“You weren’t with us in Atlantis,” Robert added, “or you’d know better than to let him come.”
“Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea, “please don’t ask to come. We’ll go and be back again before you have time to know that we’re gone.”
“And he, too?”
“We must keep together,” said Rekh-marā, “since there is but one perfect Amulet to which I and these children have equal claims.”
Jane held up the Amulet—Rekh-marā went first—and they all passed through the great arch into which the Amulet grew at the Name of Power.
The learned gentleman saw through the arch a darkness lighted by smoky gleams. He rubbed his eyes. And he only rubbed them for ten seconds.
The children and the Priest were in a small, dark chamber. A square doorway of massive stone let in gleams of shifting light, and the sound of many voices chanting a slow, strange hymn. They stood listening. Now and then the chant quickened and the light grew brighter, as though fuel had been thrown on a fire.
“Where are we?” whispered Anthea.
“And when?” whispered Robert.
“This is some shrine near the beginnings of belief,” said the Egyptian shivering. “Take the Amulet and come away. It is cold here in the morning of the world.”