Fury From the Tomb

by S. A. Sidor

  She had begun to walk away. Now she spun on me and charged so we stood inches apart. She pushed up on her toes. “If you’d like to know – he asked me to kill him.”

  “What? That’s preposterous.”

  “I thought so too. He appeared to be well on his way to dying already. I threw a glass at his head. But he had a second even more perverse request conjoined to the first.”

  “Which was?”

  “After I killed him, he wanted me to take responsibility for his burial.”

  I had sought clarifications, but here was only muddying. I poked the tip of my cane into the dark sand, digging at the bottom of the wash. “A stranger wouldn’t ask that,” I said, half to myself, half to her. I exposed a smooth stone and covered it again.

  She shrugged. “Murder and bury him… That’s the sum.” She twisted her hands.

  “And you told him ‘no’?”

  “I never thought you were thick-headed, Hardy, but…”

  I stopped digging. “How right you are. I am thick-headed. I saw him watching you from the coach. I couldn’t place exactly what I saw. Not then. Now I know. His face in the window… stricken, gaunt, yet an unmistakable resemblance in the bones of the face…”

  “I scratched him. Nothing felt real. He never thought I would do such a thing.” She showed me her claws. The same ones she had washed and washed as though they’d never come clean.

  The temperature of the desert was rising with the sun.

  But I felt none of it.

  “Despite his obvious grave illness, the man I saw in the carriage bore a striking similarity to you, Evangeline. I have never met Montague Pythagoras Waterston, but I know he is a sick man. He’d suffered through a brain fever. He couldn’t write. That’s why you took over penning the letters. It’s why he sent you to escort the mummies to Los Angeles.”

  “That’s correct.” Evangeline had a sad, hopeful look. I guess it is the same with every drowning person who is thrown a life ring. I was about to pull that life ring away.

  “Except your father didn’t send you, did he? He had no idea you came to New York. No clue you were on that train. He knew the train would be hijacked. He’d planned it. The mummies were never supposed to arrive in Los Angeles. Were they?”

  Silence. Dull as her eyes. A cloud over the sun. No longer the huntress.

  “You knew your father was lying to me about the dig. You knew he needed to steal the mummies because what he wanted to do with them was something that had to be kept a secret, hidden away in the desert. That’s why you hired the Pinkertons, Staves and Kittle. You tried to stop the robbery. Only you didn’t stop it.”

  “How could I?” she shouted. “I never expected any of this. Robber ghouls and mummies coming alive… worms… I am a librarian! I read books. I didn’t think the legends were true. I knew my father had his… his unusual beliefs, but he is an unusual man, a special man. It wasn’t until after his fever dream that he changed. He went from being a dreamer to a blind follower. In that dream he met Kek and talked to him. My father and I were friends, Hardy. We were partners in our passion for oddities and esoterica. We even talked about opening our own museum. But after the dream he became a man of secrets. He lied to me. I knew he was lying and he could see that I knew. But that didn’t stop him. I had some money of my own. I went to New York and hired the detectives. I bought a train ticket. I suspected… but I was never sure what my father wanted to do with the mummies.”

  I snapped my fingers. “When you employed McTroy, the bank wired you money. That’s when your father discovered you were interfering with his scheme.” She nodded.

  I was close but I was still missing one piece.

  “What is his scheme?”

  “Power. Forbidden knowledge. When we get back to the US, you should walk away. Go back to Chicago. We Waterstons are bad news. I like you, Hardy. I don’t want you to get hurt. But it’s going to happen. My father is used to getting his way. He is a bully. What he can’t force, he will buy. What he can’t buy, he will destroy.”

  “But how does he think he can control Kek?”

  “I don’t know. He’s… my father will die soon. His judgment is impaired. It must be.”

  “A desperate man can convince himself of anything,” I said.

  Evangeline rushed into my arms. I drew back in surprise but she held onto me.

  Her cheek pressed against my chest. “You don’t realize what he is capable of. No one does. I thought I did, but now… it’s too much to comprehend. He’s too much. Do you understand? What he can do, what he will do to get what he wants is limitless, without bounds, moral or otherwise. Nothing is going to stop him. Not even his only child.”

  I smoothed her hair.

  “And what does he want?”

  “Everything – he wants everything.”

  37

  Resurrección Mine

  April 12th, 1888

  South of the U.S.–Mexican Border

  Sonora, Mexico

  An avalanche of pebbles slid down the face of the outcrop. McTroy stepped off the tail end and adroitly handed the telescope back to Evangeline. His face was desert brown and his beard had not been touched by a razor in almost a week. A fine layer of chalky alkali dust covered him from boots to hat brim. It was hotter at the top of the outcrop and rivulets of sweat sluiced his neck. The last shade in the arroyo had disappeared. Once we passed through these low hills, the heat in the playa would only grow worse. He squinted at Evangeline and me, detecting a shift in mood. For all his slit-eyed, lizard-skinned toughness, the outlaw tracker could read people as well as the desert pavement. From beneath his rifle scabbard he retrieved a secreted hip flask of whisky. He unscrewed the cap and tipped it between his teeth. He swallowed, exhaled. I was surprised his breath didn’t spontaneously combust.

  “Who died?” he said.

  “It is not a question of ‘who died’ but rather who is afraid to die,” I said.

  “Any man says he isn’t afraid of the Reaper is a liar. Take the hardest hombre and after he gets a taste of the scythe, he’ll be calling for his momma and lookin’ for angels.”

  “Or devils,” Evangeline said.

  “You best explain, Miss. I’m too hot for guessing games.”

  We told McTroy about Monty Waterston – everything from his fevered liaison with Odji-Kek on the astral plane, to his unexpected appearance in El Gusano’s cave, to his pale-faced, forlorn, parting wave from the window of the Stygian coach. Evangeline revealed his role in the train robbery and her failed, yet nonetheless brave, attempt to thwart her father from the path of his mounting occult ambitions.

  “Who’s going to pay me?” McTroy asked when we were through.

  I grumbled. “How can you talk about money?” I was awestruck at the baring of his self-interest under these dire circumstances. His insensitivity astounded me.

  “I’m out here on a job, Doctor Egypt. I’d like to know what for.”

  “You wouldn’t consider helping out of a sense of moral duty?”

  He mopped the sweat from his brow. Tossed the empty flask at a saguaro.

  “No. I would not.”

  “You are a disagreeable, uncouth reprobate–”

  “I am going to pay you,” Evangeline interrupted. Not that McTroy was listening to me. “I can sell my rare books. My mother left me a chest of jewelry when she died. It will more than cover your fee and whatever expenses we incur from here until the end.”

  McTroy nodded, apparently assuaged – although he needed a further clarification. “Which end is that? What is it you want out of this mess, Miss E?”

  “I want the same thing my father wants. I want Amun Odji-Kek. But I want him destroyed. If he cannot be killed, then put him away. Imprison him the way he was when Dr Hardy found him.”

  “That’s right. It was you who let him out, Doc, and escorted him to our shores.”

  I scoffed. “What I brought over were artifacts. A sarcophagus and five coffins. Six mummies – I meant to stu
dy and display them to the public for the sake of learning.”

  “We learned plenty. I bet folks would love to meet your arty facts.”

  McTroy liked arguing. He enjoyed fighting and all the things most educated men hate. He would trade barbs with me until the stars fell. I would not oblige him. “Miss Waterston is right as usual. We have drifted into your area of expertise. Bring the mummies back the way you bring all the scum to Yuma. Dead or alive, shall we say?”

  “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

  “Cleverness is no fault. Proud ignorance however is a different story–”

  “Gentlemen!” Evangeline stepped between us. “Each of you in your own unique way is vital to this mission. And special to me.” McTroy and I were caught not knowing whether to blush or exchange punches. Why did I feel like a schoolboy? Our ears had perked up. And our fists were slowly unclenching. I tucked in my shirttail.

  “We must work together,” she continued. “Our foes are formidable. Do I need to remind you of this?”

  “No, ma’am,” McTroy said.

  I scuffed my toe in the dirt and shook my head.

  “Very well.” She crossed her arms, held a finger to her heart-shaped lips, and then said, “I have been thinking about those snakes.”

  “Asps in my saddlebag. A goddamn sacrilege,” McTroy said.

  “But why would he put them there unless he knew we would escape the monastery? Amun Kek is nothing if not confident. He must regard us with a certain amount of respect.”

  “Strange way of showing respect,” I said.

  Her eyes crinkled in a most enchanting way. “Strange, but not so strange. I think he relishes this battle we’ve been having. He enjoys the challenge after all those years imprisoned in the earth. It is a game to him. And that makes it more dangerous for us, because he is anticipating our next move. We must be on our highest guard.”

  “I’m always on guard,” McTroy said.

  “We must match you then, Rex.”

  Hearing her use McTroy’s first name was not enjoyable. Familiarity between employers and their hired hands leads to the most unpleasant conundrums down the line. If I hadn’t suspected that she was flattering McTroy to get him to perform more professionally, then I might have even been offended. As it was, I was merely annoyed.

  “Assuming we have raised our level of play, the question then becomes: where did your father and Kek go? Your father must have a plan. Was there anything he told you during your conversation in the cave that might indicate his direction?” I asked.

  Evangeline pondered.

  “They’re headed over the border. Arizona Territory. Even the putrid little half-Mex, half-carcass knows that,” McTroy said gruffly.

  The strain of a lovely corrido – so subtle that I hadn’t even noticed it playing in the background – paused. Rojo uttered a polite “Muchas gracias, Señor” and returned to strumming his guitar. I may have noticed the slightest trace of sarcasm in his thanks.

  “My father,” Evangeline began, “wants to live forever. He knows he is dying. His time is short. The state of his health is fragile. He will not be traveling far. The journey from Los Angeles to the monastery has been hard on him. I smelled death on his breath. His awful, chalk white face… But he will have thought of everything beforehand. Wherever they are going was set long ago. Probably before the sarcophagus left Egypt. My father wanted a test. To see if Kek had the power to bring the dead back to life.”

  “Hakim!” Now my dead friend’s rebirth as the night coachman made some sense.

  “Yes. I believe that when Kek came back from the Duat – from his taunting of the gods – he used the Temple Underneath’s Ka door to bring your murdered foreman back with him. To prove he could. Hakim was the test. The final proof my father needed.”

  “Proof of what?” McTroy asked.

  “Life everlasting,” Evangeline answered. “Kek’s ability to master it.”

  McTroy grunted.

  She grew exasperated. “Immortality – that is the treasure. Never dying. Can you perceive what it would be like to live knowing you will never die, that life is endless?”

  “Miss E, that don’t impress me. I am ready, when my time comes, to leave this vale of tears. Heaven waits. Or hell. The bible tells me so. I can’t see why anyone would want to stick around here forever.”

  I glanced at the sweltering arroyo. “That is because you are not a rich man, McTroy. When a rich man has everything, he doesn’t stop. He fights to keep his treasure for as long as possible. He is like a dragon sitting on his gold and jewels. A monster.”

  I looked up into Evangeline’s face.

  “Well put,” she said.

  She was a daughter of privilege. I did not condemn her, did not intend to indict her for her father’s crimes. All rich men were not the same. Were they? The greed that transfigured her father, it didn’t taint her. She was good. But she had said her father was good once too. There was no time for talking about this. The temptation of gold. The temptation of time. But I had studied the pharaohs. I knew the extremes to which men would go if they believed themselves to be gods. What is the possibility of eternal life if not the chance at being a god? What person can resist? What humanity can survive?

  “I agree with McTroy. To live without death is a curse.” Wu climbed up on a large, speckled stone, like an enormous fossilized egg. It was about the size that he might’ve hatched from it. He sat quietly. The heat did not seem to bother him in his black suit. He had tightened his pigtails. What terrible storms raged inside this boy? He knew his parents had been doubly damned in the Duat. That alone would have sunk most minds in despair.

  “Will these maps help?” Wu unbuttoned his tunic and slid out the sheaf of maps he had torn down from the side cave’s wall, when we had been looking for the secret catch to release the door.

  Evangeline accepted the maps from him.

  “Wu, you are as resourceful as you are brave.”

  She flattened the papers out on the ground and crouched over them. The pink tip of her tongue curled upward as she concentrated.

  I walked over to Wu, feeling as though we could have done more for the boy. He had witnessed the murder of Mr Thomas, his guardian, and had lost his job on the railroad. He’d been forced to reveal his parents’ vampirism, only to have them subsequently locked in the Duat where they suffered hunger and unknown tortures. The extreme physical perils of our southern excursion only added to the growing list of traumas. We were all adding emotional scars along the way which would haunt us long into the future, but Wu’s cut the deepest. They would shape the man he would become.

  “How are you holding up, son?”

  He stared at me. Shrugged.

  I shot a look at the shady rocks. Was Rojo playing the saddest folk songs in the entire Spanish catalogue? Despite the cauldron heat my eyes filled beyond dampness.

  “Before we deal with Kek, we will ask him about freeing your parents,” I said.

  “And if we get them back, then what?”

  “They can leave. I suppose they might return to the desert.” I made a kind of flying motion in the air with my arms and regretted doing so almost immediately. My arms dropped to my sides. I smiled feebly. “They will be free to…” I trailed off.

  “Go back to their unfortunate feedings?”

  “No… well, yes… I don’t know what else.”

  “I don’t either,” he said. His small hand patted mine where it rested on the warm, oval stone that had likely sat in the dry streambed for millions of years. “Thank you for not leaving me on the train, Dr Hardy.”

  “Of course,” I said. “No one is leaving anyone. We protect each other.”

  He looked at me, knowing that I could not promise such things.

  Evangeline jabbed the map. “My father owns this!” she shouted. “He has marked it. I know his mark anywhere. Look, see for yourself. Hardy will recognize this.”

  McTroy craned over her shoulder. Wu and I gathered on either side
of the lady. Even in the ceaseless grime and sweat of the Gila, she maintained a fresh aura. I won’t go so far as to call it the scent of roses, no. But I did not mind being very near her in any way. I welcomed the occasion. Our heads were close to touching. Four shadows merged, looming over the map.

  “Here, Hardy.” She twisted her finger into the paper. “Can you see it?”

  I studied the topography of the Arizona Territory and borderland.

  Bold, fairly straight lines meant railways. Town names mixed Indian, Spanish, and colonial English. Mountain ranges resembled microscopic amoeboids squashed on the page. Little evidence of water. Much blankness.

  There off the edge of Evangeline’s fingernail – a simple, penciled-in symbol.

  Black star. Five-pointed, aimed down.

  A pentangle.

  I had seen it before. It was the same as the one Waterston had used to label the map that led my expedition to the skull rock. Anyone might have drawn it. But, like Evangeline, I was certain her father had done this. I read the tiny print below the star.

  “La Mina Resurrección.”

  “The Resurrección Mine is Waterston property. It belongs to us. I’ve seen the deed in Father’s office safe.” Evangeline grabbed my arm and squeezed. “It’s a goldmine. Gold and silver. Derelict now. But the vein was productive a few years ago. Officers in my father’s company were surprised when he ordered it shut down. He never sold the claim.”

  “Figure that’s where he is?” McTroy asked.

  “I do, Rex, I really do.”

  “Why?” He was skeptical but ready to believe her if she supplied him with facts.

  “First, it is already a tomb. The digging is done. Second, the gold is there. He could’ve had the mining continue secretly, off the books. My father would want a golden sarcophagus for himself, nothing else would suffice. Third, this place is abandoned. Private. Isolated. Not a town or any people for miles. He has everything he needs there.”

  “Have you ever visited this Resurrección?” McTroy asked. “Seen any gold?”