"Tanya Huff - Victoria Nelson - 03 - Blood Lines" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

hunk of basalt go to the colonies.' "

"You didn't tell him about the seal, did you, Doctor?"

He shrugged. "After that, would you?"

Karen's scowl deepened. "I wouldn't tell that patronizing son of a bitch, excuse my French, the time of
day. You leave this with us, Dr. Rax, and we'll pack it up so that even the spiderwebs arrive intact."

Her companion nodded. "Colonies," he snorted. "Just who the hell does he think he is?"

Dr. Rax had to stop himself from skipping as he left the room. The Curator of Egyptology, Royal
Ontario Museum, did not skip. It wasn't dignified. But no one mortared, then sealed, an empty coffin.

"Yes!" He allowed himself one jubilant punch at the air in the privacy of the deserted upper cellar.
"We've got ourselves a mummy!"

The movement had begun again and the memories strengthened. Sand and sun. Heat. Light. He had no
need to remember darkness; darkness had been his companion for too long.

As the weight of the sarcophagus made flying out of the question, a leisurely trip back across the
Atlantic on the grand old lady of luxury ocean liners, the QE II, would have been nice. Unfortunately,
the acquisitions budget had been stretched almost to the breaking point with the purchase and the
packing and the insurance and the best the museum could afford was a Danish freighter heading out of
Liverpool for Halifax. The ship left England on October 2nd. God and the North Atlantic willing, she'd
reach Canada in ten days.

Dr. Rax sent the two preparators back by plane and he himself traveled with the artifact. It was foolish,
he knew, but he didn't want to be parted from it. Although the ship occasionally carried passengers, the
accommodations were spartan and the meals, while nourishing, were plain. Dr. Rax didn't notice.
Refused access to the cargo hold where he could be near the sarcophagus and the mummy he was sure it
contained, he stayed as close as he could, caught up on paperwork, and at night lay in his narrow bunk
and visualized the opening of the coffin.

Sometimes, he removed the seal and slid the end panel up in the full glare of the media; the find of the
century, on every news program and front page in the world. There'd be book contracts, and speaking
tours, and years of research as the contents were studied, then removed to be studied further.

Sometimes, it was just him and his staff, working slowly and meticulously. Pure science. Pure

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discovery. And still the years of research.

He imagined the contents in every possible form or combination of forms. Some nights expanding on the
descriptions, some nights simplifying. It wouldn't be a royal mummy-more likely a priest or an official
of the court- and so hopefully would have missed the anointing with aromatic oils that had partially
destroyed the mummy of Tutankhamen.