Nefertiti Dreams - A Novel by Horus Michael, Copyright © 2021 All rights reserved.
In
Nefertiti Dreams, a College Student from Berkeley, CA is invited to
view an exhibit in Abydos, Egypt. Her vivid dreams of Ancient Egypt lead
her on an adventure that spawns from the discovery of Queen Nefertiti's
tomb to that of Akhenaton's. A Museum Owner named Galen Knighthead
wants information about an ancient Treasure City from the Tomb of Queen
Nefertiti and will do anything to obtain it, including absorbing the Ka
Spirit of Akhenaton himself in this magical short Novel by Horus Michael set in the near future.
ISBN: 9798487594532
$8.88 USD
Ink and Paper Type: Black & white interior
with cream paper
Bleed Settings: No Bleed
Paperback cover finish: Glossy
Trim Size: 6 x 9 in
Page Count: 114
MC 2021.
Chapter 3:
The alarm buzzed for nine minutes. “Wha--?” I invoked Bes. “Why did I not dream this time?” I asked the pillows. The clock read 10:00am, Egyptian time.
I slipped out of bed, walked to the bathroom and plunged my head into the ice bucket reserved for champagne with its melted ice. The tepid water cooled my fair brunette hair, dripping along my bronzed, muscular back and off that tattoo of Horus I had inscribed once. Why do I have a tattoo of Horus? It was a College thing.
The bathroom shower invigorated my sleeplessness. Hotel toiletries included among other things a four-ounce bottle of Sobek Body Wash, a vial of official Royal Cleopatra perfume, and her trademarked bars of soap. I wanted to keep the complementary hotel robe but it had this microchip embedded on the back. Four clean glasses for water with paper lids were neatly placed near the travertine marble sinks. The mirror fogged up by the steam, so I opened a small window leading outside where I could hear drumming in the distance.
Bum-Bum-Bum, Tra-La-La-La, Bum-Bum, Bum echoed the drums. I peered outside the square of concrete and wire mesh, and downwards to the Plaza. A group of dancers or acrobats performed to the drums in a tented enclosure across from the lobby. It was “Amonhotep Day.”
I dressed in “Smart Casual” clothing, which meant nothing too fancy, but still casual. No denim pants or anything American, so I wore pressed slacks, a business shirt with light silk jacket, and walking shoes. I don’t believe this would win a fashion contest, but then I don’t know Modern Egypt. My transition lenses completed the picture, with a casual windbreaker hat, no Fedora.
The glass elevator was unusually crowded today. Maid Service occupied most of the halls, so I took the stairs. The Casino level was bustling with activity. One could hear the bing-bing-bing of winning slot machines hitting Bonus rounds. Tour guides ordered their servants to escort travelers to each separate destination routes. Ground Floor exited to the lobby and the Valet service with servants waiting for stretched limousines or flying cars. The Valet officials wore French outfits with red Fez caps and black batons. I was instructed in my email to watch for the “Red Car with the Golden Camel.” About ten minutes later this red Bentley pulls up with a gold camel emblazoned on its door, its Arabic driver asking for directions in cool Californian accent. I approached and placed my College student ID onto the glass window on the passenger’s side. The driver turned to me and smiled.
“God willing, this day I finally meet you, Ms. Williamsburg. How was your flight?” he asked me politely as I entered the car. “I am Ahmed, the official driver of Nefertiti,” he smiled.
We drove up to the traffic light and down the passage towards the City.
The road was not as bumpy this time, blamed on perfect shock absorbers. The interior of the car resembled an old Taxi car, with a photo of Ahmed’s family taped to the sunscreen panel. There was a GPS computer integrated in the wood-like dashboard, along with a cigar lighter, digital compass, and coffee maker. Below on the armrest were a hidden compartment and a drink holder. The passenger side allowed room for a separate pillow. Ahmed didn’t speak much. He mostly kept to the road as I educated him in Late Roman Antiques.
As we approached our destination, a sudden thud hit the car from above. “God is great! The birds hit our car, again!” He was referring to the sea gulls mating season this week as they flew in from Alexandria, dispersed by the Rocket. A glob of sea gull dung had hit the windshield.
“Potassium Nitrate,” I added. Ahmed turned to me in disgust, and then smiled to himself as we arrived to the Valet Parking lot. A servant ushered us out so he could park the Bentley.
“Well if it isn’t Nefertiti! Welcome dear,” introduced a woman in a casual suit with spiked heels. We entered a party scene at the Museum adjacent to the excavation site. The information brochure mentioned that a recently discovered tomb was found within the year, and so the people built the Museum around it as a preservation model. The tomb was intact; its seals were never broken.
“So you built a whole Museum around the site?” I inquired.
“Yes, we thought it was wise to prevent illegal digging,” replied an Egyptologist. “We even placed a barrier made of solid Titanium around the perimeter. It has withstood the harshest of attempts.”
“Is there a Mummy?” I asked another Egyptologist.
“Yes, we believe so. The burial chamber has not been breached yet, but our robots read there is a void with clutter consisting of organic and metallic items. An analysis indicates at least one Mummy is inside. Would you like some Mint Julep?” asked an Egyptologist. There were drinks distributed by robot servers.
“Oh of course, yes please,” I said. I sipped the drink slowly.
“Ms. Williamsburg?” asked a waiter. “I have a message from our Director.”
I placed the now empty Mint Julep on a server plate while receiving the message on my cellular phone. “Greetings, Nefertiti. I am Galen Knighthead, Supreme Director of Egyptian Art and Antiquities to the Abydos Museum of Natural History. I knew your parents, Jack and Jacqueline Williamsburg. I suggest you follow the highlighted path to the excavation site on your phone.”
Wow, The Galen Knighthead wants to meet me? And he knew my parents? I suddenly felt inspired like a Gaelic celebrity or something. I followed the path on my phone’s application into a secure room within the excavation site itself, just outside a breezy pathway. The path was lined in wet plaster, cordage, and carpeted wooden ramps. I looked up. In front of me was a statue of Bes holding its paw upwards as a greeting, while it held a sign written in English, Arabic and French – “Hello, Mind the ceiling.”
A voice startled me from behind. “You won’t find a Bes that tall in the States,” he said. I turned to meet Galen Knighthead, a kindly gentleman from East Texas originally. He was somewhat bald and in his progressive sixties, a survivor of Cancer, and Covid21. He owned a ranch and four Museums in Egypt. His last wife left him for a billionaire oligarch in Russia, so he settled down in Abydos.
“My pleasure,” I said as I extended my hand in greeting. “How well did you know Jack?”
Galen took me on a concise excursion through the dig site, pointing to the various levels of excavation with a short history of his finds. He and Jack were old friends, golf buddies mostly. Jack once confided in him a treasure city’s location and to never reveal it until the Egyptian Government became a true Democracy. That never happened after the Insurrection, so he forgot about it. Galen searched for the city but never found it. Then Jack went missing, assumed dead by the search party in Alexandria after three weeks of exploration. Jacqueline never gave up. Later someone reported a tip about Jack’s location so she took it and searched, but she never returned either. My uncle Devon took care of me until I became an adult and moved out to the College Dorm. Galen believed this site was a key to the treasure city itself, and he appointed me to help him find it. Then perhaps I can find my parents.
“Galen, I don’t know if I told you, but I’ve been having strange dreams of Ancient Egypt recently,” I said cautiously. “The dreams focus on the late 18th Dynasty, in the reigns after Akhenaton…”
“Yes. There is something I need to show you,” Galen remarked as he opened a doorway into the excavation site. “Follow closely.”
The passage was dark and damp, almost musty. He blasted an electric torch flashlight into the passageway ahead. “The Burial Chamber itself,” he said. “Seals are intact. The Nine captives below an Anubis figure, tied in linen cordage and sealed in pressed clay. The seal is royal, and unmistakably female. Read it,” he said.
“Hmm… Queen of the Two Lands, Great Royal Wife, beloved of Waenra, the ruler, Nefer-neferu-aton Nefertiti,” I translated. My eyes bulged at the seal, which was followed by me blacking out.
I heard voices, commenting on blood pressure, motion sickness, and nausea. The lights above me were white, almost like fluorescent. My back felt like it was on a padded bed, and something covered my mouth and nose, giving me air. Then I passed out again.
I awoke on a bed in a room unfamiliar to me. Golden hues decorated the walls amongst pictures of giraffes, a baboon, and a figure of Bes. The bed was of Cedar wood, with a wooden head rest and cushions on top. The mattress was of packed linen, coarsely covered in reeds. A passage led outside so I stood up and followed it. It led me to a clearing.
A man stood in the center of the clearing, his fists tightly closed at his sides, with a crown and cobra diadem on his elongated head. His back was to me, so I reached out and touched his shoulder. He turned with a snarl.
“How dare you steal my throne? I am the Pharaoh, the rightful Horus on the seat of his father!” he shouted.
“Who are you?” I asked the man.
“I am your beloved, Waenra, Son of Aton-Ra, heir to my father and to my sons! Have you not forgotten me while in the arms of another man?” Akhenaton demanded.
“But that would make me your wife, Queen Nefer--,” I stopped. “Who did I sleep with?”
“Don’t you remember? Smenkhkara!” he yelled in anguish. “You are Queen Nefertiti!”
“Nefertiti!” said another voice. “NEFERTITI!”
“Nefertiti, snap out of it,” demanded a woman. “It’s just a dream.”
I awoke on a hospital bed inside the Museum’s emergency rooms. Galen told me I passed out in the tomb, so he sent someone over with scented salts and some Oxygen. He believed this was caused by some trapped Ancient air inside the chamber that leaked out as I was reading the text.
“The dream… It was Akhenaton and he blamed me for sleeping with Smenkhkara!” I said to the crowd of onlookers. “Really…”
“Ms. Williamsburg, do you suffer from hallucinations, sleepwalking or astral projection?” asked a man dressed in a white medical suit near the bed.
“No of course not, why?” I asked him.
“Just standard tests,” he replied. “We also require a blood sample.”
I looked towards Galen in disbelief. He shrugged it off.
“When can I return to the tomb? Can we?” I asked Galen.
Galen walked over to the hospital bed after I was pricked for a blood sample on my index finger. “If you feel up to it,” he said silently. “It was my fault, not yours. I should’ve known about the possibility of a leak.”
“Dr. Knighthead, indications suggest that the tomb is ready for opening,” said an attendant. Galen smiled and took my hand.
Two hours of silence felt like an eternity as workers lifted the stone sarcophagus lid from its home of 3300 years. They placed it onto a crevice within the Museum proper. Workers cut through the wrappings once it was X-rayed and photographed by heat sensors. The Mummy’s face was now visible.
“Hmm… She looks middle aged for an Egyptian. Tall with an aquiline nose, lightly tanned, thin lips, and if she had glasses she would look just like you,” Melissa Scott suggested. “Well, give or take a few centuries of perfection.”
I examined the face and compared her to my Californian Driver’s photo.
“I do see the family resemblance,” Galen said at length. “Good girl.”
We all had a laugh that would have awoken the dead. Later I noticed a green crystal amulet in the shape of a Bes figure around its neck. I was curious so I slipped it off the Mummy of Nefertiti and dropped in onto my neckline.
We returned to the Royal Cleopatra hotel following a brief survey of the tomb offerings. A box of Shabty figures, the gold coffin itself, a gilded ritual bed, two Ebony coffers full of amulets, some preserved baskets of food, clay amphorae of drink, a Cedar wood chair, and the like were photographed with identifying stickers for the catalogue later.
I entered my hotel room via the glass elevator. The clock radio read “10:00pm” Egyptian time. I changed into something more casual. With the green crystal Bes amulet firmly attached around my neck, I decided I would sleep better tonight. I hope Bes does his job of protection from nightmares. I thought about this for a few minutes before I turned off the light.
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