by Gregg Taylor
“It feels like a mistake, Fenwick-effendi,” the smaller man said, “starting at the beginning like this. Maxwell Falconi may be far from here. The trail of the Eye may have led him to Alexandria, as he supposed it might.”
Fenwick’s brows knit. “Alexandria?” he asked. “This is the first I’ve heard of this.”
El-Nemr shrugged. “Forgive me, effendi. I do not yet know of what I may safely speak. I believe that you are Falconi’s friend, but what if you are yet another enemy, or a rival treasure hunter?”
Fenwick smiled. “I hope that I can convince you, El-Nemr,” he said, “but time is not a luxury which we have in abundance. Which house is it?”
El-Nemr pointed at the most modest of dwellings on the street. Little more than a stone hut, but there was light within. Fenwick nodded and looked to his driver. “Come on,” he said.
El-Nemr made a noise of protest. “Sir, you must know that you will insult the Old Man if you bring into his home a woman with her head uncovered.”
Kit looked up toward the cap upon her head. It was not like her regular chauffeur’s cap at all, but was roomier and looser on top, which made it easier to tuck up her hair if she wished. She was rather pleased with it really, and accented it with a pair of driving goggles that were, in reality, the special multi-purpose goggles from one of her Squirrel cowls. Kit Baxter was not a vain girl by nature, but she did know a nice hat when she saw it, and she strongly suspected that she looked quite good.
“What’s wrong with the hat?” she scowled.
“Effendi,” El-Nemr protested without looking at her, “it is tradition.”
Fenwick nodded. “All right, El-Nemr,” he said. “Kit, unless I’m very much mistaken, if you walk up the hill at the end of the street you should have a very fine view of the pyramids.”
“But Boss-” she protested before meeting his eyes. There was just a hint of amusement in them, a twinkle that he didn’t let very many people see. He knew she wanted to hear what the Old Man said, if indeed he was a mystic with whom Max had consulted. But he really did want her to see the pyramids.
“Yes, Boss,” she said with a very small pout of her lips, and turned up the street. The young boy she had guarding the car was taking his duties fairly seriously, and scolding other children to stand back. Kit met his eyes and nodded with a smile, and he grinned at her delightedly as she walked past.
The hill was steep, and her mind was briefly far away, but she realized almost at once that she was not alone. To her surprise El-Nemr had come with her rather than duck into the small stone hut with the Boss.
He shrugged and smiled at Kit as she saw him. “It is best that they should talk alone,” he said simply. Kit turned back toward the hut, but found it difficult to believe that the Red Panda would encounter anything within its walls that he could not handle. She said nothing and turned back to the road.
They walked on in silence for another twenty feet before coming over the crest of the hill. The dirt road turned to drifting desert sand beneath their feet. Kit looked up and gasped. There they were, still quite a distance away, sitting just exactly as they had for many thousands of years. The biggest one, the one she thought was called the Pyramid of Cheops, was the closest, with two more behind. Between the place where she stood and the monuments themselves there was an expanse of open desert, and what looked to be a smaller settlement of buildings, no doubt there to service visitors to these wonders.
It was all still quite a distance away, but somehow that made it even more striking to Kit, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by how far she had travelled. Kit Baxter had a way of setting her nose to the grindstone and focusing on the task at hand. It wasn’t a bad trait, and no doubt it had kept her alive in her adventures as the Flying Squirrel, but it meant that she had never really taken stock of where she was until just now. Kit Baxter, who had spent most of her youth within the space of the few blocks of her old neighborhood, and almost never left the city where she was born, was suddenly a world away within sight of these ancient wonders. She felt very small, as if she had been caught spying upon Gods.
El-Nemr was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke he sounded pleased. “I have lived in Egypt all my life,” he said, “and I never tire of watching people see them for the first time.”
She smiled and said nothing. She could always go back to not trusting him later if she wanted. They stood in silence for another few minutes.
“Your Master will likely be some time with the Old Man,” El-Nemr said. “Would you like to walk along with me? They do grow more beautiful with every step closer.”
Kit shook her head. “No thanks, Mister El-Nemr,” she said. “I’ll go sightseeing when we’ve found our friend.”
El-Nemr nodded gravely. “You are close with Maxwell Falconi as well, little one?” he asked gently.
She nodded, still staring at the great monuments, but almost not seeing them or the expanse of desert beyond. “Sure,” she said. “Maybe not as close as the Boss but… you know how it is.”
Her thoughts turned back to meeting the mysterious Mister Falconi, to learning his secret, and that he had served as one of the Red Panda’s mentors. The Stranger could do some pretty incredible things; somehow that wasn’t what you remembered about him after meeting him. He may or may not still be one of Earth’s mightiest sorcerers, but he was kind and he was charming, and he understood certain things that no one else seemed to know, that no one else was allowed to know. Falconi had understood in an instant exactly how she really felt about the Red Panda, and more importantly, he had kept it to himself. They hadn’t even really spoken of it, not properly. Kit had been too embarrassed, too worried that Falconi would see her as a silly girl with a crush. But he hadn’t. He was a real gentleman and a good friend. After all, this… it was the most important fact in Kit Baxter’s life, and she spent most of her time and energy pretending that it wasn’t true. Somehow, having someone else know her secret made it feel more real, and she would always be grateful to Falconi for that. She was every bit as determined to find him as the Red Panda was, and much like the pyramids had, her worry for Falconi’s safety had crept up on her all at once, and she found it overwhelming.
El-Nemr said nothing, but turned and looked back down the hill. Kit supposed that he was checking on the car, but she had confidence in the young boy she had left on guard and kept her gaze firmly in the middle distance. It was another minute before she heard the footsteps behind her on the dirt road. Five, maybe six sets of them. All at once she knew that El-Nemr had been signalling to someone waiting in the streets below. She glared at the traitor as she turned, stepping back several feet, sinking into the soft sand as she did so. There were, in fact, seven of them, all dressed in shabby robes. Not exactly the executive class of henchmen, but they grinned like wolves as they closed in on the girl.
“Do not fear,” El-Nemr said soothingly, “you will not be harmed. You are closer to your Master than his assassin is. He will be most co-operative to recover a fair, young flower such as yourself.”
There were some dark chuckles from the crowd of toughs as they spread out in a semi-circle to hem her in.
“Perhaps,” El-Nemr said with a serpent’s smile, “we can even lure Maxwell Falconi himself out of hiding if we send him a lock of your fiery red hair.
Kit flipped her goggles down over her eyes and settled back into a guard stance, ready for anything.
“Nobody touches the hair,” she said grimly.
Eight
The hut was bigger than it appeared from the outside. Quite impossibly so, but the sheer volume of clutter made the space still feel cramped and one did not notice the paradox at first. There also seemed to be a door beside the fireplace that led to another room, and Fenwick was fairly certain that was in no way reflected by the building’s exterior, but he thought it best to let that go.
The Old Man smiled as he handed Fenwick a cup of tea. The Red Panda nodded his thanks, and took the cup with some trepidation. He was more ast
onished by the contents of the simple clay cup than he had been by the room itself.
“It’s Earl Grey,” he said in surprise.
“Of course it is,” the Old Man smiled, settling down on a mat opposite where his guest sat, “we aren’t savages.”
“My apologies-” Fenwick began, but the man shrugged and it was clear that he was not offended.
“You come about Maxwell Falconi,” the Old Man said. It was not a question.
“How did you know that?” the Red Panda said, surprised.
“I do not get a lot of visitors,” his host said with a smile. “One white man stops by, looking for something insanely dangerous. I hear nothing more from him, and then another one comes by. It seemed logical.”
The younger man looked grim. “I wonder if it is as simple as all that,” he said.
“Ah!” the Old Man smiled. “That is a good trick. The way you clouded your mind just now so that I could not read your thoughts. Very clever. And not magical, either. Very effective.” He seemed genuinely pleased.
“Falconi was here?” Fenwick asked, returning to the subject at hand.
The Old Man nodded. “He was seeking an item of great power, and great danger.”
“The Eye of Anubis?”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he considered Fenwick. “I would feel more comfortable discussing this with you if you did not hide yourself from me.”
“A force of habit,” Fenwick said.
The Old Man smiled and sipped his tea. It was clear that he could wait all night. The Red Panda considered trying his own hypnotic powers on the man, but given the circumstances, he could hardly afford to lose the time in a struggle. He dropped the mental defences he was using, and the Old Man seemed to know it without being told.
“Your friend seeks the Eye, and you seek your friend,” he said. “Your motives seem pure enough. Though your true face wears a mask, which seems a little unusual. I don’t like to pry.”
Fenwick nodded. “That might be best,” he said.
The man seemed ready enough to accept this, and stared into the fire casually. “What do you know of the God Anubis?” he asked.
“God of the Dead in the Old Kingdom,” Fenwick said, half-reciting, “patron of embalmers and undertakers. Master of the Underworld, before many of his roles were ascribed to Osiris during the Middle Kingdom.”
“Yes,” the Old Man nodded.
“It is said that he weighed the heart of the newly deceased,” the Red Panda continued, “and those souls found wanting were devoured.”
“Nothing is ever quite as simple as it sounds,” the Old Man smiled, “but that is, indeed, what they say.”
“Then what is the Eye?” the Red Panda asked.
The Old Man did not look at his guest, but spoke as if talking to the fire. “It is said that long ago, longer than even our history records, a great gem was discovered unlike any other that had been seen before, or since. It was the size of a man’s fist, and black as midnight, black as the face of the jackal which the God of the Dead bore. It was brought therefore to the priests of the temple of Anubis. Whether it was they who treated the stone with many magics, or if the stone itself bore innate power, no one knows for certain. I suspect the truth may lie somewhere in the vastness between, but mostly because it usually does. All that is known for certain is that the stone was set in an amulet of gold, intricately carved, and by the time it was presented to the Pharaoh it had been named the Eye of Anubis and bore great powers. Great powers, and terrible.”
The Old Man trailed off. The Red Panda said nothing, waiting for his host to begin again. The Old Man took a sip of his tea.
“The Eye gave the bearer power over life and death itself, in a fashion. It had the power to restore life to the newly dead, though not to heal whatever had killed them in the first place so they didn’t last long. A few words, a final secret, name their killer, that sort of thing. Impressive, but not the sort of thing that excites a Pharaoh. It also gave the power to command the dead. Restore a sort of terrible mockery of life to corpses, and to command them as slaves. In many cultures that would yield you little more than a pile of rotting, perambulating shells. But the preserved bodies of the ancient Egyptians were perfect vessels for such second life. For a time, the enemies of Egypt were driven from the land by armies of the dead. Vast, impossible monuments created with their inhuman strength. Nothing could stop them.” He looked at last at the Red Panda, and his eyes were full of despair. “You can imagine to what purpose evil men would put such power, were it theirs to command.”
The Red Panda appeared skeptical. “Then the Eye truly exists? These aren’t merely legends?”
The Old Man raised an eyebrow. “You have seen magic at work, and still it is easier to disbelieve,” he said.
“I did not intend any offence,” the Red Panda said with a slight bow of his head.
The Old Man waved the apology away. “I am not offended,” he said. “This is not religion, nor is it myth, nor stories for children. It simply is. An essential, simple and extremely deadly fact. The Eye of Anubis is not of the mortal world. No human hand should command such terrible power.”
Fenwick nodded. “And you told this to Maxwell Falconi?” he asked.
“I did. He did not seek the Eye for himself, but to keep it out of the hands of his rivals, who would abuse its power.”
“You read his mind?”
The Old Man chuckled. “We have no need of such gestures, Falconi and I,” he said.
“Where is the Eye of Anubis?” the Red Panda asked. “If it were in the hands of the Pharaohs, why was it not passed down through the ages?”
“That is a funny story,” the Old Man said. “Pharaoh knew that the power of the Eye could not keep him from death forever. He knew that one day he too must die, and as such would be as vulnerable to the Eye’s power as the army of poor, restless corpses he commanded. So he built it a palace. A temple. A monument unlike any the world had ever seen, and left it there, surrounded by death for any who would seek the Eye and its power.” The Old Man paused a moment. “All right, so it isn’t a very funny story at all,” he said. “I suppose you had to be there.”
“Is there any particular reason why the Eye of Anubis should be in Alexandria?” the Red Panda asked.
The Old Man seemed surprised. “Alexandria? Why, no,” he said. “The Eye is where it always has been. Within the very heart of the first and greatest of the pyramids.”
“The pyramids?” the Red Panda said, astonished. “The Pyramid of Cheops?”
The Old Man just laughed until his wiry frame shook. The Red Panda’s brows knit. There was nothing inside the Great Pyramid except for a burial chamber deep within, long since discovered. The entire structure was almost solid rock. There certainly wasn’t a temple to Anubis inside. He was about to say so when the curtain opened in the doorway and a young woman appeared. She was strikingly beautiful, but Fenwick could not help comparing her with Behiti, who, he had to remind himself, did not actually exist.
“My apologies, Grandfather,” she said, “I did not know that you had company.” The girl inclined her head slightly, and her long, black hair shone in the firelight.
The Red Panda started. The girl’s hair was uncovered.
“I beg your pardon, sir, if this seems like an odd question,” he said quickly, “but is there any reason why you should have been offended had I brought into your house a young woman with her head uncovered?”
The Old Man seemed puzzled. “Why, no,” he said, “the customs of our Mohammedan neighbours are-”
But Fenwick was already on his feet and out the door. He raced out onto the road where the serious young boy still held his vigil over the car, now keeping his fellows at bay with a stick. Fenwick sprinted up the hill, cursing himself for a fool as he ran. As he came to the lip of the hill, he found the first of the thugs, lying face down, quietly bleeding all over the soft sand. He raced on and looked up, expecting the worst.
The toughs who h
ad served El-Nemr were strewn about the area in all directions, all in various states of unconsciousness. Kit stood in their midst, bent over slightly with her hands on her knees as if catching her breath. This happened sometimes when they fought in civilian clothes. Aerial maneuvers took it out of you without Static Shoes to give that extra lift.
Her hat had been knocked off at some point, and her shirt looked to be slightly torn at the neck and shoulder. The wider-than-usual neckline and her posture meant that more of her was on display than normal, but he was too relieved to see her alive to properly appreciate it.
She grinned at him, and gave the side of her mouth a quick wipe with her hand in case there was any blood on her lip.
“What kept you?” she asked.
Nine
Ten minutes later, the Red Panda lowered the last of Kit’s assailants back down to the ground. The burly man was unconscious again, but this time it was less due to a roundhouse kick to the side of the head and more because of the hypnotic interrogation he had just undergone.
“Nothing?” Kit said from the boulder where she sat, waiting. Punching was more fun than waiting.
He shook his head. “Their English is none too good,” the Red Panda said, “and my Arabic is just this side of non-existent. But no. None of these men know the names Pavli or Thatcher, and only one of them knew the name El-Nemr.”
“Big surprise,” Kit snorted. “Why would that jerk have told us anything true?”
“Because he wanted us to lead him to Max,” the Red Panda said, placing his palm over the man’s face, his outstretched fingers on the temples, “and he couldn’t have known what we already knew. Some truth was a small price to pay. Besides, I detected no deception in the man.”
