Owl and the City of Angels (36 page)

She nodded, taking in the expansiveness the same way I was. “The outside might not be much, but this puts the Ramses and Nefertari river temples to shame.”

Carefully, using the map as a guide, we headed into the next chamber. My flashlight showed this one had the same high ceilings as the first, but it stretched out into the cliff side farther than my flashlight beam reached. Statues of the Egyptian pantheon had been used to shore up the ceiling, in lieu of more traditional pillars with hieroglyphs.

I wondered how much of Ramses and Nefertari’s budget had been diverted Passer’s way.

“Main chamber,” Nadya said, glancing down at my map.

The map showed four exits from this room. The one at the back led to the burial room—where all the treasure was—and the left and right ones led to the living quarters and workroom, respectively. All the traps listed on the map were on the way to the burial chamber—no big surprise there. We’d try the workroom first, then treasure and burial rooms, then the living quarters. “Hopefully Passer follows the designed living layout and we find the book in the workroom minus him,” I said.

Nadya snorted but didn’t argue the search plan. Captain stayed close. When there aren’t any vampires, he’s a surprisingly attentive cat.

Flashlights out, we wound our way through the pillars. I counted the gods I recognized off the top of my head: Horus, Anubis, Aken, Ammit, Osiris, Nebthet . . . “Every Egyptian god of the underworld is on display,” I said to Nadya.

My earpiece clicked as someone switched the line on. “Passer was known for his obsession with the underworld—particularly the goddess Ammit,” came Carpe, of all people.

Ammit was the crocodile-headed god of the underworld. No hell for those judged unworthy, just the eating and vanquishing of the soul. I did not need to know about Passer’s obsession with the soul-eating crocodile goddess right now, thank you very much. “Not helping,” I said, wondering how he’d gotten online. Must have switched to line two by accident. I went to switch back to line one, only to find it was already on line one.

“I thought you two were discussing Egyptian gods,” he replied.

“Carpe, what the hell are you doing on Rynn’s line?”

“It’s quiet out here and I wanted to see what was going on. I thought I could help.”

Oh for Christ’s . . .

“This is not one of Alix’s video games,” Nadya said.

“Yet I’m the one who knew about the crocodile goddess. And I call bullshit about relevancy, Alix. The obsession is totally relevant and hints at the types of traps you’re likely to encounter—”

OK, point made, but I wasn’t about to acknowledge it. “Put Rynn back on and go back to getting the map of Syria—need I remind you, the
only
reason we are here.”

Carpe and I were going to have a little talk when we got out of here about the difference between video games and real life—

I swore as pain spiked through my head . . .

Nadya was staring at me, an intense look in her eyes.

“If Rynn and Carpe are going to fight over you, you could have the decency to tell them to do so in private.”

Wait . . . what? “I think you are grossly misunderstanding the dynamics here—” Besides, the bickering had more to do with Rynn hating the elf, and Carpe being . . . well . . . Carpe, the backstabbing elf.

Nadya snorted, and her lip curled up in a sneer. “I suppose you could just keep leading them on. That does fit with your cruel streak. Rynn will win, by the way—he’s more devious than the elf, and when push comes to shove isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.”

“OK, pretty sure that’s not a compliment—”

Nadya didn’t let me finish. “I still haven’t forgotten what happens to your friends. I’ll run before I’ll let you lock me in a tomb,” she said as she quirked her head to the side. “Maybe I should lock you in here instead.”

A chill ran down the back of my neck, and in spite of my fever I clenched my fists. That was way the hell out of bounds. “Not OK bringing up Marie, not now—”

The pain flared again, forcing me to shut my eyes and clasp both sides of my head until it dissipated. Nadya was watching me with concern. Captain sniffed my shoes and mewed.

“Why would I bring up Marie?” Nadya said.

Nausea hit me as a metallic taste filled my mouth. I covered my mouth to stop myself from puking. Hallucination number two—and I was starting to see a pattern. “Nothing, just the curse rearing its ugly head.”

She frowned but nodded. “We should keep moving and find this stupid book before it happens again.”

I couldn’t have agreed more.

We reached the entrance passageway to Passer’s workroom. The ceiling was lower, only six feet compared to the ten of the main chamber. Nadya and I both checked for traps—twice—before stepping inside.

If you were an ancient Egyptian wielding a substantial amount of power, one of the benefits of a temple like this over a pyramid was the fact that it was harder to find—and had more ways for potential thieves to get lost. Contrary to popular belief, there was not a lot of room inside pyramids. Lots of crawl spaces though, but you were more likely to find a dead end you couldn’t turn yourself around in than treasure.

Temples offered more variety—and booby traps.

Nadya swore as she tripped over a raised tile. I stopped her before she could take another step forward and shone my flashlight down. It was a four-by-four plate depicting a particularly gruesome funeral ceremony, where a man was having his soul devoured by none other than Ammit. I scanned ahead. The floor up until the next room was covered in the larger plate tiles—three per row. Out of the first six, four depicted scenes of the underworld; a deceased’s soul being weighed against the feather of Maat followed by said deceased’s lackluster soul being eaten by Ammit, the jackal-headed Anubis fighting with a god I didn’t recognize, and finally one of Osiris rising from his bier. Two of the tiles—on opposite ends, a row apart—did not fit with the narrative. A picture of the cat goddess Bast, a sun god and protector of the pharaoh, at the far right of the first row, and the scarab beetle Khepry, bringer of the dawn, on the far left of the second row.

I crouched to check the edges. Sure enough, they were mobile. “How much do you want to bet you step on the wrong tile a trap goes off?”

Nadya swore. “I thought the elf said there were no traps this way.”

“I think it was an educated guess more than anything else.” I switched to line two. “Hey Carpe, plate trap, aisle one on the way to the storeroom. I need to know what it does.”

“Oh now you want my help—”

“I can still turn around,” I interrupted.

“Just a sec,” he said, followed by manic typing on the other end. “Ahh, either the floor collapses, plummeting you to your death, or the roof collapses from above.”

“Well, which is it?”

“I don’t know. I’m translating from old architect notes.”

“So go into World Quest and find out,” I said.

“I can’t do that. It isn’t ethical—”

“Ethical? You already broke World Quest. Teleport your avatar over to Egypt and find out what the trap does.”

“The Syrian City of the Dead is an exception. I bartered that for the book, which I already told you is a matter of utmost importance—life and death. It was an ethical exception I was willing to make.”

“So is this, you good-for-nothing elf! And might I point out if we die, you also don’t get your book?”

“So not the same. Besides, you already know it’s a trap—block crushes you from above or the floor drops. Don’t step on the wrong tile—I have complete faith in you. Now get back to finding my book, and I’ll get back to getting your map,” he said, and the line snapped dead.

“Goddamn son of an elven bitch—” I didn’t have nearly enough insults for elves. I switched back to line one.

“What are you doing?” Nadya asked.

“Getting Rynn to ‘persuade’ it out of him,” I said. The line snapped open. “Hey Rynn, feel like beating up Carpe?”

But Rynn wasn’t on the other line. It was Carpe. Again.

“Yeah, hacking Rynn’s comm system is nothing compared to World Quest. Suck it up, princess.”

“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.