"Why were there seven scorpions in the murdered archaeologist's cabin bed?" the Egyptologist Detective asked.

Nobody had missed the archaeologist until later. He had been stung to death by scorpions in his bed. Victim to the strikes of lashing tails. Daniel felt imaginary scorpions tickling up his spine and gave a shiver. “Multiple envenomations,” the cruise doctor said. “It induced coronary arrest. He died last night.” “Clearly introduced,” Daniel said. “Where are they now?” “They?” “The arachnids.” “Safely gathered up in a jar,” the Boat Manager said. “How many?” “Does it matter?” Ahmed Khadir, the SCA official, said. “It might.” “They found seven scorpions.” “Are you sure?” Daniel said. “Housekeeping scoured the cabin. Two of the scorpions had been crushed in the bed. Perhaps the victim’s beating and thrashing around might have made matters worse, attracting more attacks.” “Intriguing.” “Horrifying is a more fitting description,” Khadir said. “No, I mean the significance of the number. Seven. You see, Isis had a train of seven scorpions. They followed her in her wanderings, according to mythology. And our cruise is heading, where? Philae, the temple of Isis.” “As an official in antiquities, I regard Egyptian mythology as respectfully as any, Daniel, but you’re not suggesting –” “– I’m suggesting it’s no accident. But I suppose murder never is.” Khadir frowned. “Somebody wanted to reference the gods of Egypt?” “The printed note would confirm it.” Daniel read it out: Tomb Robber, may the scorpion’s stings be against you and your greed, and strike with the fire of the god’s anger.

The Egyptologist Detective series - on Amazon