By Len ( lendolyn@yahoo.com )
Rating: PG-13 for violence,
possible adult-ish themes.
Teaser: Jonathan acquires an ancient artifact,
yet again by rather dubious means, and upsets the one person whom he absolutely,
positively should not have in the process. But is this artifact more than just a valuable trinket? And if so, what does Cairo’s most
dangerous crime lord want with it?
Not only that, but what the devil does American journalist Kate
Pennington have to do with it?
Disclaimer: If you recognize a character, he/she/it
does not belong to me. However, KP
and various unsavories do, and you are welcome to use them if you like.
More notes: Yes, I am completely without
shame. I’ve borrowed things
right and left. Most noticeably
from the great author Elizabeth Peters.
The result is a clichéd but fact-filled romp, and I hope you have
fun with it!!
Feedback: Why yes, thank you! I’d love some.
Archive: Drop me a line and she’s all
yours.
The Papyrus Of Nebt-Setau
By Len
Saith Osiris Ani,
triumphant: Lady of Terrors, lofty
of walls, sovereign lady, mistress of destruction, disposer of words which
repulse destroyers, delivering from destruction the traveler along the way. -
The Book Of The Dead, Papyrus of Ani. Translation by E.A. Wallis Budge
Thebes, 2279 B.C.
Her bare feet made no sound on the stone as she hurried though the hall. She moved, not with the grace of a princess, but with the confidence borne of wisdom and experience. Reaching the back of the hall, she sat, folding long legs under herself. Then she picked up the stylus.
Time was running out – she could feel it. The person was always standing just out of sight, in the wings, in the shadows. Watching her. Waiting for his chance.
Murmuring the magical words under her breath, Nebt-Setau finished writing the spell, and sighed. Only one more thing to do, and then all would be safe. She had faithfully served Seti for ten years, and she had no intention of failing the Pharaoh after death. But the shadow was coming for her, and she knew her only strength lay in words.
“Lady,” a voice said, echoing through the uncomfortably cavernous hall. Nebt-Setau looked up. A man, dressed in the robes of a commoner stood next to her, appearing out of thin air. He was a thief, but oddly enough, the only one she trusted.
“Djer,” she smiled affectionately, extending a hand. The thief cautiously took it, emotion over-riding common sense. He knew that the penalty for being caught in the Lady’s presence, much less in physical contact, would be great. But he had a feeling that the human side of Her was aching for human contact. He could see it in her eyes. And it was the least he could do.
“You sent for me, Kiya?” he asked, using the name she had told him when they first met – in the market place.
“Yes. He still watches me. And I’m going to die soon.”
Djer blinked and almost squeezed her hand painfully. “What? He won’t – there must be some way we can stop him. Let me help you, Kiya. We can destroy him.”
She smiled, but the smile never reached her eyes. Green eyes – very unusual, the mark of a God. Rebirth, power, knowledge, life. “We can. But I will not survive, and I’ll need you to do something for me. Will you?”
“Anything.”
“Guard this,” she directed, pressing something into his hand. “You must not let it fall into the possession of Montuemhat. Without it, my power cannot be used. The spells are useless.”
“But-“ he swallowed, trying to understand how his Lady was able to embrace her own death so easily. He himself spent everyday trying to avoid that very same condition. “But why not just destroy the spells? Destroy this?” he asked, unfolding his fingers from around the lapis and gold amulet.
“Because they may be needed. If there ever comes a time when the Pharaoh’s land is in peril, my power will return to this world to fight. The spells and the amulet will be needed.”
“But they can also be used for evil.”
“That’s right. Magic’s rather odd, isn’t it Djer? But I won’t have to worry about that – I have you to protect against it.”
The words were said with a conviction and trust that the thief had never heard before, and icy fingers of grief curled around his soul. What would he do without his old friend? “You do. My service – my heart – is yours forever.”
Nebt-Setau’s eyes widened at the depth of emotion she heard from the usually joking man. It soothed her like a warm ray of sun and the last of her fears were calmed. She gazed up at Djer, extending a hand until it just brushed his chest, right above his heart. “And mine is yours. Forever.”
Endless moments passed before the sounds of approaching footsteps interrupted them. “You must go. And thank you, Djer.”
He nodded, and started to move back into the shadows. But not before throwing her a decidedly roguish wink. A sudden feeling had come over him. He knew he’d be seeing Kiya again.
She was smiling when Monuemhat’s priests came marching into the hall.
She never realized how much she loved land. She loved absolutely everything about
it. The solidity, the smell, the
dust, the small bits of trash scattered here and there…if there
hadn’t been so many people around, she would have dropped to her knees
and kissed it. Well…maybe
not…but very nearly.
As it was, the Alexandria pier was quite
crowded, smelling vaguely of rotting fish and burnt bread. The woman took a deep breath and looked
around. So this was Egypt. It was…what was it?
Katherine looked around as she regained her land legs,
attempting to put her impressions in sentence form. Dusty streets and honking motorcars, fish, well-dressed
travelers and raggedy dock workers, more fish…she stared off into space,
smiling. Then without warning, she
found herself flying off her feet and into her neatly stacked suitcases.
“Will you please watch where you’re going?” she demanded,
glaring at her assailant. The
camel simply grunted, but its turbaned jockey glared right back. He shouted something that sounded like,
“Sit on a shell a porky road.” The words she couldn’t understand – but the tone
was one easily recognizable the world over. It was the “Go bake a muffin, woman” tone, and
it was part of the reason she left the States in the first place. Summoning all her dignity, she stood,
dusted off her suit, and brushed past the camel to retrieve her luggage.
It was fine luggage, she reflected. The last wholly unnecessary purchase
she had made in the states. If she
was to become a world famous, globetrotting journalist, she should have the
accessories. Plus, her father had
always preached on the value of good luggage – it keeps the thieves out,
and hell – it could even save your life some day!
She traced the monogram on the corner of one
tooled-leather bag, feeling her name, K. Pennington, beneath her fingers. Yes, this was the last bit of luxury
she could afford. And the steamer
ticket had been nearly the last bit of anything she could afford, which was why this scheme had to
work. It simply had to.
Katherine heaved up her bags and made her way
towards the train station. She was
destined for Cairo. That was where
the story of a lifetime was presently residing, waiting for the winter
excavation season to begin.
“Uncle Jon! Uncle Jon!” Alex yelled, running into the room like a
small whirlwind. “Guess what?”
His Uncle Jon looked up from the newspaper he was
currently pursuing. He’d
been hoping to find a couple of arrest notices for some of his more
unpleasant…acquaintances.
Unfortunately there had only been one, but Jonathan breathed a sigh of
relief that Abdul El-Bassim was, at least for the moment, in police custody.
The more bars and walls between that fellow and himself, the better, he
figured.
“Don’t tell me…don’t tell
me…” he pretended to think hard, “I know…You’ve
been digging in the garden and stumbled across the lost tomb of Haremhab?”
he asked.
This brought a smile to young Alex’s face. “No! Mum and Dad are going to the museum today and said I could
go with you to town!”
Jonathan waited with raised eyebrows for Alex to
explain why that was a good
thing. Unfortunately, his nephew
decided to leave this part to his imagination and continued to jump up and
down.
“Town?” Jonathan said weakly. “Alex, why on earth would you
want to go and loiter around that old place?”
Alex plopped down in the chair across from him. “I dunno. Why do you like loitering around that old place? Hey – I know! You could take me to a play!”
“No….” the man imagined what his
sister’s reaction would be if she found out he’d taken her eldest
child to one of the “plays” around Cairo. He was sure a lecture would be the least of it. And after last night, he really
wasn’t in the mood for any more violence. His ribs ached with every breath.
“Okay, then where do you want to go? C’mon, Uncle Jon, you can’t
stay cooped up at home all day!”
Why not?
It seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to him. He felt like he’d been given a
thorough going-over with a cricket bat.
In fact, he wasn’t at all sure that that wasn’t what had happened…
Oh. Alex
was still talking. Jonathan
decided to pay more attention to the young whippersnapper, or he may find himself
agreeing to something that his sister Evie would not approve of.
“…new specimens. I’ve run out.
Kalila chucked the last lot I had sitting on the bureau.”
Kalila was frequently “chucking” things
Alex brought into the house, and constantly complaining about the mess. Jonathan himself didn’t quite
understand why the housekeeper made such a fuss – boys will be boys,
after all, and a little dirt never hurt anyone. Not that Jonathan himself was terribly fond of being dirty,
but he fondly remembered the joy that a nine year old can find at the bottom of
a mud puddle. He smiled
indulgently at his energetic young nephew. No need to ruin the child’s fun now – that would
happen soon enough when he was shipped off to school again.
“Righto, old boy,” he said, dropping the
paper on the table and standing.
“You’ve sold me.
To the bazaar it is, then.”
“Ripper!” Alex cried. “Hang on – let me just go
get…” he sprinted out of the room, causing a few papers to flutter
off a desk and dust to swirl up into the air, reflecting the noon sun. Egypt was a terribly dusty country,
Jonathan mussed, for no particular reason.
It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon
before Katherine was able to summon the energy to leave her hotel room. The train ride really hadn’t been
too bad, apart from the rather incredible amount of dust. Egypt was a terribly dusty country. She hoped it wouldn’t ruin her
camera equipment.
The train came a stop at the Cairo station – Bab
El-Hadid, which according to
Katherine’s guidebook was right in the heart of Cairo. She stepped from the train, clutching
her bags, and looked around in wonderment at the bustling station and the
pyramids she could see in the skyline.
She had finally made it! If
only her father could see her now – he would have been so proud.
Her father, Arthur Pennington, had been a newspaper
correspondent for nearly thirty-five years. Egypt, China, Kenya, Turkey, Brazil, Australia…there
was scarcely a country on the planet that he hadn’t visited and written
about. It was this wandering
life-style that brought about his eventual end, in fact. He’d contracted some rare and
exotic disease in Siam during his last assignment, and it quickly took hold of
his body.
Now Katherine shook her head sadly as she
examined her reflection in the hotel mirror. Her father had died quietly the previous June, leaving
Katherine with a small inheritance, a wanderlust of her own, and his blessing
to “go forth and write”.
The latter proved to be more difficult than she had
imagined. Even in these modern
times, female journalists were few and far between. Editors simply didn’t want to hire them for any other
position than society writers.
Katherine made a face at the mirror, and squinted at
her sunburned nose. She had served
her time on the society circuit, and actually done quite well. But it wasn’t exciting –
she’d hated it. And last
year, in the middle of describing Pinky Titherton’s new gown down to the
last gaudy sequin, she abruptly decided she would rather gnaw off her own hand
than ever write for the society column again.
This she told her editor the next day. Then she told him she’d like to
be considered for the position of Times’ correspondent to Austria. After all, she spoke good German, and
with the reports she’d been hearing from other journalists, the Times
should have a man – or woman, as it were – over there. Mr. Kelley laughed, said if she didn’t
like where she was she could leave.
So Katherine told him to go boil his head, and then packed up her desk.
It had been a damn-fool thing to do. Times were tough, and any job –
even that of a society writer – was a godsend. But now, thanks to her own big mouth, she was
unemployed. Way to go, Kate, she
thought sarcastically.
Katherine sighed again at her reflection. She tried to flatten her curly brown
hair and failed. One didn’t
need to look beautiful to visit bazaars, but it wouldn’t do to resemble
something the cat dragged in. Good
grief – was it any wonder no one wanted to hire her? She hardly looked professional!
Well, she would show them. She would net the O’Connell interview, and bring it to
the National Geographic Society on a silver platter. They’d have to take her seriously then.
The only trouble would be getting Dr. O’Connell
to talk to her. It was well-known
that the Egyptologist was more than a little camera-shy when it came to her
personal field discoveries. In
fact, no journalist yet had managed to get an interview with her. Nor was there any solid documentations
of her recent work, as Dr. O’Connell’s field journal from the
’32-‘33 season had been lost in a sandstorm, and the dig itself
hadn’t been successful. Or
so the Cairo Museum curator had claimed in his wire.
Normally Katherine would accept this explanation. But there were rumors that Dr.
O’Connell and her family had
made a fabulous discovery. Yet, no
proof. Not a particle. When she added that to the British
Museum being ransacked the very same night of the O’Connells abrupt
departure for Egypt…well, Katherine suspected something odd was going
on. She had enough sense to know
that scholars didn’t simply “lose” their findings, and that
brick buildings didn’t explode on their own. Yes, it was certainly very odd…
Jonathan looked around the bazaar frantically. He’d lost him. Evie was going to be furious. Rick was going to skin him alive! How in heaven’s name was he going
to explain this?
“Alex!” he yelled over the noise of the traders. A large woman in a dark robe apparently
took this as her cue to wave a handful of incense under his nose. He sneezed. “Oh – no thank you…er…La shukran,”
he said, declining politely and backing away. She shrugged and pounced on the people behind him. He resumed the search.
“Alex!
Oh, for God’s sake, come out! This isn’t funny!” he yelled, continuing to push
through the crowds.
“Alex!”
This certainly wasn’t funny. His nephew had picked up on
Jonathan’s genius for getting into scrapes, but hadn’t yet learned
how to get out of them. And after recent events, Jonathan
really didn’t want the boy out of his sight. No telling what could happen to him. Oh, if he’d only taught Alex to
avoid people who wished to cause bodily harm! Rick had been responsible for teaching his son certain
self-defense techniques, but when your assailants were three times your size,
Jonathan doubted that those would help much.
Jonathan had a brief flash of all the horrible things
that could be happening to his nephew at that moment. If Abdul El-Bassim and his associates really wanted revenge,
there would be no greater revenge then for them to harm Alex. He only hoped that they didn’t
have enough sense to realize that.
What was truly unfair about the entire El-Bassim
predicament was that Jonathan hadn’t done anything.
Sure he’d given good old Abdul a sound whipping at the card
table. But, by gad, he’d
done it honestly.
El-Bassim, as it turned out, was a rotten loser. Jonathan had discovered this when some
of his men had plucked him out of an Imad ad-Din nightclub last night and
dragged him to a nearby alley. It
had been nearly three a.m. before he was able to return home, so fortunately
none of his family had witnessed his state of disarray.
Oh ho!
There was an antique seller!
Alex was probably there, haggling happily with the merchant. Jonathan had probably been worrying
unnecessarily…yes, there was his little tow- headed nephew now…
“Ow!” somebody squeaked. Jonathan looked down, and discovered he
was standing on the foot of a rather attractive young lady. She was glaring at him – and she
had beautiful eyes, the color of the sea with ribbons of gold…Gold was
such a lovely color, wasn’t it?
“Excuse me,” she said, interrupting his
thoughts, “but that happens to be my foot you’re treading
on!”
Jonathan immediately stepped back, embarrassed. “Oh! Terribly sorry! Here – let me get that for you—“ he stooped to retrieve her handbag, then returned it with a flourish. She reminded him of someone – or perhaps they had met before? He considered asking if she had been at the nightclub last night, and decided against it.
She took the bag. “Thank you.”
“Not at all. I’ll – er – I’d best be on my way then.” Before he left, he reached up as if to tip his hat and realized he wasn’t wearing one. To make matters worse, he could feel her eyes on him as he stumbled and tripped his way through the crowds.
“Uncle Jon!” Alex exclaimed. “Look what I’ve found! An almost exact match to the one Kalila chicked! What luck!”
“Eh? Jolly good, jolly good,” he said, patting the boy on the head and sneaking one last look over his shoulder. The woman was gone. Jonathan sighed. “Ready to head back? I’m sure your mum will be wanting to discuss matters with you.”
Alex forked over an amount of money, and nodded. “Sure thing. Thanks for taking me here, Uncle Jon. I really appreciate it.” This thanks, issued with Alex’s childish, lisping solemnity, made Jonathan grin.
“Don’t mention it, my boy.”
As Alex chattered on about his remarkable find, Jonathan scanned the crowds. Perhaps it was fatigue, perhaps paranoia, but he had been certain he’d caught sight of one of last night’s attackers, slipping behind one of the stalls.
You’re getting old, Carnahan. The eyes are always the first thing to go, they say…
Then his nephew tugged on his sleeve, and he forgot about it.
~*~
Katherine watched the retreating man and forlornly
examined her handbag, which had been dropped and then trampled when he bumped
into her. He’d looked
vaguely familiar; although with his kind smile and laughing eyes, it was
unlikely he was one of the swells she had written of on the society beat. All the same, he seemed
familiar…and of course, he had stood on her. Kate decided that if she wasn’t going to get taller
– and at twenty-nine, it was likely she was not – she should put on
some weight. She was sick and
tired of get jostled and sat on, and pushed over, and…
She continued pacing in front of the stalls, grumbling
all the while. She had been
instructed to come to the Midan Ataba bazaar by her contact from the British
Embassy – a Mr. Charles McNally.
He would meet her there at three o’clock sharp with, as he put it,
bells on.
Katherine passed the point of caring what he had on twenty minutes ago. The Egyptian afternoon sun, even in
winter, was baking. Where was
he? She scowled, and a woman in a
large black robe apparently took this as her cue to shove a handful of some
sort of aromatic substance under her nose. She sneezed and backed away, shaking her head, but the woman
followed her. “No
thanks…um…nein…um…oh heck – how much?”
The Arabic woman held up three fingers. Katherine withdrew the amount from her
purse, and was given a neatly tied bag of the stuff. She shook it dubiously, and then went back to scanning the
crowds for her contact.
When he suggested they meet in a slightly out-of-the way location, she’d realized the difficulty this presented. How do you locate a person you’ve never met before? McNally solved this by asking for her hair color and measurements. The twit. Naturally, she’d told him she was a brunette and hung up.
Patience was something she really needed to work on, she decided, kicking idly at the dust. Now it would take a miracle for him to find her….
“Miss Pennington?” Katherine spun around. Goodness. That was a little startling. Even more startling was the fact that she had to crane her
neck at a painful angle just to be able to make out the Scotsman’s face.
McNally had a rather florid complexion, but still
appeared cool and collected despite the temperature. Kate fought the urge to pummel him with her handbag. “Mr. McNally, I presume?”
she asked, smiling politely. “I’m happy you could make it.”
He reminded her of a large orange grizzly bear. “Sorry to keep you waiting. You weren’t waiting long, I
hope?”
“Only half an hour.”
“Good, good. How about a bite to eat?” he asked, pulling her arm
through his and towing her away from the bazaar. “Or some tea?”
He was leading her through traffic and across the
street. Katherine tried,
unsuccessfully, to retrieve her arm.
“Actually, I’m fine.
I was hoping we could get down to business?”
“How about a coffee? You should relax a little, Miss Pennington. As the natives say, bugra.”
Kate smirked.
“You mean bukkra, Mr.
McNally? Tomorrow? That was what you were trying to say,
wasn’t it?”
His only response was a growl, and a sharp tug on her
arm. He pushed open the door of a
coffee shop to the cheerful tinkle of a bell. Kate took stock of her surroundings. It was a bizarre mix of the east and
west; traditional wall hangings were displayed next to Coca-Cola “Around
The Corner From Anywhere” promotional signs, men sucked on Nargilehs
while sitting next to a soda jerk.
McNally shouted out an order to an invisible waiter, this time in Arabic
that was well outside the range of her Baedeker guide.
He left her to seat herself, and sat down in one of
the precariously constructed chairs with a thud. “So, you want to know about Evelyn O’Connell,
eh?” McNally asked her,
tapping a tattoo on the tabletop.
He had very small hands for a man his size, she noted.
“That’s right. To begin with, where can I find
her? I’ve heard that she has
a winter home on the outskirts of Cairo.”
McNally shook his head. “Laidee – I wouldn’t dare set foot on
their property, if I were you. That Mr. O’Connell threw the last reporter
who tried down a flight of stairs.
Sprained his writing hand, too.”
“But surely with the right approach
–“
“No.
Try the Museum. She’s
there most days, and O’Connell can’t call you a trespasser if
you’re on public land. But
look out for him anyway.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Mr.
McNally,” Kate said with more confidence than she felt. Threw him down a flight of stairs?
The orange-haired man shrugged. “I never disagree with a
lady,” he said. “But
you watch yourself. I would hate
to see an international incident.”
Kate felt something touch her ankle, and her eyes
narrowed. ‘I’ll show
you an international incident, you lecherous—‘ she thought.
“Well, Mr. McNally, I was hoping there was
something else you could tell me.
After all, you do have the insider’s advantage…”
The coffee arrived. Kate recognized it as Turkish – her father had been
quite fond of it while he’d been alive. However, it had the consistency of syrup, and just the small
amount held in the tiny cups was enough to evoke a coughing fit. McNally offered her a cup. She shook her head, so he downed both
of them in quick succession.
“As a matter of fact,” he gasped out, his
face turning even redder, “I do have a few more words for the wise. O’Connell’s brother –
Carnahan – stay away from him.
He’s a notorious Lounge Lizard if I ever saw one. Word on the street is he’s in
trouble.”
Kate was tempted to inquire how a man of
McNally’s size and abrasive temperament was able to get reliable street
news, but refrained.
“Trouble? Like with
the police?”
McNally stood, and smiled down wolfishly. “Och no. No police. Abdul El-Bassim.”
“Who’s that?”
“He’s jus’ the leader of the largest
crime ring in Cairo. Or he’s
suspected of being. People who get
mixed up with him don’ usually live to point any fingers.”
Without another word he left the coffee shop. Kate sat and studied the stains on the
table, trying to put her picture of the O’Connell/Carnahan family together. Exploding museums, rumors of locust
infestations, mysterious funding…and the brother, who was in trouble
again.
Rumors, rumors, rumors. Hardly the stuff from which good stories were made. None of it fit…unless…hmm…
Kate ordered a coca-cola but never got a chance to
drink it. Because as she sat there
putting all the pieces together, a weedy man walked in through the front door
of the café, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, and walked
out through the kitchens. Kate was
so surprised she didn’t even put up a struggle.
The Egyptian Museum, Cairo
The Egyptian Museum, a palatial structure located on
the rather busy Maydan El Tahrir, was the O’Connell family’s
favorite haunt. After all, who needed
the French Riviera when you could spend your vacation in stacks of dusty books
and rotting bits of bone, Jonathan wondered. Alex had practically grown up there, and could walk the
halls blindfolded without creating any of the accident-induced havoc that
seemed to plague his Uncle.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the boy took
off like a shot, leaving Jonathan behind to try and soothe the annoyed
tourists. For pity’s sake,
he thought, the place wasn’t a church. Make one tiny peep and they’re all ready to toss you
out on your—
“Jonathan Carnahan?” A slightly accented
voice ground out. Jonathan felt a
prickle of alarm that coincidentally coincided with the prick of a knife blade
being applied to his ribs.
“Er – sorry. Wrong man. I
think you just missed – oof!
Hey there – steady on!”
The objection had, as he’d predicted, no affect
whatsoever. The accented man and
his cohort each took an arm and carried him into the less popular Papyri Room,
with Joanthan smiling apologetically at the now very annoyed tourists.
The lighting in that room, in order to preserve the
ancient manuscripts, was very poor – precisely the lighting preferred by
thugs the world ‘round, Jonathan thought. Then he winced as they slammed him into a wall.
“Where is it?” the larger of the two men
growled, pressing the tip of another knife into Jonathan’s throat just
hard enough to draw blood.
“Where is what? You know, there are maps available in the lobby if you want
to find a particular—“
“The papyrus. What have you done with it?”
The Englishman grinned nervously. “I say, chaps, I really don’t
know what you’re talking about, but perhaps if you put me down we can
discuss this over drinks?”
This was perhaps not the best approach. The two put him back on his feet and
grinned menacingly at him. The
larger one, he noted, had two gold teeth that gave him the look of an
overgrown, ugly, chipmunk.
Summoning up the absolute last particle of bravado he
possessed, Jonathan laughed nervously.
“You don’t drink, then? Fair enough.
How about dinner?
Lunch? Afternoon
tea?”
Chipmunk cracked his knuckles. Jonathan gulped.
And then quite suddenly, Chipmunk Man’s eyes
rolled back in his head and he fell to the floor.
Not one to let opportunity pass him by, Jonathan
felled the other attacker with a strategically placed kick. Then he looked over at his rescuer, and
his eyes widened in surprise.
It was the woman from the bazaar. Standing over the unconscious man, she
looked worriedly at the statuette in her hand. “Whoops – I hope I haven’t broken
it!”
Jonathan took it from her and examined it. “Not at all. Bronze, you see?” he tapped on it
and was rewarded with a ringing sound.
“The goddess Sekhmet, no less. Egyptian goddess of War.”
Kate giggled.
She wasn’t normally a giggler, but she’d just been abducted,
robbed, and assaulted. To top that
off, she’d just had her first knock out. She figured it was fair that her nerves be a little
strained. “How very
appropriate. Should we leave, do
you think? That one seems to be
getting up.”
The man was certainly trying to. He managed to get to his feet, still
doubled over and whimpering slightly.
Kate thought she saw a faint glimmer of sympathy cross the
Englishman’s face, and then he politely guided her out of the room. And slammed the door shut behind
him. Then he stuck a chair under
the doorknob, and sat in it.
“Whew!” he said, taking out a handkerchief
and wiping his face with it. Kate gestured vaguely.
“You…er…you missed a
spot.” At his confused look,
she spelled it out for him.
“You’re bleeding.
Your throat.”
“Eh?
Oh! So I am. Vicious buggers, those fellows.” The door behind him thudded, and Kate
winced. Jonathan grinned
broadly. “We’re
perfectly safe, I imagine.
He’s wedged in tight.
Basic physics, my dear – that’s all you need to out-wit
these muscle-brained brutes—“
Even as the words were coming out of his mouth,
Jonathan recognized the folly of uttering them. Sure enough, a volley of machine-gun fire immediately
erupted from the Papyri Room, followed by a crash. And then – nothing but blackness.
End Chapter 1
