Disclaimers: The Mummy/The Mummy Returns and all the characters of, do not belong to me. K.P. and all the characters that weren't in the movie do belong to me, unless otherwise indicated. Feel free to borrow any characters that you like (just let me know!). Certain elements are borrowed from the fantastic author Elizabeth Peters – if you're a fan, you'll probably recognize what I'm talking about. If you've never read the Amelia Peabody series, you'd better put that on your Christmas reading list.
Rating: Let's say PG-13 for now.
Archive: Sure! Absolutely! Just let me know so I can visit!
Feedback: I'll write this story on demand. The more feedback I get, the more chapters you get. I'm such a con artist. Please oh please tell me what you think!!
Thanks: Eternally, to Fox for the beta and all the folks over at The Mummy list (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/The_Mummy ) for inspiration and support. By the way, there's one heck of a RPG goin' on over there now – check it out, and join!
A/N: This occurs after 'The Mummy Returns' and is, I feel I should warn you, a Jonathan Fic. I like Jonathan, I think he deserves a little happiness. The O'Connell Family and some other staple Mummy characters may make an appearance. Also – clichéd, you say? What else would you expect from me? Clichés are fun!
The Papyrus Of Nebt-Setau
By Len
Saith Osiris Ani, triumphant: Lady of Terrors, lofty of walls, sovereign lady, mistress of destruction, disposer of words which repulse destroyers, delivering from destruction the traveler along the way.
- The Book Of The Dead, Papyrus of Ani. Translation by E.A. Wallis Budge
Thebes, 2279 B.C.
Her bare feet made no sound on the stone as she hurried though the hall. She moved, not with the grace of a princess, but with the confidence borne of wisdom and experience. Reaching the back of the hall, she sat, folding long legs under herself. Then she picked up the stylus.
Time was running out – she could feel it. The person was always standing just out of sight, in the wings, in the shadows. Watching her. Waiting for his chance.
Murmuring the magical words under her breath, Nebt-Setau finished writing the spell, and sighed. Only one more thing to do, and then all would be safe. She had faithfully served Seti for ten years, and she had no intention of failing the Pharaoh after death. But the shadow was coming for her, and she knew her only strength lay in words.
"Lady," a voice said, echoing through the uncomfortably cavernous hall. Nebt-Setau looked up. A man, dressed in the robes of a commoner stood next to her, appearing out of thin air. He was a thief, but oddly enough, the only one she trusted.
"Djer," she smiled affectionately, extending a hand. The thief cautiously took it, emotion over-riding common sense. He knew that the penalty for being caught in the Lady's presence, much less in physical contact, would be great. But he had a feeling that the human side of Her was aching for human contact. He could see it in her eyes. And it was the least he could do.
"You sent for me, Kiya?" he asked, using the name she had told him when they first met – in the market place.
"Yes. He still watches me. And I'm going to die soon."
Djer blinked and almost squeezed her hand painfully. "What? He won't – there must be some way we can stop him. Let me help you, Kiya. We can destroy him."
She smiled, but the smile never reached her eyes. Green and gold – very unusual eyes, the mark of a God. Rebirth, power, knowledge, life, magic. "We can. But I will not survive, and I'll need you to do something for me. Will you?"
"Anything."
"Guard this," she directed, pressing something into his hand. "You must not let it fall into the possession of Montuemhat. Without it, my power cannot be used. The spells are useless."
"But-" he swallowed, trying to understand how his Lady was able to embrace her own death so easily. He himself spent everyday trying to avoid that very same condition. "But why not just destroy the spells? Destroy this?" he asked, unfolding his fingers from around the lapis and gold amulet.
"Because they may be needed. If there ever comes a time when the Pharaoh's land is in peril, my power will return to this world to fight. The spells and the amulet will be needed."
"But they can also be used for evil."
"That's right. Magic's rather odd, isn't it Djer? But I won't have to worry about that – I have you to protect against it."
The words were said with a conviction and trust that the thief had never heard before, and icy fingers of grief curled around his soul. What would he do without his old friend? "You do. My service – my heart – is yours forever."
Nebt-Setau's eyes widened at the depth of emotion she heard from the usually joking man. It soothed her like a warm ray of sun and the last of her fears were calmed. She gazed up at Djer, extending a hand until it just brushed his chest, right above his heart. "And mine is yours. Forever."
Endless moments passed before the sounds of approaching footsteps interrupted them. "You must go. And thank you, Djer."
He nodded, and started to move back into the shadows. But not before throwing her a decidedly roguish wink. A sudden feeling had come over him. He knew he'd be seeing Kiya again.
She was smiling when Monuemhat's priests came marching into the hall to take her away.
Alexandria, Egypt. 1934She never realized how much she loved land. She loved absolutely everything about it. The solidity, the smell, the dust, the small bits of trash scattered here and there…if there hadn't been so many people around, she would have dropped to her knees and kissed it. Well…maybe not…but very nearly.
As it was, the Alexandria pier was quite crowded, smelling vaguely of rotting fish and burnt bread. The woman took a deep breath and looked around. So this was Egypt. It was…what was it?
Katherine looked around as she regained her land legs, attempting to put her impressions in sentence form. Dusty streets and honking motorcars, fish, well-dressed travelers and raggedy dock workers, more fish…she stared off into space, smiling. Then without warning, she found herself flying off her feet and into her neatly stacked suitcases.
"Will you please watch where you're going?" she demanded, glaring at her assailant. The camel simply grunted, but its turbaned jockey glared right back. He shouted something that sounded like, "Sit on a shell a porky road." The words she couldn't understand – but the tone was one easily recognizable the world over. It was the "Go bake a muffin, woman" tone, and it was part of the reason she left the States in the first place. Summoning all her dignity, she stood, dusted off her suit, and brushed past the camel to retrieve her luggage.
It was fine luggage, she reflected. The last wholly unnecessary purchase she had made in the states. If she was to become a world famous, globetrotting journalist, she should have the accessories. Plus, her father had always preached on the value of good luggage – it keeps the thieves out, and hell – it could even save your life some day!
She traced the monogram on the corner of one tooled-leather bag, feeling her name, K. Pennington, beneath her fingers. Yes, this was the last bit of luxury she could afford. And the steamer ticket had been nearly the last bit of anything she could afford, which was why this scheme had to work. It simply had to.
Katherine heaved up her bags and made her way towards the train station. She was destined for Cairo. That was where the story of a lifetime was presently residing, waiting for the winter excavation season to begin.
Just Outside Cairo, Egypt"Uncle Jon! Uncle Jon!" Alex yelled, running into the room like a small whirlwind. "Guess what?"
His Uncle Jon looked up from the newspaper he was currently pursuing. He'd been hoping to find a couple of arrest notices for some of his more unpleasant…acquaintances. Unfortunately there had only been one, but Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief that Abdul El-Bassim was, at least for the moment, in police custody. The more bars and walls between that fellow and himself, the better, he figured.
"Don't tell me…don't tell me…" he pretended to think hard, "I know…You've been digging in the garden and stumbled across the lost tomb of Haremhab?" he asked.
This brought a smile to young Alex's face. "No! Mum and Dad are going to the museum today and said I could go with you to town!"
Jonathan waited with raised eyebrows for Alex to explain why that was a good thing. Unfortunately, his nephew decided to leave this part to his imagination and continued to jump up and down.
"Town?" Jonathan said weakly. "Alex, why on earth would you want to go and loiter around that old place?"
Alex plopped down in the chair across from him. "I dunno. Why do you like loitering around that old place? Hey – I know! You could take me to a play!"
"No…." the man imagined what his sister's reaction would be if she found out he'd taken her eldest child to one of the "plays" around Cairo. He was sure a lecture would be the least of it. And after last night, he really wasn't in the mood for any more violence. His ribs ached with every breath.
"Okay, then where do you want to go? C'mon, Uncle Jon, you can't stay cooped up at home all day!"
Why not? It seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to him. He felt like he'd been given a thorough going-over with a cricket bat. In fact, he wasn't at all sure that that wasn't what had happened…
Oh. Alex was still talking. Jonathan decided to pay more attention to the young whippersnapper, or he may find himself agreeing to something that his sister Evie would not approve of.
"…new specimens. I've run out. Kalila chucked the last lot I had sitting on the bureau."
Kalila was frequently "chucking" things Alex brought into the house, and constantly complaining about the mess. Jonathan himself didn't quite understand why the housekeeper made such a fuss – boys will be boys, after all, and a little dirt never hurt anyone. Not that Jonathan himself was terribly fond of being dirty, but he fondly remembered the joy that a nine year old can find at the bottom of a mud puddle. He smiled indulgently at his energetic young nephew. No need to ruin the child's fun now – that would happen soon enough when he was shipped off to school again.
"Righto, old boy," he said, dropping the paper on the table and standing. "You've sold me. To the bazaar it is, then."
"Ripper!" Alex cried. "Hang on – let me just go get…" he sprinted out of the room, causing a few papers to flutter off a desk and dust to swirl up into the air, reflecting the noon sun. Egypt was a terribly dusty country, Jonathan mussed, for no particular reason.
Shepherds Hotel, CairoIt was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon before Katherine was able to summon the energy to leave her hotel room. The train ride really hadn't been too bad, apart from the rather incredible amount of dust. Egypt was a terribly dusty country. She hoped it wouldn't ruin her photography equipment.
The train came a stop at the Cairo station – Bab El-Hadid, which according to Katherine's guidebook was right in the heart of Cairo. She stepped from the train, clutching her bags, and looked around in wonderment at the bustling station and the pyramids she could see in the skyline. She had finally made it! If only her father could see her now – he would have been so proud.
Her father, Arthur Pennington, had been a newspaper correspondent for nearly thirty-five years. Egypt, China, Kenya, Turkey, Brazil, Australia…there was scarcely a country on the planet that he hadn't visited and written about. It was this wandering life-style that brought about his eventual end, in fact. He'd contracted some rare and exotic disease in Siam during his last assignment, and it quickly took hold of his body.
Now Katherine shook her head sadly as she examined her reflection in the hotel mirror. Her father had died quietly the previous June, leaving Katherine with a small inheritance, a wanderlust of her own, and his blessing to "go forth and write".
The latter proved to be more difficult than she had imagined. Even in these modern times, female journalists were few and far between. Editors simply didn't want to hire them for any other position than society writers.
Katherine made a face at the mirror, and squinted at her sunburned nose. She had served her time on the society circuit, and actually done quite well. But it wasn't exciting – she'd hated it. And last year, in the middle of describing Pinky Titherton's new gown down to the last gaudy sequin, she abruptly decided she would rather gnaw off her own hand than ever write for the society column again.
This she told her editor the next day. Then she told him she'd like to be considered for the position of Times' correspondent to Austria. After all, she spoke good German, and with the reports she'd been hearing from other journalists, the Times should have another man – or woman, as it were – over there. Mr. Kelley laughed, said if she didn't like where she was she could leave. So Katherine told him to go boil his head, and then packed up her desk.
It had been a damn-fool thing to do. Times were tough, and any job – even that of a society writer – was a godsend. But now, thanks to her own big mouth, she was unemployed. Way to go, Kate, she thought sarcastically.
Katherine sighed again at her reflection. She tried to flatten her curly brown hair and failed. One didn't need to look beautiful to visit bazaars, but it wouldn't do to resemble something the cat dragged in. Good grief – was it any wonder no one wanted to hire her? She hardly looked professional!
Well, she would show them. She would net the O'Connell interview, and bring it to the National Geographic Society on a silver platter. They'd have to take her seriously then.
The only trouble would be getting Dr. O'Connell to talk to her. It was well-known that the Egyptologist was more than a little camera-shy when it came to her personal field discoveries. In fact, no journalist yet had managed to get an interview with her. Nor was there any solid documentations of her recent work, as Dr. O'Connell's field journal from the '32-'33 season had been lost in a sandstorm, and the dig itself hadn't been successful. Or so the Cairo Museum curator had claimed in his wire.
Normally Katherine would accept this explanation. But there were rumors that Dr. O'Connell and her family had made a fabulous discovery. Yet, no proof. Not a particle. When she added that to the British Museum being ransacked the very same night of the O'Connells abrupt departure for Egypt…well, Katherine suspected something odd was going on. She had enough sense to know that scholars didn't simply "lose" their findings, and that brick buildings didn't explode on their own. Yes, it was certainly very odd…
Midan Ataba Bazaar, CairoJonathan looked around the bazaar frantically. He'd lost him. Evie was going to be furious. Rick was going to skin him alive! How in heaven's name was he going to explain this?
"Alex!" he yelled over the noise of the traders. A large woman in a dark robe apparently took this as her cue to wave a handful of incense under his nose. He sneezed. "Oh – no thank you…er…La shukran," he said, declining politely and backing away. She shrugged and pounced on the people behind him. He resumed the search.
"Alex! Oh, for God's sake, come out! This isn't funny!" he yelled, continuing to push through the crowds. "Alex!"
This certainly wasn't funny. His nephew had picked up on Jonathan's genius for getting into scrapes, but hadn't yet learned how to get out of them. And after recent events, Jonathan really didn't want the boy out of his sight. No telling what could happen to him. Oh, if he'd only taught Alex to avoid people who wished to cause bodily harm! Rick had been responsible for teaching his son certain self-defense techniques, but when your assailants were three times your size, Jonathan doubted that those would help much.
Jonathan had a brief flash of all the horrible things that could be happening to his nephew at that moment. If Abdul El-Bassim and his associates really wanted revenge, there would be no greater revenge then for them to harm Alex. He only hoped that they didn't have enough sense to realize that.
What was truly unfair about the entire El-Bassim predicament was that Jonathan hadn't done anything. Sure he'd given good old Abdul a sound whipping at the card table. But, by gad, he'd done it honestly.
El-Bassim, as it turned out, was a rotten loser. Jonathan had discovered this when some of his men had plucked him out of an Imad ad-Din nightclub last night and dragged him to a nearby alley. It had been nearly three a.m. before he was able to return home, so fortunately none of his family had witnessed his state of disarray.
Oh ho! There was an antique seller! Alex was probably there, haggling happily with the merchant. Jonathan had probably been worrying unnecessarily…yes, there was his little tow-headed nephew now…
"Ow!" somebody squeaked. Jonathan looked down, and discovered he was standing on the foot of a rather attractive young lady. She was glaring at him – and she had beautiful eyes, the color of the sea with ribbons of gold…Gold was such a lovely color, wasn't it?
"Excuse me," she said, interrupting his thoughts, "but that happens to be my foot you're treading on!"
Jonathan immediately stepped back, embarrassed. "Oh! Terribly sorry! Here – let me get that for you—" he stooped to retrieve her handbag, then returned it with a flourish. She reminded him of someone – or perhaps they had met before? He considered asking if she had been at the nightclub last night, and decided against it.
She took the bag. "Thank you."
"Not at all. I'll – er – I'd best be on my way then." Before he left, he reached up as if to tip his hat and realized he wasn't wearing one. To make matters worse, he could feel her eyes on him as he stumbled and tripped his way through the crowds.
"Uncle Jon!" Alex exclaimed. "Look what I've found! An almost exact match to the one Kalila chucked! What luck!"
"Eh? Jolly good, jolly good," he said, patting the boy on the head and sneaking one last look over his shoulder. The woman was gone. Jonathan sighed. "Ready to head back? I'm sure your mum will be wanting to discuss matters with you."
Alex forked over an amount of money, and nodded. "Sure thing. Thanks for taking me here, Uncle Jon. I really appreciate it." This thanks, issued with Alex's childish, lisping solemnity, made Jonathan grin.
"Don't mention it, my boy."
As Alex chattered on about his remarkable find, Jonathan scanned the crowds. Perhaps it was fatigue, perhaps paranoia, but he had been certain he'd caught sight of one of last night's attackers, slipping behind one of the stalls.
You're getting old, Carnahan. The eyes are always the first thing to go, they say…or was it the memory? He couldn't remember, but either way it proved his point…
Then his nephew tugged on his sleeve, and he forgot about it.
~*~
Katherine watched the retreating man and forlornly examined her handbag, which had been dropped and then trampled when he bumped into her. He'd looked vaguely familiar; although with his kind smile and laughing eyes, it was unlikely he was one of the swells she had written of on the society beat. All the same, he seemed familiar…and of course, he had stood on her. Kate decided that if she wasn't going to get taller – and at twenty-nine, it was likely she was not – she should put on some weight. She was sick and tired of get jostled and sat on, and pushed over, and…
She continued pacing in front of the stalls, grumbling all the while. She had been instructed to come to the Midan Ataba bazaar by her contact from the British Embassy – a Mr. Charles McNally. He would meet her there at three o'clock sharp with, as he put it, bells on.
Katherine passed the point of caring what he had on twenty minutes ago. The Egyptian afternoon sun, even in winter, was baking. Where was he? She scowled, and a woman in a large black robe apparently took this as her cue to shove a handful of some sort of aromatic substance under her nose. She sneezed and backed away, shaking her head, but the woman followed her. "No thanks…um…nein…um…oh heck – how much?"
The Arabic woman held up three fingers. Katherine withdrew the amount from her purse, and was given a neatly tied bag of the stuff. She shook it dubiously, and then went back to scanning the crowds for her contact.
When he suggested they meet in a slightly out-of-the way location, she'd realized the difficulty this presented. How do you locate a person you've never met before? McNally solved this by asking for her hair color and measurements. The twit. Naturally, she'd told him she was a brunette and hung up.
Patience was something she really needed to work on, she decided, kicking idly at the dust. Now it would take a miracle for him to find her….
"Miss Pennington?" Katherine spun around. Goodness. That was a little startling. Even more startling was the fact that she had to crane her neck at a painful angle just to be able to make out the Scotsman's face.
McNally had a rather florid complexion, but still appeared cool and collected despite the temperature. Of course, he'd probably only just stelled out from his nice cool office. Kate fought the urge to pummel him with her handbag. "Mr. McNally, I presume?" she asked, smiling politely. "I'm happy you could make it."
He reminded her of a large orange grizzly bear. "Sorry to keep you waiting. You weren't waiting long, I hope?"
"Only half an hour."
"Good, good. How about a bite to eat?" he asked, pulling her arm through his and towing her away from the bazaar. "Or some tea?"
He was leading her through traffic and across the street. Katherine tried, unsuccessfully, to retrieve her arm. "Actually, I'm fine. I was hoping we could get down to business?"
"How about a coffee? You should relax a little, Miss Pennington. As the natives say, bugra."
Kate smirked. "You mean bukkra, Mr. McNally? Tomorrow?"
His only response was a growl, and a sharp tug on her arm. He pushed open the door of a coffee shop to the cheerful tinkle of a bell. Kate took stock of her surroundings. It was a bizarre mix of the east and west; traditional wall hangings were displayed next to Coca-Cola "Around The Corner From Anywhere" promotional signs, men sucked on Nargilehs while sitting next to a soda jerk. McNally shouted out an order to an invisible waiter, this time in Arabic that was well outside the range of her Baedeker guide.
He left her to seat herself, and sat down in one of the precariously constructed chairs with a thud. "So, you want to know about Evelyn O'Connell, eh?" McNally asked her, tapping a tattoo on the tabletop. He had very small hands for a man his size, she noted.
"That's right. To begin with, where can I find her? I've heard that she has a winter home on the
outskirts of Cairo."
McNally shook his head. "Laidee – I wouldn't dare set foot on their property, if I were you. That Mr. O'Connell threw the last reporter who tried down a flight of stairs. Sprained his writing hand, too."
"But surely with the right approach –"
"No. Try the Museum. She's there most days, and O'Connell can't call you a trespasser if you're on public land. But look out for him anyway."
"I'm sure I'll be fine, Mr. McNally," Kate said with more confidence than she felt. Threw him down a flight of stairs?
The orange-haired man shrugged. "I never disagree with a lady," he said. "But you watch yourself. I would hate to see an international incident."
Kate felt something touch her ankle, and her eyes narrowed. 'I'll show you an international incident, you lecherous—' she thought.
"Well, Mr. McNally, I was hoping there was something else you could tell me. After all, you do have the insider's advantage…"
The coffee arrived. Kate recognized it as Turkish – her father had been quite fond of it while he'd been alive. However, it had the consistency of syrup, and just the small amount held in the tiny cups was enough to evoke a coughing fit. McNally offered her a cup. She shook her head, so he downed both of them in quick succession.
"As a matter of fact," he gasped out, his face turning even redder, "I do have a few more words for the wise. O'Connell's brother – Carnahan – stay away from him. He's a notorious lounge lizard if I ever saw one. Word on the street is he's in trouble."
Kate was tempted to inquire how a man of McNally's size and abrasive temperament was able to get reliable street news, but refrained. "Trouble? Like with the police?"
McNally stood, and smiled down wolfishly. "Och no. No police. Abdul El-Bassim."
"Who's that?"
"He's jus' the leader of the largest crime ring in Cairo. Or he's suspected of being. People who get mixed up with him don' usually live to point any fingers."
Without another word he left the coffee shop. Kate sat and studied the stains on the table, trying to put her picture of the O'Connell/Carnahan family together. Exploding museums, rumors of locust infestations, mysterious funding…and the brother, who was in trouble again.
Rumors, rumors, rumors. Hardly the stuff from which good stories were made. None of it fit…unless…hmm…
Kate ordered a coca-cola but never got a chance to drink it. Because as she sat there putting all the pieces together, a seedy-looking man walked in through the front door of the café, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, and walked out through the kitchens. Kate was so surprised she didn't even put up a struggle.
The Egyptian Museum, CairoThe Egyptian Museum, a palatial structure located on the rather busy Maydan El Tahrir, was the O'Connell family's favorite haunt. After all, who needed the French Riviera when you could spend your vacation in stacks of dusty books and rotting bits of bone, Jonathan wondered. Alex had practically grown up there, and could walk the halls blindfolded without creating any of the accident-induced havoc that seemed to plague his Uncle.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the boy took off like a shot, leaving Jonathan behind to try and soothe the annoyed tourists. For pity's sake, he thought, the place wasn't a church. Make one tiny peep and they're all ready to toss you out on your—
"Jonathan Carnahan?" A slightly accented voice ground out. Jonathan felt a prickle of alarm that coincidentally coincided with the prick of a knife blade being applied to his ribs.
"Er – sorry. Wrong man. I think you just missed – oof! Hey there – steady on!"
The objection had, as he'd predicted, no affect whatsoever. The accented man and his cohort each took an arm and carried him into the less popular Papyri Room, with Jonathan smiling apologetically at the now very annoyed tourists.
The lighting in that room, in order to preserve the ancient manuscripts, was very poor – precisely the lighting preferred by thugs the world 'round, Jonathan thought. Then he winced as they slammed him into a wall.
"Where is it?" the larger of the two men growled, pressing the tip of another knife into Jonathan's throat just hard enough to draw blood.
"Where is what? You know, there are maps available in the lobby if you want to find a particular—"
"The papyrus. What have you done with it?"
The Englishman grinned nervously. "I say, chaps, I really don't know what you're talking about, but perhaps if you put me down we can discuss this over drinks?"
This was perhaps not the best approach. The two put him back on his feet and grinned menacingly at him. The larger one, he noted, had two gold teeth that gave him the look of an overgrown, ugly, chipmunk.
Summoning up the absolute last particle of bravado he possessed, Jonathan laughed nervously. "You don't drink, then? Fair enough. How about dinner? Lunch? Afternoon tea?"
Chipmunk cracked his knuckles. Jonathan gulped.
And then quite suddenly, Chipmunk Man's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the floor.
Not one to let opportunity pass him by, Jonathan felled the other attacker with a strategically placed kick. Then he looked over at his rescuer, and his eyes widened in surprise.
It was the woman from the bazaar. Standing over the unconscious man, she looked worriedly at the statuette in her hand. "Oh no - I hope I haven't broken it!"
Jonathan took it from her and examined it. "Not at all. Bronze, you see?" he tapped on it and was rewarded with a ringing sound. "The goddess Sekhmet, no less. Egyptian goddess of War."
Kate giggled. She wasn't normally a giggler, but she'd just been abducted, robbed, and assaulted. To top that off, she'd just had her first knock out. She figured it was fair that her nerves be a little strained. "How very appropriate. Should we leave, do you think? That one seems to be getting up."
The man was certainly trying to. He managed to get to his feet, still doubled over and whimpering slightly. Kate thought she saw a faint glimmer of sympathy cross the Englishman's face, and then he politely guided her out of the room. And slammed the door shut behind him. Then he stuck a chair under the doorknob, and sat in it.
"Whew!" he said, taking out a handkerchief with a flourish and wiping his face with it. Kate gestured vaguely.
"You…er…you missed a spot." At his confused look, she spelled it out for him. "You're bleeding. Your throat."
"Eh? Oh! So I am. Vicious buggers, those fellows." The door behind him thudded, and Kate winced. Jonathan grinned broadly and leaned back in the chair. "We're perfectly safe, I imagine. He's wedged in tight. Basic physics, my dear – that's all you need to out-wit these muscle-brained brutes—"
Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, Jonathan recognized the folly of uttering them. Sure enough, a volley of machine-gun fire immediately erupted from the Papyri Room, followed by a crash. And then – nothing but blackness.
TBC in chapter two (entitled 'Damnation – not another pair of cursed lovers!'), wherein Kate reveals many troubling bits of information including how she happened to be Jonathan's Janey-On-The-Spot, we may or may not meet the villain, and an ancient prophesy is discovered.
