The Osiris Curse

by Paul Crilley

  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 st
opped 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.”

  “I told you to stay out of Tesla's murder,” said Chase.

  “We did,” said Octavia, emerging with Molock from their hiding place. “We were searching for my mother.”

  “Octavia,” said Chase. “I'm disappointed in you. I thought you had more sense.”

  “You're disappointed in me? That's rich. I'm not the one who's a member of some secret Egyptian cult that wants to hand over super weapons to the lizard-men.”

  “I say,” said Molock. “That's a bit strong.”

  “Sorry,” said Octavia.

  “You have no idea wha
t you're talking about,” snarled Chase. “Now get out of here and let me do my job.”

  “Can't do that, old chap,” said Tweed. “You've been a bit naughty.”

  “I haven't been anything. You're insane!” Chase switched the gun and pointed it at Tweed. “Now back off.”

  Temple quickly yanked his own gun free and pointed it at Chase. “Drop it, Chase. We can take you in and discuss this at the Ministry.”

  Chase smiled bitterly. “So that's how it's going to be, is it?”

  “That's how it's going to be,” agreed Temple.

  A deep thrumming suddenly echoed through the chamber. Tweed felt a vibration running up through his feet. Stones and dust pattered to the ground.

  “What—?” began Octavia.

  Chase made a sudden lunge for Temple. Temple fired his gun, the explosion echoing around the chamber. Chase cried out and dropped to the ground, a red stain spreading across his chest. Temple glanced down at him then turned and sprinted back for the entrance.

  “Wait here!” he shouted over his shoulder. “It could be members of the Order of Osiris. Come to back him up.”

  Tweed hurried over to check on Chase. He felt for a pulse. It was still there. Fluttering, erratic, but he wasn't dead yet.

  Chase's eyes flickered open and he glared at Tweed with pain-filled eyes. “Ruined everything again, Tweed.”

  “Ruined your plan, you mean.”

  “My plan? You…you idiot. I'm not the traitor. I'm one of those who keep…who keep knowledge of the lizards from everyone else. That's my job. That's why I'm here. To stop Nehi and Sekhem from carrying out their plan.”

  Tweed frowned. “But…you were pointing your gun at Temple.”

  “Use your head! He's a traitor. He's in league with the lizards.”

  “But…how did you know about this place?”

  “That's…that's thanks to you. You showed me the symbol. I knew it was the cult. Followed the clues here. Didn't expect to find Temple, though. But I've always had a funny feeling about him.”

  Tweed glanced over his shoulder to where Temple had disappeared. Temple was the traitor? Could it be?

  “Always trying to figure stuff out on your own,” said Chase weakly. “That was always your problem. Too clever to listen. Too good to think there were others with more…more experience than you.”