Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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cartouche of the king. The craftsmanship was marvelous, the design

splendid.

"There is no doubt now," von Schiller whispered. "This proves the

identity of the body." cartOUc xt they unwrapped the king's hands,

clasped over the the great medallion. The fingers were long and

sensitive, each of them loaded with circle after circle of magnificent

rings. Clasped in his dead hands were the flail and sceptre of majesty,

and Nahoot exulted when they saw them.

"The symbols of kingship. Proof on proof that this is Mamose the Eighth,

ruler of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms of ancient Egypt."

He moved up to the king's still veiled head, but von Schiller stopped

him. "Leave that until last!" he ordered. "I am not yet ready to look

upon the face of Pharaoh."

So Nahoot and Reeper transferred their attention to the king's lower

body. As they lifted away each layer of linen, so were revealed scores

of amulets that the embalmers had placed beneath the bandages as charms

to protect the dead man. They were of gold and carved jewels and ceramic

in glowing colours and marvelous shapes – all the birds of the air and

the creatures of the land and the fish of the Nile waters. They

photographed each amulet in situ before working it free and placing it

into a numbered slot in the trays that had been set out upon the

workbench.

Pharaoh's feet were as small and delicate as his hands, and each toe was

laden with precious rings. Only his head was still covered, and both men

looked enquiringly at von Schiller. "It is very late, Herr von

Schiller," Reeper said, if you wish to rest-'

"Continue!" he ordered brusquely. So they moved up each side of the

mummy's head, while von Schiller on remained on his stand between them.

Gradually the king's face was exposed to the light, for the first time

in nearly four thousand years. His hair was thin and wispy, still red

with the henna dye he had used in his lifetime. His skin had been cured

with aromatic resins until it was hard as polished amber. His nose was

thin and beaked. His lips were drawn back in a soft, almost dreamy smile

which exposed the gap in his front teeth.

The resin coated his eyelashes, so that they seemed wet with tears and

the lids only half-shut. Life seemed to gleam there still, and only when

von Schiller leaned closer did he realize that the light in those

ancient sockets was the reflection from the white porcelain discs that

the undertakers had placed in the empty sockets during the embalming.

On his brow the Pharaoh wore the sacred uraeus crown. Every detail of

the cobra head was still perfect, There was no wearing or abrading of

the soft metal. The I serpent fangs were sharp and recurved, and the

long forked tongue curled between them. The eyes were of shining blue

glass. On the band of gold beneath the hooded asp was engraved the royal

cartouche of Mamose.

"I want that crown." Von Schiller's voice was choking with passion.

"Remove it, so that I can hold it in my own hands."

"We may not be able to lift it without damaging the head of the royal

mummy," Nahoot protested.

"Do not argue with me. Do as I tell you."

"Immediately, Herr von Schiller," Nahoot capitulated.

"But it will take time to free it. If Herr von Schiller wishes to rest

now, we will inform you when we have loosened the crown and have it

ready for you."

The circle of gold had adhered to the resin-soaked skin of the king's

forehead. In order to remove it Nahoot and Reeper first had to lift the

complete body out of the coffin and lay it on the stainless steel

mortuary stretcher which already waited to receive it. Then the resin

had to be softened and removed with specially prepared solvents.

The whole process took as long as Nahoot had predicted, but finally it

was completed.

They laid the golden uraeus upon a blue velvet cushion, as if for a

coronation ceremony. They dimmed all the other lights in the main

chamber of the vault, anded a single spot to fall upon the crown. Then

they arrang both went upstairs to inform von Schiller.

He would not let the two archaeologists accompany him when he returned

to the vaults to view the crown.

Only Utte Kemper was with him when he keyed the lock to the armoured

door of the vault, and the heavy door slid open.

The first thing that caught von Schiller's eye as he entered the vault

was the glittering crown in its velvet nest.

immediately he began to wheeze for air like an asthmatic, and he seized

her hand and squeezed until her knuckles crackled with the pressure and

she whimpered with pain. But the pain excited her. Von Schiller

undressed her, placed the golden crown upon her head and laid her naked

in the open coffin.

"I am the promise of life," she whispered from the ancient coffin. "Mine

is the shining face of immortality." He did not touch her. Naked, he

stood over the coffin with his inflamed and swollen rod thrusting from

the base of his belly like a creature with separate life.

She ran her hands slowly down her own body, and as they reached her mons

Veneris, she intoned gravely, "May you live for ever!'

The wondrous efficacy of the crown of Mamose was proven beyond any

doubt. Nothing before had produced this effect upon Gotthold von

Schiller. For at her words, the purple head of his penis erupted of its

own accord and glistening silver strings of his semen dribbled down and

splattered upon her soft white belly.

In the open coffin Utte Kemper arched her back, and writhed in her own

consuming orgasm.

It seemed to Royan that she had been away from Egypt for years instead

of weeks. She realized just -how much she had missed the crowded and

bustling streets of the city, the wondrous smells of spices and food and

perfume in the bazaars, and the wailing voice of the muezzin calling the

faithful to prayer from the turrets of the mosques.

That very first morning she left her flat in Giza while it was still

dark, and since her injured knee was still swollen and painful she used

her stick as she limped along the banks of the Nile. She watched the

dawn cobble the river waters with a pathway of gold and copper and set

the triangular sails of the feluccas ablaze.

This was a different Nile from the one she had encountered in Ethiopia.

This was not the Abbay, but the true Nile. It was broader and slower,

and the muddy stink of it was familiar and well beloved. This was her

river and her land. She found that her resolve to do what she had come

home to do was reinforced. Her doubts were set at rest, her conscience

soothed. As she turned away from it she felt strong and sure of herself

and the course that she must take.

She visited Duraid's family. She had to make amends to them for her

sudden departure and her long, unexplained absence. At first her

brother-in-law was cool and stiff towards her; but after his wife had

wept and embraced Royan and the children had clambered all over her -

she was always their favourite ammah – he warmed to her and relented

sufficiently to offer to drive her out to the oasis.

When she explained that she wanted to be alone when she visited the

cemetery, he unbent so far as to lend her his beloved Citron.

As she stood beside Duraid's grave the smell of the , desert filled her

nostrils and the hot breeze rid'eted with her hair. Duraid had loved the

desert. She was glad for him that from now onwards he would always be

close to it. The headstone was simple and traditional: just his name and

dates, under the outline of the cross. She knelt beside it and tidied

the grave, renewing the wilted and dried bouquets of flowers with those

that she had brought with her from Cairo.

Then she sat quietly beside him for a long while. She made no rehearsed

speeches, but " imply ran over in her mind so many of the good quiet

times they had passed together. She remembered his kindness and his

understanding, and the security and warmth of his love for her. She

regretted that she had never been able to return it in the same measure,

but she knew that he had accepted and understood that.

She hoped that he also understood why she had come back now. This was a

leave-taking. She had come to say goodbye. She had mourned him and,

although she would always remember him and he would always be a part of

her, it was time for -her to move on. It was time for him to let her go.

When at last she left the cemetery, she walked away without looking

back.

She took the long road around the south side of the lake to avoid having

to pass the burnt-out villa; she did not wish to be reminded of that

night of horror on which Duraid had died there. It was therefore after

dark when she, returned to the city, and the family were relieved to see

her. Her brother-in-law walked three times around the Citron, checking

for damage to the paintwork, before ushering her into the house where

his wife had set a feast for them.

'an Abou Sin, the minister whom Royan had Come specifically to see, was

out of Cairo on an official visit to Paris. She had three days to wait

for his return, and because she knew that Nahoot Guddabi was no longer

in Cairo, she felt safe and able to spend much of that time at the

museum. She had many friends there, and they were delighted to see her

and to bring her up to date with all that had happened during the time

that she had been away.

The rest of the time she spent in the museum reading room, going over

the microfilm of the Taita scrolls, searching for any clues that she

might have missed in her previous readings. There was a section of the

second scroll which she read carefully and from which she made extensive

notes. Now that the prospect of finding the tomb of Pharaoh Mamose

intact had become real and credible, her interest in what that tomb

might contain had been stimulated.

The section of the scroll upon which she concentrated was a description

that the scribe, Taita, had given of a' royal visit by the Pharaoh to

the workshops of the necropolis, where his funerary treasure was being

manufactured and assembled within the walls of the great temple that he

had built for his own embalming. According to Taita they had visited the

separate workshops, first the armoury with its collection of

accoutrements of the battlefield and the chase, and then the furniture

workshop, home of exquisite workmanship. In the studio of the sculptors,

Taita.

described the work on the statues of the gods and the lifesized images

of the king in every different activity of his life that would line the

long causeway from the necropolis to the tomb in the Valley of the

Kings. In this.workshop the masons were also-hard at work on the massive

granite sarcophagus which would house the king's mummy over the ages.

However, according to Taita's later account history had cheated Pharaoh

Mamose of this part of his treasure, and all these heavy and unwieldy

items of stone had been abandoned and left behind in the Valley of the

Kings when the Egyptians fled south along the Nile to the land they

called Cush, to escape the Hyksos invasion that overwhelmed their

homeland.

As Royan turned with more attention to the scribe's description of the

studio of the goldsmiths, the phrase which he used to describe the

golden deathmask of the Pharaoh struck her forcibly. "This was the peak

and the zenith. All the Unborn ages might one day marvel at its

splen&ur." Royan looked up dreamily from the micro film and wondered if

those words of the ancient scribe were not prophetic. Was she destined

to be one of those who would marvel at the splendour of the golden

deathmask? Might she be, the first to do so in almost four thousand

years? Might she touch this wonder, take itup in her hands and at last

do with it as her conscience dictated?

Reading Taita's account left Royan with a sense of ancient suffering,

and a feeling of compassion for the people of those times. They were,

after all – no matter how far removed in time – her own people. As a

Coptic Egyptian, she was one of their direct descendants. Perhaps this

empathy was the main reason why, even as a child, she had originally

determined to make her life's work a study of these people and the old

ways.

However, she had much else to think of during those days of waiting for

the return of Atalan Abou Sin. Not least of these were her feelings for

Nicholas Quenton Harper. Since she had visited the little cemetery at

the oasis and made her peace with Duraid's memory, her thoughts of

Nicholas had'taken on a new poignancy. There was so much she was still

uncertain of, and there were so many difficult choices to make. It was

not possible to fulfill all her plans and desires without sacrificing

others almost equally demanding.

When at last the hour of her appointment to see Atalan came around, she

had difficulty bringing herself to go to him. Like somebody in a trance

she limped through the bazaars, using her stick to protect her injured

knee, hardly hearing the merchants calling their wares to her.

>From her skin tone and European clothing they presumed she must be a

tourist.

She hesitated so long over taking this irrevocable step that she was

almost an hour late for the appointment.

Fortunately this was Egypt, and Atalan was an Arab to whom time did not

have the same significance as it did to the Western part of Royan's

make-up.

He, was his usual urbane and charming self. Today, in the-privacy of his

own office, he was comfortably dressed in a white dishdasha and a

headcloth. He shook hands with her warmly. If this had been London he

might have kissed her cheek, but not here in the East where a man never

kissed any woman but his wife and then only in the privacy of their

home.

He led her through to his private sitting room, where his male secretary

served them small cups of tar-thick coffee and lingered to preserve the

propriety of this meeting. After an exchange of compliments and the

obligatory interval of polite small-talk, Royan could come obliquely to

the main reason for her visit.

"I have spent much of the last few days at the museum, working in the

reading room. I managed to see many of my old colleagues there, and I

was surprised to hear that Nahoot had withdrawn his application for the

post of director."

Atalan sighed, "My nephew is a headstrong boy at times. The job was his,

but at the very last moment he came to tell me that he had been offered

another in Germany. I tried to dissuade him. I told him that he would

not enjoy the northern climate after being brought up in the Nile

valley. I told him that there are many things in life such as country

and family that no amount of money can recompense. But-' Atalan spread

his hands in an eloquent gesture.

"So who have you chosen to fill the post of director?" she asked with an

innocence that did not deceive him.

"We have not yet made any permanent appointment.

Nobody automatically comes to mind, now that Nahoot has withdrawn.

Perhaps we will be forced to advertise internationally. I for one would

be very sad to see it go to a foreigner, no matter how well qualified."

our excellency, may I speak to you in private?" Royan asked, and glanced

significantly at the male secretary hovering at the doorway. Atalan

hesitated only a moment.

"Of course." He gestured to the secretary to leave the room, and when he

had withdrawn and closed the door behind him Atalan leaned towards her

and dropped his voice slightly. "What is it that you wish to discuss, my

dear lady?"

It was an hour later that Royan left him. He walked with her as far as

the lift outside his suite of offices.

As he shook hands his voice was low and mellifluous "We will meet again

soon, inshallah."

hen the Egyptair flight landed at Heath, row and Royan left the airport

arrivals hall for a place in the queue at the taxi rank outside, it

seemed that the temperature difference from Cairo was at least fifteen

degrees. Her train arrived at York in the damp misty cold of late

afternoon. From the railway station she phoned the number that Nicholas

had given her.

"You silly girl," he scolded her. "Why didn't you let me know you were

on your way? I would have met you at the airport."

She was surprised at how pleased she was to see him, and at how much she

had missed him, as she watched him step out of the Range Rover and come

striding towards her on those long legs. He was bare-headed and

obviously had not subjected himself to a haircut since she had last seen

him. His dark hair was rumpled and wind-tossed and the silver wings

fluffed over his ears.

"How's the knee?" he greeted her. "Do you still need to be carried?"

"Almost better now. Nearly time to throw away the stick." She felt a

sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck, but at the last moment

she prevented herself from making a display and merely offered him a

cold, rosy brown cheek to kiss. He smelt good – of leather and some

spicy aftershave, and of clean virile manhood.

In the driver's seat he delayed starting the engine for a moment, and

studied her face in the street light that streamed in through the side

window.

"You look mighty pleased with yourself, madam. Cat been at the cream?"

"Just pleased to see old friends," she smiled, "but I must admit Cairo

is always a tonic."

"No supper laid on. Thought we would stop at a pub.

Do you fancy steak and kidney pud?"

"I want to see my mother. I feel so guilty. I don't even know how her

leg is mending."

"Popped in to see her day before yesterday. She's doing fine. Loving the

new puppy. Named it Taita, would you believe?"

"You are really a very kind person – I mean, taking the trouble to visit

her."

"I like her. One of the good old ones. They don't build them like that

any more. I suggest we have a bite to eat, and then I will pick up a

bottle of Laphroaig and we will go and see her."

It was after midnight when they left Georgina's cottage. She had

dispensed rough frontier justice to the malt whisky that Nicholas had

brought and now she waved them off, standing in the kitchen doorway,

clutching her new puppy to her ample bosom and teetering slightly on her

plaster-cast leg.

"You are a bad influence on my mother," Royan told him.

"Who's a bad influence on whom?" he protested. "Some of those jokes of

hers turned the Stilton a richer shade of blue."

"You should have let me stay with her."

"She has Taita to keep her company now. Besides, I need you close at

hand. Plenty of work to do. I can't wait to show you what I have been up

to since you went swanning off to Egypt."

The Quenton Park housekeeper had repared her a bedroom in the flat in

the lanes behind York Minster.

As Nicholas carried her bags up the stairs ripsaw snoring came from

behind the door of the bedroom on the second landing, and she looked at

Nicholas enquiringly.

"Sapper Webb," he told her. "Latest addition to the team. Our own

engineer. You will meet him tomorrow, and I think you will like him. He

is a fisherman."

"What's that got to do with me liking him?"

"All the best people are fishermen."

"Present company excluded," she laughed. "Are you staying at Quenton

Park?"

"Giving the house a wide berth, for the time being." He shook his head.

"Don't want it bruited about that I amback in England. There are some

fellows from Lloyd's that I would rather not speak to at the moment. I

will be in the small bedroom on the top floor. Call if you need me."

When she was alone she looked around the tiny chintzy room with its own

doll's house bathroom, and the double bed that took up most of the floor

area. She remembered his remark about calling if she needed him, and she

looked up at the ceiling just as she heard him drop one of his shoes on

the floor.

"Don't tempt me," she whispered. The smell of him lingered in her

nostrils, and she remembered the feel of his lean hard body, moist with

sweat, pressed against hers as he had carried her up out of the Abbay

gorge. Hunger and eed were two words she had not thought of for many

years. They were starting to loom too large in her existence.

"Enough of that, my girl," she chided herself, and went to run a bath.

Nicholas pounded on her door the next morning on his way downstairs.

"Come along, Royan. Life is real. Life is urgent."

It was still pitch dark outside, and she groaned softly and asked, "What

time is it?" But he was gone, and faintly she could hear him whistling

"The Big Rock Candy Mountain'somewhere downstairs.

She checked her watch and groaned again. "Whistling at six-thirty, after

what he and Mummy did to the Laphroaig last night. I don't believe it.

The man is truly a monster."

Twenty minutes later she found him in a dark blue fisherman's sweater

and jeans and a butcher's apron, working in the kitchen.

"Slice toast for three, there's a love." He gestured towards the brown

loaf that lay beside the electric toaster.

"Omelettes coming up'in five minutes."

She looked at the other man in the room. He was middle-aged, with wide

shoulders and sleeves rolled up high around muscular biceps, and he was

as bald as a cannonball.

"Hello," she said, "I am Royan Al Sirnma."

"Sorry." Nicholas waved the egg-whisk. "This is Danny Daniel Webb, known

as Sapper to his friends."

Danny stood up with a cup of coffee in his big competent-looking fist.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Al Simma. May I pour you a cup of coffee?"

The top of his head was'freckled, and she noticed how blue his eyes

were.

"Dr Al Simma,'Nicholas corrected him.

"But please call me Royan," she cut in quickly, "and yes, I' love a

cup."

There was no mention of Ethiopia or Taita's game during breakfast, and

Royan ate her omelette and listened respectfully to a passionate

dissertation on how to catch sail fish on a fly rod from Sapper, while

Nicholas heckled him mercilessly, calling into question almost every

statement he made. Very obviously they had a good relationship, and she

supposed she would become accustomed to all the angling jargon.

As soon as breakfast was over, Nicholas stood up with the coffee pot in

one hand. "Bring your mugs, and follow me., He led Royan to the front

sitting room. "I have a surprise for you. My people up at the museum

worked round the clock to get it ready for you."

He threw open the door of the sitting room, with an imitation of a

trumpet flourish, "Tarantara!'

On the centre table stood a fully mounted model of the striped dik-dik,

crowned with the pricked horns and clad in the skin that Nicholas had

smuggled back from Africa. It was so realistic that for a moment she

expected it to leap off the table and dash away as she walked towards

it.

"Oh, Nicky. It's beautifully done!" She circled it appraisingly. "The

artist has captured it exactly."

The model brought back to her vividly the heat and smell of the bush in

the gorge, and she felt a twinge of nostalgia and sadness for the

delicate, beautiful creature.

Its glass eyes were deceptively lifelike and bright, and the end of its

proboscis looked wet and gleaming as though it was about to wiggle it

and sniff the air.

"I think it's splendid. Glad you agree with me." He stroked the soft,

smooth hide. She felt this was not the moment to spoil his boyish

pleasure. "As soon as we have Ir sorted out Taita's puzzle, I intend

writing a paper on it for the Natural History Museum, the same lads that

called Great-grandpapa a liar. Restore the family honour." He laughed

and spread a dust-sheet over the model. Carefully he lifted it down from

the table and placed it safely in a corner of the room where it was out

of harm's way.

"That was the first surprise I had saved up for you. But now for the big

one." He pointed to a sofa against one wall.

"Take a seat. I don't want you to be bowled over by this." She smiled at

his nonsense, but went obediently to the furthest end of the sofa afid

curled her legs under her as she settled there. Sapper Webb came to sit

awkwardly at the other end, obviously uncomfortable at being so close to

her.

"Let's talk about how we are going to get into the chasm on the Dandera

river," Nicholas suggested. "Sapper and I have talked about nothing else

the whole time that you have been away."

"That and catching fish, I'll warrant." She grinned at  him, and he

looked guilty.

"Well, both subjects involve water. That is my justification." His

expression became serious. "You recall that we discussed the idea of

exploring the depths of Taita's pool with scuba gear, and I explained

the difficulties."

"I remember," she agreed. "You said the pressure into the underwater

opening was too great, and that we would have to find another method of

getting in there."

"Correct." Nicholas smiled mysteriously. "Well, Sapper here has already

earned the exorbitant fee that I have promised him – promised, I

emphasize, not yet paid. He has come up with the alternative method."

Now she too became serious and unfolded her legs.

She placed both feet on the floor and leaned forward attentively, with

her elbows on her knees and her chin cupped in her hands.

"It must have been all those brains of his that pushed out his hair. I

mean, it's very neat thinking. Although it was staring us both in the

face, neither you nor I thought of it."

Stop it, Nicky," she told him ominously, "you are doing it again."

"I am going to give you a clue." He ignored the warning and went on

teasing her blithely. "Sometimes the old ways are the best. That's the

'if you are so clever, how come you aren't famous?" she began, and then

broke off as the solution occurred to her.

"The old ways? You mean, the same way as Taita did it?

The same way he reached the bottom of the pool without the benefit of

diving equipment?"

"By George! I think she's got itV Nicholas put on a convincing Rex

Harrison imitation.

"A dam." Royan clapped her hands. "You propose to redam. the river at

the same place where Taita built his dam four thousand years ago."

"She's got it Nicholas laughed. "No flies on our girl!

Show her your drawings, Sapper."

Sapper Webb made no attempt to disguise his selfsatisfaction as he went

to the board that stood against the facing wall. Royan had noticed it,

but had paid no attention to it, until now he pulled away the cover and

proudly displayed the illustrations that were pegged to it.

She recognized immediately the enlargements of the photographs that

Nicholas had taken at the putative site of Taita's.dam on the Dandera

river, and others that he had taken in the ancient quarry that Tamre had

shown them. These had been liberally adorned with calculations and lines

in thick black marker pen.

"The major has provided me with estimates of the dimensions of the river

bed at this point, and he has also calculated the height that we will

have to raise the wall to induce a flow down the former course. I have,

of course, allowed for errors in these calculations. Even if these

errors are in the region of thirty percent, I believe that the project

is still feasible with the very limited equipment we will have available

to us."

"If the ancient Egyptians could do it, it will be a breeze for you,

Sapper."

"Kind of you to say so, major, but "breeze" is not the word I would have

chosen."

He turned to the drawings pegged beside the photographs on the board,

and Royan saw that they were plans and elevations of the project based

upon the photographs and Nicholas's estimates.

"There are a number of different methods of dam construction, but these

days most of them presuppose the availability of reinforced concrete and

heavy earth-moving Al.

equipment. I understand that we will not have the benefit of these

modern aids."

"Remember Taita," Nicholas exhorted him. "He did it without bulldozers."

"On the other hand, the Egyptians probably had unlimited numbers of

slaves at their disposal."

"Slaves I can promise you. Or the modern equivalent thereof. Unlimited

numbers? Well, perhaps not."

"The more tabour you can provide, the sooner I can divert the flow of

the river for you. We are agreed that this has to be done before the

onset of the rainy season."

"We have two months at the most." Nicholas dropped his flippant

attitude. "As regards the provision of tabour, I will be relying on

enlisting the aid of the monastic community at St. Frumentius. I am

still working out a sound theological reason that might convince them to

take part in the building of the dam. I don't think they will fall for

the idea that we have discovered the site of the Holy Sepulchre in

Ethiopia and not in Jerusalem."

"You find me the tabour, and I will build your dam," Sapper grunted. "As

you said earlier, the old ways are the best. It is almost certain that

the ancients would have used a system of gabions and coffer dams to lay

the foundations of the original dam."

"Sorry," Royan interrupted. "Gabions? I don't have an engineering

degree."

"I am the one who must apologize." Sapper made a clumsy attempt at

chivalry. "Let me show you my drawings." He turned to the board. "What

this fellow Taita probably did was to weave huge bamboo baskets, which

he placed in the river and filled with rock and stone. These are what we

call gabions." He indicated the plans on the board. "After that he would

have used rough-cut timber to build circular walls between the gabions -

the coffer dams. These he would also have filled with stone and earth."

"I get the general idea," Royan said, sounding dubious, "but then it is

not really necessary for me to understand all the details."

"Right you are!" Sapper agreed heartily. "Although the major assures me

that there is all the timber we will need on the site, I plan to use

wire mesh for the construction of the abions and human tabour for the

filling of the mesh 9 nets with stone and aggregate."

"Wire mesh?" Royan demanded. "Where do you hope to find that in the

Abbay valley?"

Sapper began to reply, but Nicholas forestalled him."

will come to that in a moment. Let Sapper finish his lecture. Don't

spoil his fun. Tell Royan about the stone from the quarry. She will

enjoy that."

"Although I have designed the dam as a temporary Structure, we have to

make certain that it is capable of holding back the river long enough to

enable the members of our team to enter the underwater tunnel in the

downstream pool Safely-'

"We call it Taita's pool,'Nicholas told him, and Sapper nodded.