By Lincoln Child
Lower than the path of famed explorer Porter Stone, an archaeological staff is secretly trying to find the tomb of an old pharaoh who used to be in contrast to the other in historical past. Stone believes he has chanced on the burial chamber of King Narmer, the close to legendary god- king who united top and reduce Egypt in 3200 B.C., and the archaeologist has cause to think that the best prize of all—Narmer’s crown—might be buried with him. No crown of an Egyptian king has ever been chanced on, and Narmer’s is the elusive “double” crown of the 2 Egypts, supposedly possessed of outstanding powers.
The dig itself is found in a single of the main forbidding areas on earth—the Sudd, a nearly impassable swamp in northern Sudan. Amid the nightmarish, disorienting tangle of dust and lifeless crops, a sequence of harrowing and inexplicable occurrences are inflicting humans at the excursion to worry a centuries- previous curse. With a huge discovery in succeed in, Professor Jeremy Logan is introduced onto the venture to enquire. What he reveals will elevate new questions . . . and alarm.
In the palms of grasp storyteller Lincoln baby, The 3rd Gate breaks new flooring and introduces a desirable new protagonist to the mystery global.
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Additional resources for The Third Gate: A Novel
Last spring, some people wandered across my neighbour’s field with their dog and killed three of his lambs. ’ ‘I’m sorry about that but…’ ‘And Rod Wilson, just over there, he used to send calves over to Ostend. They started with the picketing of the port at Goldswan Green. Couple of months ago, Rod’s barn was burned down. It’ll be somebody’s house next. ’ ‘All right, all right. You know what I’ll do? ’ ‘I did. I’ve bought Elm House on the other side of Lymne. Lumney. ’ ‘Did you now. We always like visitors from London.
Find me some bloody evidence. ’ Six In just a couple of weeks I had managed to construct a life for myself. I had a house and a garden. The house was old with large windows and a solid, four-square shape and stood on what must have been a quayside long ago. Now it looked forlornly across marshland to the sea, half a mile away. In the hectic few days after buying the house in November I had asked around in the estate agent and in the shop a couple of miles up the road in Lymne and found a child-minder.
She was surprised at herself, embarrassed almost. When she was a child, her uncle had led her through a slaughterhouse outside Fuenteobejuna and had smiled down at her as she refused to faint in the face of the blood and dismemberment and above all the steam rising from the cold stone floor. That was the smell she had remembered. It wasn’t a barn at all. There were splashes of blood across such a wide area, even on the ceiling, on the far wall, that Mr Mackenzie might have exploded. Mostly, though, it was in dark pools on his lap and on the sofa.
The Third Gate: A Novel by Lincoln Child