Birds of the Nile by N E. David

Biltmore his arm for the umpteenth time
Why, thank you Mr Blake
when he turned to look behind him, and sure enough, following them at a discreet distance, there was the girl from the temple. She’d dispensed with her heavy jacket to reveal a white T-shirt promoting some rock band or another and she carried a black parasol above her head. As Blake halted, so did she, and a look was exchanged between them. Then, when he and his charge resumed their painful progress, he could hear the scrunch of her Cuban heels on the stones once more. It was as if she were stalking him.
    Keith was striding out in front. His plan, he had announced, was to head up to the tomb of Seti I –‘the finest in the valley’ according to his guide book – and then work his way back down at leisure.
    It sounded like an admirable idea and Blake was sure itwould have worked well but for the fact that Mrs Biltmore was proving an unforeseen and frustrating drag on their headway. In addition to which, after a good twenty minutes hiking and having turned off up a narrow spur, they found the tomb they had targeted was closed for renovation. The entrance was barred off and a sign in red Arabic lettering had been posted to the side. There was an immediate feeling of disappointment and after starting out with such good intentions, this discovery seemed to dampen their spirits.
    “Well now that’s a great shame,” said the large American, blowing with exertion. “After all that effort.”
    Her will to continue suddenly evaporated in the heat and she did at last sink down onto a nearby boulder, collapsing into the shade beneath the overhanging entrance and fanning herself once more with her hat. Ira took up a position next to her, watching her like a sharp-eyed hawk. And with their main charge stranded and immobile like a beached whale, the whole troupe came to a grinding halt and they stood about like a yacht luffed against the wind.
    “What now?” said Blake, hands on hips.
    “I suppose we’d better go back,” said Keith.
    Janet instantly nodded, grabbing at his sleeve. She’d shown little interest in entering the tomb and seemed reluctant to descend below ground under any circumstances. Blake pressed on with his questioning. “So do you mean to tell me we’ve come all the way up here for nothing and now we’re simply going to turn round and go all the way back?”
    “It looks that way.” Keith was apologetic.
    “Isn’t there another tomb we can go in?”
    With his wife tugging at his arm, Keith grew suddenly diffident.
    “I’m not entirely sure…”
    “Oh for goodness sake…” said Blake, for whom this was just another frustration.
    As they were talking, their period of indecision had allowed Miss Malaysia to catch up (Blake was now confident of her country of origin). She had continued to follow them up the narrow spur right the way to the entrance to the tomb and was now standing at Blake’s elbow. No doubt she had come to chide him again, he thought. Surely she was not still pursuing him after the incident at the temple?
    But before they had chance to acknowledge her presence and ask as to her intentions, she butted in without any form of introduction.
    “Is there a problem?”
    “Yes there is,” said Blake, determined to be assertive. “We’ve come all the way up here to see the tomb of…” (and just as he wanted to appear decisive, the name escaped him)
    “…Seti I,” said Keith, helping him out.
    “Seti I,” continued Blake, “and the damned thing’s closed. On top of that, Mrs Biltmore here,” he waved a hand at the prostrate form of the distraught American, “has conked out on us and can’t take another step. Besides which we’re all lathered with the heat and our leader here has lost his get up and go. So all in all, I should say we’re in a state of complete limbo.”
    An edge had crept into his voice as if to betray his mounting sense of disquiet. What he dared not add to this list was that along with