The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur (бесплатные онлайн книги читаем полные .txt) 📗

about the future yet, but won't you be applying?"

"Of course," he nodded. "But that doesn't mean that no one else should.

Perhaps you will take the job out from in front of my nose." His smile

was complacent. She was a woman in an Arab world, and he was the nephew

of the minister. Nahoot knew just how heavily the odds favoured him.

"Friendly rivals?"he asked.

Royan smiled sadly. "Friends, at least. I will need all of those I can

find in the future."

"You know you have many friends. Everyone in the department likes you,

Royan." That at least was true, she supposed. He went on smoothly, "May

I offer you a lift back to Cairo? I am certain my uncle will not

object."

"Thank you, Nahoot, but I have my own car here, and I must stay over at

the oasis tonight to see to some of Duraid's affairs."This was not true.

Royan planned to travel back to the flat in Giza that evening but, for

reasons that she was not very sure of herself, she did not want Nahoot

to know of her plans.

"Then we shall see you at the museum on Monday." Royan left the oasis as

soon as she was able to escape from the relations and family friends and

peasants, so many of whom had worked for Duraid's family most of their

lives.

She felt numbed and isolated, so that all their condolences and

exhortations were meaningless and Without comfort.

Even at this late hour the tarmac road back through the desert was busy,

with files of vehicles moving steadily in both directions, for tomorrow

was Friday and the sabbath. She slipped her injured right arm out of the

sling, and it did not hamper her driving too much. She was able to make

reasonably good time. Nevertheless, it was after five in the afternoon

when she made out the green line against the tawny desolation of the

desert that marked the start of the narrow strip of irrigated and

cultivated land along the Nile which was the great artery of Egypt.

As always the traffic became denser the nearer she came to the capital,

and it was almost fully dark by the time she reached the apartment block

in Giza that overlooked both the river and those great monuments of

stone which stood so tall and massive against the evening sky, and which

for her epitomized the heart and history of her land.

She left Duraid's old green Renault in the underground garage of the

building and rode up in the elevator to the top floor.

She let herself into the flat and then froze in the doorway. The sitting

room had been ransacked - even the rugs had been pulled up and the

paintings ripped from the walls. In a daze she picked her way through

the litter of broken furniture and smashed ornaments. She glanced into

the bedroom as she went down the passage, and saw that it had not

escaped. Her clothes and those of Duraid were strewn over the floor, and

the doors of the cupboards stood ajar. One of these was smashed off its

hinges. The bed was overturned, and the sheets and bolsters had been

flung about.

She could smell the reek of broken cosmetic and perfume bottles from the

bathroom, but she could not yet bring herself to go in there. She knew

what she would find.

Instead she continued down the passage to the large room that they had

used as a study and workshop.

In the chaos the first thing that she noticed and mourried was the

antique chess set that Duraid had given her as a wedding present. The

board of jet and ivory squares was broken in half and the pieces had

been thrown about the room with vindictive and unnecessary violence. She

stooped and picked up the white queen. Her head had been snapped off.

Holding the queen in her good hand she moved like a sleepwalker to her

desk below the window. Her PC was wrecked. They had shattered the screen

and hacked the mainframe with what must have been an axe. She could tell

at a glance that there was no information left on the hard drive; it was

beyond repair.

She glanced down at the drawer in which she kept her floppy disks. That

and all the other drawers had been pulled out and thrown on the floor.

They were empty, of course; along with the disks, all her notebooks and

photographs were missing. Her last connections with the seventh scroll

were lost. After three years of work, gone was  the proof that it had

ever existed.

She stumped down on the floor, feeling beaten and exhausted. Her arm

started to ache again, and she was alone and vulnerable as she had never

been in her life before. She had never thought that she would miss

Duraid so desperately. Her shoulders began to shake and she felt the

tears welling up from deep within her. She tried to hold them back, but

they scalded her eyelids and she let them flow. She sat amongst the

wreckage of her life and wept until there was nothing more left within

her, and then she curled up on the littered carpet and fell, into the

sleep of exhaustion and despair.

 the Monday morning she had managed to restore some order into her life.

The police had come to the flat and taken her statement, and she had

tidied up most of the disarray. She had even glued the head back on her

white queen. When she left the flat and climbed into the green Renault

her arm was feeling easier, and, if not cheerful, she was at least a

great deal more optimistic, and sure of what she had to do.

When she reached the museum she went first to Duraid's office and was

annoyed to find that Nahoot was there before her. He was supervising two

of the security guards as they cleared out all Duraid's personal

effects.

"You might have had the consideration to let me do that," she told him

coldly, and he gave her his most winning smile.

"I am sorry, Royan. I thought I would help." He was smoking one of his

fat Turkish cigarettes. She loathed the heavy, musky odour.

She crossed to Duraid's desk, and opened the top right hand drawer. "My

husband's day book was in here. It's gone now. Have you seen it?"

"No, there was nothing in that drawer."Nahoot looked at the two guards

for confirmation, and they shuffled their feet and shook their heads. It

did not really matter, she thought. The book had not contained much of

vital interest. Duraid had always relied on her to record and store all

data of importance, and most of it had been on her PC.

"Thank you, Nahoot," she dismissed him. "I will do whatever remains to

be done. I don't want to keep you from your work."

"Any help you need, Royan, please let me know." He bowed slightly as he

left her.

It did not take her long to finish in Duraid's office. She had the

guards take the boxes of his possessions down the corridor to her own

office and pile them against the wall.

She worked through the lunch-hour tidying up all her own affairs, and

when she had finished there was still an hour until her appointment with

Atalan Abou Sin.

If she was to make good her promise to Duraid, then she was going to be

absent for some time. Wanting to take leave of all her favoUrite

treasures, she went down into the public section of the huge building.

Monday was a busy day, and the exhibition halls of the museum were

thronged with groups of tourists. They flocked behind their guides,

sheep following the shepherd.

They crowded around the most famous of the displays.

They listened to the guides reciting their well-rehearsed spiels in all