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Transcript of Ancient Egyptian Adventure reading
A copy of this transcript is also available in the resource pack which accompanies this programme, available onthe resources page.
Chapter One â€“ Conference Call
Dorothy Hermione Fanshawe-Smythe is Dotty to most who know her. This particular morning, prim and proper in her neat blouse and skirt, she scans the lecture room before opening the door to the distinguished delegates from around the world. She pats her hair, touches her lucky necklace and smiles in welcome.
“Do sit down, ladies and gentlemen. So delighted to have you here.”
And, in her usual open, thoughtful manner, she greets, mingles with and charms the assembling company.
“Good morning. Dorothy Fanshawe-Smythe. Department of Egyptology. It is my great pleasure to welcome you all to the 1929 world archaeological conference. Around the room on all sides you see the results of our explorations thus far. Against the wall you see the hieroglyphs. Over there we have some of the shabtis and other exciting artefacts excavated from the lost valley. And here, a fascinating fragment of scroll, found in a cave near Aswan. I am particularly thrilled because an explorer, Mr Jones, made a similar find some two miles from our discovery just three days ago. There is, however, so much more to uncover. More to find out. I sense that we are on the verge of something so critically important. A great discovery surely awaits. I am, of course, hopeful that you will agree to accompany us, ladies and gentlemen. We need your skills and expertise on this enterprise. We need you there with us...”
From here to the flat horizon, etched against the leaden night sky, you are wrapped in still, cold silence. Watch for a while and wait. Wait and watch. What is that? There! See it? Floating out of the hovering haze, huge and high. Make out a mighty pyramid tomb. Sense it. Feel its presence...Feel it... looming.
Listen. There’s something at my feet. Can’t see. Too dark. The sand is shifting. Scratching. Can you hear scratching too? Something is scratching. Watch and wait. The sand parts and a scarab scuttles across the desert floor. The beetle is searching, looking... Look. There is light in the east. From the desert prison where he has fought the night to be reborn, mighty Sun god Re, the life giver, escapes to pour light on the earth. Wait and watch.
Majestically he rises, rolling his fire across the sky, warming the land. Aah, yes. Do you see it now? Do you see how Re breathes life on the white, limestone pyramid tomb?
“Here we are,” observes Dorothy. The archaeologist stands staring up at the white wall of the pyramid tomb, pointing at the sky. The sun strikes her Horus charm and blinds her for an instant. She blinks and asks nervously
“Do you have your part of the scroll?”
“Sure,” replies Jesse Jones. The two move closer as she carefully extracts a yellow scroll from her satchel. He reaches into his open necked shirt, pulls out a rectangular leather pouch and takes out a similar artefact. The two stand sideways on to each other like figures in a frieze and bring the pieces together. The edges match and fit. The sections of papyrus, torn apart 3500 years before, match to perfection. Dorothy and Jesse sense a shaking at the ends of their fingers but neither speaks, imagining that the other felt nothing: that it was just the nerves of the moment.
“Remarkable, so remarkable,” whispers Dorothy.
“What is?” the man enquires.
“It makes sense now. Perfect sense. Ah, Hello. There you are...”
What is the woman doing now thought Jesse. She really wasn’t his type at all. Smallish and very bright she had studiously ignored his chat and flirting throughout the long sea journey from England. However, he needed her expertise so he would have to suffer, at least in the short term. His companion waved frantically over his shoulder, edged past him and ran into the desert with a shout,
“We’re over here. We thought you’d got lost in the sandstorm!”
A bedraggled cluster of scientists was approaching over a distant dune.
“Lovely to see you again. So glad you could make it.”
She makes it sound like she’s asked them for tea and scones. Doesn’t the woman know this is no tea party?
“Now, my friends, where were we? Ah yes. The scroll. I was just explaining to Mr Jones here that, now the pieces are reunited, it really is beginning to make sense. “Listen. ‘Three millennia will pass before two will come together as one and enter the tomb of the general Nebreshy. Nebreshy, the general with two hearts’ â€“ mm...not sure that makes any sense...”
“Carry on, Dotty!” urges Jesse.
“I really would rather you called me Dorothy, if you don’t mind.”
“...Sorry. Of course.”
“... ‘Unless the curse be lifted from the heart of gold and truth be known, Re will rise no more, pollution and forever darkness will flow throughout the world and the people will be wreathed in silent death.’”
“Don’t get it,” said Jones. “What was that about gold again...?”
“Wait, there’s more. ‘Whoever starts the journey, must finish it. When the portal opens the sands of time will run. Will run, will run and will not stop...’”
“There simply isn’t any more, Mr Jones.”
“No, the pyramid tomb. The side is opening. It’s started. And ‘whoever starts the journey’...”
“... ‘must finish it,’” finished Fanshawe-Smythe.
She continued. “I don’t think we have any time to waste. My friends, there is much to uncover but time is short. We must enter the portal now and explore the interior for clues to the scroll’s meaning. It could be tricky but what wonders and knowledge lie in wait for us. Now do take care. Shall we go?”
Chapter Two â€“ Inside the Pyramid Tomb
“Heart of gold,” whispered Jesse to himself. “Now that does sound worth uncovering.”
The accompanying group were a motley band of archaeologists and scientists. How strange and bowed they appeared as they trooped after their decisive leader through the portal and into the pyramid tomb. Some struggled with bulky bags laden, no doubt, with their scientific gear. They looked exhausted before they had even started. But Jesse was no fool. He knew that their skills and knowledge had made this expedition possible. As for him ... he undid the top button of his shirt and checked that his coiled rope and keen knife were ready on his belt.
Although it gleamed outside brighter than snow in sun, within the tomb a blanket of black hangs over, around and under us like a carpet of darkness, woven thick by passing time. Shuffling steps stir the dust. Stop to cough. Suppress a sneeze. Slowly turn and see the rectangle of light fade behind us. Every pace is a dull thud. Where is she?
“Follow,” she had said. “Stay close.”
We brought lamps. We brought a stock of oil for such a moment. After the conference we agreed â€“ all of us.
“Make sure you bring plenty of light,” she said. “If you must forget, then forget paper, pens, food and what historians need. Forget clothes to keep you warm when the sun has set and the icy winds blow in from the desert mountains. Forget your cameras and magnifiers, your spades and brushes. Remember, however, to bring your own light for when Re has gone we will need our own suns to map our way and warm us.” So why no lights now? Why the uncertain walk, vaguely following her voice?
“Just a little further. It’s all right. The way is clear. Follow my voice... voice... voi... voi... oi.”
The dull thud of dust has become an echo and we are in a chamber. Still dark except for a finger of light from Dorothy’s lonely lantern but we can sense the high room stretching above us and our anxious voices echo like twittering bats in a tower.
“Over here,” she shrieks, “...ver here ... here. I’ve found something ...thing. And bring some lights ... lights ...ights”
Now she tells us.
“I thought there’d be something like this here, so I wanted a dramatic impact!”
We rummage in our bags and light our lamps as fast as sand skidding off a dune. Thirty suns spread their comfort and we laugh and giggle like schoolchildren.
“Here,” said Dorothy with customary sureness. “Look at these hieroglyphs! Such vivid colours. They are magnificent. So fresh and alive. What quality! Have you ever seen such specimens?” Without waiting for a reply she began to translate.
“... ‘This is the tomb of Nebreshy...’ Look at his clothes. Look at this fine jewellery. See these rings laced with gemstones. Clearly a man of some wealth and importance. Ah yes. Here. It says, ‘Nebreshy, General of Tuthmosis, the pharaoh of all Egypt...in life he was a cruel man. In death he was foolish; for he tried to trick the gods.’ So what was the deception? I wonder what this script over here signifies?”
She’s off again, thought Jesse, scuttling like a scarab. Where is she going now? No wonder they call her Dotty. Hey, that tunnel on the right looks interesting.
Our lanterns send shadows scudding across the wall. Now we see and what we see is what we know. For this is the Book of the Dead. It shows the route through Duat, the underworld: it reveals the path that leads to fragrant fields of forever afterlife or tearing torture from the razor tooth of the Devourer, Ammit. The figures in the hieroglyphs shudder and come alive, breathing and rippling in the flickering flames. The scales, balanced in the hand of Osiris, twitch and shake. Rub your eyes. What is this?
A flash of light? A figment of imagination? A trick of ghosts or gods? The scales sway and dip. Can you see it too? Look closer. Some weight pulls it down to earth. Can you see a heart wrapped in bandages, a dead man’s heart, weighed against the knowing
feather of truth? The heart drags the balance downwards. The heart of Nebreshy himself, general of all Egypt, is weighed down and down by bad, bad deeds. What kind of bad would make the scales fall fast?
“Dorothy? Where the hell are...?” Clunk. “Damn! A rock.”
He brushed against something, something metallic and cold but not the lamp. Square and solid. It felt like a box.
“Where’s that damn light?”
Jones crouched, put his left hand carefully on the top of the object and circled the earth with his right. Still nothing. He didn’t want to release the box, even for an instant, so he continued to sweep the dusty ground at his feet.
Nothing. He paused and sat hunched with the small heavy artefact balanced on top of his thighs. Although he could see nothing, he ran his fingertips over the edges of the box. The hinges were strong but delicately made. The top and sides
seemed to be studded and bumpy. He eased his fingers round to what he supposed was the front and raised the lid slowly.
“I NEED SOME LIGHT!” he roared. The distant voices stopped. And then, in the thud of falling silence Jesse Jones, intrepid adventurer and explorer, heard something. Jones was not someone who felt fear often but this sound felt fearful. He heard a heartbeat, clear, heavy and slow, sinking like a stone, falling downwards, slowly downwards. It seemed to beat in and
around him and coursed inside his head. At first he thought it was his own heart, pumped up in pace and volume by his situation. But this beat was distinct from his own thumping blood. This much he knew. Unless I have two hearts, he thought with a smile. But that’s unlikely, even for me. He fingered the heavy rope at his waist and, reassured, lifted the lid again and peered inside. As he stared at pitch blackness, he was sure he sensed a glimmer, a lancing sparkle, not just from the box itself but from beyond it,
from deep inside his head, clear and insistent as a memory.
Chapter Three â€“ “I need some lightâ€¦!”
“I NEED SOME LIGHT,” he roars. “Curse you to hell! How can I be
expected to prepare when I cannot see. Servants’ feet scuff and scurry and the light of ten flaming torches is fetched for the general.
“Now go. Out of my sight, damn your eyes!” They rush away, fearing the lash of his whip. “So, what shall I wear tonight? Yes. My finest jewels for my meeting with Tuthmosis. What will suit me best? He lifts the lid of his heavy jewellery box. This silver clasp, these rings, this jewelled bracelet or this green snake-headed necklace? No. I shall wear them all. May the pharaoh compliment me on how fine I look. How proud I bear myself. Surely the gods will smile on my audience with the pharaoh this night...”
Nebreshy laughs. “NUBIAN!” He calls the slave master of his horses. “Prepare my chariot and the black stallion. Tonight I shall ride like the wind.”
Jesse carefully inspects the box with his recovered light. What value could be placed on such a find? It is coated with solid gold, twice the weight of lead. Skilful hands had long ago decorated its face with jewels and gemstones. The workmanship is fine and delicate. The edges are picked out in silver and inlaid with faience and, even in the frail light of a lamp, it glistens and begs to be opened. A ransom beyond price, a gift worthy of Anubis. What man or god could resist its spell or refuse its magic?
But what lies inside? From the top of the jewellery box Jesse takes out a bronze mirror, polished and buffed by Nebreshy’s servants, and admires his handsome reflection. True, my face is etched with a few lines but they were earned by experience and adventure, and they do not detract from the regularity of my features and my neat, tight skin. How well I look. How proud.
Gold necklaces, jewelled bracelets and rings of amethyst and turquoise fill the box to the brim.
But what is this in the corner? - a mouldy bandage, the size of a fist. Perhaps a precious jewel is wrapped inside. His fingers eagerly unpick the creamy cotton, unwrap the rotting strands and uncover a bloody, human heart. Why is this here? How can this be amidst jewels and gold?
“Jesse, are you sure you are all right?” That same probing, cut glass voice rings out clear and distinct. It is close. But, so deep are Jones’ thoughts that it seems an age away, a thousand years even...perhaps more... His eyes have spied a faience necklace with a carved quartz snake hanging from its chain. He holds it against the lantern. He is bewitched by its delicacy and gorgeous shape but as he examines it, the necklace twitches, twists and turns... into a snake.
“Jesse... Jessss... are you sure.. ?”
Chapter Four â€“ Snakes and Scales
“What’s going on?” exclaims Nebreshy.
“Sss,” hisses the hooded cobra in greeting. “Hail, Nebreshy...”
“What are ... Who are you?” shuddered the bravest and best general of Tuthmosis.
“I am Meretseger. Cobra goddess...sss. She who loves...ss...sssilence.
“Do not think, Nebreshy ... that the gods...sss are blind to your cruelty. Your deedsss weigh heavy on your heart. Ssoon your life will finissh and your heart will be meassured by the scales...ss of truth.”
“Wait! I have prepared something, a special gift for the gods.”
“A scarab, no doubt. Scarabs...sss are nothing.”
“No, this is not a scarab. This is beyond price. I have made a special golden heart to honour and charm the gods.” He turned to fetch the present but Meretseger stopped him dead.
“Fool. You cannot bribe the gods...sss." The taut, even features and handsome face of Nebreshy blanch as the snake rears and poises herself to strike.
“The gods you cannot bribe but as for me ... as for Meret...ssseger..."
“Here. They are yours. All of them.” General Nebreshy pours out the contents of his jewellery chest onto the floor of his room. Gold, silver, jewels, damasks and the smoothest silks flow over the marble. “Take them. I give them to you. See how they shine brighter than the ripples of the Nile. How fine your sleak skin will look in this silken coat. You will be the richest of all snakes. Meretseger, the fairest, you will be called.”
Nebreshy holds out his manicured hand in prayer and offering to the cobra.
“Fool. I have no need of trinkets. My eyes are lapis...ss lazuli ... and my sskin already gleams brighter than all your jewels...ss.” Meretseger rears her hooded head and faster than desert lightning plunges her fangs into his hand and he falls like a limp stone to the polished stone floor while outside his impatient, black stallion prances, rears and pulls against the empty reins of the chariot.
What was that? Where am I? Where is she? Feels like a nightmare. With quivering, sweat-drenched fingers, Jones reaches for his lantern, picks it up and applies a spluttering match to the oil-soaked wick. The box is still there. It is real. However, somehow the contents have spilled across the floor and, dusted with the grime of centuries, they have lost their shine. He swiftly replaces them and looks around the chamber.
“Perfect,” he whispers, as his eyes spy a hole in the wall, six feet from the tunnel entrance on the right. He carefully places the box in the hole. It goes way back, almost the full length of his sinewy arm. He is about to follow the distant voices of his party when he pauses, opens the box again and extracts one of the objects.
“That’ll do,” he says, replacing the box in the wall, and he runs like the wind to join the others.
In the lamplight gaze on the pictures. The hieroglyphs stand out as clear and bright as the day they were drawn. Take out your microscopes, my friends. This is why we came 3000 miles.
Dust away the sand. Brush off the cobwebs. Here in the tomb of Nebreshy, the brave, the mighty, the awesome general of Tuthmosis, the underworld is drawn. Capture the scene. Sketch the image. Photograph the action. Preserve it for all time to take to the folks back home in New York, London, Paris, Liverpool, Barcelona and Milan. Take back your tales to the eager
children, the busy students. Note your findings, report on the treasures.
But know this, too. From this very spot a soul must make its dangerous way through the underworld, Duat. Check the chart, scattered with spells and prayers to aid Nebreshy’s soul, snatched by sudden, snakish bite. You must help him now to reach the goal. But beware; for time ticks and the curse hampers each step. Do not pause too long to admire. The sands run and hate hangs over the pyramid and all who enter. Never forget the
“Could I just refer you to this text for a moment, everyone?” said Dorothy grasping the scroll.
“‘Unless the curse be lifted from the heart of gold and truth be known, Re will rise no more, pollution and forever darkness will flow throughout the world and its peoples will be wreathed in emptiness and silent death.’”
“I’m getting out of here,” panics a voice at the back.
“Indeed, you are not,” asserts Dorothy. “This is a matter of life ...”
“... and death,” added Jesse.
"Glad to see you are still with us, Mr Jones.” She smiles. “You will
appreciate that time is of the essence, ladies and gentlemen. Now, everybody. Yes. Everybody. You, too, at the back, monsieur. Hold your lanterns high. See up there drawn on the wall - Nebreshy’s body is opened, the organs are placed into the jars and the corpse embalmed. But, over here, Anubis replaces the real heart with a golden bribe, a special gift to work its magic charm when the heart is weighed. I suggest that what transpired here is this: the gods were so angry with the deception that they failed to make a judgement and instead cursed the heart, the pyramid tomb and in effect everything.”
“Everything? Surely not,” said Jones.
“Alas, yes. The entire world and its contents including, naturally enough, us.”
“So when does this curse take effect?” pipes up a voice at her side.
“Well,” responds Dorothy. “If these words are to be believed, as soon as we fail.”
“Why may we not succeed, senora?” enquires a bearded gentleman in themidst of the hubbub.
“Senorita. Well, senor, although we are fortunate enough to have a map to guide us through the afterlife, there is one major problem. I suspect that Nebreshy’s real heart is required for the weighing and judgement to take place and I very much imagine that his real heart has rotted and turned to dust long ago.”
“Dorothy,” says Jesse reaching into the pouch around his neck...
“Where on earth did you find that? Never mind. Thank you very much. I will take it.” She extracts gloves and fresh bandages from her bag to protect the decaying originals and wraps them carefully round the rotting organ. She then clasps her Horus necklace, holds the eye aloft and peers through towards the corridor ahead... “Come along, all.” And away she strides like a jaunty schoolteacher on a day out.
Chapter Five â€“ The Eye of Horus
The eye will guide and show the way. Horus peers down and points out our path, protecting our steps. Deeper into the pyramid tomb we go. When the way divides, our leader holds up the amulet and Horus directs us. Sometimes there are gaps in the walls and whispers hiss out like steam. Sometimes the path slopes away and a fallen rock hampers our passage. Sometimes shadows dart in front of us but Dorothy Hermione Fanshawe-Smythe never slows her determined stride.
Down blind passageways, through echoes and sighs we walk right to the lip of the underworld. Lines of white squares mark the path. Stop. Stay still. Wait.
“It appears to be a board game, Dorothy.”
“Indeed. It is the game of senet. I suspect we must play the game to negotiate the path...”
“And win..” suggests Jones.
“Mon Dieu,” whispers the keeper of Egyptology from MusÃ©e de Paris. “What is that?” He points to a figure squatting at the far end of the board.
“It is a crocodile. Is it alive?”
“It resembles a statue,” suggested his assistant.
“It’s alive all right. I just saw him blink. Crocodiles don’t tend
to waste energy on movement until it’s absolutely necessary.”
“I could try to lasso the rock over there and swing across.” Jesse’s aim is good but the rope is too short.
“I’m afraid we have to play, Mr Jones. Get ready!” If only ... If only Dorothy and Jesse could see across the squares into the eyes, face and body of the crocodile. For as he lounges on a rock, he is a crocodile, to be sure, but from the neck down he is human and an elegant human too.
A butler’s tray is perched on his knees and a dinner plate and silver cutlery are neatly arranged on the tray. He wears a napkin around his neck and his voice is pure Oxford English. All that he lacks is a crevat and a silk dressing gown.
“Oh, do hurry up, Nebreshy. Make your move, old trout. I’m famished. Haven’t got all eternity...”
Jesse is transfixed and even Dorothy is slightly bemused.
“Oh, cut along, Nebreshy, do. You have to play the game. Simple as. You win the game, you move on. You lose, you move on...to my plate.” Everything would have been reasonably civilized at this juncture were it not for the dreadful slavering and spitting that accompanied the crocodile’s boardside chat.
Jesse threw the four strangely shaped senet dice sticks and moved to a square. As soon as he stepped on it, it shook, bucked like a stallion and fell away to reveal a pit of snakes. Jesse threw himself sideways and hooked his rope around a rock as the square clattered into the slithering serpents below.
“Or dearie me. Snakepit. Bad form, Nebbers, Do have another shot, old boy. Toss the jolly old sticks.” Dorothy threw the dice to Jones, and he caught them and threw again as the croc adjusted his plate on the tray.
“Safe square. Drat!” hissed the reptile.
Jones leaped from his rocky perch and onto a square at the end of the board. He had made it.
The crocodile suddenly stood. “Oh, did I not mention there will only be one player in this little game?”
And like a spoilt child at a party, he rolled up his board and scampered down a muddy tunnel and out of sight, leaving Dorothy, marooned at a cliff’s edge, and Jesse with a pit of molten lava three thousand cubits below on the opposite side. Jesse threw his rope across and Dorothy tied it to a rock.
“Don’t look down, Dorothy! Just focus on the end of the rope and walk steadily.”
She edged across to the other side and Jones unhitched the rope. Dorothy turned to the rest of the party and shouted. “Try to get across in your own time â€“ or find another route. We must carry on. Follow the Book of the Dead. We will meet up later. Au revoir.”
And the two ran on through the afterlife...
Behind the running figures, from the tunnel, which the crocodile had just disappeared down, came the roar of rushing water. They stopped to listen but only momentarily. Dorothy swiftly took out a small boat from her satchel and, as the water hit them, held the eye of Horus tight and... there they were on a boat riding the waves and rushing through the rapids.
“Wheee...” exclaimed Jesse. Dorothy held the tiller firmly as Jesse
grasped an oar and propelled the boat into the middle of the rushing waters away from crashing rocks and rapids. A sudden surge overtook the boat and Dorothy fell headfirst into the water.
Jesse reached for his rope and flung it towards her.
“Grab it!” The foolish woman was making no effort to reach his rope. Instead her eyes were closed and she was holding the eye of Horus above the waves, muttering something that sounded like a spell. Suddenly she rose out of the water and offered her hand to a stunned Jones.
“Grab it,” she said in a voice that glided over the swirling water. So he complied and he felt himself rising on giant beating wings. The water fell away and his wings lifted him into calm, still air. A strange bird, with a satchel circling its feathered neck, hovered some way below him. With falcon eyes she was watching a tiny, toy boat below being dashed against jagged rocks and sinking under the swell.
Chapter Six â€“ Into The Light
In the calm realm of the sky god soar and see. The dark is far below and in the distance the shore of the afterlife is glowing serene and still. What is there on the shore? See with the eyes of Horus. Dip down through the clouds, swoop in over the mist and witness the sight.
Crowds surround a bandaged corpse. Osiris stands over with scales in hand. Far below the cursed Nebreshy lies and lies and lies. And for each waking second, every last minute, hour after hour, day on day, week by week, month on long month, year on unending year, century on infinite century, millennium in and out, Nebreshy has waited for the judgement that never came.
At each sunset his tortured spirit has cried, “GIVE ME SOME LIGHT!” But all he has seen is the dark, cold, swathing cotton and all he has heard is the hubbub of the judges who never judge, with the scales that will not weigh.
Circle with the falcons. Feel the indestructible power of flight. Fly higher than all the gods. Dare to fly higher than Re himself.
From nowhere, from out of an empty sky, something strikes swifter than a curse.
A tornado whips frantic feathers and the falcons fall. The rocks below rush up to hug and squeeze them tight until one bird with manly arms throws a rope and harnesses a clifftop tree. He holds the other human and they scramble to safety.
The feathers drift down. Some fall among the crowd, some float into the water, some are lost in shifting sands and one lands on the scales of Osiris who blows it away and takes the feather of justice from the goddess, Ma’at, “It is time. ‘If there is no true heart, the false heart will open and spread its evil over the face of the earth and among all men.’ So says the curse. Who has the heart?”
“Here. I have it,” shrieks a voice. “I’ll be right with you!”
The undeterred figure of Dorothy rushes up to Osiris, hands him the heart and steps back as he places it in the scales opposite the feather...
“Take out the false heart, Anubis, and hold it high,” orders the mighty Osiris.
High up beyond the blue of the sky, the apex of the pyramid, the
pyramidion stone, begins to budge and through this gap, the tomb’s topmost tip, Re sends the finest and most brilliant needle of light. The piercing, burning beam strikes, shatters and explodes the golden heart into a thousand razor fragments.
“Miss Fanshawe. Are you all right? Mr Jones, can you hear me?”
“What happened?” said a dazed Dorothy.
“Well, we managed to find a way to the shores of the afterlife and arrived just as the golden heart was being destroyed. It was quite a sight.”
“Magnifique,” said the Paris professor.
“You were lying down in the sand, senora.”
“Senorita,” corrected Fanshawe-Smythe.
“Si, si. Surrounded by beautiful fluffy feathers.”
“Then,” explained the Frenchmen, “the portal opened and we dragged you out while it was open. As you can see it’s quite fermÃ© now.” The two stood slowly, brushed feathers from off their clothes and faced each other squarely like figures in a frieze.
“This is where we came in, I think,” suggested Jesse with a broad grin.
“There’s something I left behind in there.” He continued. “I was wondering whether you might like to help me locate it sometime.”
“That would be a pleasure,” replied the small but redoubtable woman.
“Fancy a cup of tea, Dorothy?”
“Oh do call me Dotty,” smiled Dorothy Hermione Fanshawe-Smythe.