By Elizabeth Peters
Althea Tomlinson says she has again to Egypt to determine the points of interest, and to chaperon a spoiled youngster via this unusual and breathtaking wilderness land. if truth be told extra complex...and harmful. Ten years in the past, whatever the following led to her father's smash and next loss of life -- and Althea intends to transparent her disgraced parent's identify and lay a gloomy previous ultimately to relaxation. yet there are a few mysteries most sensible left buried within the transferring sands. And a faithful daughter's look for solutions is stirring up forgotten stories virtually too painful to suffer, and propelling her onward towards historical tombs, mythical treasures, awesome discoveries...and ever-closer to her personal possible doom.
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Extra resources for The Jackal's Head
Mike sat down on the bed next to me—his legs were long enough to perform the feat without climbing onto a chair—and offered me a cigarette. “He was a very lovable guy. Even the workmen fell for him, and they’re fairly cynical about foreigners. One of his most lovable traits was his gaiety. It wasn’t a pose. He honestly believed that this is a good world, and that the good old world was his oyster. ” I took the cigarette and let him light it. I felt better. I would have felt fine—if it hadn’t been for John, silent and somehow shrunken, in the other chair.
I just assumed it was one of my many acquaintances (I had no friends). The next days were busy, what with contacting Dee, establishing my respectability, and making my own arrangements. I didn’t have time to call every stray acquaintance. The hotel room was almost dark. I switched on the lights, but they shed no illumination over the old problem, which had now become newly important. When I stopped to consider the matter sensibly, I realized that none of my acquaintances would have taken such a strange way of drawing my attention to that ad.
I had been standing out in the sun for long minutes, getting more and more annoyed. Now the dazzle of sunlight turned, not black, but blinding white. For a moment I could see nothing at all. Then the ground steadied and I found that two pairs of hands were holding me erect. “I’m all right,” I said, brushing ineffectually at one arm which encircled my waist in an unnecessarily tight grasp. The boy in the robe slapped his brother’s arm down. 36 / Elizabeth Peters “It is the sun,” he said. “Come into the house, Sitt.