Clubhouse Magazine

On his first day in Thebes, Oliver spent three hours at the tomb of an unidentified Egyptian prince. He’d come to Egypt with Sir Percival Wethersby. From his perch on a broken crate, Oliver carefully copied the paintings on the wall. The air stank of mildew, and his stumpy candle let off more smoke than light. Oliver drew because he loved to, and because Sir Percival was his mother’s uncle.

Oliver’s father had died years ago, and his mother had passed away when he was 10. Sir Percival was Oliver’s only relative. When Sir Percival wanted something, he got it. And he wanted Oliver’s drawing talent. Oliver’s illustrations would help him sell artifacts in Egypt.

"Not bad," Sir Percival said, examining Oliver’s sketch. "Make the red a tad bit brownish. See there." He pointed to the woman’s basket. "The red isn’t quite right. I want these copied exactly."

Sir Percival called outside to his paid Arab servant, "Beni! Bring more candles."

Oliver stood and stretched his back. He’d been crouched all day, leaning over his drawing to get every detail right. With a rag, he cleared away the dirt on a ledge chiseled out of the wall. He leaned against it. CRACK!

Suddenly he was on the ground. A cloud of dust and the stench of ammonia surrounded him.

"What’s this?" Beni said from behind. As the dirt settled and the Arab lifted his candle, both could see the entrance to a tunnel. "A new tomb!" Beni exclaimed. "I’ll get Sir Percival. He’ll want to see inside first."

Oliver grabbed the candle and poked his head inside the tunnel. He inched inside, feeling his way to make sure there wasn’t a chasm below. Ten feet in, he came to a room.

He shone the candle around the cavern and found a coffin, some vases, chairs, pots and three statues. He blew the black dust off one figure—a wooden woman, carved and painted. A decorative collar circled her neck. Colorful beads surrounded white and yellow flowers molded out of clay. The workmanship dazzled Oliver’s artistic soul.

"Get out of there, you scoundrel!" Sir Percival snapped, his head popping into the cavern.

"Tommyrot," Sir Percival said. "I’ll take a look around here myself. Give me that candle."

Some hours later, Oliver was allowed back inside the tomb. All the artifacts were covered in sheets except the coffin. Sir Percival was kneeling by it. The stone covering had been set aside. Tears filled Sir Percival’s pink-rimmed eyes. "Take special care to copy these inscriptions exactly." He pointed to some Egyptian writing on the wooden coffin and then lifted the lid. "Tommyrot! The body is gone!"

Oliver knew that a missing mummy was odd. Tomb raiders usually took everything except the mummy, leaving the body for fear of a curse.

"Beni, guard this tomb," Sir Percival said. "This is 1901, but tomb raiders are still alive and well. I can’t afford to let anyone steal this coffin. Bones or no bones, this could belong to a lost king."

Even after Oliver crawled into his bed that night, tucked away in the corner of Sir Percival’s tent quarters, he continued to draw. The image of the collar wouldn’t leave his mind. He sketched it from memory.

Oliver accompanied Sir Percival to the Museum at Cairo the next day. Mr. Azur, a short, balding curator, greeted them cheerfully. He studied Oliver’s sketch of the coffin. "Most wonderful," Mr. Azur said. "The sarcophagus and the coffin, they were not disturbed?"

"Well," Sir Percival said, "at first everything appeared fine. But the mummy! I’m afraid the bones are gone."

The knowledge seemed to please Mr. Azur rather than annoy him. "This is most wonderful. Look!" He pointed at the drawing of the coffin. "This says ‘Zaphenath-paneah.’ "

When neither Oliver nor Sir Percival reacted, Mr. Azur slapped his forehead. "The ignorance of foreigners! ‘Zaphenath-paneah’ is another name for Joseph, the Hebrew of the Old Testament who became Pharaoh’s second-in-command and saved Egypt from famine. The Bible records that Moses took Joseph’s bones out of Egypt right before the Exodus."

The first sign of disaster was the unfamiliar green truck parked near the site at Thebes. Beni lay facedown in the sand, his hands tied behind his back. A man wearing a black mask jumped out from behind the truck and pointed a rifle at Sir Percival’s chest.

Soon the three were tied in the same position as Beni. Oliver watched, blinking sand from his eyes, as six masked men loaded the chairs, vases, coffin and statues into the truck. He said a silent goodbye to Joseph’s coffin as the ancient cargo rolled away.

Several uneventful weeks passed until Sir Percival brought Oliver to a new site in the cliffs—a pit tomb. The cave was accessible only by climbing down a 30-foot rope.

"This is my new discovery," Sir Percival said when they reached the bottom. His candle lit a room filled with a potpourri of artifacts. "I think this was a storage chamber."

Oliver looked around. His eyes fixed on a statue of a woman wearing an ornate collar.

"I never should have let you in that tomb!" Sir Percival said. "Forget you saw it!"

"Money," Sir Percival said, pulling his pipe out of his pocket. "Joseph’s coffin is worth too much to leave in a museum. Today my contract with the museum ends. Now I’m free to keep these artifacts. What difference is it to you?"

I’ll do what’s right, Oliver thought. He sprang up, grabbing the rope with a tight grip and twisting his ankles around the bottom.

"You’ll not make it, Boy," Sir Percival said, stepping forward. "I’ll pluck you from that rope like an apple off a tree."

Oliver looked up at the opening and prayed for strength. He began to climb, hand over hand. Suddenly a brown blur swooped down from the opening.

He could hear Sir Percival muttering, followed by more whirring and a screech. Oliver recognized the call of an eagle owl.

Oliver continued to shimmy up the rope. In one great heave, he reached the ledge and hoisted himself up.

After forcing Oliver back down the rope, Sir Percival removed all the artifacts and left him there with no food, no water and no light. For two long days, Oliver sat in the pit tomb praying.

He listened to snakes slithering by day, the beat of bats’ wings at night. When he was about to give up hope, Oliver heard a familiar whirring. He stared at the hole and wished for the owl to come back. But this time the whirring wasn’t the owl; it was a car.

"Yes," Oliver said, his voice a mere croak. Mr. Azur lowered a rope ladder and descended into the pit. He gave Oliver some water.

"Sir Percival came and showed me the collar," he said. "But I’d seen your sketch of it. It was with the original drawing of Joseph’s coffin. I knew then Percival had cheated us."

"Then you can live with me and draw, yes?" Mr. Azur said. "You remind me of another young foreigner who was left for dead in a pit. He did what was right at great expense to himself. But God helped him and brought good things to Egypt."

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