by Janina Woods
This Isn’t a Game!
The world was still dark, but there was a cool wind on my skin. There was the salty smell of sea water, but also a trace of rotten wood and curious spices. I blinked into the cautious light of the day, which filtered through a thick fog reluctantly, and felt the light rain on my face, slowly soaking the cloth that had been put on top of me as a blanket. The rays of the sun seemed to make the haze glow. The atmosphere was eerie, almost serenely quiet.
“Where am I?”
“Mycroft!” Victoria appeared in my field of view and fussed over my hair as she smoothed it back, out of my face. I felt that the strands were already damp. “You’re with us again!”
“Took you a while,” Watson added with a smile in his voice.
I summoned my strength and sat up, which made the flimsy wooden stretcher underneath me creak in protest. A look around confirmed my suspicion: We had almost arrived at the harbour. Even through the uncharacteristic fog I could make out the stone buildings in the distance. We were positioned on the upper deck, above the bulk of the passengers. Next to me was another stretcher, with a person bound to it.
Elizabeth Moran!
“Is she...?”
“No, she’s just unconscious. Just as you were,” Victoria shook her head. “We couldn’t wake either of you, so the decision was made to take you to headquarters. Well, it was made for us, really. Captain Fraser wants none of us on board a minute longer than necessary.”
There was a spot that remained uncrowded on the lower deck, as everyone kept a respectful distance. Two crates stood at the railing, ready to be brought ashore. It felt like a funeral, and in a way I suppose it was.
“Did you alert the people here?” I asked Victoria.
“We had no way of getting a message to them, so we have to drop in unannounced.”
“As if the higher-ups don’t love me enough already.”
This earned me a smile and a friendly hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain. You keep on resting.”
“I feel fine,” I answered, and it was the truth. My head was clear and my body rested. The right hand was bandaged, but I flexed it and felt only a little pain.
“You’ve been out for over a day,” Watson countered.
“I can’t very well be carried into headquarters and then waltz off again. No, I’m walking,” I insisted.
My companions knew it was futile to argue with me, so they didn’t even try.
The headquarters of the Secret Service in Alexandria was housed in a wing of my homeland’s embassy. During the British occupation of Egypt, they had appropriated so many buildings and stationed so many soldiers, that no one thought twice about the additional operatives. Since the British still managed Egyptian affairs, their presence in the city had been heavy for a few years now - which was at present very much to our advantage.
Elizabeth was subsequently incarcerated at the branch office and left in capable hands... well, at least in hands I could trust. She never woke up, so we couldn’t interrogate her and had to resort to old-fashioned research.
The worship of the deity Seth, long ago practiced even as far north as the seaside city of Alexandria, was now all but forgotten. His temples lay far south, further than we could have ever traveled during the remaining time. Newer cults tend to flock to places that have a history and provide the right setting for their followers. You’d much more likely find an occult seance being held in a derelict church than a colourful garden. And we were looking to stop an actual ritual, if the clues were anything to go by.
If the Desert Wind followed this ancient cult, they would flock to these sites, but they would also have easily accessible places in larger cities to attract followers. No cult was without a bulk of exploitable members. While there was an old, small temple of Seth in the city, it was unused and had only been discovered a few years ago. The god had been demonized even during the ancient Egyptians’ time, which erased him not only from the temples, but also from most recorded history. So we did what we had to do: Follow the only clue we had, which lead to the underground site in the middle of Alexandria.
But of course there had been another problem on tap. While the agency had no qualms with detaining Elizabeth, to let us proceed was something that didn’t come lightly. I had to discuss my recent behaviour with the branch leader, an uncompromising Scottish woman by the name of Marigold Bates. While her name would let one think of a charming person and her appearance was just as gentle, behind the glowing blue eyes and auburn head of wavy hair was a cunning reasoner, with a confidence rivalled only by my own.
Of course she had been notified of my - and by extension Victoria’s - deeds, and the liberties we had taken to come this far, but what she hadn’t been informed of was the real reason. And so I found that the name of my brother opened doors even in this distant, exotic country, where no one should have a reason even to know of him.
How elated I was and how furious it made me feel.
The discussion had taken up most of the night. After only a few hours of sleep, we were on our way in the early morning hours, fueled by a few cups of very strong, Arabian black tea, flavoured with an unholy amount of brown sugar.
It was a mild winter day in the oriental coastal city, and despite the early hour it was already packed with people. Luckily, the freezing cold of Europe didn’t reach all the way to the continent of Africa. As the haze of the morning cleared, the blue sky promised a beautiful day of sunshine. If not for our rush and the general uneasiness, it could have been a pleasant day for a holiday. While we walked in silence, I once again found the envelope in my pocket, which contained that fateful note, and caressed it almost nostalgically.
“This is it,” I pointed at what seemed to be a small park in the middle of the city, after I confirmed our position with help of a map.
The buildings around us were not higher than two floors, rather dilapidated, but still inhabited. It had a more rural feeling to it than the city centre we had just crossed, with a lot of storage buildings around, market carts parked next to half destroyed walls and only a very few people walking about, minding their own business. The area was overgrown and not at all cared for, except for a herd of donkeys keeping the grass down to a minimum. They grazed in and around the low ruins which were spread out through most of the park area.
“I expected a building, not... rubble and donkeys,” Watson admitted.
“Who would build a ritual altar in a place like this?” Victoria was clearly annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her.
“It’s alright,” I put a hand on her shoulder. “The place is supposed to be underground, so it doesn’t matter what the surface looks like.”
We explored the area as if we were clueless visitors to the city - which, if you think about it, described us pretty well. This way, we hoped to catch some unusual details, anything hidden in plain sight, something to show us we were indeed in the right place. At first we walked around and chatted idly. None of the local people paid us any mind. Watson had his doubts about their allegiance, but I laughed and remarked that the most suspicious people around were probably ourselves.
After a while, I found a hole in the ground, covered only by a lid that could be lifted easily. Surrounding it were stacks of material and some tools that could’ve belonged to a carpenter. I took in the scene for a few seconds, then brought over my companions.
“This is it,” I stated.
“Are you sure?” Watson asked, and I shot him a silencing glare.
“What you can see is an abandoned excavation site. There was a layer of sand on the lid, which had built up over time, and the materials to reinforce the structure haven’t been moved in at least five months. The tools belonged to the workers and for a time there were people going in and out of here with heavy carts, still visible in the grooves over there.”
“But if it is a
bandoned, it’s certainly not the place were looking for!” Victoria said.
“So it fooled you too, didn’t it? The path’ surface is too uniform to have been lying barren. With this many free-roaming donkeys around, you’d expect at least some hoofprints. Furthermore, the layer of sand on the lid was recently put on by hand, higher in some places than others and not aligned with the wind direction. As for the material, it’s probably just a front. No one would pay any mind to a group of archaeologists going in and out of a ruin.”
“But what if it’s another trap?” Watson asked nervously.
“You talk like we have a choice,” Victoria stated. “Though we could split up. Two go down, one returns to headquarters to see if Elizabeth woke up.”
“No. Either way, I have a bad feeling,” I shook my head. “I say we all go together.”
We lifted the lid made of old wooden boards, which were haphazardly nailed and bound together, off the hole in the ground. The smell of stale air and ancient rot drifted upwards - one you would normally associate with old cellars or deserted castle dungeons. That particular scent promised cold and dark rooms with little to no light, wrapped in eerie silence. I have visited my fair share of these rooms during my lifetime, and had no desire to do so again, but at least it made me able to anticipate what could possibly lay ahead.
“After you,” Victoria smiled and motioned gentlemanly into the direction of the hole in the ground.
“Ladies first?” I suggested with a smirk on my lips.
Victoria let out an exasperated sigh, but it sounded rather more fond than annoyed.
“Alright, then,” she said and pulled a small box out of a pouch at her belt. Inside the box was a silver object which looked a bit like a pen, but the top was made of a metal ornament with inlaid glass. The agent twisted the two ends of the object into opposite directions, and with the sound of cracking glass the top started to emit a white light.
“Chemical lamp,” she explained to Watson, whose face had taken on an expression of surprise. “Will not last all that long, but I hope they have some sort of illumination down there at the excavation site.”
“Or secret hideout,” Watson supplemented.
“Yes, or that.”
So Victoria went first, as her light illuminated a comfortably large area, despite being so small. The stairs went straight down into the pitch-black darkness. I was the last to enter the subterranean corridor and let the wooden lid fall close behind me. We wanted to avoid anyone following us, even though I knew that we had probably long been revealed, as on every step of our journey so far. But somehow, in my single-mindedness to find Sherlock, I wasn’t even worried about that any more.
I just wanted it to be over.
“There’s a horizontal tunnel straight ahead, but it doesn’t seem to be all that long. I can hear our steps echo differently,” Victoria said as we stepped into the long hallway behind her. “Is it just me or is there a smell of water in the air?”
“No, not just you. But there are traces of burnt oil, as well. Someone has indeed been down here recently,” I added.
Watson inhaled deeply, trying to detect something as well, but the stale air just made him cough. Bless his effort. We carefully walked along the hallway until we reached something that looked like a portal into another world. The corridor opened up into a small room, which contained a doorway twice as high as the previous space. It was flanked by two columns with reliefs of Egyptian gods to either side. It was clear that this had once been the official entrance, and the hallway we had just progressed through had been dug later.
“What are those?” Watson asked reverently.
“They are depictions of the gods Seth and Horus... two gods, whom the Egyptians believed to be locked in an eternal struggle,” I said, glad for the hour I took brushing up on Egyptian mythology the night before. While my brain had the capacity to hold incredible amounts of information, it was never a bad idea to refresh your memory. “Seth represents the desert and Horus the water of the Nile, as far as I remember.”
“So that means we are in the right place?”
“It seems to be connected, at least. At some point Seth became demonized and many of his likenesses were erased from temples and other places of worship. The fact that this is one is still intact is what I’d call a good sign.”
“Demonized?” Watson shook his head. “Sounds about right.”
We continued through the doorway into another short hallway. The walls here were decorated by hieroglyphs and other depictions of Seth. It was an ominous feeling to enter what felt like a grave to me, even though I wasn’t prone to believe in superstition. My companions had slowed their steps, their bodies expressing a healthy amount of fear. Then we arrived at the end of the corridor, where the space once again opened up considerably. We were standing at the top of what seemed to be a large, cylindrical cistern. The stairs continued down in a spiral on the inside wall. The light wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the opposite wall or the bottom of the structure. I picked up a stone fragment from the floor and threw it down into the darkness. After three seconds I heard a splashing noise.
“The water is about fifteen meters down,” I commented. “It might go deeper still - but I suspect the structure hasn’t been built to collect water, but rather happened to fill up over hundreds or thousands of years of neglect.”
Victoria knelt down, shone her light on the ground and carefully inched forward. “The stairs seem fine. Someone has cleaned them recently. If we keep to the wall, we should have no trouble on our descent.”
“What do you think we’ll find?” Watson whispered nervously. The vast space and the darkness below made him feel visibly uneasy.
“I could only speculate...”
Even I dreaded to think of what would happen to me, should I trip and fall down into the dark waters, but it was most definitely beneath me to reveal any such thoughts. One of us had to keep a clear head, and I was always that one. The wall was wet and just a bit slimy, but I put on my leather gloves and kept my hands to it anyway. Rather ruin a pair of good gloves than fall into the abyss.
We descended very slowly, everyone carefully placed their feet one at a time. The stairs were not connected, but rather just coarse stone slabs sticking out of the walls in a downwards spiral. The only confidence in their integrity came from the knowledge that other people must have walked up and down here not long ago. As we arrived at the side opposite of our entry point, a hole opened up in the wall, like a small doorway, but missing its door. It was constructed in the same way as the main entrance, only with some additional statues of the gods instead of simple reliefs. There was another hallway leading away from the cistern, though much narrower and with a low ceiling. A recess right at the entrance contained a stash of items: Lamps, rolled up parchments, drawing supplies and some wrapped up parcels.
“So there are actually archaeologists down here?” the doctor said in surprise. “It might still turn out to be just a normal dig site.”
“Never jump to a conclusion before you know all the facts, Dr. Watson,” I rebutted. “Come on.”
“I will stay here. Signal me if anything goes wrong. You have a whistle?” Victoria asked.
“Of course,” I answered readily and patted the breast pocket of my jacket.
Watson picked up one of the oil lamps, lit it with a matchstick and handed it to me. The light was not as bright as Victoria’s chemical device, but in the narrow passageway it sufficed. As we inched forward, we encountered more recesses on each side. Some of them were empty, but the farther we walked, the more clear it became that the place could be labeled a catacomb. Scenes from the Egyptian Book of the Dead were painted on the walls, giving the place a sinister feel. Still, they were beautifully rendered, and I regretted not having enough time to examine them more closely. We were surrounded by securely wrapped-up mummies tucked int
o their low stone graves, and almost all sarcophagi had been opened, lids on the floor. The air grew staler by the minute. I held a handkerchief in front of my nose and mouth to avoid breathing in the dust of millennia.
“I can see signs of actual archaeological work, although they are few and far between... and rather sloppy,” I said and my words broke the absolute silence, which reigned down here. It made Watson jump a little, which I could feel even though he walked behind me.
“I don’t claim to be an expert on these kind of excavations, but other than rather little work being done, I don’t see anything suspicious? If it’s privately funded, maybe they ran out of money or are working with a skeleton crew?” the doctor wondered. “What makes you think the work has been carried out sloppily?”
“The places, in which the graves have been disturbed do not follow any pattern. This seems to me like they just placed some objects here and there to evoke the feeling of work being done in case anyone would want to inspect the place,” I explained. “And if it is indeed privately funded, I would expect to see a lot of workers slaving away down here. These projects run on tight budgets. If you’d given money to run a venture like this, wouldn’t you want results fast?”
“Yes, I guess you’re right.”
It was a curious feeling to have a supportive person accompany me... but not so much it made me want to repeat the effort.
The hallway was a dead end. I heard Watson grumble as we turned around and made our way back towards the central cistern. But something was off, as I couldn’t spot Victoria’s light at the end of the low tunnel. Then I heard my agent companion click her tongue twice in quick succession and immediately ordered Watson to stay behind with the lamp.
I drew a gun and doubled my speed to reach Victoria’s position, which was now shrouded in darkness, as she had retreated into the corridor and thrown away her light so as to not give away her location. A few seconds later I joined her on the ground of the corridor, half hidden behind a pile of deserted wooden planks.
