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| Open a world of adventure and forbidden secrets from the ancient past |
The Smiting Texts
THEY INTERCEPTED
him as he came out of Baltimore-Washington Airport, two men wearing suits and
an air of officialdom like a brisk cologne.
“Mr Anson Hunter,
the British Egyptologist?”
The Hathor Holocaust
AN EMAIL arrived at his hotel, giving him an
address in South Kensington and a caution:
‘Come alone. Take care you are not followed. Change
trains or taxis.’
It was a message from a mysterious young woman who
had ambushed him on a train to London.
The Ibis Apocalypse
“SORRY ANSON. Your search for the stela ends here.”
The voice of the woman funneled down the
underground passage, the echoes fluttering off the stone like startled bats. Anson
Hunter, alternative Egyptologist and theorist, felt a chill as the words
reached his ears. It was caused as much by the emotional separation in her
voice as by its distance.
Rising of the Nile Gods
SUNBOAT RA sat at the
Nile quay in a burning haze of lights like a cake festooned with candles.
Two
lumbering shadows broke out of the night, arriving like gatecrashers at a party. Covered
trucks, they pulled up hard and figures jumped out.
Anubis.
Isis. Osiris. Sobek. Maat. Thoth. Horus. Nephthys.
Egypt Eyes
WHAT HAPPENED in the Temple of Isis today?
I stepped straight out of the dimly lit sanctuary and
into a meaty hand that clamped around my mouth. The hand muffled my gasp as I
was yanked aside.
The Forbidden Glyphs
THE ARCHAEOLOGIST Anson Hunter plummeted, tumbling uncontrollably into darkness.
Was
it a tomb shaft he was plunging down, he thought, feeling the darkness rip past
his body?
The God Dig
Egyptian tour guides will tell you
that it’s good luck to walk in a complete circle around the Step Pyramid of
Saqqara.
It’s even luckier if you’re able to run, Anson Hunter thought
after two bullets in quick succession spat dust from the ground at his feet
