“Put Rynn on right now or I’m—goddamn it!” The comm line snapped dead.
No concept of the real world . . . “I swear, if we get out of here, I’m going to give Carpe a black eye to go with his nose.”
“Not if I get to him first,” Nadya said.
No point in dreaming about ways to do bodily harm to Carpe now. I looked at the pictures again. Either the two sun gods were safe, or it was the other way around and the underworld gods were safe . . . time to test my theory.
I pulled my pick out of my bag and carefully pressed the wooden handle down on the tile showing Bast.
Nothing happened.
So far so good. I pressed harder, with more confidence. Still nothing happened.
I said a fast prayer to no one in particular and stepped on the tile. Safe.
The next one was a little harder, since it required me to jump to the other side of the hall. I leapt and landed on the scarab beetle—wavering, but otherwise safe.
Now for the next row. This time the lineup was the four sons of Horus—depictions of the sacred organ jars, underworld if I’ve ever seen it. Sekhmet, another cat god, was next—definitely sun. My flashlight beam danced over the third one. A gazelle.
“Nadya, what the hell does the gazelle represent?” I whispered.
“The goddess of the Nile, Satet.”
“Satet? That doesn’t make any sense. Satet’s another sun god.”
“Sekhmet is also a god of war, maybe that’s the distinction.”
Maybe . . . Still, I’d rather know for sure. I reached for my comm to contact Carpe. Instead, my head reeled as another surge of pain struck—a bad one, like right before I started hallucinating. I did not want to be standing on the death plates. “Think fast, Nadya, which one?”
“Ah, Satet, the Nile. It’s safest—”
All right, Nile it was. The Nile tile was diagonal to the scarab beetle I was standing on, so the jump was easy.
I landed on the tile and breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened. I turned my flashlight on the next row. Horus this time, Kuk the frog and serpent god of darkness, and Isis—
The ceiling started to shake.
How the hell had the Nile been wrong? It occurred to me as the first bit of ceiling crumbled that the order had been switched—two sun, one underworld. “Shit, it was the four sons of Horus.” More ceiling crumbled, and I heard the first bang above. Something was coming down a chute, and I had no plans on being here when it landed.
“Nadya, fast—Horus, Kuk, and Isis—”
Another bang against granite sounded above, shaking the temple hall. Well, that was that answered. Ceiling it was . . . Oh hell, screw picking the right tile.
I bolted across Isis, running straight for the end. The ceiling behind me collapsed, and the floor shook as something heavy struck it.
I hit the fifth row of tiles, but instead of something crashing from above, the tile cracked under my feet, spilling me onto my knees as it buckled inwards. Passer hadn’t used one or the other trap, he’d used both.
I did the only thing I could—roll over the cracking tiles and dive for it. The wind was knocked out of me as I collided with solid wall.
“Alix!” Nadya yelled across the pile of stone and pit between us. Considering I’d just collapsed a major artery of the temple, there was no point staying quiet now.
“Yeah—alive,” I said, wincing as I pulled myself up, my head protesting the movement. I aimed my flashlight down the hall. No mummy. “And I can see the workroom from here.” All I had to do was check for the book, then figure a way back across. “We brought rope, right?” I asked.
“If you didn’t, I’m sure I have some lying around. Never want to be caught without rope. All sorts of lovely uses,” came a familiar voice with a dry texture and faint British accent.
Caracalla, the Roman mummy I’d dealt with back in the Alexandria catacombs, stepped out of the shadows. I aimed the flashlight at his face, but unlike in the catacombs, Caracalla didn’t jump back. The bone I’d rammed through his head was gone, replaced by a pair of dark sunglasses. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of sewer. I’d forgotten just how much he smelled . . .
He made a clicking noise, almost like a laugh. “Now what a pleasant surprise, you turning up here. I was promised that might be the case, but I never dreamed so soon.” His mouth widened into a grin. “Seems I made quite a lucrative deal.”
This had to be a hallucination. There was no way Caracalla was here. This was Passer’s tomb, the court sorcerer of Ramses II, for Christ’s sake. Caracalla was a minor mummy from the Ptolemaic age of Egypt—he barely counted as a real mummy.
I swallowed hard and backed towards the workroom as Caracalla took another step towards me. “Where’s Passer? This is his temple.”
Caracalla torqued his head to the side, but the sinew was so dry it was an unnatural movement.
“Him? Ahh, I suppose you would expect him to be here. I’m afraid you are a few days too late. Funny story, after you destroyed my tomb, the IAA swarmed in. I decided it was getting much too crowded and was time to move house, so to speak. As luck would have it, I stumbled across a rather curious benefactor, one who offered me—well, you, to be perfectly honest. Skeptical though I was they’d be able to deliver you, he did throw in this lovely new tomb—much more spacious, no flooding, none of the noise.” Caracalla took another step forward. “As for Passer, when I arrived I found him sleeping in his crypt. I believe he gave up the will to exist many years ago. I’m proud to admit I helped him along.” His eyes glowed red and he took another step closer, blocking off the pit—not that I planned to try and jump it.
“How’s that for a half-rate mummy?”
Of course an insult thrown out in the heat of the moment came back to bite me . . .
“Now now dear, what’s wrong? ‘Cat have your tongue’ is the saying I think they use?”
The headache was back full swing . . . what was the chance I was actually dealing with Caracalla? “You’re a figment of my imagination,” I tried.
“Doubt that, but let’s test the theory.” Caracalla might have grinned—it was hard to tell with part of his skull torn up. Regardless, he swiped at me with his hand. Exposed finger bones sharpened into daggerlike points grazed my jacket.
He was real. “Nadya, we have a problem,” I said as I ducked a second swipe.
Running out of dodging space, I did the only thing I could—flashlight in hand, I ran for the workroom.
Unlike the reliefs carved elsewhere in the temple, the workroom was decorated in painted hieroglyphs uncannily preserved by lack of light and exposure. There was a slab of rectangular black granite in the center large enough to fit a human. I darted around the other side, putting it between me and Caracalla. I got a look at a few of the painted scenes—jars, organs; like an instructional on mummification.
“I see you found the preparation chamber,” Caracalla said. He darted to the left, then right, trying to make me run within range. Nope, not working—I was happy to wait him out behind the slab of granite.
“I never saw the point of waiting until people were dead to start the process. So much more personal and intimate when the subject is still alive.”
With the lull in Caracalla’s feinting around the table, I had a breath’s worth of break to change my comm channel. “Rynn, need help—”
It wasn’t Rynn who answered though. “Let me guess, you want him to force me to break into World Quest?”
I swore as Caracalla darted around the side after me. “Carpe, put Rynn on now!”
“Not until you promise—”
“Now! Or as soon as this mummy kills me, I swear to God I’m coming back for you.”
There was a soft click, not the electric snap that signified Carpe hanging up. “Alix?” came Rynn’s voice about the same time I found an unused urn under
the table and launched it at Caracalla’s head.
“Mummy.” It was all I managed to get out before Caracalla resumed his chase.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
I ducked as Caracalla threw a discarded piece of tablet. “Fewer questions, more help—” I said.
“DMSO cocktail tranquilizer, left pocket of Nadya’s backpack—it will work on Passer.”
“Nadya?” I yelled as I dodged a piece of broken tablet thrown at my shoulder.
“I’ve got it—I can’t see enough to shoot though. You’ll need to come my way.”
Time to figure out who was smarter: me or a two-thousand-year-old mummy.
I darted left, then right—further into Caracalla’s reach than was safe. He took the bait and chased around my end. I dropped to all fours and slid under the table . . . My fingers brushed parchment—a leather-bound book.
Maybe this wasn’t a complete waste after all. Hoping it was Carpe’s spell book, I grabbed it before bolting back into the hall as Caracalla growled behind me.
“Get ready,” I said to Nadya as I bolted for the hall.
Caracalla was still growling, but I didn’t bother checking over my shoulder. I didn’t want to see how close he was.
“Alix, I need you closer—and use your flashlight, I can’t see a damn thing.”
Use your flashlight on the mummy chasing you while running . . . Yeah, that was going to go well . . .
I skidded to a stop a foot away from the pit and aimed the flashlight at Caracalla.
“Duck,” Nadya yelled.
I dropped to the floor and heard the pop of the tranquilizer gun. Three yellow-tailed darts lodged into Caracalla’s face and chest.
He plucked out a dart from his forehead and examined it. “Hmmm, interesting weapon,” he said, sniffing the concoction pooling at the tip with what was left of his nose.
“Rynn, it isn’t working.”
“Did you miss?”
“No, there are two darts sticking out of his chest. Caracalla isn’t even fazed. He’s just more curious than anything else.”
“Wait—Caracalla? Are you hallucinating again? This is Passer’s temple.”
“Apparently Caracalla took out Passer and moved in after I trashed his tomb, because apparently someone suggested I might be stopping in. Know anything about that, Carpe?”
“Hey! I don’t sell people to mummies!” Carpe said.
“You hijacked our plane, not a giant leap,” I said.
“You think I enjoy stealing airplanes and getting punched by friends who now hate me?”
“We are so not friends anymore,” I said, keeping my eyes on Caracalla.
“Enough,” Rynn said. “As much as I hate to say it, the elf wouldn’t have sold you out to the mummy.”
“Who did?”
“Someone else who wants the book. I wasn’t screwing around when I said this was life and death. And you seriously think I enjoy coercing my friends into doing things they don’t want to do, Alix?” Carpe added.
“Yes!”
“Knock it off, both of you. I didn’t pack anything for Caracalla,” Rynn said.
He added something else after that, which I’m sure would have been useful, but my attention was on the mummy, who tossed the dart to the side and started towards me again.
“I’m curious, now that you’ve given it your all, I wonder what will you try next?”
“Alix!” I turned in time to catch the rope Nadya threw. I wound it around my arm, testing the anchor to a statue. It held.
Now or never. I shoved the book in my jacket and leapt off the edge of the pit. I grunted as I hit the wall on the opposite side. Nadya started pulling the rope up while I climbed.
“Clever,” Caracalla said. “But you forget one important detail.”
“What? That you’re a half-rate mummy?”
“I can jump.” He took three strides back before leaping over the pit, landing a few feet away from us.
I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut. . . . I backed up in one direction while Nadya backed up in the other. Catching the movement, Caracalla turned his attention on her.
Yeah, not happening. I picked up a piece of granite and chucked it at his head. “Hey, half-rate mummy, over here!”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that monsters are predictable. They don’t like being insulted. Caracalla turned back towards me and closed in. Not that I had a plan or anything.
I tapped my comm. “Rynn, any ideas you have about defeating this guy would be awesome about now.”
But before Rynn had a chance to answer, Captain barreled out in front of me, hackles up and hissing a storm at Caracalla. Yeah, monsters are predictable. Cats not so much.
“Captain, not a vampire!” I started.
Captain, in the throes of attack cat, wasn’t having any of it.
I searched for a rock, anything to throw at Caracalla before Captain reached him.
But as Captain hissed and spit, Caracalla backed up . . .
Now, Maus have no effect on mummies whatsoever. Mummies being scared of cats was a myth, based on some nonsense of cats being guardians of the underworld. Scourge of vampires everywhere, yes, but guardian of the underworld Captain was not.
Through a combination of whatever was firing through Captain’s walnut-sized brain and whatever the hell Caracalla believed Captain could do to him, the effect was the same. Caracalla was backing up towards the pit’s edge.
Well, when opportunity presents itself . . . I kicked Caracalla in the sweet spot, grabbed my cat by his harness, and pushed Caracalla over the edge.
Nadya stared at me, jaw open.
“Start running. I have a sinking suspicion he might crawl out.”
We tore back towards the entrance and I pressed the communicator. “Rynn?”
I thought I heard his voice, but there was static. Shit, must be the part of the temple we were in. I pressed line two and tried Carpe—no answer either. Figures, he waits until I need to talk to him not to answer.
A small, cautious part of my brain thought we should make sure the coast was clear of IAA before bolting out in the open. Most of my brain agreed full heartedly we did not want to be in this temple when Caracalla crawled out of the pit . . .
I crossed the entrance a few paces ahead of Nadya and Captain.
Meaning I hit the trip wire first.
I landed flat on my face. I was aware of Nadya pulling up short behind me, cursing in Russian, and heard the click of safeties that told me multiple guns were pointed in our direction.
Damn, I hate the IAA . . .
I ignored the ringing in my head and pushed myself onto my forearms, hoping to get a good look at how many agents were pointing guns at us.
It wasn’t the IAA, or local Egyptians—not even Sudanese. Too tall and not the right ethnic background. If it wasn’t for where we were, I would have sworn we were surrounded by a group of Somalians.
What the hell would the Somali be doing staking out a tomb?
I pushed myself up to kneeling and looked to see who was in charge. Captain was nowhere to be seen. Here’s hoping he stayed hidden until Rynn and Carpe showed up.
One of the men, the shortest of the lot and the only one not pointing a gun at me, stepped forward, a fixed smile never leaving his face.
“You have something of mine. How fortuitous. And here we thought we would have to retrieve it ourselves.” His English was good and the accent suggested he’d been educated in London. He crouched down to pick up the spell book that had spilled out from my jacket.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked.
His smile widened. “Why, the Owl, of course. Antiquities thief extraordinaire.”
You know I often find myself saying things couldn’t possibly get worse.
I need to stop that. I also need to come up with a filter. “Oh you got to be fucking kidding me. You’re the assholes pretending to be the Owl?”
I didn’t get much more past that. A gun butt to the head will do that to you.
Well . . . at least for once it wasn’t the supernaturals taking potshots at me.
This time it was Somali pirates.
16
Pirates
Oh sweet Jesus, why does everything hurt?
Fun observation: coming to with a killer headache and my hands tied behind my back isn’t as much a shock as it used to be . . . though as I tried pulling my cramped legs in, I realized they were tied together as well.
Hunh. That was new. Come to think of it, so was the cage.
Why is it I always get knocked out anyways? Gun butt to the head this time, too, if I remembered correctly . . .
I tried to shift my legs into a more comfortable position and found two things; first, my ribs hurt like a son of a bitch. On the bright side, the foggy memory of someone landing a kick to my stomach hadn’t been a figment of my imagination.
The second thing I noted though was less expected; my legs were tied real tight, pins-and-needles-inducing tight. And I wasn’t all by my lonesome. I was tied back to back with someone else stuck in the cage, and in my opinion done with an excess amount of rope.
“Pssst, Nadya?” I whispered, hazarding a guess.
“Good, you are awake finally,” she said, and turned her head so she could see me out of the corner of her eye.
“I think someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make sure we didn’t up and try to walk out of here,” I said.
This time she replied in a string of Russian insults I don’t feel like translating or repeating right now. I don’t shy away from cursing, but even I have my limits.
The fact that Nadya hadn’t made any progress on her own told me someone really had gone to a lot of trouble. I filed that away in the “interesting” category.
“I don’t know about you, Alix, but I’m about ready to go above and beyond their expectations.”
“Oh I’ve well and already reached that point,” I said, and started scanning my immediate surroundings.
Owl and the City of Angels Page 29
