Ghosts of Karnak by George Mann

herself down from the saddle. Amaury handed her the parasol. “You might want to hold on to this,” he said. “It gets hot down there when the sun’s beating down.”
    “It’s hot
now
,” said Ginny, with an exasperated sigh. How much hotter could it get?
    “Come along, and watch your footing on the way down,” said Amaury, starting off down the side of the dune, his feet splashing in the loose sand like water. The guide set off behind him, and Ginny glanced over at Landsworth, who she noted was regarding her with a curious expression. She’d decided she really didn’t like him much, and that his “warning” back there had probably been some sort of veiled pass at her, trying to put her off Amaury in the hopes he could move in on her himself. She shuddered at the thought of it. She’d be on her guard around him from now on—around them both. If either of them did try anything, she knew how to look after herself—especially against a podgy little Englishman like Landsworth.
    He beckoned down the slope, as if politely inviting her to go first. Ginny painted on a polite smile, and set off after Amaury and the others.
    * * *
    After stopping to greet the dig supervisor—another Frenchman, named Fabrice, whom Amaury spoke to in urgent Gallic tones—they walked the perimeter of the dig, sipping at their water bottles and marveling at the new discoveries.
    Even Amaury, whom she’d imagined to be immune to the effect by now, was like a little boy at Christmas when one of the diggers showed him the head of an enormous statue that had been partially unearthed that morning. Much of it was still buried beneath the sand, but she could see it had the upper torso of a man and the head of an ibis. Remarkably, the long, curved beak was still largely intact, and the blank, staring eyes still showed traces of the thick white paint they had once been daubed with.
    The head was on its side, but standing down in the pit, it still towered above Ginny, casting her in its eon-long shadow. She ran her hands over its smooth surface, awed by the age and majesty of the thing.
    “Thoth,” said Amaury, coming to stand beside her. “God of knowledge and science, father of language and architect of the heavens. Without Thoth, the stars and planets would no longer traverse the night sky, and we should all be doomed.” He grinned. “This site was largely dedicated to him.”
    “It seems a shame that all the old religions have died,” said Ginny. “There’s poetry in such ideas.”
    “Who says they’re dead?” said Amaury. “Belief systems change and develop over time, just like languages. Thoth is not forgotten, despite the fact that people no longer congregate to worship at his temple. Every time we marvel at the heavens, or scratch a word in our notebook, we remember Thoth, and honor him.”
    “That’s a beautiful sentiment,” said Ginny. “I like that idea very much.”
    “I am glad,” said Amaury. “I believe very much that the old gods still deserve our attention. Only now, they are sleeping, one day to live again.” He beckoned for her to follow him. “That is why I dig.”
    “I thought you were a treasure hunter, or a tomb robber,” said Ginny, laughing.
    “That too,” said Amaury, with a sly grin. “But see the work we are doing here. We are waking the old gods, so that modern man might come to gaze upon them.”
    “There’s certainly something honorable in that,” said Ginny.
    “I like to think so,” said Amaury. “Now, to the main event! I promised you a tomb.”
    He took her by the arm and hurried her along the colonnade to the very edge of the dig site, toward a large mound, where a small group of diggers were very carefully removing bucketfuls of sand. When they saw him coming, they downed tools and began muttering to one another in Arabic.
    “You must be a fearsome employer,” said Ginny, “to engender such an effect on your workers.”
    Amaury laughed. “It’s not that. They’re a