Chapter 6

Quick steps echoed through the narrow alley as Evelyn rushed back to the house.  Waves of emotion washed over her; terror, anger, sadness, betrayal.  How could Cleo lie to her?  How could she steal the journal? 

She stopped short suddenly aware that assumption was false.  Jonathan had asked her not long ago what she did with all her journals.  He had poked fun at her habit, calling it a waste of good paper.  Balling her fists at her sides she felt the heat rise in her face and she stomped the last few feet to the blood red door of their house.

“Jonathan!” Evie yelled as the door slammed behind her.  “Jonathan!” she yelled again, louder and angrier than the first. 

Stalking on short legs into the library, she found Rick and Jonathan in the middle of brandy and cigars looking like deer caught in headlights.  Rick moved first, heaving a sigh of relief he settled into a chair. All he needed was a box of popcorn to complete the effect of an eager theater goer.  He was leaning forward, a delighted smirk on his face.  She would deal with him later.

Jonathan’s first movement was to raise his brandy glass to his lips and down the entire snifter.  He skulked the two steps that separated him from the bar and, abandoning all attempts at decorum, filled his glass to the brim.  Eyeing her warily, he took a huge swallow downing half the glass, and said with practiced calm, “Evie old mum, there is no need to shout.”

“How could you?” She hissed, anger stealing her voice.

His eyes rose to the ceiling and he seemed to mentally retrace his steps.  When he next looked at her, he was wearing his most innocent face. “I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about, dear sister.”

“No idea.  Perhaps if you drank a little less you might remember.” She retorted, acid dripping from her words.  “I hope you were paid handsomely, Jonathan.  I would hate to think that the lives of everyone you say you love were worth only a few drinks at the kasbah.  Do tell, did you at least get enough to pay your creditors or did you gamble this blood money away as well?” 

“Ah, what did he do?”  Rick interrupted her rant.  His eager look had been replaced by a guarded expression. 

“He sold my journal from 1925 to either Charles or Marcus, not that that fact matters much.  They are, even as we speak, digging a new entrance to Hamunaptra.”

“What?!”  Rick demanded, rising from his chair so quickly it fell back and slid across the hardwood floor to crash into the wall. 

Jonathan’s jaw and lips worked together to create an expression worthy of a fish finding himself hooked and on dry land.  With his voice nearing the limit of his falsetto range he squeaked, “They…he…Charles actually found the city?”

“Yes, Jonathan.  He did.  And thanks to your sterling efforts he now has maps of the catacombs and knowledge of the books as well.  How could you, Jonathan?”  Even he couldn’t be this daft, she thought incredulously.  But standing before her, slurping down brandy like it was going out of style, was direct evidence to the contrary.  Of course he was this stupid, a lifetime of heavy drinking had reduced his brain cell count to a few lost and lonely cells that only rarely bumped into each other.  With such limited acquaintance how could they possibly form a coherent thought?

“But Evie, I didn’t have a choice!  Besides how was I to know Charles would find it?  It is buried under several thousand tons of sand after all,” he pleaded as he looked from his angry sister to her equally angry husband.

Evelyn paid his denials no mind.  She had heard them all before.  More incredible than her brother’s most recent betrayal was Cleo’s.  They had never been terribly close which was a source of deep regret for Evelyn but she never would have thought her daughter would do this to her.  Cleo had purposely not told her about Seti’s temple and its connection to the City of the Dead.  What was worse, she had lied about it.  Maybe she hadn’t wanted to frighten them.  Maybe it hadn’t occurred to her that the temple might be an entrance.  Perhaps she didn’t even know she was close to the lost city.  Even as she thought them, Evelyn knew none of the above were true.  Cleo had known full well what she was doing.  The question was why.

Swallowing her next words, Evelyn elected to keep Cleo’s involvement to herself for the moment.  Watching Rick stalk to his gun closet, pull out his faithful gunnysack and begin loading it with everything he could find capable of inflicting injury she told herself she was doing the right thing.  At the moment, she doubted he could take the shock.  Surely, a more appropriate time would present itself.

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice?”  Rick asked in a clipped tone as he turned in a circle looking for anything he might have forgotten.  All that was left were the kitchen knives and Evie made a mental note to hide them from him.

Looking fervently between the pair as if it was a particularly riveting tennis match, Jonathan seemed to reach a conclusion that he found distasteful.  He also had begun to take on a guilty patina.  “It was all Charles’ fault really….”

~~~~~

Charles and Evelyn had had their first run in not long after her arrival at the museum.  He was sure he did not need a woman telling him how to handle his business, boss or not.  She disagreed.  Evelyn had upbraided him for an unlocked rear door in front of several of his guards.  It was a tongue lashing that he did not take as constructive criticism.  A grudge holder of the first order, he would never forget her verbal assault.   

With an eye for revenge he began to study her past.  After a little investigation he discovered that she had been nearly penniless when she had worked for the museum 20 years before.  He had always assumed that Evie’s wealth was inherited.  The sudden appearance of money had coincided with two events that made him wonder about a rumor he had heard floating around the museum.  First, he uncovered a two week dig at Thebes that corresponded with several bizarre natural disasters in the Cairo area and second, there was a sudden flood of 18^th and 19^th dynasty jewelry in the private markets a few months later.  Some interesting questions were raised.

He got his answers at a fundraiser. 

His first encounter with the men in Evelyn’s life had been at the black tie event.  He had spotted Cleo the moment she walked through the door on the arm of an older man.  She had been a vision that night.  He was accustomed to seeing her only in trousers.  And she looked damn good in those.  The floor length, crimson gown was a sight that stopped traffic.  Her long raven hair was tied in a complex knot at the nape of her neck and she wore just a touch of makeup, accentuating her natural beauty.  The back of the dress was cut low and Charles couldn’t resist walking up behind her and putting a hand on her smooth bronze skin.

She spun on him, slapping his hand away before softening just a bit and introducing Charles to her father.  Two pairs of blue eyes met, and instantly disliked the other.  Rick shook Charles’ hand.  His grip was extraordinarily firm and Charles had a hard time not flinching when his knuckles crunched.

Charles had skulked away rubbing his sore hand, more determined than ever to ruin Evelyn and her infernal family. 

Opportunity was waiting for him at the bar.

Jonathan had walked Evelyn in but almost immediately abandoned her in favor of free cocktails.  After a few well-placed questions, several drinks and a little prodding Charles had been handed the revelation that the O’Connell wealth had, in fact, come from Hamunaptra.  He had also been regaled with explanations of how paranoid about the city Jonathan’s sister and brother-in-law were.  As Jonathan prattled on about an un-dead Priest, plagues, scarabs and other fanciful horrors no scientific mind could conceive of Charles listened intently. 

The icing on his revenge cake was finding out about the journals Evelyn kept, one in particular that documented everything that had happened at Hamunaptra - including maps of the catacombs.

Charles decided then and there that he had to have the journal.  That had been easy.  Jonathan needed money, lots of it - fast.  It hadn’t taken long for his creditors to find him and demand exponential interest on his already enormous debts.  Jonathan had a very small window of opportunity to come up with the money or die. 

In a show of friendship, Charles offered his new buddy a trade.  If Jonathan provided him with the journal Charles would pay his debts plus a little extra to get him back on his feet.

~~~~~

Jonathan had agreed. 

It would be tragic if Charles were able to claim the wealth of Egypt but at that point Jonathan felt he had little choice.  The city was buried under mountains of sand and the priest was dead so what did it really matter?  The fact that Evie would be horrified if she found out was of little importance at the time.  She would have been horrified by the obscene amount of money he owed also.  Jonathan’s living situation in the O’Connell home was by no means secure and he was afraid that the fallout from his gambling would be the final straw.  When he weighed the consequences of her knowing about his debts versus not knowing about a dig at Hamunaptra, the decision had been an easy one.

The theft had been child’s play even for a marginal thief like Jonathan.  A few questions and he’d been on his way to financial freedom.  Evie’s trunk contained perhaps 60 volumes, identical except for the dates on the spines.  He’d easily found the volume from 1925.  Closing and locking the trunk, he returned the key to its hiding place.  Whistling, he’d strolled down the hallway and out into the night to meet Charles at the appointed bar only an hour late, which for Jonathan, was right on schedule. 

Charles had handed over the cash and left leaving Jonathan behind to drink a toast to the gods of fate who had rescued him once again from his own foolishness.

~~~~~

The details of his crime laid bare, Jonathan hesitated to meet the eyes of the people he loved the most and paradoxically betrayed the most often.  Slowly, guilty hope contorting his face, he raised his head.

Evelyn was wrapped tight in Rick’s arms and his face was buried in glossy ringlets.  Stepping back and lifting her chin to force her to look at him, Rick said, “Honey, it’ll be okay.  We’ll get her back.  She’ll be fine, I promise.  What are the odds they can actually dig it up anyway?”

“What were the odds that we would find it?”  Evelyn mumbled.

Rick pushed a stray curl away from her cheek and shrugged.  “Good point.  I guess we’ll just go back and get the books before they do.”

Fear created a tsunami out of the ocean of brandy and Jonathan broke the cardinal rule of the guilty by saying, “Perhaps I should stay behind and…”

“Oh hell no, you’re going.  You are going to climb into that black muck and you are going to get that book back.”  Rick’s voice was low, murderous.  His blue eyes were colder than polar icecaps. 

Jonathan knew what he was thinking.  He was thinking it himself.  The odyssey of the City of the Dead had been started by Jonathan’s theft of the puzzle box.  The fighting between the two expeditions was caused by Jonathan’s gambling and big mouth.  The soldier mummies that nearly killed them all were resurrected by Jonathan’s illiterate translation of ancient Egyptian.  Jonathan dropped the gold book in the bog.  Now it was his stupidity had endangered Cleo and was dragging them back to the God damned hellhole.  It was well and truly all his fault.

Rick shifted the gunnysack and adjusted his shoulder holster, leaving his hand threateningly next to the gun that resided there.  “If anything happens to my kid because of you, I will put a bullet between your eyes.”

“Rick, I am sure that…” Evelyn began to heft her always present cross of sibling defense but was cut off.

“Get packed.  We’re leaving in 10 minutes.” 

~~~~~

Ardeth surveyed the small gathering of warriors and thought about what he had to tell them.

For over three thousand years their history had been passed from generation to generation as part of their oral tradition.  All knew of their responsibility to guard the city. 

Only the chieftain knew their other purpose. 

Shortly before his death, Ardeth’s father had shared this second goal with his son.  Ardeth had listened carefully as the old man spoke.  As bizarre as the tale of the mummy’s curse had been, the story his father told him made it seem almost rational in comparison. 

For a long while afterward, he gave the legend a great deal of thought finding it difficult to reconcile an additional goal.  His purpose had always been singular, his focus crystal clear.  The legend changed everything and rocked his conviction to the core.  In the end, finding himself unwilling to expand his understanding of the Med Jai’s role in both past and future, he had buried the tale deep in the back of his mind forgetting about it until the archeologists resurrected it with their digging.

High on the hill he had witnessed the sign foretold by his father.  Magic was afoot. 

As hard to comprehend as it was, the new era was upon them and the prophecy was about to be fulfilled.  With uncharacteristic earnestness, he explained the events from the past that would bring about the ultimate triumph of their people.  It was not an easy story to tell but the message was well received.  In fact, it was so well received that he was disturbed by it.  The Med Jai had always believed that their sacrifices would be rewarded in the afterlife when they were reunited with their king.  The legend spoke of vast earthy reward for the faithful, a notion which seemed to make the idea easier to comprehend for his men.  Though worried by their greed, Ardeth was strengthened by their fierce resolve to honor this new duty with as much dedication as they had the other. 

Shaking away his concerns he turned to Mohamed, the young man who had been a thorn in his side for weeks.  “So now, my young friend, you understand what it is to be Med Jai.  Do you still wish to rush in and destroy the camp?”

“No,” the young man dropped his eyes to the ground and mumbled, “I await our lord’s timing.”

“As do we all.”

~~~~~

Packed and ready to go, the trio piled into the old Dusenberg and set out south toward the nightmarish landscape burned into their collective consciousness. 

Evelyn found herself not brooding on the city but on her daughter instead.  She could not understand what her child had done.  Granted, the girl had never been what could be called predictable.  She had also never been a liar. 

Strange fears swirled through Evie’s head as they drove in silence.  She kept returning to the ring she had given Cleo so many years ago.  It had come from Hamunaptra.  The girl’s first words had been in Egyptian.  She assumed that was because while in the womb she had talked to her in the ancient tongue.  Then there was the obsession with Isis and Osiris.  He Who Shall Not Be Named was the High Priest of Osiris.  She didn’t look like any of them her brain reminded her.  That thought was the last straw.   

Suddenly Evelyn no longer cared about the books.  Her one wish was to get Cleo as far from the City as possible.  On that note she asked, “Rick, do you suppose Ardeth and the Med Jai are aware of this?”  

“They knew we were there.  It’s kinda weird that they haven’t already shut down the dig now that I think about it.  They have to know.  Wonder what’s holding ‘em up.”  His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. 

They had not seen Ardeth Bay since their last visit to the City of the Dead.  The leader of the Med Jai had no way of knowing that they had a child and that she was one of the people at the dig site.  If they attacked she could be hurt or killed. 

Rick must have been thinking the same thing because his foot pressed down harder on the gas peddle and the Dusenberg lurched forward.

~~~~~

“Well, what have we here?”

Cleopatra banged a fist against the carved wall and looked up toward the light of day where the artists were busy sketching the inscriptions she had already translated.  Charles was blocking her view, leaning against the wall tugging on his infernal beard.  She was never going to get anything done if he wouldn’t leave her alone.  Turning back to her notes she tried to keep the edge of disgust from her voice and failed.  “Just more of the same, Charles.  If I find anything of interest I shall inform you straight away.  Please, leave me to do my work.  Your interruptions are only slowing me down.”

He pushed off from the wall and tapped his cane against his foot in irritation.  Using the most condescending tone imaginable he reminded her, “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?  You are only here because I allowed you to stay.  You will speak to me with the respect I deserve.”

Obviously he was not going to go away this time and he was getting more and more aggressive with each encounter.  What was going on with him?  Charles had always been moody but it was getting rather ridiculous.  His aristocratic snobbery was spiking into the realm of slave master at times and he was following her around as if she were property.  The obnoxious way in which he spoke to her was maddening and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to check her temper. 

Using the few remaining shreds of her patience she turned to face him, flipping her hair out of her face. “I thought I was, Charles.  When last I checked you were the Director of Security, not God.”

“Things are not always as they seem.”  He said ominously in Egyptian.  His chin dropped and he took a step toward her, his blue eyes icy.  Reverting to English he threatened, “It is not wise to mock me, girl.”

“And it is not wise to provoke me, sir.”  Incensed by his tone and unnerved by his use of the ancient language she took a step forward, meeting him eye to eye in a battle of wills.  Apis, who had been sitting quietly in the shadows up to that point, moved to her side, barred his teeth and growled. 

Charles conceded the staring contest, shifting his frosty blue gaze to the dog.  He smiled at the beast and with an arrogant nod, stepped back.  With a smirk, he turned to leave but threw a look back at the pair over his shoulder.  “It would truly be a pity if you ever lost that spirit.”

~~~~~

Rick muttered curses under his breath. 

It figured.  He was in a hurry. 

He had been driving all night and they’d have be there in the morning or at least before dusk the next day. Of course, that depended on the damn car. 

He removed the last of the lug nuts and pulled the flat tire off, somehow wrenching his index finger in the process.  It broke with a loud snap followed immediately by a painful yelp.

“Rick?  Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just peachy.  I think I broke my finger.”  Glaring at the new and decidedly wrong bend in his finger he cursed a minor blue streak as his wife descended on him. 

In her hast, she forgot to watch where she was going and tripped over the discarded tire slamming both hands into her husband’s stomach, succeeding in knocking both the wind out if him and his feet from under him. 

Throwing back his hands to break his fall he succeeded in planting his injured hand on the business end of the lug wrench and broke the skin and another bone in his right hand.  Evelyn landed on top of him, her curls covering his face. 

Sputtering hair and moaning in pain Rick ignored her instant apologies and shoved her off with his good hand.  Sitting in the sand he ripped at the hem of his shirt and wrapped his bleeding hand.  It hurt – a lot. 

“Oh darling, I am so sorry.  I lost my balance and, well, I am so sorry.  It doesn’t hurt too badly, does it?”  Much like his speeches, her apologies were ritualistic in their sameness.  Climbing to her feet and dusting herself off she asked, “How can I help you?”

“Just stay away from me…and finish changing the tire would you?”  He slowly got up protectively holding his hand to his chest.  Casting an angry glance at the offending lug wrench, he kicked it for good measure.

“There is no reason for that tone of voice, Mr. O’Connell.  It was an accident, for heavens sake.”

“Evelyn, don’t start.  It’s always an accident, I know.  My hand, my right hand, is broken.”  She didn’t seem to see the significance of that fact.  He held his mangled hand aloft.  It was already twice its usual size.  “I am right handed.  This hand,” he held up his left and waved it angrily in her face, “is basically useless.  I can’t change the tire and I can’t hit the broadside of a barn with this hand so we have a little problem here, don’t we?  Would you just change the damn tire so we can get out of here?”

She opened her mouth to protest but seemed to think better of it.  Instead she searched the desert for her brother.  “Jonathan?”

“Yes, yes, I shall change the blasted tire.  Out of my way dear sister, there is man’s work to be done.”  Jonathan pulled the spare tire from its holder and carried it around to the jacked up axel.  “Off with you, I don’t want to end up like Rick.  Shoo.”

Looking both angry and dejected, she walked a few steps away from the men and slumped in the sand, pulling her journal from her pocket. 

As he watched Jonathan struggle with the tire, Rick tried to ignore the pain and failed.  Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he shoved Jonathan against the side of the car frisked him.  Flask in hand he returned Jonathan’s petulant glare as he took several long pulls of scotch. 

A moment later as his world began to take on the fuzzy quality of booze, he asked. “How did they find it anyway?  I thought they were out here digging up a workman’s village or something.  Isn’t that what Cleo said?”

“They were.  But then they stumbled across Seti’s mortuary temple and moved the dig.”  Evie answered, without looking up from her journal.

Rick was silent for a moment letting her words sink in as he took another long pull from the flask.  Something about the timing of the whole thing was bothering him.  He glanced at his wife.  She was biting her fingernails.  Suddenly it all came clear.  He took several steps toward her, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his unruly hair.  “Uh huh.  So exactly when did they stumble onto it?  Before or after Cleo begged to come back out here?”

Evie stiffened at his question and watched the sand making its slow invasion of her shoe for a moment before answering. With a sigh she admitted, “before.”

“That’s great.  Just great.”

~~~~~

Diamonds sparkled against the black velvet night sky.  Her white dress glowed in the starlight as she danced in wide circles under a canapé of palms.  Grass squished under her feet.  A huge smile played on her lips as she became dizzy and crashed to the ground.  Laughing at herself, she lay on her back in the middle of the garden.

She laughed even harder when Apis pounced on her licking her face.  Swatting at him playfully, she pushed against his great weight.  Sitting up, she grabbed hold of his neck and buried her face in his fur.  Apis barked and her head snapped up.

He was there, silhouetted by the torches glowing in the great hall behind him, watching her.   Extending a hand to him with dancers grace, she watched as he confidently strode toward her.  A huge billowing robe trailed behind him shrouding his form in a halo of darkness.

Rising to meet him, she smoothed her dress and hair as he approached.  Through the shadows she could see the light in his eyes.  Love gazed down at her, infinite, unconditional love.

Her eyes slid down from the shadow of his face to his chest, descending past his belted kilt over his strong legs to his feet.  She blinked and her joy transformed into terror as her eyes traveled back up past the red gleam of his shiny, round belly and up to his bearded chin.  Jealous anger burned in his black eyes, his gore streaked face twisted in bitter frown.  He reached for her, his bloodied hand closing in on her…

Cleo jumped out of her bed, her hand clamped over her mouth holding back a scream.

~~~~~

The nightmare chased away any possibility of sleep.  It had not taken her long to dress and return to the tunnel in the sand.  Dawn would come shortly and with it the teams of artists and diggers.  She was simply getting a head start she told herself.  As always, Apis went with her, his presence reassuring.  Fearful things lurked in the passage, but they were still easier to deal with than her nightmares. 

She stopped halfway down, held her torch aloft and stared for a moment at the inscription she had been translating.  Seti this and Seti that, blah, blah, blah.  As grateful for the opportunity as she was disgusted by its subject, she found that, at times, she had to fight to translate rather than obliterate the inscriptions.  Only the scholar in her prohibited such acts.  It was that same scholar that was determined to start at the beginning and work her way down thereby precluding any assumptions that could be formed from reading the ending first.  Apis had no such cares and continued down the corridor past her. 

Finding the tunnel entirely too scary without him by her side she called to him.  When he didn’t come she debated heading for the surface without him but in the end went after him, finding him sitting at the doorway to the antechamber.  She stood beside him in the doorway for a long moment allowing her eyes to take in the stunning murals on the walls and ceiling.  It was more beautiful than she could have imagined.

Drifting away on a sea of daydreams, a hurricane of images and emotions rocketed her back in time.  She was jolted back to the present when Apis barked impatiently.  Descending the last step she passed through the chamber to the far wall where Apis sat.  Finding a place to deposit her torch, she pulled her notebook and pencil from her pack and began to translate.  Her fingers traveled delicately over the carved image of the man who dominated the rows of hieroglyphs.  Lingering on one of the jeweled scarabs that dotted his image she remembered Jonathan’s tale of a similar scarab’s burrowing journey up his arm.  She quickly withdrew her fingers and made a few notes in her book before turning to the words that would tell the tale behind the pointing figure.

She instantly recognized the story.  She had heard it a million times but it seemed so much more vivid carved into 3,000 year-old stone.  His crimes were listed in typical Egyptian detail, as was his punishment.  Being eaten alive was bad enough, but they he was also stripped of his name.  It was the ultimate penalty for an Egyptian.  To be denied a name was to be denied a place in the afterlife. 

Sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, she made a concerted effort to replace her sorrow with anger.  The man she was crying over was a murderer.  Not only that, he’d attempted to kill her mother on his altar to obsession.  Her father and uncle had also nearly lost their lives at his hand.  He was most emphatically not a sympathetic character, and yet the emotion refused to depart no matter how vehemently she insisted.

Distracted by her misery, her heart nearly stopped when a voice behind her said, “What are you doing down here?”

~~~~~

“You should have told me, Evie.”  Rick said through gritted teeth.  His hand was killing him and the Dusenberg was making a weird noise.  He eased off the speed a bit.  It felt like snails could go faster, but it would be even slower going if the engine blew. 

Evelyn sighed, “I know.”  But she didn’t stop there.  “I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm.  It’s hard to believe if you haven’t seen it for yourself.  I didn’t believe what happened to my parents.  Why would she believe what happened to us?”

“And that makes it better?”  Rick retorted.  He was having a very hard time not being angry with his wife.  Granted, it wasn’t all her fault, but she was there and Cleo wasn’t.  That made her a much easier target.

“How was I to know Jonathan would lead them right to it?”  Evie snapped as she glared out at the Sahara.

“I take offence to that, dear sister,” Jonathan spoke from the back seat.  Both Rick and Evelyn turned around to glare at him.  He shrunk in his seat and fell silent for a moment.  As soon as their backs were turned he continued, “Well, how was I supposed to know they had an entrance?”

“Did we or did we not agree that we would never discuss Hamunaptra with anyone?”  Evelyn reminded her brother.  When he didn’t answer fast enough she turned around again and caught him sneaking a sip from his ever-present flask. 

With a childish scowl, he admitted, “Oh all right, we did.  I’ve said I was sorry, what more do you want?”

The look in her eye said she wanted a pint or two if his blood.

Rick gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.  They were wasting time passing the blame around like a hot potato.  “Hey, cool it.  Fighting isn’t gonna get us anywhere.  Let’s talk about what we’re gonna do when we get there, okay?”

“That is simple.  We will…just…” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh yeah, real simple.”  He had never been much for planning but this time it might be wise to at least try to come up with something resembling one. 

“I vote for the underhanded approach.”  Jonathan offered.

“Jonathan, you always vote for the underhanded approach.”  Evie grumbled in response.

“Yeah, well this time he has a point.  What are you going to do?  Walk up to that skinny guy and tell him that you are in charge and you’re closing the dig?   No, I’ve got it. We’ll just tell him how dangerous it is, that’ll stop him.  Of course, he does already have your journal and that hasn’t slowed him down.”  It had been a long time since Rick had agreed with Jonathan.  They couldn’t exactly ride roughshod into the dig site and start giving orders.  If it was just Marcus maybe they could have gotten away with that but Charles would never go for it.  He was mercenary.  Blatantly crossing him when he had a security force in place would be stupid.

“The goal is to keep Cleo safe and stop them from finding the books. So we can’t tell her we’re here.  Instead, we’ll just make sure she is okay and then sneak into the city and steal the books.  We’ll pick Cleo up on the way out.”  Jonathan suggested after a long drag from his cigarette.

“That is dishonest! I am not going to sneak around behind my daughters back and become a thief to boot.”  Evelyn protested, fanning a hand in front of her nose. 

“Then come up with an alternative.  We’re almost there.” Rick snapped.

~~~~~

Cleo spun on her intruder, knocking herself slightly off balance.  She tried to brace herself against the wall but it offered no support, the weak plaster crumbling under her weight.  Her torch and notepad went flying as she landed on her back in a cloud of cobwebs.  She punctuated her graceless fall with a shriek that could wake the dead, a dangerous thing to do in a tomb.

Covered from head to toe in cobwebs, her ghostly figure leaping from the land of the dead back into that of the living drew a girlish cry from Marcus and a skittish step back from Apis.  Screaming wildly, her hazel eyes wide, she danced in graceless, halting circles swatting at the imaginary spiders crawling over her skin.

Once sufficiently void of imagined bugs, dirt and cobwebs she regained her composure and met Marcus’ slack jawed stare silently cursing him for causing the entire mishap in the first place.  She then followed his gaze to the gaping hole in the wall and the dark hallway behind it. 

Hamunaptra.

~~~~~

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