The sands have mostly covered the broken sculpture.
Only half of its massive face is now visible above the blowing sand. The head is tilted horizontally, allowing just one carefully stenciled eye to surface. It peers level with the ground, gazing at the vast, rolling dunes.
Harry, my translator, suddenly bursts out laughing.
“Karma sure nailed this guy! I mean, look at the inscription beneath his big toes. It’s pretty bold to call yourself the ‘King of Kings’ when you don’t have a head.”
“Who was he?”
“Well, there are some hieroglyphs at the foot of the pedestal which look like Rameses II’s royal name. I’ll have to confirm it in the lab, though.”
“Good.”
“But that’s not all, doc. In his little, narcissistic message, he encourages the reader to ‘look on his mighty works’. There’s more to dig out there.”
I glanced at the field of dunes, half expecting they’d stir in the wake of the exposed secret. But they remained still.
“We’re gonna be famous, doc. Every university with a mic and money is going to want you talking about our discovery. And, with an entire uncovered city out there, I’ll bet there is enough cultural material for me to write a lengthy tome on Egyptian life. Maybe busting my tailbone on that camel ride was actually worth it.”
My eyes burned from the cutting sand, and I glanced down at Rameses, whose eye remained permanently open, forced to feel—forced to watch the slow submersion. I felt moisture on my lid for a split second before it evaporated.
“Ah yes, the poor sod. But doc, you know this guy was probably the worst ruler in Egyptian history. He deserves this mockery of a monument.”
“It wasn’t Karma that got him, Harry—just time.”