by Ciar Cullen
She took a swig and choked a bit, the dust in her throat and nose making her cough, and then took another swig. She handed it to me but I put it back in her hands and went back to the jug to drink. It wasn’t Perrier, but it did the trick. I broke into a sweat and knew we’d made it just in time. I refilled Petti’s flask, drank more myself, and we rested for a bit, leaning against the cave wall, shoulder to shoulder.
Not yet, I told my nerves and my tears. Not until I’m in his arms again.
I put my hat on the cave floor and encouraged Petti to lie down and use it as a pillow. I unbuttoned her vest and helped her out of it, took off her boots and thick stockings, soaked my handkerchief in water, and dabbed at her clammy forehead and neck. Despite a little lightheadedness, I was doing okay. I felt her pulse and knew she’d suffered a bit more.
“I’m going to investigate a bit. Try to rest.”
“Is there anything in here that might eat us? I really don’t want to go that way, as someone’s meal.”
“Don’t worry, I have my pistol.”
Ugh. Animals. I hadn’t thought of that one, but there could be snakes, scorpions, or a dozen other creatures. My fifth grade world geography and biology failing me as I tried to figure out what might live in a cave in Egypt. I turned to the manmade items to take inventory.
Three huge jugs of water, which so far hadn’t made us sick. One flask, and one animal skin that looked like part of a bagpipe—I assumed that was a canteen of sorts. Matches! A bit of kindling near the remains of a previous campfire. A few coarse blankets. A tin with weird-looking patties in it that I hoped were edible. They smelled a bit like oat and honey cakes, so I dubbed them dinner. Another tin had dried jerky (I didn’t want to know of what animal). God, it was better than a thousand dollar gift certificate to Nordstrom’s, honestly. Christmas and birthday rolled into one.
After another filling drink from the jug, I turned to the next pile, covered over with sailcloth. Dust rose from the ancient objects when I lifted the cloth, and in my heat-induced stupor I imagined I heard a soft moan rise with it. These weren’t drinking jars, for sure. Sculpted animal heads covered the smooth stone vessels, eight in all, each over a foot tall. I’d seen photos of such objects, but only knew they were ancient. One square wooden box had a lock; I rummaged around for a key, with no success.
The last item was wrapped in cloth. Fairly certain it was a book and might lead us to know whose home we invaded, I unwrapped it, feeling a bit intrusive.
Petti propped herself on one arm and took a swig from the flask. “What is that stuff?”
“Feeling a little better?” I stalled as I opened the brown leather journal and scanned through the feathery writing, praying it belonged to a sensible gentleman who would return to rescue us at any moment.
“I’m fine. Is that a book?”
“It’s a journal.” I sat back on the cave floor and put on my reading glasses, unsure I’d seen correctly.
“Whose?”
“It’s a recording of the activities of the Ra Society members for the year 1890. They’re here, I guess. It names Pettigrew and Fenwick, as well as others I don’t recognize. Oh, and here’s Howard Carter!”
“Who’s Howard Carter?”
“He’s going to dig up King Tut in a decade or so.”
“Oh, right. That Howard Carter. Screw isn’t mentioned?”
“Not from what I can see. Look.” I took the journal to Petti and showed her the drawing of the area. “Valley of the Kings.”
“Like, dead Egyptian kings and their tombs.”
“I have to guess there’s only one. Pretty sure the tomb of Tuthmosis III is nearby—see, look here. And I’m thinking we have some things from his tomb with us—a few jars.”
“The scarab, the Obelisk, and now the jars. I don’t like this.”
“Come on, Petti. You’ve watched too many Mummy movies. Tuthmosis isn’t coming after his innards.”
“I don’t think I like Egypt.”
As the sun set and the coolness of the cave gave way to a chill breeze coming off the desert, I was reassured I’d done the right thing. We were sheltered, fed (although my stomach had protested a good deal at the dried anonymous animal flesh—Petti had suggested we call it goat and leave it at that), and I’d built a small fire at the mouth of the cave.
Petti questioned me about the wisdom of broadcasting our location with a fire beacon.
“We want to be found,” I snipped back. “And it will help keep creatures away.”
“I thought you said there were no creatures.”
I was paying for my first year Steamside; I know it. She had something to say about every move I made. How did Jack do it?
“Nothing I can’t handle.” I brandished my pistol and wrapped a blanket around Petti. “Go. To. Sleep. You have a bit of heatstroke.”
“Doesn’t that mean I shouldn’t go to sleep?”
“That’s a concussion or a drug overdose.”
“How about you?”
One. Two. Three. “I’m fine. And I’m going to guard us while you sleep, okay?”
I twirled the pistol around my thumb.
“That’s quite admirable.” Petti rolled her eyes, but while she didn’t want to appear weak, I’m sure she was happy I’d taken charge. She looked like hell and probably felt worse.
She fell into a fitful slumber, giving me time to read more of the journal without her constant chatter. Not calming bedtime reading, that journal.
“Fenwick and young Carter speak of near death at tomb fifteen collapse; must find alternate entrance. Pettigrew making bizarre claims of curses; acting irrationally. Threatening to reveal all we know of tombs. Society votes to end him.”
End him? Hell, were they going to kill Jack and Petti’s great-whatever? I closed the journal and snuggled up close to Petti, trying to forget about curses and Victorian hit squads. I watched her sleep, studying her for resemblances to Jack. And I finally let the tears escape. Tears for the distance from Jack, for the distance from my century, and for some old hurts that surfaced now and again like Polaroid images when the chips were down.
I wasn’t quite sure why I felt sorry for myself until the picture came into focus. That picture usually had my mother’s face, bruised from my father’s drunken blows, drawn and sallow from her own self-loathing and addiction. ‘She did the best she could’, I repeated the mantra that had brought me to adulthood. It usually made the Polaroids fade again. The last few days were a rollercoaster of emotions, I wished I would have gotten off the ride at the crest, in bed with Jack holding me and telling me wonderful things.
Petti groaned and curled into a fetal position, small hand curled under her chin. I loved her too. I loved more people Steamside than I had in Modern. What did that say about me, I wondered.
I jumped when a figure appeared in the cave entrance, beyond the fire. I went to one knee and aimed, arms extended, steady. I shook inside, especially because I’d never killed a real person, only dreams.
“Who’s there?” Hell, I didn’t want to mortally wound some famous archaeologist, even if he was just a plunderer. I sure as hell didn’t want to kill my own ancestor. That would be a major paradox thingy.
The answer was a ferocious, bone-chilling scream that blew hot air from the fire toward my face. I fell back and stared in horror at the rotting remains of a man taking steps through the flame.
“Oh hell, Petti, wake up!” No, no, no, no. It had to be a dream. Where was our Wall, our Lieutenant telling me what to do?
Petti tossed and turned and twisted her blanket into a ball.
“Wake up, damn it!”
The mummy dude pointed to the jars at the side of the cave as I scrambled as far away as I could.
“Go away!” Nothing. He howled and approached the jars. This was wrong. Very wrong. Why was Petti’s dream interacting with objects?
I fired. And fired again. He spun and looked at me in surprise and anger. And disappeared.
Petti screamed.
“Now you wake up! Thanks a lot.”
“What’s wrong? What did you kill?”
“One of your dreams. Seen the Mummy lately? That was really, really annoying, Petti.”
She shrugged and curled back up. “I didn’t dream about a mummy,” she murmured. Thankfully, she didn’t take in the importance of that statement, or she was mistaken. I preferred to believe the latter.
I awoke to the light clanking of bells echoing off the cliff side. Achy from sleeping on hard rock and feeling a bit guilty for falling asleep at all, I stepped past the embers of our fire and peeked out. A small caravan of four horses and two camels weighted down with boxes and sacks snaked along the valley floor. I could make out a man on one of the horses, but in the light, I couldn’t be sure. There had to be more. He wore a white headdress and long robe.
To call out or hide?
I shook Petti awake and pulled her to the entrance.
“Oh snap!” She tapped at her lips. “Is it safe to get their attention? Are they…?”
“Heathens? God, this is embarrassing. I don’t know anything about Egypt. I don’t know if they’d take care of us in luxury or sell us to a…whatever.”
“Sheik. Sell us to a sheik.”
“Wrong country. I think. I think it’s a pretty advanced place, Cairo. But then, we’re out here in the middle of nowhere. I think this is a lot further south. I know the Nile is around here somewhere, but in which direction? Our water won’t last forever, and I have no idea where to find more except by trekking across the desert.”
My gut churned in uncertainty. Hell, whoever wrote that journal didn’t seem like an upstanding citizen, plotting to kill Claudin Pettigrew. Perhaps he was already dead.
“Damn, what would Jack do?”
Rocks fell down the hillside near us and I jumped back, expecting a slide. Instead, a man with a white headdress jumped from above to the cave opening. Petti and I both cried out.
“What would he do, indeed?” Jack laughed as he opened the scarf to reveal his face.
Petti and I ran to his arms and he nearly crushed us both. He held onto her as he kissed me on the lips. I cried, oh yes, I cried then.
Chapter Twenty
Trouble in the land of the Kings.
“Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.” Screw pulled away his scarf, hugged Petti, and blew a kiss at Fen.
“Tell me you didn’t just say that.” Fen ran to him and was pulled in for another group hug.
I couldn’t stop staring at Fen. A little sunburned and a lot dirty, she was gorgeous.
“Mademoiselles, for your pleasure, two fine Egyptian stallions, replete with ladies’ saddles.”
Fen put her hands on her hips. “If you think I’m riding side-saddle…”
Screw looked at me and shook his head. “We could have taken in England, or Tahiti, but no, you had to come rescue these two.”
We sheltered from the sun against a rock overhang. Frankly, I didn’t care much where we went, now that I had them both again. Petti chattered on about her error as I held Fen’s hand, intending to never let go. She recounted their trek to the cave, how Fen had taken care of her, not leaving out a single detail, as it seemed to me. At least every freaking minute seemed accounted for.
“I have something for you, Jack,” Fen said. I wondered what she’d pilfered from the explorer’s belongings. She’d held it to her chest as we descended to the valley floor, and now presented it to me.
“How about if you just tell me what’s in there so we can move along before the sun rises further.”
“It says that Ra is going to kill Claudin. I don’t know if they have already.”
“Ra!” Screw took the journal from me and scanned the contents. He caught my eye. “Damn it. I think this was written by Gaspar, the head of the French Archaeological Service.”
“Claudin was alive and kicking at the Met a few days ago at the lecture. When is that entry dated?”
“It’s in code. Unless they’ve changed it…uh oh. Was the cave recently occupied?”
“Yep. Still smelled of cooked meat when we entered.”
“I think they’re about a day ahead of us.”
“What happens if they kill him, Screw?” Fen bit at her lip and glanced at me. “I mean, do the Pettigrews…”
“If they kill Claudin, do Petti and Jack go poof? I have no idea.”
Fen put her hand on my arm. “Sorry to say this, but they think he’s gone loco. Talking about curses. Can’t say I blame him after what I saw last night.”
“What did you see?”
“A mummy. I think he wanted his parts back. Like from the movie.”
“Come on, sugar.”
“Petti dreamt him.” Fen didn’t look convinced and glanced in Petti’s direction.
“I didn’t dream about a mummy. I told you that, Fen.”
“Maybe one of the Ra members did. Maybe that’s what’s scaring Claudin. If they aren’t used to anachros and the night zombies…”
Shit. Screw and I had planned to ignore Ra, come to Egypt, scoop up our loved ones, and get home.
“But kill him?” Petti wrung her hands. “What’s wrong with these people?”
Screw threw an arm around Petti. “They’re probably afraid that if he goes off the deep end, he’ll talk, and they can’t afford the talk.”
“But if he talks about people tripping through vortexes and robbing tombs that haven’t been discovered yet, never mind mummies and curses, won’t he be dismissed as a nutcase? I can see Bellevue in his future, sure.”
Would I ever be free to just live? Or near-live, as the case may be? At least Emily was at my side. And I had two notes saying she loved me. Maybe this would be our life together, if we had a real future.
“So, looks like we need to enter the Valley of the Kings and find Claudin before they bury him along with the pharaohs.”
“Aren’t we in the Valley of the Kings?” Fen asked.
Screw reached into his saddlebag and drew out a map. “Not the active part. I’ve been here twice. We have to move through that pass and head East, toward the Nile and Thebes. It’s not far, just over that ridge—see the pyramid shape on top of that hill? It’s manmade.”
I couldn’t do it, couldn’t ask them to go through more. “I think Petti and Fen should go Steamside. Screw and I will take care of Claudin.”
Petti shook her head, as I knew she would. “I got us into this, and I’m sticking it out to the end.”
I looked at Fen, who smirked. “You have to be fucking kidding me. Free will and all that, right? You’re stuck with me, Pettigrew. Until you tell me you’re not.”
I closed my eyes and weighed the awful options. Tell the woman I loved that it was over between us to guarantee her safety, or let her choose her own destiny. Or was I kidding myself? Being selfish and disguising it as respect for her?
“Don’t try it, Jack. It won’t work. Even if you tell me you hate me and want to marry Fatty, I’m going with you.”
See? She’s all that. I kissed her and hugged her in front of my sister and best friend. And when it didn’t begin to touch how I felt, I pulled her hand to my lips.
I love you, Fen. “Awesome. We have clothes for you guys.”
Screw and I checked on the animals while Petti and Fen changed into desert wear. We packed up their clothes and while Petti rode side-saddle, Fen managed to loop her skirt through her legs and ride western style.
She looked at me as we started our short journey. “This isn’t such a bad life, is it?”
I smiled. It sure as hell wasn’t. I just hoped it would stay a life once they killed Claudin Pettigrew.
We hugged the hills for two hours to stay in the shade until the sun rose to its zenith. Instant, brutal, mind-numbing heat seared our lungs as we lost the shelter, and we drew our scarves over our faces and fell silent. We had to get through to the Eastern valley for the horses’ sake as much as our own. I’d made a silent promise we’d return the stolen beauties t
o their owner. I’d grown weary of the theft, and made a silent vow that if we got home—Steamside, that is—we’d find a new way to support ourselves.
Relief and wonder mixed at the scene before us when we rounded the pass. Screw hadn’t described our destination in detail—we’d been focused on the women and securing (aka stealing) provisions. Now, we stopped, all taking in the grandness of an alien landscape doubly blessed by nature and human interference.
A ribbon of dirty blue edged in lush greenery cut the harsh desert in two. The Nile. I reached for Fen’s hand, wondering what she thought and felt. Screw pointed to massive twin statues on the West bank of the river, as if we could miss them. I didn’t know their names, but I knew they would outlive all of us, whether Normal or Modern. Beyond those, massive temple structures rose to meet the cliffs, carved into the limestone as if giants had built exotic sandcastles. My problems seemed small, as I thought of the number of souls who had lived and died through the ages in this great land. Who was I to think I mattered? In a wink of an eye, I’d be gone, like the ancient kingdoms fallen into glorious ruin.
Two boats with slanted sails cut through the water in graceful silence. Hypnotized by the scene, it took me a moment to realize Screw had spoken.
“Do what?”
“We’re going the other way.” He thumbed away from the river toward the imposing hills behind us. The Valley of the Kings, rolling folds of rock dotted with men, camels, horses, and architectural remains. I didn’t have a clue where we’d find Claudin, and I was pulled back into my mundane little world.
But we had to water the horses before we climbed the hills. I prayed the water was clean enough for us all. We watched women draped in layers of colorful cloth fill enormous jars and then balance them on their heads. So we filled our flasks and tin cups and drank.
Petti squinted in disgust. “I do not want to know what is in this water, so please don’t tell me.”
We found a little shade and too many mosquitoes under a cluster of date palms on the riverbank while the horses and camels drank. Fen and I took the opportunity to hold onto one another discreetly, as the Egyptian women glanced at us a few times. I rested my chin on her head as I watched the sailboats.