The Osiris Curse (14 page)

She waved down a…well, she
assumed
it was a means of transport. A colorful rickshaw-type cab, open at the front, covered with bright beads and swirling patterns. She was about to search for some coin to insert into the automaton, but she pulled up short when she found herself confronted by the gap-toothed smile of a boy of about twelve years old. He was wearing a dirty bowler hat on his head, strands of greasy black hair sticking out of the side. His dark face was eager, his eyes bright.

“You want to ride? Pretty girl want to go somewhere?”

“Er…yes. I do. Thank you.”

“No problem. Akil will take care of you. That is my promise.”

Octavia climbed aboard and sat back in the worn wooden seat. Akil flicked his white tunic out behind him, turned to face the front, then started trotting away.

“Where to?” he called over his shoulder.

“Oh, that way,” said Octavia, pointing. “North. Out into the desert.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his brow creasing in concern. “You really don't want to go into the desert, Miss. Dangerous. Better to stay at the hotel.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. But I shouldn't think we'll have to go far.”

Akil picked up speed, dodging around the other cabs and screaming abuse at anyone who got in his way. He would run as fast as he could for a few steps, then lean back and let the two handles he clasped beneath his arms take his weight, lifting his feet from the ground and coasting for a while. As soon as the cab slowed down, he would drop his feet and run until he picked up speed again.

They did this for about ten minutes, heading out toward the desert on an old, hard-packed road that obviously wasn't used much at all. They were heading away from the hotels and civilization. The
sun was a blood red orb, half-hidden by a sea of haze that hung low over the horizon. It reflected off the undersides of a few stray clouds, stretching out from red to gold, the sky above a deep purple color.

Octavia dragged her eyes away from the sunset and spotted a line of dust on the road ahead. She leaned forward, then broke into a grin when she saw Tweed's back.

“Stop here, if you please, Akil.”

“Miss, I do not please. I cannot leave you here. It is dangerous. That man up ahead, for instance. He is up to no good. I can see it. A very shady character, if ever I saw one.”

“He's harmless, Akil. Well, relatively so,” she amended.

Akil reluctantly stopped the rickshaw and Octavia hopped out, gathering up her skirt and hurrying along the dusty road.

She was almost upon Tweed when he finally heard her approach and turned around.

The look on his face brought her to a sudden stop. He was streaked with grime from the road, little tracks of pale skin showing through, almost as if carved by tears. He looked utterly miserable, his features collapsed in grief and pain.

Octavia had thought she would say something witty and amusing when she revealed herself. But one look at Tweed's face chased all such thoughts aside.

They stared at each other, on this dusty road in Egypt, with the sun setting behind Tweed's back. Then he took three long strides forward, gripped her face in his hands, and just stared into her eyes, a mixture of emotions flowing across his features. Grief. Understanding. Acceptance. Relief.

Octavia didn't know what to do. She stared back, her breath catching in her throat, frozen by the intensity of his gaze.

Then Tweed gently laid his forehead against hers. She could feel his cool skin against hers.

“You're alive,” he whispered.

Octavia licked her dry lips. “No thanks to you,” she said softly, and was rather surprised to hear a catch in her voice.

Tweed jerked his head back and looked at her in outrage, his features suddenly reassembling into the Tweed she knew. “What do you mean?” he exclaimed.

“You know what I mean. ‘No, I won't pick,'” she mimicked. “What was that about?”

“That was about me playing for time! How dare you judge my techniques! I'm a master detective,” he declared haughtily.

They stared at each other in mock outrage. Then Octavia broke into laughter. But she was shocked to feel tears building up as well. She turned quickly away so he wouldn't see and started walking along the road.

“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “We've got things to do. Secret archeological digs to discover. Insane lizard madmen to stop. And what are you doing? Going for a walk.”

Tweed caught up with her.

“You know I like my walks. They help me think.”

“You must need a lot of walks, then,” said Octavia.

They arrived back at the rickshaw to find Akil waiting. He glared at Tweed.

“Are you fine, Miss? Would you like me to deal with him?” A wicked looking knife suddenly appeared in his hand.

“Hello,” said Tweed, totally ignoring the blade. “And who are you, small child?”

“How dare you! I am not a small child. The gods spit on your ancestors you son of a dog. I can cut you down where you stand.”

“That's nice.” Tweed patted Akil on the head and climbed up into the rickshaw.

Akil sputtered with outrage.

“He's all right, Akil,” Octavia said quickly. “Just spent a bit long in the sun,” she said. “Touched in the head.”

Akil glared at Tweed. Tweed smiled benignly back. “Hop to it, Jeeves. I need a bath.” He sniffed the air. “And so do you, Nightingale. You smell almost bad as your little friend here.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes. Octavia climbed up next to him and Akil turned them around and headed back to the hotel.

Every now and then he would open one eye and look at her, as if to make sure.

“What's our next move then?” asked Tweed as they strode into the hotel.

“Find Sekhem and Nehi, I would think,” replied Octavia, looking around for Molock. She couldn't see him anywhere. “What happened with them anyway? After we fell.”

“They…left me. I was at the railing, looking for you. When I turned back they had gone. And you're wrong, our first move is for you to check into Stackpole's room so I can wash up.” He sniffed. “Actually, you really
could
do with one yourself. You can go first if you like.”

“How kind of you.”

Tweed smiled. “See what a gentleman I am?” He frowned and looked around at the crowds milling around the lobby, some heading to the bar, others to the dining room. “Where's lizard-face?”

“I don't know. I left him to come find you.”

“No matter. We can catch up later.”

They headed for the check-in desk. “I'd better take it from here,” said Tweed.

“Why?”

“Because it was easy enough to change the ticket to reflect a Miss Stackpole, but I haven't had time to break into the hotel reservations book to change it. They're expecting a Mr. Stackpole, so that's what they'll have to get.”

“Fair point. But I advise you to go to the bathroom first to refresh yourself. I don't think they'll give you a room key looking like that.”

“Fair point, well made.”

Tweed disappeared to find a bathroom and returned ten minutes later with his messy hair slicked back and his face wiped clean. His clothes had been given a good dusting as well, so he looked at least moderately presentable.

Octavia joined him as he headed for the closest clerk at the check-in counter. It was long, made from mahogany, and polished so much she could see her face in it.

Tweed smiled at the clerk, a thin man with a nervous, haunted look to his face. She supposed she'd feel the same way having to deal with the rich and pampered all day.

“Greetings, my good man,” said Tweed. “I've come to claim my key. Just came in on the
Albion
, don't-yer-know. Spiffing ride. Absolutely spiffing. Jolly good fun.”

Octavia elbowed Tweed in the ribs. He was overdoing it. And very likely on purpose as well.

“Of course, sir. And the name?”

Tweed opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, a voice spoke a few feet away from them.

“Stackpole,” said the voice. “Henry Stackpole. I made reservations.”

Tweed snapped his mouth shut and turned to look. So did Octavia. What she saw did not please her at all.

It was Barrington Chase.

His back was angled away from them, facing a clerk at the other end of the counter. But there was no doubt it was him.

Octavia whirled around, grabbing Tweed just as he pointed and opened his mouth. She clapped her hand over his lips, smiled apologetically at the puzzled clerk, and pulled him behind a tall potted fern.

“What the hell is
he
doing here?” sputtered Tweed, when Octavia finally took her hand from his mouth. “And why is he pretending to be Stackpole?”

Octavia stared at Chase's back for a while, thinking. “Remember what Molock said? About there being spies in the government? Members of the Hermetic Order?”

Tweed's eyes widened. “You don't think…?

“Why not?”

“Are you sure?”

“Why else would he be impersonating Stackpole?”

“I
knew
it.”

“You did not.”

“I
did
…well, not really, no. But I knew there was something dodgy about him. Who'd've thought? Barrington Chase, batting for the other team.”

There was an embarrassed silence.

“You
do
know what that means, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Tweed. “As soon as it came out, I realized my mistake. It was too late to stop it, though.”

Octavia parted a few leaves and tried to get a better look. Chase was talking to the clerk. The man nodded and turned around to check the little alcoves that covered the rear reception wall. He took a key from a hook above one, then reached inside and pulled out a letter.

“He's got a letter!” she said.

“I can see that!”

Octavia made a mental note of the alcove the letter and key came from, then watched Chase walk away, a satisfied smile plastered over his face.

“I really hate that man,” muttered Tweed. “He stole my bath.”

Octavia let the leaves close and turned to face Tweed. “Is that all you can think about? Your bath?”

“I was looking forward to it.”

“What do you think was in the letter?”

“Don't know—ooh! Wait!” Tweed peered through the ferns again, then turned back to Octavia with an excited look on his face.

“The envelope is yellow!”

“So.”

“Don't you see? It's the map to this mysterious dig!”

“Why do you say that?”

“That's the same type of envelope he used to post the airship tickets to himself. What better way to keep the map safe than to send it here ahead of his arrival? It wasn't left lying around for anyone to find. He didn't keep it on his person for someone to steal. No, he sent it ahead. He planned on picking it up when he arrived. No one would ever know.”

“Except for the people who tortured him,” said Octavia.

Tweed suddenly gripped her arm as if realizing something momentous. “Except,” he said, and Octavia realized he hadn't been listening to a word she'd said, “for the people who tortured him. So Stackpole
did
cave under interrogation.”

Octavia sighed.

“Octavia, if Chase is the spy Molock was talking about, we…we only went and told him about the ring! Remember? Back at the manor? We
told
him about Stackpole, that he'd been asking about the symbol. While we were off chatting with Bainbridge, Chase was torturing Stackpole for information. He's dead because of us!”

Octavia thought about this. “And the cult members? Who showed up while we were there?”

“Chase left them there. He knew we'd go there eventually. He wanted us out of the way so word of this secret society didn't get out.” Tweed clenched his fist. “And now he's stolen my bath.”

Tweed was feeling a bit confused.

He was ecstatic that Octavia was alive. Obviously. Watching her fall from the airship had been one of the worst moments in his life.

But when he had seen her walking toward him along that road…well, his first instinct had been to grab her in his arms and…and
kiss
her. To hold her tight and never let her go.

He was rather surprised at this.

He liked her.
Really
liked her. But he hadn't thought he liked her in that
way
. Hadn't entertained the thought. Well, he had,
briefly
, but he had dismissed it almost immediately, because they'd only known each other for a short period of time. He respected her too much to make any sort of inappropriate move, one that might jeopardize their friendship. He valued her too much for that.

He was wondering now if this wasn't a mistake.

It was certainly something to ponder. But later. Because he had no real idea how to sort out that kind of stuff in his head. It required a lot of thinking. He had to weigh up the good points and potentially bad points, the risks involved, the changes it would bring.

And right now there were global conspiracies to foil.

Tweed had come up with two plans on that front. The first was incredibly daring and clever and was by far his favorite.

The way he saw it, the letter Chase took from Stackpole's alcove contained this mysterious map that everyone was after. Tweed reckoned Chase would read the map, memorize it, then destroy it afterward. The method of destruction with the highest probability would be throwing it in the fire. Tweed planned on using glycerin on the
burned paper to soften it, then use harsh lights to read the metal left over in the paper from the ink. So Tweed's proposal was to wait for Chase to leave his room then break in and gather the burned map, use the glycerin on them, and find out where this ancient site was.

Octavia wasn't so keen on the idea. She said it was obvious the sun had baked his brain and that he should report immediately to the nearest hospital for treatment. Not only that, but where on earth did he think they would get glycerin?

Fair enough, he thought.

The next plan was simpler. They break into Chase's room, overpower him, and steal the letter.

Too dangerous, Octavia said. Also, stupid. Chase was a trained killer. He'd been a spy for twenty five years. He'd be prepared for that kind of thing.

Tweed had got rather annoyed after that and told Octavia to come up with a better plan then.

She did. Immediately.

So they waited for Chase to leave the hotel later that night then followed him.

How…
plebeian
! How
boring
! It was a plan befitting a five year old, lacking in cleverness and elegance.

But…it worked.

Which was why he, Octavia, and Molock were currently perched atop a sand-covered outcrop, staring down into a rocky valley about forty miles from Giza. The moon was full, shining silver-white light across the desert. Everything seemed so much clearer out here, the stars like diamond dust scattered across black velvet.

By the moon's light Tweed could clearly see Chase as he moved slowly along the valley wall, checking crevices and narrow paths in the rock face. He had been down there for quite a while now, so Tweed had spent the time telling Octavia what Sekhem had said back on the airship.

“Is this true?” Octavia asked Molock.

Molock looked uncomfortable. “Broadly speaking, yes.”

“Broadly speaking? How broad are we talking here?”

“Not very.” Molock sighed. “Fine, it's true what he said. Tesla's inventions
are
drawing on our power.”

“And the sickness?”

“Also true,” said Molock heavily.

“Sort of makes you see their point of view,” said Tweed quietly.

Octavia looked at him in astonishment. “
Excuse
me? Those two are maniacs! A few hours ago they tried to kill me.”

“I know that. I'm not saying what they're doing is right. Just that…I don't know…If my people were being killed by some sickness like that? I reckon I'd want revenge as well.”

Octavia stared at him. Tweed looked away, uncomfortable. “What?” he said pushing his finger in the sand.

“I just never expected to hear that kind of thing from you, that's all,” she said.

“Oh, and you wouldn't move heaven and earth for family?” snapped Tweed. “Look at what you're going through for your mother.”

“That's different. I'm not killing innocent people.”

“I know!” said Tweed, exasperated. “I'm not saying they're right. Just that I understand them.”

“As do I,” said Molock. “Of course I do. Those are my people dying. But I also think that revealing ourselves, or…or slaughtering thousands of you for revenge, is the wrong thing to do. I had the best Hyperborean scientists working on a plan. We were so close when Sekhem and Nehi staged their coup.” He shook his head. “No matter what happens, Hyperborea must be kept secret. The Covenant has held for thousands of years, and there's a reason for that. It is the correct path to follow.”

“I think you're wrong,” said Tweed. “Sekhem said the Ministry
knew about what was happening. That they didn't care, fine. But the Ministry is not who you should tell. Go directly to the Queen. I'm telling you, she will help your people.”

“No,” said Molock firmly. “I'm sorry but
you
are wrong.”

Octavia nudged Tweed and jerked her head down toward the valley. Chase had stopped moving. Tweed crawled forward to the edge of the outcrop to get a better look. What was he doing?

A moment later, Chase turned to the side, took a step forward, and disappeared into the shadows.

“Looks like we've found Stackpole's mysterious site,” said Octavia.

Tweed stood up and brushed the sand off his trousers. “I'm heading in.”

“It's too dangerous,” said Octavia. “Who knows what he's doing down there. He might be waiting for Sekhem and Nehi. He might be speaking to them right now.”

Tweed put his hands on his hips and struck a heroic pose. He was perfectly aware that he was silhouetted against the full moon. He must look like a heroic explorer or something. “Songbird,” he said, “my middle name is danger.”

“Is it? Really? I always expected something…different. Like Cecil. Or Bartholomew.”

Tweed's arms fell to his sides. “
Cecil?
” he said in outrage. “
Bartholomew?
”

“Can we not do this now?” said Molock.

Octavia stood up. “You're right. Now is not the time. Let's go then.”

Tweed took the lead. Unfortunately, this meant he was the first to hit the patches of loose stone, the little drifts of sand that were draped treacherously across indentations in the ground. So he ended up skidding down the slope into the valley instead of walking.

The others were fine, though. They just made sure to walk wherever he didn't.

They hurried along the valley floor, moving as close to the rocky wall as possible. Tweed didn't like it. He felt hemmed in. The walls of the narrow ravine soared up above them, their jagged edges clear against the night sky. He kept expecting to see the silhouettes of cloaked fanatics appear, ready to strike them down.

Not that he was scared of them or anything. Not that. It was just, fanaticism of any kind got to him. He couldn't understand it. It was the antithesis of rationality. It was faith taken to murderous extremes, immune to reason and logic. If he couldn't reason with it, he couldn't understand it.

They soon found the spot where Chase had disappeared. It was a crevice about ten feet across, shielded from outside view by the rock folding back on itself. It was only when you were actually leaning up against the cliff face that you could see the opening.

Tweed peered inside. A dim orange light was coming from somewhere around the corner “He's lit some torches for us,” he said. “How considerate of him.”

They moved into the crevice. Narrow rock walls hemmed them in, but after about twenty paces it opened out into a wide, man-made corridor. The floor was covered with cracked and chipped clay tiles, the spaces between them filled with shards of ceramic. The light he had seen from outside came from wall torches spaced every ten feet or so, receding into the distance.

They moved farther along the passage. As they went, Tweed noted the murals and friezes on the walls. They reminded him very much of Egyptian hieroglyphics, only much more complex. The simplicity was still there, but there was a finer level of detail in each painting.

Molock had been looking at the paintings as well, studying them
as they went. After a few minutes he let out a gasp of astonishment. He stopped, running his hands across the wall paintings.

“What is it?” asked Octavia.

He looked at her, his eyes shining with excitement. “Do you know where we are?” he said.

“No.”

“This…” he moved along the wall, tracing the paintings with his hands. “This is where my people first left Egypt, descending back into Hyperborea. This place has been lost for millennia!”

“Huh,” said Tweed. “How about that? Stackpole really
had
found something new.”

“That poor man,” said Octavia softly.

“It's all here, look,” said Molock. He pointed at the paintings. “Ra. Osiris, Thoth. All the rulers leading my people back underground. And look here.” He pointed at another section of the wall, where more traditional Egyptian figures were chasing after the others. “See how they try to stop us? How they raised their weapons against us?”

“Yes, fascinating,” said Tweed. “But Molock, is right now the best time for a history lesson?”

“No. Of course. Sorry.”

They started moving again. The passage eventually opened into a vast room, easily as large as the hangars where they built airships back in London. Relics and statues littered the echoing space. There were sarcophagi everywhere, some them standing up against walls, some of them fallen over, smashed against the floor. The faces on the lids were reptilian, not at all like the faces of the pharaohs on the more traditional sarcophagi.

Torches had been lit all around the walls, illuminating pottery, brass weapons, sickles. Off to their right were life-sized earthen statues, about fifty of them lined up in neat rows. Tweed wandered
over to inspect them. They were holding real weapons, swords and axes gone green with age. The statues were carved with fine attention to detail, each face unique.

Tweed ran his hand over one of the statues, then fell into a sneezing fit when the dust got up his nose. He clasped his hands over his face in alarm, trying his best to sneeze quietly. The other two glared at him and he turned his back until he got the sneezing under control.

He straightened up and wiped his streaming eyes, waving apologetically at Octavia.

There was a sudden noise from the far end of the room. Tweed hurried over to join the others and they hid behind one of the stone sarcophagi, crouching down in the shadows.

“I
am
sorry, Chase old chap,” said a distant voice. “I forgot to change my watch to Egypt time. I've been waiting for you for an hour now.”

Who was that? The voice sounded familiar.

“What were you doing back there?” That was definitely Chase's voice, suspicious and curt. The voices were drawing closer, approaching the vast room.

“Just looking around. I got bored.”

Temple! That was it. It was Temple. Tweed had a lot of sympathy for Temple. Having to work with Barrington Chase day in day out must be a nightmare. But what was
he
doing here?

“I'm not sure I believe you, Temple.”

“What—Chase…Good God, man! What the hell are you doing?”

Tweed peered around the side of the sarcophagus. His eyes widened in alarm. Chase had a pistol pointed at Temple.

“Don't play coy, Temple. We both know what's going on here.”

“Quick,” said Tweed to Octavia. “Give me your Tesla gun.”

“Where's yours?”

“Sekhem took it, remember?”

Octavia reluctantly pulled out her gun. “Why do you need it? Hey, wait!”

This last was directed at his back because as soon as he had the gun he stood up and moved into the open.

“Drop the gun, Chase,” he snapped.

Both Chase and Temple whirled around to stare at him in astonishment.

“Tweed?”
said Chase, as if he could hardly believe his eyes. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Stopping you.”

“Stopping me—” He shook his head as if still not quite believing what he was seeing. “Stopping me doing what?”

“From helping the Hyperboreans build their Tesla weapons.”

“Helping them do
what
?”

“Sebastian,” said Temple quickly. “You
know
about the Hyperboreans?”

“We followed the clues from Tesla's warehouse and they led us here. Yes, we know about them.”