Rhory has a Vision
Extract 3 The Feather
My hands shook a little. The man in the dark room had unnerved me.
I crossed the huge exhibition hall, between assorted gods and Pharaohs. On a stand in front of me a statuette of a temple cat sat motionless. The French girl with freckles was looking at it. She turned and caught my eye and I won another metallic smile. I smiled back, grateful that her natural warmth let me feel a bit less spooked.
I walked past her, trying not to grin and feeling completely tongue tied. A doorway just beyond the stationary cat gave on to a long narrow room. It had soft lighting and the exhibits were arranged in little niches all the way down. My heart began to return to its normal rhythm as the atmosphere felt safe and comforting, like being in a small church.
I wandered slowly past displays of pictures, jewellery and statues. Set back, almost in a room of its own, was a huge stone chair. Although somewhat damaged, with small chunks missing, it still looked very impressive. The legs were carved like lions paws, and the arms ended with the heads of lionesses. I wondered what it would be like to sit in it, but it was protected by a red velvet cord suspended between two brass poles. Even though no-one else could see me at that moment, I resisted the urge to step over and try it out.
The plaque said that the chair had been carved in an early dynasty before the time of the pyramids. No one knew its exact purpose.
I moved back towards the glass cabinet opposite the chair. This display had one large chunk of plaster from a mural, held in place with metal brackets and brightly illumined by a spot light. It showed a woman's face and shoulders from a side view. Her dark hair was bound with a circlet of braided blue cloth supporting one green coloured feather, pointing upright. The woman's deep blue eye was picked out with black lines of make-up.
According to the label, the mural showed a portrait of a young priestess of Maat, the goddess of Truth and Justice. I looked again at the painted feather and reached towards the one in my pocket. I froze. The glass of the display reflected the big chair behind me, with someone sitting in it! A figure dressed in white. A jolt of excitement passed through me at the thought of being followed. It must be the French girl. She’d get in so much trouble if an attendant saw her. Despite the braces on her teeth I found her quite pretty.
I turned slowly, practising ‘bonjour’ in my mind. The chair was empty. She couldn't have just vanished. There was nowhere for her to hide. I looked down the hallway of exhibits. No-one. I’m imagining things.
I turned back to the portrait of the woman. The label stated the priestesses had been called the Sisterhood of the Feather. At different times in Egypt's history they had been revered almost as gods themselves, because of their magical abilities.
Once more my eyes focused on the reflection of the chair. The girl had returned. It must be an optical illusion. I looked carefully. It wasn’t the French girl but a tall young woman with long dark hair braided with beads. Her eyes had makeup exactly like the painting in front of me. Her feet weren’t covered with short red boots, but dark gold sandals.
"Wow", I said to myself. This was the coolest hologram I’d ever seen. I’d no idea how the museum could do it, and swung round quickly.
No one sat in the chair. Closer inspection showed no laser lights here. Anyway, the room wasn’t dark enough for a hologram like the ones I’d seen earlier. I felt a little giddy.
I turned back to the mural of the priestess, trying to catch my breath. Carefully I drew out the feather I’d found in the entranceway to the museum. It virtually matched the one painted about 5,000 years ago.
My heart thumped away as I registered the young woman had returned to the chair. Holding my breath, I resisted turning this time and studied the reflection. The woman smiled, her face changing into that of a pretty girl about my age. She held my eyes with hers.
Inside my chest, somewhere near my heart an idea quietly settled, followed by the words, "At last."
Another idea followed the first producing the words, "Now I can see you properly."
The girl or priestess or whatever she was, shifted slightly in the chair, "My name is Shoshan."
These words blossomed within me like a smile and I had the distinct image of a lotus flower floating on the water. I didn't know how to communicate back, and tried thinking the words,
"My name is Rhory."
I could see her frown, and inside I heard,
"Red King?"
She waited. I nodded and said “Rhory”.
She smiled again for a moment before shifting in the chair as though someone had spoken sharply to her. She looked to the side. I felt a wave of sadness pass through me that I knew came directly from her. She vanished as though a light had been switched off.
I looked round. The man and his young girl-friend stood in the entrance way and were staring right at me. He no longer looked reptilian, rather he reminded me of one of those people you see on television who explain how fox hunting is actually kind to foxes.
*
Stifling the urge to run, I left the long narrow room by the second exit, as far away from the man with the flashing ring as possible. I felt like I’d been swimming under water for too long and couldn’t get enough oxygen. The statues of dead pharaohs were all around me and I needed space to breathe. I mounted the stairs at the far end of the hall, slipped past Sekhmet the black lioness, and found a big leather bench. I eased myself down onto its cool softness.
Had I just hallucinated? I didn’t think so. I’d seen someone real, a girl about my own age. I’d heard her thoughts. I couldn’t explain it any other way; her thoughts had just sort of popped into my mind. She … Shoshan she said she was called … she felt familiar; like seeing a good friend who has been away from your school for a year or two, and comes back for a visit.
From my leather bench, I could still observe the busy exhibition hall with all the Egyptian statues. At the far end, the man with the ring stood with the young woman, looking around carefully. I’d a nasty suspicion he was looking for me. Watching him as he systematically checked the room, I knew he’d broken the communication with the girl from ancient Egypt. For just a moment I wanted to do to him what Set had done to Osiris.
Instead, I decided to go in search of the canteen. I could feel a big empty space where my stomach should be. I waited for some people to pass by and tagged along with a couple of English families heading in the right direction, keeping them between me and the man with his girlfriend.
*
I couldn’t see an empty table when I entered the canteen, so I joined the queue to get a drink. I had to hold on to the counter for a moment to avoid falling over as a wave of dizziness swept over me. A slice of carrot cake and a can of fizzy fruit juice looked attractive sitting on the chilled display unit. After paying, I scanned the tables to see if Amethyst Man had arrived with his popsy or topsy or whatever girl friends who are way too young are called.
I chose a table tucked in the corner. The sensation of chilled fizziness at the back of my throat felt great. I drank, keeping an eye on the entrance to the canteen. Mum's sandwiches looked inviting and I quickly overcame the guilt twinges that I shouldn’t be eating something I hadn’t bought in the canteen. Biting into the brown bread sandwich provided the familiar taste of home.
All around the buzz of voices suggested that young and old were enjoying their visit. Gradually I felt less like I’d been dismembered like poor old Osiris. I still couldn’t explain what had just occurred. But deep inside I knew; I’d somehow sneaked a view of a time different to my own, a time where a priestess from long past had found a way to speak to me.
Her face lingered clear in my memory and if I directed my attention deep, deep inside, something of the girl remained in contact. Her words echoed inside my mind - a voice shouting from far away. I shivered even though I felt hot.
My hands still shook as I moved on from the prawn sandwiches to the carrot cake. I fished out my book on dragons and flipped through a few pages.
A stab of fear in my tummy reminded me to check around the canteen. Everyone looked friendly and normal and definitely twenty-first century. My mobile remained entirely silent. Mum surely must have bought the theatre tickets by now.
I pulled out the feather and I ran my finger down the soft edge. It soothed my jangled nerves. An image of Shoshan holding a feather just like mine, floated into my mind.
I looked up to see the freckly French girl heading in my direction with another girl. She was smiling and talking. They both looked across at me.
At that moment mum rang my mobile.
*
The man with the amethyst ring surveyed the foyer to the British Museum. He tapped a number on his mobile.
“Our vocalist has proved accurate once again,” he said softly. Indistinct noises came from the other end of the line.
Meanwhile, his girlfriend tutted at a ladder that had started in her stocking. She balanced on one high heeled shoe and peered over her shoulder at her leg. Her hand rested on the man’s arm.
“No, he was there all right,” continued the man, “just as she’d said he’d be. I couldn’t get a good look at his face but I saw how he was dressed. He had a distinctive bag … No don’t do that …” said the man as the girl pulled at his arm with an ‘I’m sooo bored’ expression on her face. “No not you, someone at the museum,” he continued into the mouthpiece, “I’m waiting in the foyer to get a good view as he comes out.”
He listened for a bit and mouthed “in a minute” to the girl.
“Yes, yes, I agree,” he continued quietly into the mobile, “another meeting is essential, just as soon as we can get the girl out into the countryside again.” He listened some more and then said “OK, I’ll make it happen. There may be no need though. I’ll follow him when he comes out. Accidents happen in this part of London all the time.”
He hung up and suggested to the girl that she should go to the canteen and wait for him there.
She pouted.
*
“Well done Rhory,” said my mum, as I clambered into the taxi.
“Why didn’t you come to the front Mum?” I asked, pulling down one of the seats that promptly snapped up again.
“Come and sit next to me, silly,” said mum patting the seat next to her, “the taxi driver said it’s easier to wait around the side of the museum. The police move you on at the front, something to do with terrorism. Did you find the side exit okay?”
I wasn’t able to answer as the taxi driver launched into complaints about both the police and the foreign terrorists who were taking all the jobs. He pulled out into the busy London traffic, still wittering on, while mum proudly showed me the bunch of tickets for a ballet called “The Nutcracker”. That produced all sorts of imagery in my head that I kept to myself. I crossed my legs.
My hands shook a little. The man in the dark room had unnerved me.
I crossed the huge exhibition hall, between assorted gods and Pharaohs. On a stand in front of me a statuette of a temple cat sat motionless. The French girl with freckles was looking at it. She turned and caught my eye and I won another metallic smile. I smiled back, grateful that her natural warmth let me feel a bit less spooked.
I walked past her, trying not to grin and feeling completely tongue tied. A doorway just beyond the stationary cat gave on to a long narrow room. It had soft lighting and the exhibits were arranged in little niches all the way down. My heart began to return to its normal rhythm as the atmosphere felt safe and comforting, like being in a small church.
I wandered slowly past displays of pictures, jewellery and statues. Set back, almost in a room of its own, was a huge stone chair. Although somewhat damaged, with small chunks missing, it still looked very impressive. The legs were carved like lions paws, and the arms ended with the heads of lionesses. I wondered what it would be like to sit in it, but it was protected by a red velvet cord suspended between two brass poles. Even though no-one else could see me at that moment, I resisted the urge to step over and try it out.
The plaque said that the chair had been carved in an early dynasty before the time of the pyramids. No one knew its exact purpose.
I moved back towards the glass cabinet opposite the chair. This display had one large chunk of plaster from a mural, held in place with metal brackets and brightly illumined by a spot light. It showed a woman's face and shoulders from a side view. Her dark hair was bound with a circlet of braided blue cloth supporting one green coloured feather, pointing upright. The woman's deep blue eye was picked out with black lines of make-up.
According to the label, the mural showed a portrait of a young priestess of Maat, the goddess of Truth and Justice. I looked again at the painted feather and reached towards the one in my pocket. I froze. The glass of the display reflected the big chair behind me, with someone sitting in it! A figure dressed in white. A jolt of excitement passed through me at the thought of being followed. It must be the French girl. She’d get in so much trouble if an attendant saw her. Despite the braces on her teeth I found her quite pretty.
I turned slowly, practising ‘bonjour’ in my mind. The chair was empty. She couldn't have just vanished. There was nowhere for her to hide. I looked down the hallway of exhibits. No-one. I’m imagining things.
I turned back to the portrait of the woman. The label stated the priestesses had been called the Sisterhood of the Feather. At different times in Egypt's history they had been revered almost as gods themselves, because of their magical abilities.
Once more my eyes focused on the reflection of the chair. The girl had returned. It must be an optical illusion. I looked carefully. It wasn’t the French girl but a tall young woman with long dark hair braided with beads. Her eyes had makeup exactly like the painting in front of me. Her feet weren’t covered with short red boots, but dark gold sandals.
"Wow", I said to myself. This was the coolest hologram I’d ever seen. I’d no idea how the museum could do it, and swung round quickly.
No one sat in the chair. Closer inspection showed no laser lights here. Anyway, the room wasn’t dark enough for a hologram like the ones I’d seen earlier. I felt a little giddy.
I turned back to the mural of the priestess, trying to catch my breath. Carefully I drew out the feather I’d found in the entranceway to the museum. It virtually matched the one painted about 5,000 years ago.
My heart thumped away as I registered the young woman had returned to the chair. Holding my breath, I resisted turning this time and studied the reflection. The woman smiled, her face changing into that of a pretty girl about my age. She held my eyes with hers.
Inside my chest, somewhere near my heart an idea quietly settled, followed by the words, "At last."
Another idea followed the first producing the words, "Now I can see you properly."
The girl or priestess or whatever she was, shifted slightly in the chair, "My name is Shoshan."
These words blossomed within me like a smile and I had the distinct image of a lotus flower floating on the water. I didn't know how to communicate back, and tried thinking the words,
"My name is Rhory."
I could see her frown, and inside I heard,
"Red King?"
She waited. I nodded and said “Rhory”.
She smiled again for a moment before shifting in the chair as though someone had spoken sharply to her. She looked to the side. I felt a wave of sadness pass through me that I knew came directly from her. She vanished as though a light had been switched off.
I looked round. The man and his young girl-friend stood in the entrance way and were staring right at me. He no longer looked reptilian, rather he reminded me of one of those people you see on television who explain how fox hunting is actually kind to foxes.
*
Stifling the urge to run, I left the long narrow room by the second exit, as far away from the man with the flashing ring as possible. I felt like I’d been swimming under water for too long and couldn’t get enough oxygen. The statues of dead pharaohs were all around me and I needed space to breathe. I mounted the stairs at the far end of the hall, slipped past Sekhmet the black lioness, and found a big leather bench. I eased myself down onto its cool softness.
Had I just hallucinated? I didn’t think so. I’d seen someone real, a girl about my own age. I’d heard her thoughts. I couldn’t explain it any other way; her thoughts had just sort of popped into my mind. She … Shoshan she said she was called … she felt familiar; like seeing a good friend who has been away from your school for a year or two, and comes back for a visit.
From my leather bench, I could still observe the busy exhibition hall with all the Egyptian statues. At the far end, the man with the ring stood with the young woman, looking around carefully. I’d a nasty suspicion he was looking for me. Watching him as he systematically checked the room, I knew he’d broken the communication with the girl from ancient Egypt. For just a moment I wanted to do to him what Set had done to Osiris.
Instead, I decided to go in search of the canteen. I could feel a big empty space where my stomach should be. I waited for some people to pass by and tagged along with a couple of English families heading in the right direction, keeping them between me and the man with his girlfriend.
*
I couldn’t see an empty table when I entered the canteen, so I joined the queue to get a drink. I had to hold on to the counter for a moment to avoid falling over as a wave of dizziness swept over me. A slice of carrot cake and a can of fizzy fruit juice looked attractive sitting on the chilled display unit. After paying, I scanned the tables to see if Amethyst Man had arrived with his popsy or topsy or whatever girl friends who are way too young are called.
I chose a table tucked in the corner. The sensation of chilled fizziness at the back of my throat felt great. I drank, keeping an eye on the entrance to the canteen. Mum's sandwiches looked inviting and I quickly overcame the guilt twinges that I shouldn’t be eating something I hadn’t bought in the canteen. Biting into the brown bread sandwich provided the familiar taste of home.
All around the buzz of voices suggested that young and old were enjoying their visit. Gradually I felt less like I’d been dismembered like poor old Osiris. I still couldn’t explain what had just occurred. But deep inside I knew; I’d somehow sneaked a view of a time different to my own, a time where a priestess from long past had found a way to speak to me.
Her face lingered clear in my memory and if I directed my attention deep, deep inside, something of the girl remained in contact. Her words echoed inside my mind - a voice shouting from far away. I shivered even though I felt hot.
My hands still shook as I moved on from the prawn sandwiches to the carrot cake. I fished out my book on dragons and flipped through a few pages.
A stab of fear in my tummy reminded me to check around the canteen. Everyone looked friendly and normal and definitely twenty-first century. My mobile remained entirely silent. Mum surely must have bought the theatre tickets by now.
I pulled out the feather and I ran my finger down the soft edge. It soothed my jangled nerves. An image of Shoshan holding a feather just like mine, floated into my mind.
I looked up to see the freckly French girl heading in my direction with another girl. She was smiling and talking. They both looked across at me.
At that moment mum rang my mobile.
*
The man with the amethyst ring surveyed the foyer to the British Museum. He tapped a number on his mobile.
“Our vocalist has proved accurate once again,” he said softly. Indistinct noises came from the other end of the line.
Meanwhile, his girlfriend tutted at a ladder that had started in her stocking. She balanced on one high heeled shoe and peered over her shoulder at her leg. Her hand rested on the man’s arm.
“No, he was there all right,” continued the man, “just as she’d said he’d be. I couldn’t get a good look at his face but I saw how he was dressed. He had a distinctive bag … No don’t do that …” said the man as the girl pulled at his arm with an ‘I’m sooo bored’ expression on her face. “No not you, someone at the museum,” he continued into the mouthpiece, “I’m waiting in the foyer to get a good view as he comes out.”
He listened for a bit and mouthed “in a minute” to the girl.
“Yes, yes, I agree,” he continued quietly into the mobile, “another meeting is essential, just as soon as we can get the girl out into the countryside again.” He listened some more and then said “OK, I’ll make it happen. There may be no need though. I’ll follow him when he comes out. Accidents happen in this part of London all the time.”
He hung up and suggested to the girl that she should go to the canteen and wait for him there.
She pouted.
*
“Well done Rhory,” said my mum, as I clambered into the taxi.
“Why didn’t you come to the front Mum?” I asked, pulling down one of the seats that promptly snapped up again.
“Come and sit next to me, silly,” said mum patting the seat next to her, “the taxi driver said it’s easier to wait around the side of the museum. The police move you on at the front, something to do with terrorism. Did you find the side exit okay?”
I wasn’t able to answer as the taxi driver launched into complaints about both the police and the foreign terrorists who were taking all the jobs. He pulled out into the busy London traffic, still wittering on, while mum proudly showed me the bunch of tickets for a ballet called “The Nutcracker”. That produced all sorts of imagery in my head that I kept to myself. I crossed my legs.
