

Over the years Knox had known Augustin, he'd come to take his friendship for granted. You did that with people like Augustin, because they never made a point of it, they never asked for anything in return. He had a sudden vision of him in the ICU, his face swollen, his skull fractured, fighting for his life; yet at the same time he had the strongest sense of his presence here in the pavilion, watching him right now, his arms sardonically folded, as though to make sure that he'd do him justice. And suddenly what Knox had seen as a chore to pay back Nico for helping get him out of gaol took on a different aspect. Augustin had talked lightly about this lecture, but it had been his chance to prove himself to the world outside Alexandria, and he'd worked his heart out on it. He'd rewritten it countless times, had rehearsed it endlessly. But now he was lying in an ICU bed, and-brutal though it was to acknowledge-this talk could yet prove his memorial. Knox owed it to him to make it fitting.

An earthquake had struck off the coast of Alexandria several months before. Not severe, as these things went, barely enough to shake dust from the plaster, rattle a roof or two, make people smile nervously at each other as they hurried out their front doors. But it had also put a crack in an old block of flats overlooking the Nouzha gardens, and a week later the facade of the building had groaned and then simply sheered away. The property had duly been condemned and destroyed. A bulldozer had revealed an underground chamber. The Supreme Council for Antiquities in Alexandria had called in Augustin, and he in turn had called in Knox and Gaille.

Now he played edited highlights on the giant screen of Gaille's footage of that first exploration, jumping and bumping as they clambered over rubble and debris, the hazy white flare of flashlights playing over the loculi and detritus on the floor, human bone and the occasional fragment of pottery glowing palely against the darker dirt. He didn't speak, just let the atmosphere build. It was one of the great privileges of archaeology, exploring such sites for the first time in hundreds or even thousands of years. But finally he sensed his moment. 'Behold the Alexandrian district of Eleusis,' he began. 'They call them the Mysteries. But in Egypt, at least, thanks to my good friend Augustin Pascal, they may not be that way for very much longer.'