The Learning Curve
Part One
It was one of those glorious autumn afternoons, the kind which made you glad to be alive. Well, it would be, if Beni was outside to enjoy it. Which he was not. However, there was a silver lining. Inside, he could check out the returning coeds. Especially his favorite ladies. And speaking of the devil. . .here came the Terrible Trio now. They walked through the hall with matching strides. That was one of the few similarities between the three.
In some ways, they were a walking cliche. There was Evelyn Carnahan, the pretty, though prim, proper, and preachy English girl who arrived on campus the previous September. Beni didn't particularly like her, as she seemed to have her nose stuck perpetually in the air. Living two semesters with her roommates took some of the starch out of her, but she had a long way to go before she was Beni's favorite person. If ever. That was a big 'if.'
On her opposite end was Anck-su-namun Cortez, usually just called 'Anck.' He asked her once how she came to have the name of an Egyptian queen. She rolled her eyes, explaining that her mother was reading about King Tut and his young wife during her pregnancy with Anck. Yolanda Cortez was deeply touched by the love between the pair, their devotion to each other, and named her daughter after the young queen. She changed the spelling, but it was her desire that Anck would find a man as devoted to her as Tutenkamen was to his Ankhsunamun.
She was beautiful, the male students on the floor all agreed, perhaps even the sexiest girl on campus. Anck had a cat-like face and coal-dark eyes. Her long, black hair was almost always loose and free about her shoulders, and in many ways, she was the antithesis of Evy Carnahan. Their relationship was a testament to that. During the previous year, while the third roommate was at the library, studying, Beni often heard the two girls screaming at each other.
Beni wasn't entirely sure if the third member of the Trio went to the library because it was the best place to study, or if it was just to escape the tension between her two roommates. At first glance, she was the least pretty of the three. Then again, Beni had little use for most of the jocks on the hall. Beni was older than they were, twenty-three years old, and he knew that the old saying, beauty is only skin-deep, was true. He saw it every time he looked in the mirror.
As the trio approached him, it was the girl in the middle, Celia, who called out cheerfully, "Hey, Beni, we're back!" Well, she was in a good mood. While she wasn't the prettiest of the three, she was the friendliest. She would stop and talk to Beni while he was getting ready to clean the girls' bathroom, and while she was on her way to class. Celia Ferguson, unlike her two roommates, was from this area, growing up in nearby Chicago. She often advised him of nice places in the area, where he wouldn't have to worry about bullies.
Beni appreciated that, and generally took her advice. You wouldn't expect a rich girl like Celia to have trouble with bullies, but Celia didn't broadcast that she was rich. She did, however, broadcast that she had a protective big brother. . .and an equally protective little brother. Beni didn't know who taught her to act like a normal person, but they did a good job. He wondered if he should ask about that, then decided not to. It would make her uncomfortable, and he didn't want that.
Like Evy and Anck, Celia was nineteen. . .she was also the bridge between them, the one thing her roommates usually could agree about. Evy liked her because they shared interests. Anck liked her because she didn't take more than people could give. Ninety percent of the time, Celia played peacemaker between the other two. That was reason enough for Beni to keep his mouth shut. She got enough trouble from her roommates. She didn't need none from him.
Beni returned Celia's greeting, saying, "So I see. My life is so much richer, now that my ladies are back in this sacred dormitory." Evy sniffed, lifting her chin, and Beni briefly considered tripping her. Wouldn't be so high and mighty then. . .might even make Anck laugh in the process. After a moment, however, he decided not to. Evy's older brother Jonathan was an instructor here, and while the elder Carnahan was considered a buffoon by many of his students, Beni made it a practice not to annoy girls with protective big brothers.
Besides, he got the answer he wanted from Anck, who replied cheerfully, "Beni, you're are SUCH a bullshitter. Maybe the next time I need to write an essay, I should come see you?" Beni swept a bow, making the two more friendly roommates laugh. Anck added, gently steering the baby of the group toward their room, "Talk to you later, Beni. . .don't mean to be rude, but Little Miss Celia hasn't eaten yet, and you KNOW how she gets when she doesn't eat."
Celia stuck her tongue out at her roommate, replying, "Who are you calling, 'little,' Anck?" Both Anck and Beni looked at her with amusement. Anck was at least two or three inches taller than her roommate, for whom the word 'tiny' seemed appropriate. Not just short, but slender as well. Small-boned. Probably the major reason why most of the people who bothered to get to know Celia were protective of her. The term 'deceptively fragile' seemed to have been coined just for girls like her.
The taller girl replied, patting her friend's shoulder, "Just a term of endearment, querida. I wouldn't call you that, if I did not love you." The look which Celia gave Beni clearly said, 'she is SO full of bullshit,' but she held her tongue. That was something Beni never learned to do. Maybe that was why he got himself into trouble all the time? Anck added very practically, "And you do get. . .cranky. . .when you don't eat, querida."
"You mean she passes out," Beni said helpfully, and found himself on the receiving end of a glare from the young lady in question. He spread his hands, adding, "It is the truth, my friend, you do indeed get dizzy from lack of food." Celia's glare turned into a glower and Beni gave a little laugh, saying, "Perhaps I should return to work before I put my foot any further into my mouth, yes?"
"Too late, it's already up to your hip," Anck said, her dark eyes dancing with laughter. She gave her roomie a gentle nudge. Beni watched the three go, and as they neared their room, Celia turned back, and smiled at Beni. All was forgiven. That was a relief. Beni didn't think he wanted on her bad side. She had one, of course. . .bad side, dark side, take your pick. And Beni's past experience told him that it was always the quiet ones you had to watch out for.
. . .
If Anck Cortez could have heard what Beni Gabor was thinking, she would have laughed. Not because it wasn't true, but because it was. In fact, while Anck was the street-wise roommate out of the three, she considered Celia to be the most dangerous. She had a much higher tolerance for bullshit. . .when she reached her limit, the fallout tended to be ugly. Not that Anck told people that. It was far too entertaining to see their expressions when quiet, easygoing Celia turned into a fire-breathing dragon. Besides, it was their own damn fault for making assumptions about her roomie.
The only people who were allowed to make assumptions were Anck and Evy, who knew her. Not even Beni could make assumptions, because he didn't know her well enough. There was also the matter of his character flaws. He was a weasel. . .a likable weasel, but still a weasel, and Anck didn't trust weasels. She didn't particularly like Evy, but she trusted her. And maybe she would come to like Evy, if there were many more days like this. The trio spent most of the day moving in, and helping their friends move into their respective halls.
They already had their schedules. . .that was taken care of before they left college the previous semester. While they were only sophomores, they still found scheduling relatively easy. Unfortunately, they were still filling requirements. While Anck had no use for Art History, at least she had it with both her roommates, and they could help her.
Evy was a stuck-up little brat, but she was smart in history and once you got past her 'I'm so superior to you' attitude, she was actually a pretty decent sort. Loyal, too. It was Celia's contention that Evy wasn't really stuck-up. . .she just used that mask to protect herself, the way Anck used her own mask. If anyone other than Celia said it, Anck would have knocked them flying. She wanted no one to realize that the face she showed to the world wasn't the real Anck.
As Evy unlocked the door to their room, she questioned, "You know, girls, most of the decent places won't be open to eat just yet." The three girls shuffled into the room, Celia collapsing onto her bed. Anck raised her eyebrow at Evy. Well, what was she suggesting? The signs were there. Celia needed to eat. Normally, she was pretty good about making sure she did eat. . .but today, things went a little chaotic.
"What I'm suggesting, Anck-su-namun, is that we have food in here. It's not necessary for us to go out," Evy replied, enunciating every syllable of Anck's full name. The other girl glared at her. Evy knew damn good and well that she hated to be called that. And she never called Celia by her full name, 'Cecelia.' Evy did it just to annoy Anck. However, she was also right, which made it even worse. Evy went to her closet, opening it up.
Since she lived in England during the summer, Evy was always the first to arrive back, as soon as the college opened to the students in the weeks before classes started back up. During that time, she always restocked their stash of junk food, which was kept in the upper portion of her closet. Celia spent all of the two previous semesters, trying to talk Evy into moving it, so Celia wouldn't have to go into Evy's things to get the junk food. She hadn't succeeded, yet.
Anck looked from the junk food, to their roommate, who was rubbing her forehead, and nodded. That was one of the biggest surprises she got when Evy started acting like a human being, instead of an ice princess. Anck had her roommate figured for a health food nut, but Evy had a weakness for junk food. Potato chips, twinkies, various and sundry other goodies which supposedly weren't at all good for you.
"Got any Cheezits? Those will hold me over until we can order a pizza or something. All I wanna do is stay in the room for the rest of the day," Celia requested, sitting up on her bed. In answer, Evy tossed a small box of the requested cheese crackers to her, while Anck went into the mini-fridge for the pack of grape soda she bought on the way to the campus the previous day. She handed Celia a can, who sighed, "You two take such good care of me."
Anck *knew* Evy was about to say something ignorant, like 'someone has to, since you don't take care of yourself,' so she trumped the other girl by saying, "That's because you take such good care of us." Evy nodded firmly, and Anck realized with some chagrin that she was wrong about her other roommate. The English girl tossed a package for Ding-Dongs to Anck, before pulling out a package of crackers and cheese sandwiches for herself.
Anck caught it easily with one hand, digging into the mini-fridge for a diet Coke for Evy and a root beer for herself. All three girls sat on Celia's bed, munching away. It was three pm and in another two hours, they could have a proper dinner.
Once she observed color returning to Celia's face, Anck asked, "So. How was everyone's summer vacation? And Celia, please tell me that Beni won't be the only guy you talk to this year! The upperclassmen on the hall are starting to make fun of you, calling you Beni's girlfriend." Celia's dark eyes flashed dangerously, and Anck knew it wasn't because she was being called Beni's girlfriend by the jerks on the floor.
"I don't care about them! Beni's nice to me, I'm nice to him. . .end of story!" Celia retorted before popping another handful of Cheezits into her mouth. Anck groaned silently. Why, oh why, did she have to even bring this up! She knew better than that. Celia added, bitterness straining her voice, "Besides, it's not like I'm really a beauty queen in the first place. Those jerks make fun of me as it is, 'cause I'm not like them. Screw 'em. I'm not here to make them happy, I'm here. . ."
"To get an education. I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. And you're wrong, you know. You're a lot prettier than most of their girlfriends. Prettier and nicer," Anck replied. Even so, most days, it took all of her self-control to keep from hustling Celia down the hall to the girl's bathroom, and put some make-up on her. She really was a pretty girl, but she wasn't interested in making the most of her looks.
"Prettier, nicer, and smarter. But Anck, Celia's right. They'll make fun of her no matter what she does, because they're self-centered little jerks who get their jollies out of trouncing someone else's self- esteem. No. If a boy is really worth anything, he'll like Celia as she is," Evy said. The words were self-righteous, but her tone wasn't. Anck looked at her roommate, surprised, and saw wistfulness in the other girl's eyes.
Anck looked from one roommate to another, stunned. But before she could question either girl, Evy continued in a more composed voice, "As for your question, Anck, I had a lovely summer. I went to Egypt on a dig." Anck blinked in surprise. A lovely summer? In Egypt? Was she totally insane? Evy continued, as if totally oblivious to Anck's reaction, "We found some pottery and shards. Dr Hafez was quite excited."
Evy went to Egypt. In the summer. On a dig. Anck shook her head. She would *never* understand her roommate. Never. Celia said, "Well, I didn't do anything that exciting. Galen, Jason and I spent the entire summer at the house our grandmother left to us. I. . ." Her voice cracked and Anck put her hand on Celia's shoulder supportively. Celia's grandmother died the previous year, right before Thanksgiving, and it devastated the other girl.
Knowing that it still hurt to talk about Annabelle's death, Evy asked softly, "I take it your parents are still being obnoxious about what you want to do?" Celia nodded with a sigh, and Evy continued in a tone which told Anck they discussed this before, "And Galen is still backing you up, I would imagine. He's never been happy about your parents' habit of trying to make you into something you aren't."
Anck was actually a little confused about that. She knew Bruce and Madeleine Ferguson loved their only daughter, and if anything, they were overprotective.
But that was to be expected, especially in a situation like this. When Celia was two years old, she and her older brother Galen was almost abducted from the local mall. As a result, the couple were overprotective all three children, including fourteen year old Jason. But this was the first Anck heard about Celia's parents being unhappy about their daughter's chosen profession. . .or rather, future profession.
"Yeah. They've never thought I should work for a living, considering how much money we have. Galen had the same thing happen to him, so he's determined to give me all the support he can. That reminds me, speaking of Galen. . .Anck, are you *sure* you don't want me to fix you two up? After the last two losers, you should go out with someone who will treat you like a princess, at the very least," Celia replied.
Anck glared at her friend, though she knew why Celia made that suggestion, and said definitively, "No. I'll know him when I see him." Evy just sniffed, as if to say she knew better than that, and Anck looked at Celia. Her color was better, and some of the circles under her eyes were vanishing. Hmmm. Maybe that meant Celia was up to playing some mischief? Her roommate raised her eyebrows, and the two girls pounced. Celia grabbed Evy's shoulders, drawing a squeal, and turned her toward Anck. The second girl grinned wickedly and began tickling Evy's sides ruthlessly. The English girl squealed and struggled, giggling helplessly, but she was no match for her two roommates. They were always stronger together than apart.
. . .
"This is so a waste of my time!"
Ardeth Bey sighed and looked at his brother. Rick sat slumped next to him, staring out the driver's side window. Their information was good. Ardeth *knew* it was good. It was just a matter of being patient. Unfortunately, while Ardeth had patience to spare, his step-brother did not. Ardeth answered, "Then you sleep and I will watch. It is what makes the most sense, Rick, since you do not wish to be here."
"Sense? Ardeth, not a word you have said since this whole thing has started has made any sense! The Book of Amun-Ra was stolen, big deal!" Rick fired back, turning to look at Ardeth. They were utterly dissimilar, but that was to be expected, since they had no blood relation. Only the marriage of Ardeth's mother and Rick's father when the boys were teenagers bound them together. Together or apart, they stood out. They were both tall young men. Rick had sandy hair, light skin, and blue eyes. Ardeth had bronzed skin, black hair and equally dark eyes. As if that wasn't reason enough for him to stand out, there was the matter of his Med-jai tattoos. And standing next to his slightly taller step-brother, he looked even more exotic.
Fortunately, his tattoos warranted only a passing glance, for many young people in the modern United States wore tattoos. . .not so young as well. Most were not on their faces, but it seemed that was unimportant. Ardeth said quietly, returning to his discussion with his step-brother, "This goes far beyond the Book, or have you forgotten Yasmina and Thalia?" Rick averted his eyes at the mention of their sisters. Ardeth went on, "Lock-nah almost killed them. . .if nothing else, I intend to make him pay for that."
"I know," Rick said softly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it." Ardeth just grunted and looked out the window. They had this discussion a thousand times over the last three days. Ardeth would have thought that Rick would be happy about returning to the United States, considering how much he complained about Egypt and the responsibilities of being a Med-jai. The youthful chieftain wasn't inclined to take his step-brother's apology seriously. He apologized too often to be taken seriously. . .he never meant what he said.
This time, however, Rick persisted, saying, "I know I haven't made things easy the last few days, Ardeth. I'm not mad at you, or Dad, or Altair. . .I'm mad at myself." Now *that* surprised the raven-haired young man, and he looked at his step-brother in surprise. Rick gave a half shrug, explaining, "I'm mad at myself, because I've been such an ass the last few weeks and haven't done anything except give you a hard time."
Now Ardeth did look away, averting his eyes from the other man. Rick didn't mean the most recent go-round, but their arguments over the last few weeks. While he was the older of the two, by a little over a year, Ardeth was the chieftain of the Med-jai, and as his step-brother bitterly reminded him after the attack against their little sisters, the safety and security of their people was *his* responsibility, and Ardeth failed them.
Rick's hand on his shoulder brought Ardeth's attention back to him, and Rick said softly, "I shouldn't have said it was your fault. You did everything you could, Ardeth, and then some." The younger brother smiled without any real humor. Ah, but that was where Rick was wrong. There was far more Ardeth could have done. He could have avoided the whole problem in the first place. He could have killed Lock-nah when he had the chance. No Lock-nah, no threats against the lives of his two baby sisters.
Rick evidently knew what he was thinking, a phenomen which never failed to amaze Ardeth even after all this time, for he said, "And in case you've forgotten. . .the one time you had a *chance* to kill Lock-nah, I screwed up your aim by falling into you." Now Ardeth did look at his brother more fully. Rick added, "And don't say that wasn't my fault, because it was. I didn't look where I was going, and Imhotep decided to play matador with me."
Now there was humor as Ardeth smiled at his step-brother, saying lightly, "If I took the shot before you stumbled into me, then we would not be having this conversation. Lock-nah would be dead, and Imhotep would not have his enforcer. . .or the Book, for that matter." Rick glowered at him, and Ardeth narrowly missed his brother smacking him in the back of his head. Instead, he just smiled at the other man. Rick stared past him, and Ardeth looked over in the direction of his brother's gaze.
A slender, dark-skinned young man was approaching him. He was around their age, in his early twenties, and he kept casting wary looks toward Ardeth's step-brother. Why he was doing that, Ardeth couldn't even begin to guess. Rick ignored people unless they were either a member of his family or a threat to his family. This newcomer wasn't a member of their family, and to the best of Ardeth's knowledge, he never threatened their family.
"I'll be damned. . .Izzy Buttons!" Rick exclaimed. Izzy Buttons? What manner of name was that? Rick continued after a moment, "I told you about him, Ardeth, didn't I? The guy who helped me out of a jam when I was caught across the border." Oh yes, now that Rick mentioned it, Ardeth *did* remember hearing the other man's name, although, if memory served, 'Izzy Buttons' was a nickname and his real name was. . .
"Isidore Boutinier, thank you very much. . .and I would watch my back, if I were you!" the other man replied with an obvious English accent, glaring at Ardeth's step-brother. The young chieftain raised his eyebrows questioningly, looking from the newcomer to his step-brother and back again, and Izzy Buttons continued, "Let's just say that Mr O'Connell has a nasty habit of getting his friends shot, and leave it at that. Dr Bey sent me out with a message."
"First and foremost, Ardeth has no reason to watch his back with me, because he's not my friend, he's my brother. Secondly, you're Uncle Terrence's teaching assistant. . .you have got to be kidding me!" Rick fired back. Ardeth rubbed his temples, feeling another headache coming on. His step-brother continued, "And three, quit giving my brother a headache, I've given him enough of those to last him the rest of his life."
Ardeth wondered briefly if he should tell Izzy Buttons to ignore Rick, since it was the American who was giving Ardeth the headache. Instead, he requested wearily, "Could you please relay my uncle's message to me?" He was vaguely aware of Rick looking at him in concern, but that couldn't be important right now. He had to focus on getting the Book back, dealing with Imhotep once and for all, and finishing off Lock-nah.
"Of course," Izzy replied, and his manner changed instantly. Ardeth didn't think about it too much. People often reacted in vastly different ways between him and his step-brother. Izzy continued, "Dr Bey said to let you know that he's arranged for your positions on campus. O'Connell will be with campus security, and your contact there is a dark-haired guy named 'Burns.' He's studying to become a cop himself."
Ardeth nodded and Izzy looked back at him, adding, "And you, you will be another teaching assistant. Dr Bey hasn't decided whose yet, he's still doing some research into that. We must be very careful, however, because Imhotep knows you both." He paused, then added with a shake of his head, "Imhotep. Who ever heard of calling yourself Imhotep, after a dead guy? Stupidity, if you ask me."
Which Ardeth had not, but that was beside the point. Izzy continued, "Anyhow, Dr Bey has the choices narrowed down to two men in his college." Ardeth nodded, expecting that. His uncle was the dean of Arts and Sciences.
His uncle's teaching assistant explained, "I only remember one of their names. Dr Balthazar Hafez. That's the one that your uncle is leaning toward. He's the chair for the art department, and also teaches art history. I've taken a few of his courses. . . somehow, he always ends up with the prettiest girls on campus in his classes. I can't quite figure out how he does it, though." Ardeth tried not to roll his eyes. He didn't have time for girls!
"And we keep our own names? Isn't that stupid, since Imhotep is here?" Rick questioned. Ardeth wasn't comfortable with that, either, but his uncle insisted it was better this way. They could never remember all of their identities. Besides, Imhotep wouldn't leave if he knew the Med- jai chieftain was here. . .rather, he would regard it as a challenge. He seemed to enjoy the chess game he seemed to play with Ardeth.
"Take it up with Dr Bey, it was his idea. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to one of the dorms. One of Dr Bey's students worked in the library over the summer, and managed to knock down over an entire room full of books. Dr Bey wants to make sure that she put everything back where it was. I tell you, O'Connell. . .I think I'll keep Evy Carnahan away from you. The two of you would be just plain dangerous in the same room!" Izzy retorted. Ardeth smiled, his razor-sharp mind already filing away the name 'Evy Carnahan' for future reference. You just never knew when it might be important.
. . .
Curiously, Terrence Bey never even questioned that his nephew would receive his message, much less that he would come to the meet. If it was Rick O'Connell, that would have been one thing, but Ardeth was too responsible, too serious in his duties as the Med-jai chieftain. Yes, too responsible, too serious. Both of these were true where his nephew were concerned, too true for Terrence's peace of mind.
He tried to think past Ardeth, tried to remind himself of the big picture. He knew Imhotep was on the campus, he knew that the other man was posing as a professor of art history. As the representative of the Med- jai, who did not bear the Med-jai markings, it was his duty, his responsibility to gather information about the jewel thief. And to make sure Imhotep never even suspected the Med-jai were onto him.
That would be much more difficult, since Terrence would have to give his nephew to one of the other professors as a teaching assistant. He already had one, Isidore, and it would attract too much attention for him to have another. Attention meant more danger for Ardeth, and his life was already in danger, just because of his current quest. The Book of Amun-Ra had to be recovered, before Imhotep unleashed a disaster of Biblical proportions.
And any professor to whom Ardeth was assigned carried the life of Terrence's beloved nephew in his hands. There were simply no professors whom Terrence felt he could trust with the truth of his nephew's mission here. He didn't fully trust the two men who seemed the best candidates. Terrence tried to remind himself of the greater good. . . but he couldn't see what his nephew's death would do for the greater good.
Rick would be far easier. He wasn't of Terrence's blood, and he could get out of any scrape he got into with help from Ardeth. Too many times, Terrence wished that Altair never met Nathaniel O'Connell. He had nothing against the man, who was good for his sister-in-law. But Terrence feared that Nathaniel's reckless son would end up causing harm to Ardeth, and worse yet, Terrence's nephew refused to accept that. He believed that Rick would be there for him when he was needed. Terrence wished he could be so sure.
Rick's assignment was actually the easier of the two. He would be partnered with Winston Havilock, a boozed-out ex-inspector with Scotland Yard who drank himself out of a job. Terrence was not unsympathetic to the man, really. He was once a cracker-jack inspector, a member of an excellent anti-terrorist unit. Then an operation was blown to hell, wiping out the entire unit except for one man. . .Winston Havilock. The ex- inspector couldn't forgive himself for surviving, and so he committed slow suicide ever since the blast which killed his partners.
And his contact would be Nicholas Burns, a senior who was majoring in law enforcement. He was a typical young man, filled with arrogance, but unlike his two best friends, Daniels and Henderson, he was a decent young man. If he got away from the corroding influence of the other two, Terrence thought young Nicholas could be quite an admirable human being. He could poke fun at other people, but he drew some lines in the sand. Lines that his two compatriots didn't seem to see or understand. Rick would be fine. He always landed on his feet.
The same could not be said for the current bane of his existence, one Evelyn Carnahan. Terrence shook his head, muttering under his breath as he turned his attention back to his lesson plan and briefly away from the question of his nephew's safety at the campus while he laid his trap for Imhotep. That girl was a walking natural disaster! He would consider himself most fortunate if there were no more incidents, as there were during the summer. The infamous domino effect, as seen with shelves filled with books.
Still, even so, he had to admit. . .clumsy as she was, she was a far sight better than her roommate, Anck-su-namun Cortez. There were very few people whom Terrence Bey trusted. And Anck-su-namun would never make that list. He wasn't entirely sure what it was about her that he disliked. Perhaps it was simply that he saw too many promising young teachers ruined by girls like Anck Cortez. Beautiful and seductive.
He was actually predisposed to like her, since she was named for King Tutenkamen's wife, but after he saw the way his young professors reacted to her, Terrence began rethinking that. Perhaps it was unfair, but Terrence had a very hard time trusting any woman who was that sexy and that aware of her own impact on members of the opposite sex. Wonderful. There was Evy Carnahan, who knocked over whole bookshelves in a domino effect.
Then there was her roommate, Anck Cortez, who seemed to define the term 'jail bait,' though she was nineteen years old. From one extreme to the other, and then there was the third member of the little trio. The colorless Miss Ferguson. She was a nonentity, particularly when she was in the company of Miss Cortez. Quiet and soft-spoken, Terrence was told that she was quite intelligent. It was hard to be sure, as she never spoke up in class.
He had no way of knowing, of course, that the investigation he and his two nephews were conducting would change everything. His family, his life, his duty, even the way he saw the three young woman who roomed together. He couldn't know. No one could. He had no way of knowing that Evy Carnahan could be tenacious beyond words. Nor could he know that Anck Cortez was devoted to her friends and those whom she loved. And there was no way in the world he could know the events which would even alter his perception of quiet Celia Ferguson.
But these events were coming, and they would start falling into place with the choice he was about to make. Again, Terrence looked at the two choices in front of him. To whom would he send his nephew, as a teaching assistant? They were both in art history, specializing in art of the ancient world. Both had Master's Degrees in Egyptology, which was Terrence's own area of expertise.
Dr Balthazar Hafez, who had the curatorship of the British Museum as one of his credentials, as well as the chair of the Art Department. He wasn't curator of the entire Museum, of course, as Terrence was once the curator of the Egyptian Hall of Antiquities. Rather, he was curator of the Egyptian exhibits and halls. He was a fellow Egyptian, not that this particularly recommended him to Terrence. There were scoundrels and cutthroats in all nationalities.
On the other hand, his other choice was Dr Allen Chamberlain. An Englishman, with a slightly superior attitude toward everyone. He set Terrence's teeth on edge. While Terrence was frequently exasperated with both Evy Carnahan's clumsiness and her brother's assorted vices, he was actually quite fond of them both. Thus, he felt quite indignant when Chamberlain took the view that Miss Carnahan was worthless as a student simply because she was a woman. And he really didn't care for Chamberlain's attitude toward anyone who wasn't English.
Was he really willing to entrust his nephew to such a man? Ardeth was twenty-two now, a man instead of a child, and yet Terrence remained very protective of him. Andreas was dead, and Anatol was a boy of fourteen. And Ardeth. . .Ardeth resembled his father so much, it sometimes took Terrence's breath away. It was a fine line which the Dean walked, balancing his desire to protect his nephew with the knowledge that his nephew was the chieftain of their people, and a fine warrior in his own right.
He was still the little boy whom Terrence remembered from his visits back to the desert, the solemn-eyed child who worked so hard to be what his father wanted him to be. Still the nephew who refused to let go of Suleiman after Terrence's older brother almost died in battle. And when Ardeth arrived in the States with Rick a few weeks earlier, once Terrence had a lead on Imhotep, his sister-in-law called him. Terrence and Altair were never particularly close. . . they respected each other, acknowledging each other's place among the Med-jai.
But Terrence left the desert permanently after his brother's death, and though he continued to serve the Med-jai, a rift developed between him and his brother's widow. She kept the door open for him, for the sake of their children. But aside from that, there was no contact between them. However, Altair called him. Told him to watch over Ardeth. He was the chieftain, but he was her son. And she knew that he loved the boy just as much as she did.
Indeed. And just as Terrence himself did, Altair struggled between her desire to protect Ardeth and her understanding that she had to trust her son. That was the end, was it not? A question of trust. Terrence sighed and picked up the phone. He dialed the extension he needed. The other party answered, and Terrence said, "I was not sure if I could catch you before your next class. I have a new teaching assistant for you, Balthazar."
. . .
Things were silent on the drive back to the apartment. Rick said not a word, but ever so often, he would glance over at his passenger. He looked bad. There were dark circles under his eyes, and there wasn't much color in his face. Ardeth's head lay against the head rest, his hands resting limply on his thighs. His eyes were closed. But he wasn't asleep. Rick knew his step-brother better than that.
In some ways, Rick knew Ardeth better than anyone else. He knew that Ardeth's dark eyes flashed when he was angry, and he knew his brother was shy around women. He knew what every one of Ardeth's expressions meant. Happy, sad, angry, scared, tired, sick. But at any given time, Rick had no idea what was running through his younger brother's head. There were times when Ardeth would go somewhere deep inside him, and Rick had no way of knowing where, exactly, he was.
That frightened Rick. He was angry when his father took him to Egypt eight years earlier, even angrier when he stayed and married Altair Bey. He was fifteen years old, lost his mother two years earlier, and he still hadn't forgiven his father for her death. It didn't matter that his father wasn't responsible for the plane crash which ended his mother's life. Rick was thirteen when his mother died, and he needed someone to blame.
He didn't care whom he made pay for how badly he was hurting. He lashed out at his new step-mother, at her children, at her father. By the time Nathaniel and Altair O'Connell were married for a year, most of Rick's step-siblings avoided him. The only ones who would speak to him were the two older ones. . .Andreas and Ardeth. Andreas, after Rick did something to upset Anatol and Aleta, usually talked with his fists. It was even easier to hate him. Hate him because Andreas was protective of his siblings in a way Rick couldn't begin to comprehend.
Ardeth. . .Ardeth would merely look at him with those dark eyes after Rick lashed out at him. Looking back now, Rick winced at the insults he slung at his step-brother, younger than himself by a year. They must have hurt that young boy. There was no way he could have not been hurt. And yet, Ardeth would look at him, finally asking him, 'Does it make you feel better, Richard, to say such things? Does it make your pain less?'
The answer, of course, was 'no,' and that made Rick hate the younger brother all the more. For being right, for knowing that nothing Rick did could make him feel better. . .because there was nothing in the world he could to bring his mother back from the dead. He hated him because he was right, because he was so much smarter than Rick, and younger than him. He hated him because Andreas would kill for him, and no one ever loved Rick that much. No one loved him enough to die for him.
Or so he thought. In one day, Rick's entire world turned upside down. By this time, Nathaniel and Altair were married for fifteen months. Andreas was courting one of the lovely young Med-jai maidens. Ardeth was fifteen years old, becoming a skilled warrior in his own right. If Rick was truthful, he would admit that he was jealous of the younger boy. He was a better fighter, a better person, and the Med-jai girls were starting to notice him.
On this day, the boys who were not yet warriors were practicing. Rick watched his young step-brother with a grudging admiration and even more grudging pride. A high call interrupted the relative peace of the afternoon, and Rick froze. Even with his determined efforts not to learn anything about his step-mother's people, Rick did learn enough to know that call meant trouble. Really *big* trouble. Everyone began scattering, and Rick ran back toward his tent for a weapon of some kind.
But it was already too late. The Tuareg killed the Med-jai out on patrol, by the time the signal was given, the enemy surrounded the camp and attacked. Rick swore under his breath and searched for higher ground, some way to take one of these bastards off his horse, some way to get himself a weapon without returning to his tent. A scream of fury attracted his attention, and he whirled around as a warrior from the other side bore down on him.
A single shot was fire and the man fell from his horse. Rick whipped his head back toward the direction of the shot, to see Ardeth quietly ejecting a shell from his rifle. The other boy dipped his head in acknowledgment, then took out another Tuareg bearing down on Rick, and another bearing down on Andreas. Rick dove for the dead man's weapon. He was no good with a sword. . .his pistol and rifle would have to be good enough.
One by one, methodically, he took out the raiders, backing up until he was in the center of the village, with the rest of the warriors. He collided with someone, and looked around briefly to see Andreas behind him, taking out the invaders from the opposite side. He looked to his right, to find Ardeth beside him. Ardeth's rifle was slung back over his shoulder as he fought a Tuareg warrior who looked to be twice his age. The kid was good with that scimitar. Rick again had to watch his brother in pride, not even realizing that he dropped the 'step' from it. That moment of inattention, of unblemished pride in Ardeth, almost cost him his life.
The rifle was knocked out of his hands by a jarring thump which served to knock him to the ground as well. Rick stared up at the looming warrior, seeing every moment of his sixteen years flash before his eyes. But then, there was a blur of black, a scream of pain, and the black robes slumped to the ground. Rick couldn't even see who came to his aid. The Tuareg warrior was still looming. . .except, a gun shot shattered the silence.
The Tuareg collapsed without another movement, and Rick saw his father standing there. Nathaniel O'Connell ran to his side, ignoring the wounded Tuareg. The older American helped the younger sit upright, running his hands over the boy's body to make sure he was all right. Rick's mind was finally starting to move once more, and as Nathaniel turned to speak to someone behind him, the boy reached over to the warrior who saved Rick's life. . .only to find his step-brother lying on his side, hands pressed to a wound in his gut. Ardeth's black eyes were filled with pain and fear, and Rick screamed, "DAD!"
Nathaniel was at his side immediately, kneeling beside the pair. Rick's father murmured, "Oh, god, kid. . .hang on, Ardeth, just hang on." He gently stroked Ardeth's curly black hair, then rolled him onto his back. Ardeth whimpered, a sound Rick never heard from his stoic step-brother, never thought he would hear, but this was the first time Ardeth was ever injured. It was his first battle, his first wound, and he got it because he was protecting Rick.
"Rick, son, I need you to keep your hand here," Nathaniel instructed tersely, taking Rick's still-growing hand and placing it over Ardeth's hands. Blood was spilling between Ardeth's fingers, and Rick pressed hard, inexplicably terrified by the sight. This was not good. This was not good at all. He intensified the pressure of his hand, and Ardeth moaned, his eyes closing, and Nathaniel said, "That's good, keep it up. . .we have to keep him from bleeding out."
Can't let him bleed out. Those words stayed Rick's hand, when he would have taken it away. He hated himself for the pain he was causing Ardeth, but if Ardeth was in pain, he was alive, and that was so much better than the alternative. He almost took his hands away, when he saw the blood seeping out onto his own. Almost. But Rick looked into Ardeth's eyes, and the fear almost took his breath away. Ardeth was afraid of nothing, or so Rick thought.
The younger boy whispered, "Do not leave me? I. . .do not wish to die alone." There were tears sparkling in his eyes. Fifteen years old. He wasn't even a full warrior yet. He had not yet gone through his rites of manhood. That was to be the following year, when he turned sixteen. It *would* be the following year. Rick's eyes narrowed with determination, and pressed his hands harder against the wound. Ardeth fought back another cry of pain.
Rick whispered, "I'll never leave you. I swear it. I'll never leave you." And he didn't. He didn't leave when his father pressed a true bandage against the bloody wound. He didn't leave when Nathaniel slipped something warm around the younger boy's slim, shaking body. He didn't leave when his father scooped Ardeth up into his arms and carried him to the tent of the healer. Nor did he leave in the hours or days which followed. Even as Andreas, Acacia, Aleta and Anatol came and went in the tent, Rick stayed. He held Ardeth's hand between his own two, somewhat larger hands, as if to keep him anchored in this world.
No one was sure for the first few days, whether or not Ardeth would survive. In the States, they would have known. Or so Rick told himself. Ardeth was young and healthy, but he lost a great deal of blood. He also pased out within seconds of arriving in the healer's tent, and didn't awaken. Despite the best efforts of the healer, there was still the possibility of infection. There was always that possibility. Rick wouldn't leave his side. He prayed to God, to Allah, to the ancient gods, to whomever would listen.
He promised that he would be a better brother, that he would stop tormenting the youngsters and lashing out at them. He promised that he would never leave Ardeth, that he would always protect him. It was only right. Ardeth was so young, but he would have sacrificed his own life to save Rick's. He made promises he could never keep, but it made no difference. He was sixteen years old, he lost his mother. . .he couldn't lose Ardeth.
On the morning of the third day, Ardeth opened his eyes. His soft moan woke Rick, who fell asleep beside his cot. Brown eyes met blue, then Ardeth smiled sleepily. Rick smiled back, not entirely sure why he was smiling, but it was infectious. His younger brother whispered, "Shukran, ya ahi." Then he sighed, and the brown eyes slid shut once more. He was merely asleep, a healing sleep which would help the boy recover his strength.
Rick kept his most important promise. The one to never leave Ardeth. That was why he was here, despite his bitching and complaining. If Ardeth came alone, the way he originally suggested. . .no. No, Rick had to be here, to watch his back. He pulled into the apartment off-campus they shared and looked over at his brother. Ardeth's feet were braced against the dashboard, his knees almost to his chest.
He wasn't feeling well. Rick asked softly, "Headache's gotten worse?" Ardeth barely managed to bob his head, and Rick reached out to gently massage the back of his neck. For a moment, he wanted to kill Andreas all over again, for getting himself killed in the first place. He wanted to kill Lock-nah for killing Andreas, and he wanted to kill Imhotep for hiring the bastard. But he fought the urges back, and told his brother, "Let's get you inside, and I'll make dinner." It was actually Ardeth's turn to make dinner. . .it usually was, since Rick wasn't much of a cook. But Ardeth was in no shape to do much of anything.
Including eat, it seemed. His brother acknowledged in a hoarse voice, "I don't think I can eat, Rick." Ah, hell. Rick was afraid he would say that. Ardeth groaned suddenly, and Rick bolted out of the car. Oh, no. No, no, no. Ardeth was so not gonna be sick in his car. He managed to get out, around to the passenger side of the car, and Ardeth outside before his brother started retching.
Once he was outside of the car, Rick was free to devote his sole attention to his suffering brother, rather than worry about how to get the smell of vomit out of his car. Ardeth fell to his knees, and somewhat relieved to see nothing was coming up, Rick put his arms around Ardeth's waist and pulled him upright. Ardeth barely managed to stifle a second groan, and instead, leaned heavily against Rick. Without saying another word, the American guided the other man inside the house and to the couch.
There was, curiously enough, no resentment toward his younger brother for this. . .Ardeth took care of the Med-jai people. He was a combination of king, general, and visionary. He took care of their family. Someone had to take care of him. Seven years ago, Ardeth made a choice to sacrifice his own life to save Rick's. The second he did that, Rick made a choice of his own. He was a lousy brother up until that day. But if it took the rest of his life, he would make it up to Ardeth. He carefully took off the hiking boots Ardeth wore today, then manuevered him up onto the sofa. As he covered his brother with the blanket, Rick heard a weary, "Shukran, ya ahi."
"You're welcome. . .go to sleep," Rick replied softly. Ardeth mumbled something, then fell silent. Rick sat down beside him, sighing deeply. He would sit with Ardeth for a few minutes. Sometimes, when he got these terrible headaches, they were accompanied by memories. Nightmares. Rick would sit with him a while, then go start dinner. But food could wait. It could wait.
Part One
It was one of those glorious autumn afternoons, the kind which made you glad to be alive. Well, it would be, if Beni was outside to enjoy it. Which he was not. However, there was a silver lining. Inside, he could check out the returning coeds. Especially his favorite ladies. And speaking of the devil. . .here came the Terrible Trio now. They walked through the hall with matching strides. That was one of the few similarities between the three.
In some ways, they were a walking cliche. There was Evelyn Carnahan, the pretty, though prim, proper, and preachy English girl who arrived on campus the previous September. Beni didn't particularly like her, as she seemed to have her nose stuck perpetually in the air. Living two semesters with her roommates took some of the starch out of her, but she had a long way to go before she was Beni's favorite person. If ever. That was a big 'if.'
On her opposite end was Anck-su-namun Cortez, usually just called 'Anck.' He asked her once how she came to have the name of an Egyptian queen. She rolled her eyes, explaining that her mother was reading about King Tut and his young wife during her pregnancy with Anck. Yolanda Cortez was deeply touched by the love between the pair, their devotion to each other, and named her daughter after the young queen. She changed the spelling, but it was her desire that Anck would find a man as devoted to her as Tutenkamen was to his Ankhsunamun.
She was beautiful, the male students on the floor all agreed, perhaps even the sexiest girl on campus. Anck had a cat-like face and coal-dark eyes. Her long, black hair was almost always loose and free about her shoulders, and in many ways, she was the antithesis of Evy Carnahan. Their relationship was a testament to that. During the previous year, while the third roommate was at the library, studying, Beni often heard the two girls screaming at each other.
Beni wasn't entirely sure if the third member of the Trio went to the library because it was the best place to study, or if it was just to escape the tension between her two roommates. At first glance, she was the least pretty of the three. Then again, Beni had little use for most of the jocks on the hall. Beni was older than they were, twenty-three years old, and he knew that the old saying, beauty is only skin-deep, was true. He saw it every time he looked in the mirror.
As the trio approached him, it was the girl in the middle, Celia, who called out cheerfully, "Hey, Beni, we're back!" Well, she was in a good mood. While she wasn't the prettiest of the three, she was the friendliest. She would stop and talk to Beni while he was getting ready to clean the girls' bathroom, and while she was on her way to class. Celia Ferguson, unlike her two roommates, was from this area, growing up in nearby Chicago. She often advised him of nice places in the area, where he wouldn't have to worry about bullies.
Beni appreciated that, and generally took her advice. You wouldn't expect a rich girl like Celia to have trouble with bullies, but Celia didn't broadcast that she was rich. She did, however, broadcast that she had a protective big brother. . .and an equally protective little brother. Beni didn't know who taught her to act like a normal person, but they did a good job. He wondered if he should ask about that, then decided not to. It would make her uncomfortable, and he didn't want that.
Like Evy and Anck, Celia was nineteen. . .she was also the bridge between them, the one thing her roommates usually could agree about. Evy liked her because they shared interests. Anck liked her because she didn't take more than people could give. Ninety percent of the time, Celia played peacemaker between the other two. That was reason enough for Beni to keep his mouth shut. She got enough trouble from her roommates. She didn't need none from him.
Beni returned Celia's greeting, saying, "So I see. My life is so much richer, now that my ladies are back in this sacred dormitory." Evy sniffed, lifting her chin, and Beni briefly considered tripping her. Wouldn't be so high and mighty then. . .might even make Anck laugh in the process. After a moment, however, he decided not to. Evy's older brother Jonathan was an instructor here, and while the elder Carnahan was considered a buffoon by many of his students, Beni made it a practice not to annoy girls with protective big brothers.
Besides, he got the answer he wanted from Anck, who replied cheerfully, "Beni, you're are SUCH a bullshitter. Maybe the next time I need to write an essay, I should come see you?" Beni swept a bow, making the two more friendly roommates laugh. Anck added, gently steering the baby of the group toward their room, "Talk to you later, Beni. . .don't mean to be rude, but Little Miss Celia hasn't eaten yet, and you KNOW how she gets when she doesn't eat."
Celia stuck her tongue out at her roommate, replying, "Who are you calling, 'little,' Anck?" Both Anck and Beni looked at her with amusement. Anck was at least two or three inches taller than her roommate, for whom the word 'tiny' seemed appropriate. Not just short, but slender as well. Small-boned. Probably the major reason why most of the people who bothered to get to know Celia were protective of her. The term 'deceptively fragile' seemed to have been coined just for girls like her.
The taller girl replied, patting her friend's shoulder, "Just a term of endearment, querida. I wouldn't call you that, if I did not love you." The look which Celia gave Beni clearly said, 'she is SO full of bullshit,' but she held her tongue. That was something Beni never learned to do. Maybe that was why he got himself into trouble all the time? Anck added very practically, "And you do get. . .cranky. . .when you don't eat, querida."
"You mean she passes out," Beni said helpfully, and found himself on the receiving end of a glare from the young lady in question. He spread his hands, adding, "It is the truth, my friend, you do indeed get dizzy from lack of food." Celia's glare turned into a glower and Beni gave a little laugh, saying, "Perhaps I should return to work before I put my foot any further into my mouth, yes?"
"Too late, it's already up to your hip," Anck said, her dark eyes dancing with laughter. She gave her roomie a gentle nudge. Beni watched the three go, and as they neared their room, Celia turned back, and smiled at Beni. All was forgiven. That was a relief. Beni didn't think he wanted on her bad side. She had one, of course. . .bad side, dark side, take your pick. And Beni's past experience told him that it was always the quiet ones you had to watch out for.
. . .
If Anck Cortez could have heard what Beni Gabor was thinking, she would have laughed. Not because it wasn't true, but because it was. In fact, while Anck was the street-wise roommate out of the three, she considered Celia to be the most dangerous. She had a much higher tolerance for bullshit. . .when she reached her limit, the fallout tended to be ugly. Not that Anck told people that. It was far too entertaining to see their expressions when quiet, easygoing Celia turned into a fire-breathing dragon. Besides, it was their own damn fault for making assumptions about her roomie.
The only people who were allowed to make assumptions were Anck and Evy, who knew her. Not even Beni could make assumptions, because he didn't know her well enough. There was also the matter of his character flaws. He was a weasel. . .a likable weasel, but still a weasel, and Anck didn't trust weasels. She didn't particularly like Evy, but she trusted her. And maybe she would come to like Evy, if there were many more days like this. The trio spent most of the day moving in, and helping their friends move into their respective halls.
They already had their schedules. . .that was taken care of before they left college the previous semester. While they were only sophomores, they still found scheduling relatively easy. Unfortunately, they were still filling requirements. While Anck had no use for Art History, at least she had it with both her roommates, and they could help her.
Evy was a stuck-up little brat, but she was smart in history and once you got past her 'I'm so superior to you' attitude, she was actually a pretty decent sort. Loyal, too. It was Celia's contention that Evy wasn't really stuck-up. . .she just used that mask to protect herself, the way Anck used her own mask. If anyone other than Celia said it, Anck would have knocked them flying. She wanted no one to realize that the face she showed to the world wasn't the real Anck.
As Evy unlocked the door to their room, she questioned, "You know, girls, most of the decent places won't be open to eat just yet." The three girls shuffled into the room, Celia collapsing onto her bed. Anck raised her eyebrow at Evy. Well, what was she suggesting? The signs were there. Celia needed to eat. Normally, she was pretty good about making sure she did eat. . .but today, things went a little chaotic.
"What I'm suggesting, Anck-su-namun, is that we have food in here. It's not necessary for us to go out," Evy replied, enunciating every syllable of Anck's full name. The other girl glared at her. Evy knew damn good and well that she hated to be called that. And she never called Celia by her full name, 'Cecelia.' Evy did it just to annoy Anck. However, she was also right, which made it even worse. Evy went to her closet, opening it up.
Since she lived in England during the summer, Evy was always the first to arrive back, as soon as the college opened to the students in the weeks before classes started back up. During that time, she always restocked their stash of junk food, which was kept in the upper portion of her closet. Celia spent all of the two previous semesters, trying to talk Evy into moving it, so Celia wouldn't have to go into Evy's things to get the junk food. She hadn't succeeded, yet.
Anck looked from the junk food, to their roommate, who was rubbing her forehead, and nodded. That was one of the biggest surprises she got when Evy started acting like a human being, instead of an ice princess. Anck had her roommate figured for a health food nut, but Evy had a weakness for junk food. Potato chips, twinkies, various and sundry other goodies which supposedly weren't at all good for you.
"Got any Cheezits? Those will hold me over until we can order a pizza or something. All I wanna do is stay in the room for the rest of the day," Celia requested, sitting up on her bed. In answer, Evy tossed a small box of the requested cheese crackers to her, while Anck went into the mini-fridge for the pack of grape soda she bought on the way to the campus the previous day. She handed Celia a can, who sighed, "You two take such good care of me."
Anck *knew* Evy was about to say something ignorant, like 'someone has to, since you don't take care of yourself,' so she trumped the other girl by saying, "That's because you take such good care of us." Evy nodded firmly, and Anck realized with some chagrin that she was wrong about her other roommate. The English girl tossed a package for Ding-Dongs to Anck, before pulling out a package of crackers and cheese sandwiches for herself.
Anck caught it easily with one hand, digging into the mini-fridge for a diet Coke for Evy and a root beer for herself. All three girls sat on Celia's bed, munching away. It was three pm and in another two hours, they could have a proper dinner.
Once she observed color returning to Celia's face, Anck asked, "So. How was everyone's summer vacation? And Celia, please tell me that Beni won't be the only guy you talk to this year! The upperclassmen on the hall are starting to make fun of you, calling you Beni's girlfriend." Celia's dark eyes flashed dangerously, and Anck knew it wasn't because she was being called Beni's girlfriend by the jerks on the floor.
"I don't care about them! Beni's nice to me, I'm nice to him. . .end of story!" Celia retorted before popping another handful of Cheezits into her mouth. Anck groaned silently. Why, oh why, did she have to even bring this up! She knew better than that. Celia added, bitterness straining her voice, "Besides, it's not like I'm really a beauty queen in the first place. Those jerks make fun of me as it is, 'cause I'm not like them. Screw 'em. I'm not here to make them happy, I'm here. . ."
"To get an education. I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. And you're wrong, you know. You're a lot prettier than most of their girlfriends. Prettier and nicer," Anck replied. Even so, most days, it took all of her self-control to keep from hustling Celia down the hall to the girl's bathroom, and put some make-up on her. She really was a pretty girl, but she wasn't interested in making the most of her looks.
"Prettier, nicer, and smarter. But Anck, Celia's right. They'll make fun of her no matter what she does, because they're self-centered little jerks who get their jollies out of trouncing someone else's self- esteem. No. If a boy is really worth anything, he'll like Celia as she is," Evy said. The words were self-righteous, but her tone wasn't. Anck looked at her roommate, surprised, and saw wistfulness in the other girl's eyes.
Anck looked from one roommate to another, stunned. But before she could question either girl, Evy continued in a more composed voice, "As for your question, Anck, I had a lovely summer. I went to Egypt on a dig." Anck blinked in surprise. A lovely summer? In Egypt? Was she totally insane? Evy continued, as if totally oblivious to Anck's reaction, "We found some pottery and shards. Dr Hafez was quite excited."
Evy went to Egypt. In the summer. On a dig. Anck shook her head. She would *never* understand her roommate. Never. Celia said, "Well, I didn't do anything that exciting. Galen, Jason and I spent the entire summer at the house our grandmother left to us. I. . ." Her voice cracked and Anck put her hand on Celia's shoulder supportively. Celia's grandmother died the previous year, right before Thanksgiving, and it devastated the other girl.
Knowing that it still hurt to talk about Annabelle's death, Evy asked softly, "I take it your parents are still being obnoxious about what you want to do?" Celia nodded with a sigh, and Evy continued in a tone which told Anck they discussed this before, "And Galen is still backing you up, I would imagine. He's never been happy about your parents' habit of trying to make you into something you aren't."
Anck was actually a little confused about that. She knew Bruce and Madeleine Ferguson loved their only daughter, and if anything, they were overprotective.
But that was to be expected, especially in a situation like this. When Celia was two years old, she and her older brother Galen was almost abducted from the local mall. As a result, the couple were overprotective all three children, including fourteen year old Jason. But this was the first Anck heard about Celia's parents being unhappy about their daughter's chosen profession. . .or rather, future profession.
"Yeah. They've never thought I should work for a living, considering how much money we have. Galen had the same thing happen to him, so he's determined to give me all the support he can. That reminds me, speaking of Galen. . .Anck, are you *sure* you don't want me to fix you two up? After the last two losers, you should go out with someone who will treat you like a princess, at the very least," Celia replied.
Anck glared at her friend, though she knew why Celia made that suggestion, and said definitively, "No. I'll know him when I see him." Evy just sniffed, as if to say she knew better than that, and Anck looked at Celia. Her color was better, and some of the circles under her eyes were vanishing. Hmmm. Maybe that meant Celia was up to playing some mischief? Her roommate raised her eyebrows, and the two girls pounced. Celia grabbed Evy's shoulders, drawing a squeal, and turned her toward Anck. The second girl grinned wickedly and began tickling Evy's sides ruthlessly. The English girl squealed and struggled, giggling helplessly, but she was no match for her two roommates. They were always stronger together than apart.
. . .
"This is so a waste of my time!"
Ardeth Bey sighed and looked at his brother. Rick sat slumped next to him, staring out the driver's side window. Their information was good. Ardeth *knew* it was good. It was just a matter of being patient. Unfortunately, while Ardeth had patience to spare, his step-brother did not. Ardeth answered, "Then you sleep and I will watch. It is what makes the most sense, Rick, since you do not wish to be here."
"Sense? Ardeth, not a word you have said since this whole thing has started has made any sense! The Book of Amun-Ra was stolen, big deal!" Rick fired back, turning to look at Ardeth. They were utterly dissimilar, but that was to be expected, since they had no blood relation. Only the marriage of Ardeth's mother and Rick's father when the boys were teenagers bound them together. Together or apart, they stood out. They were both tall young men. Rick had sandy hair, light skin, and blue eyes. Ardeth had bronzed skin, black hair and equally dark eyes. As if that wasn't reason enough for him to stand out, there was the matter of his Med-jai tattoos. And standing next to his slightly taller step-brother, he looked even more exotic.
Fortunately, his tattoos warranted only a passing glance, for many young people in the modern United States wore tattoos. . .not so young as well. Most were not on their faces, but it seemed that was unimportant. Ardeth said quietly, returning to his discussion with his step-brother, "This goes far beyond the Book, or have you forgotten Yasmina and Thalia?" Rick averted his eyes at the mention of their sisters. Ardeth went on, "Lock-nah almost killed them. . .if nothing else, I intend to make him pay for that."
"I know," Rick said softly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it." Ardeth just grunted and looked out the window. They had this discussion a thousand times over the last three days. Ardeth would have thought that Rick would be happy about returning to the United States, considering how much he complained about Egypt and the responsibilities of being a Med-jai. The youthful chieftain wasn't inclined to take his step-brother's apology seriously. He apologized too often to be taken seriously. . .he never meant what he said.
This time, however, Rick persisted, saying, "I know I haven't made things easy the last few days, Ardeth. I'm not mad at you, or Dad, or Altair. . .I'm mad at myself." Now *that* surprised the raven-haired young man, and he looked at his step-brother in surprise. Rick gave a half shrug, explaining, "I'm mad at myself, because I've been such an ass the last few weeks and haven't done anything except give you a hard time."
Now Ardeth did look away, averting his eyes from the other man. Rick didn't mean the most recent go-round, but their arguments over the last few weeks. While he was the older of the two, by a little over a year, Ardeth was the chieftain of the Med-jai, and as his step-brother bitterly reminded him after the attack against their little sisters, the safety and security of their people was *his* responsibility, and Ardeth failed them.
Rick's hand on his shoulder brought Ardeth's attention back to him, and Rick said softly, "I shouldn't have said it was your fault. You did everything you could, Ardeth, and then some." The younger brother smiled without any real humor. Ah, but that was where Rick was wrong. There was far more Ardeth could have done. He could have avoided the whole problem in the first place. He could have killed Lock-nah when he had the chance. No Lock-nah, no threats against the lives of his two baby sisters.
Rick evidently knew what he was thinking, a phenomen which never failed to amaze Ardeth even after all this time, for he said, "And in case you've forgotten. . .the one time you had a *chance* to kill Lock-nah, I screwed up your aim by falling into you." Now Ardeth did look at his brother more fully. Rick added, "And don't say that wasn't my fault, because it was. I didn't look where I was going, and Imhotep decided to play matador with me."
Now there was humor as Ardeth smiled at his step-brother, saying lightly, "If I took the shot before you stumbled into me, then we would not be having this conversation. Lock-nah would be dead, and Imhotep would not have his enforcer. . .or the Book, for that matter." Rick glowered at him, and Ardeth narrowly missed his brother smacking him in the back of his head. Instead, he just smiled at the other man. Rick stared past him, and Ardeth looked over in the direction of his brother's gaze.
A slender, dark-skinned young man was approaching him. He was around their age, in his early twenties, and he kept casting wary looks toward Ardeth's step-brother. Why he was doing that, Ardeth couldn't even begin to guess. Rick ignored people unless they were either a member of his family or a threat to his family. This newcomer wasn't a member of their family, and to the best of Ardeth's knowledge, he never threatened their family.
"I'll be damned. . .Izzy Buttons!" Rick exclaimed. Izzy Buttons? What manner of name was that? Rick continued after a moment, "I told you about him, Ardeth, didn't I? The guy who helped me out of a jam when I was caught across the border." Oh yes, now that Rick mentioned it, Ardeth *did* remember hearing the other man's name, although, if memory served, 'Izzy Buttons' was a nickname and his real name was. . .
"Isidore Boutinier, thank you very much. . .and I would watch my back, if I were you!" the other man replied with an obvious English accent, glaring at Ardeth's step-brother. The young chieftain raised his eyebrows questioningly, looking from the newcomer to his step-brother and back again, and Izzy Buttons continued, "Let's just say that Mr O'Connell has a nasty habit of getting his friends shot, and leave it at that. Dr Bey sent me out with a message."
"First and foremost, Ardeth has no reason to watch his back with me, because he's not my friend, he's my brother. Secondly, you're Uncle Terrence's teaching assistant. . .you have got to be kidding me!" Rick fired back. Ardeth rubbed his temples, feeling another headache coming on. His step-brother continued, "And three, quit giving my brother a headache, I've given him enough of those to last him the rest of his life."
Ardeth wondered briefly if he should tell Izzy Buttons to ignore Rick, since it was the American who was giving Ardeth the headache. Instead, he requested wearily, "Could you please relay my uncle's message to me?" He was vaguely aware of Rick looking at him in concern, but that couldn't be important right now. He had to focus on getting the Book back, dealing with Imhotep once and for all, and finishing off Lock-nah.
"Of course," Izzy replied, and his manner changed instantly. Ardeth didn't think about it too much. People often reacted in vastly different ways between him and his step-brother. Izzy continued, "Dr Bey said to let you know that he's arranged for your positions on campus. O'Connell will be with campus security, and your contact there is a dark-haired guy named 'Burns.' He's studying to become a cop himself."
Ardeth nodded and Izzy looked back at him, adding, "And you, you will be another teaching assistant. Dr Bey hasn't decided whose yet, he's still doing some research into that. We must be very careful, however, because Imhotep knows you both." He paused, then added with a shake of his head, "Imhotep. Who ever heard of calling yourself Imhotep, after a dead guy? Stupidity, if you ask me."
Which Ardeth had not, but that was beside the point. Izzy continued, "Anyhow, Dr Bey has the choices narrowed down to two men in his college." Ardeth nodded, expecting that. His uncle was the dean of Arts and Sciences.
His uncle's teaching assistant explained, "I only remember one of their names. Dr Balthazar Hafez. That's the one that your uncle is leaning toward. He's the chair for the art department, and also teaches art history. I've taken a few of his courses. . . somehow, he always ends up with the prettiest girls on campus in his classes. I can't quite figure out how he does it, though." Ardeth tried not to roll his eyes. He didn't have time for girls!
"And we keep our own names? Isn't that stupid, since Imhotep is here?" Rick questioned. Ardeth wasn't comfortable with that, either, but his uncle insisted it was better this way. They could never remember all of their identities. Besides, Imhotep wouldn't leave if he knew the Med- jai chieftain was here. . .rather, he would regard it as a challenge. He seemed to enjoy the chess game he seemed to play with Ardeth.
"Take it up with Dr Bey, it was his idea. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to one of the dorms. One of Dr Bey's students worked in the library over the summer, and managed to knock down over an entire room full of books. Dr Bey wants to make sure that she put everything back where it was. I tell you, O'Connell. . .I think I'll keep Evy Carnahan away from you. The two of you would be just plain dangerous in the same room!" Izzy retorted. Ardeth smiled, his razor-sharp mind already filing away the name 'Evy Carnahan' for future reference. You just never knew when it might be important.
. . .
Curiously, Terrence Bey never even questioned that his nephew would receive his message, much less that he would come to the meet. If it was Rick O'Connell, that would have been one thing, but Ardeth was too responsible, too serious in his duties as the Med-jai chieftain. Yes, too responsible, too serious. Both of these were true where his nephew were concerned, too true for Terrence's peace of mind.
He tried to think past Ardeth, tried to remind himself of the big picture. He knew Imhotep was on the campus, he knew that the other man was posing as a professor of art history. As the representative of the Med- jai, who did not bear the Med-jai markings, it was his duty, his responsibility to gather information about the jewel thief. And to make sure Imhotep never even suspected the Med-jai were onto him.
That would be much more difficult, since Terrence would have to give his nephew to one of the other professors as a teaching assistant. He already had one, Isidore, and it would attract too much attention for him to have another. Attention meant more danger for Ardeth, and his life was already in danger, just because of his current quest. The Book of Amun-Ra had to be recovered, before Imhotep unleashed a disaster of Biblical proportions.
And any professor to whom Ardeth was assigned carried the life of Terrence's beloved nephew in his hands. There were simply no professors whom Terrence felt he could trust with the truth of his nephew's mission here. He didn't fully trust the two men who seemed the best candidates. Terrence tried to remind himself of the greater good. . . but he couldn't see what his nephew's death would do for the greater good.
Rick would be far easier. He wasn't of Terrence's blood, and he could get out of any scrape he got into with help from Ardeth. Too many times, Terrence wished that Altair never met Nathaniel O'Connell. He had nothing against the man, who was good for his sister-in-law. But Terrence feared that Nathaniel's reckless son would end up causing harm to Ardeth, and worse yet, Terrence's nephew refused to accept that. He believed that Rick would be there for him when he was needed. Terrence wished he could be so sure.
Rick's assignment was actually the easier of the two. He would be partnered with Winston Havilock, a boozed-out ex-inspector with Scotland Yard who drank himself out of a job. Terrence was not unsympathetic to the man, really. He was once a cracker-jack inspector, a member of an excellent anti-terrorist unit. Then an operation was blown to hell, wiping out the entire unit except for one man. . .Winston Havilock. The ex- inspector couldn't forgive himself for surviving, and so he committed slow suicide ever since the blast which killed his partners.
And his contact would be Nicholas Burns, a senior who was majoring in law enforcement. He was a typical young man, filled with arrogance, but unlike his two best friends, Daniels and Henderson, he was a decent young man. If he got away from the corroding influence of the other two, Terrence thought young Nicholas could be quite an admirable human being. He could poke fun at other people, but he drew some lines in the sand. Lines that his two compatriots didn't seem to see or understand. Rick would be fine. He always landed on his feet.
The same could not be said for the current bane of his existence, one Evelyn Carnahan. Terrence shook his head, muttering under his breath as he turned his attention back to his lesson plan and briefly away from the question of his nephew's safety at the campus while he laid his trap for Imhotep. That girl was a walking natural disaster! He would consider himself most fortunate if there were no more incidents, as there were during the summer. The infamous domino effect, as seen with shelves filled with books.
Still, even so, he had to admit. . .clumsy as she was, she was a far sight better than her roommate, Anck-su-namun Cortez. There were very few people whom Terrence Bey trusted. And Anck-su-namun would never make that list. He wasn't entirely sure what it was about her that he disliked. Perhaps it was simply that he saw too many promising young teachers ruined by girls like Anck Cortez. Beautiful and seductive.
He was actually predisposed to like her, since she was named for King Tutenkamen's wife, but after he saw the way his young professors reacted to her, Terrence began rethinking that. Perhaps it was unfair, but Terrence had a very hard time trusting any woman who was that sexy and that aware of her own impact on members of the opposite sex. Wonderful. There was Evy Carnahan, who knocked over whole bookshelves in a domino effect.
Then there was her roommate, Anck Cortez, who seemed to define the term 'jail bait,' though she was nineteen years old. From one extreme to the other, and then there was the third member of the little trio. The colorless Miss Ferguson. She was a nonentity, particularly when she was in the company of Miss Cortez. Quiet and soft-spoken, Terrence was told that she was quite intelligent. It was hard to be sure, as she never spoke up in class.
He had no way of knowing, of course, that the investigation he and his two nephews were conducting would change everything. His family, his life, his duty, even the way he saw the three young woman who roomed together. He couldn't know. No one could. He had no way of knowing that Evy Carnahan could be tenacious beyond words. Nor could he know that Anck Cortez was devoted to her friends and those whom she loved. And there was no way in the world he could know the events which would even alter his perception of quiet Celia Ferguson.
But these events were coming, and they would start falling into place with the choice he was about to make. Again, Terrence looked at the two choices in front of him. To whom would he send his nephew, as a teaching assistant? They were both in art history, specializing in art of the ancient world. Both had Master's Degrees in Egyptology, which was Terrence's own area of expertise.
Dr Balthazar Hafez, who had the curatorship of the British Museum as one of his credentials, as well as the chair of the Art Department. He wasn't curator of the entire Museum, of course, as Terrence was once the curator of the Egyptian Hall of Antiquities. Rather, he was curator of the Egyptian exhibits and halls. He was a fellow Egyptian, not that this particularly recommended him to Terrence. There were scoundrels and cutthroats in all nationalities.
On the other hand, his other choice was Dr Allen Chamberlain. An Englishman, with a slightly superior attitude toward everyone. He set Terrence's teeth on edge. While Terrence was frequently exasperated with both Evy Carnahan's clumsiness and her brother's assorted vices, he was actually quite fond of them both. Thus, he felt quite indignant when Chamberlain took the view that Miss Carnahan was worthless as a student simply because she was a woman. And he really didn't care for Chamberlain's attitude toward anyone who wasn't English.
Was he really willing to entrust his nephew to such a man? Ardeth was twenty-two now, a man instead of a child, and yet Terrence remained very protective of him. Andreas was dead, and Anatol was a boy of fourteen. And Ardeth. . .Ardeth resembled his father so much, it sometimes took Terrence's breath away. It was a fine line which the Dean walked, balancing his desire to protect his nephew with the knowledge that his nephew was the chieftain of their people, and a fine warrior in his own right.
He was still the little boy whom Terrence remembered from his visits back to the desert, the solemn-eyed child who worked so hard to be what his father wanted him to be. Still the nephew who refused to let go of Suleiman after Terrence's older brother almost died in battle. And when Ardeth arrived in the States with Rick a few weeks earlier, once Terrence had a lead on Imhotep, his sister-in-law called him. Terrence and Altair were never particularly close. . . they respected each other, acknowledging each other's place among the Med-jai.
But Terrence left the desert permanently after his brother's death, and though he continued to serve the Med-jai, a rift developed between him and his brother's widow. She kept the door open for him, for the sake of their children. But aside from that, there was no contact between them. However, Altair called him. Told him to watch over Ardeth. He was the chieftain, but he was her son. And she knew that he loved the boy just as much as she did.
Indeed. And just as Terrence himself did, Altair struggled between her desire to protect Ardeth and her understanding that she had to trust her son. That was the end, was it not? A question of trust. Terrence sighed and picked up the phone. He dialed the extension he needed. The other party answered, and Terrence said, "I was not sure if I could catch you before your next class. I have a new teaching assistant for you, Balthazar."
. . .
Things were silent on the drive back to the apartment. Rick said not a word, but ever so often, he would glance over at his passenger. He looked bad. There were dark circles under his eyes, and there wasn't much color in his face. Ardeth's head lay against the head rest, his hands resting limply on his thighs. His eyes were closed. But he wasn't asleep. Rick knew his step-brother better than that.
In some ways, Rick knew Ardeth better than anyone else. He knew that Ardeth's dark eyes flashed when he was angry, and he knew his brother was shy around women. He knew what every one of Ardeth's expressions meant. Happy, sad, angry, scared, tired, sick. But at any given time, Rick had no idea what was running through his younger brother's head. There were times when Ardeth would go somewhere deep inside him, and Rick had no way of knowing where, exactly, he was.
That frightened Rick. He was angry when his father took him to Egypt eight years earlier, even angrier when he stayed and married Altair Bey. He was fifteen years old, lost his mother two years earlier, and he still hadn't forgiven his father for her death. It didn't matter that his father wasn't responsible for the plane crash which ended his mother's life. Rick was thirteen when his mother died, and he needed someone to blame.
He didn't care whom he made pay for how badly he was hurting. He lashed out at his new step-mother, at her children, at her father. By the time Nathaniel and Altair O'Connell were married for a year, most of Rick's step-siblings avoided him. The only ones who would speak to him were the two older ones. . .Andreas and Ardeth. Andreas, after Rick did something to upset Anatol and Aleta, usually talked with his fists. It was even easier to hate him. Hate him because Andreas was protective of his siblings in a way Rick couldn't begin to comprehend.
Ardeth. . .Ardeth would merely look at him with those dark eyes after Rick lashed out at him. Looking back now, Rick winced at the insults he slung at his step-brother, younger than himself by a year. They must have hurt that young boy. There was no way he could have not been hurt. And yet, Ardeth would look at him, finally asking him, 'Does it make you feel better, Richard, to say such things? Does it make your pain less?'
The answer, of course, was 'no,' and that made Rick hate the younger brother all the more. For being right, for knowing that nothing Rick did could make him feel better. . .because there was nothing in the world he could to bring his mother back from the dead. He hated him because he was right, because he was so much smarter than Rick, and younger than him. He hated him because Andreas would kill for him, and no one ever loved Rick that much. No one loved him enough to die for him.
Or so he thought. In one day, Rick's entire world turned upside down. By this time, Nathaniel and Altair were married for fifteen months. Andreas was courting one of the lovely young Med-jai maidens. Ardeth was fifteen years old, becoming a skilled warrior in his own right. If Rick was truthful, he would admit that he was jealous of the younger boy. He was a better fighter, a better person, and the Med-jai girls were starting to notice him.
On this day, the boys who were not yet warriors were practicing. Rick watched his young step-brother with a grudging admiration and even more grudging pride. A high call interrupted the relative peace of the afternoon, and Rick froze. Even with his determined efforts not to learn anything about his step-mother's people, Rick did learn enough to know that call meant trouble. Really *big* trouble. Everyone began scattering, and Rick ran back toward his tent for a weapon of some kind.
But it was already too late. The Tuareg killed the Med-jai out on patrol, by the time the signal was given, the enemy surrounded the camp and attacked. Rick swore under his breath and searched for higher ground, some way to take one of these bastards off his horse, some way to get himself a weapon without returning to his tent. A scream of fury attracted his attention, and he whirled around as a warrior from the other side bore down on him.
A single shot was fire and the man fell from his horse. Rick whipped his head back toward the direction of the shot, to see Ardeth quietly ejecting a shell from his rifle. The other boy dipped his head in acknowledgment, then took out another Tuareg bearing down on Rick, and another bearing down on Andreas. Rick dove for the dead man's weapon. He was no good with a sword. . .his pistol and rifle would have to be good enough.
One by one, methodically, he took out the raiders, backing up until he was in the center of the village, with the rest of the warriors. He collided with someone, and looked around briefly to see Andreas behind him, taking out the invaders from the opposite side. He looked to his right, to find Ardeth beside him. Ardeth's rifle was slung back over his shoulder as he fought a Tuareg warrior who looked to be twice his age. The kid was good with that scimitar. Rick again had to watch his brother in pride, not even realizing that he dropped the 'step' from it. That moment of inattention, of unblemished pride in Ardeth, almost cost him his life.
The rifle was knocked out of his hands by a jarring thump which served to knock him to the ground as well. Rick stared up at the looming warrior, seeing every moment of his sixteen years flash before his eyes. But then, there was a blur of black, a scream of pain, and the black robes slumped to the ground. Rick couldn't even see who came to his aid. The Tuareg warrior was still looming. . .except, a gun shot shattered the silence.
The Tuareg collapsed without another movement, and Rick saw his father standing there. Nathaniel O'Connell ran to his side, ignoring the wounded Tuareg. The older American helped the younger sit upright, running his hands over the boy's body to make sure he was all right. Rick's mind was finally starting to move once more, and as Nathaniel turned to speak to someone behind him, the boy reached over to the warrior who saved Rick's life. . .only to find his step-brother lying on his side, hands pressed to a wound in his gut. Ardeth's black eyes were filled with pain and fear, and Rick screamed, "DAD!"
Nathaniel was at his side immediately, kneeling beside the pair. Rick's father murmured, "Oh, god, kid. . .hang on, Ardeth, just hang on." He gently stroked Ardeth's curly black hair, then rolled him onto his back. Ardeth whimpered, a sound Rick never heard from his stoic step-brother, never thought he would hear, but this was the first time Ardeth was ever injured. It was his first battle, his first wound, and he got it because he was protecting Rick.
"Rick, son, I need you to keep your hand here," Nathaniel instructed tersely, taking Rick's still-growing hand and placing it over Ardeth's hands. Blood was spilling between Ardeth's fingers, and Rick pressed hard, inexplicably terrified by the sight. This was not good. This was not good at all. He intensified the pressure of his hand, and Ardeth moaned, his eyes closing, and Nathaniel said, "That's good, keep it up. . .we have to keep him from bleeding out."
Can't let him bleed out. Those words stayed Rick's hand, when he would have taken it away. He hated himself for the pain he was causing Ardeth, but if Ardeth was in pain, he was alive, and that was so much better than the alternative. He almost took his hands away, when he saw the blood seeping out onto his own. Almost. But Rick looked into Ardeth's eyes, and the fear almost took his breath away. Ardeth was afraid of nothing, or so Rick thought.
The younger boy whispered, "Do not leave me? I. . .do not wish to die alone." There were tears sparkling in his eyes. Fifteen years old. He wasn't even a full warrior yet. He had not yet gone through his rites of manhood. That was to be the following year, when he turned sixteen. It *would* be the following year. Rick's eyes narrowed with determination, and pressed his hands harder against the wound. Ardeth fought back another cry of pain.
Rick whispered, "I'll never leave you. I swear it. I'll never leave you." And he didn't. He didn't leave when his father pressed a true bandage against the bloody wound. He didn't leave when Nathaniel slipped something warm around the younger boy's slim, shaking body. He didn't leave when his father scooped Ardeth up into his arms and carried him to the tent of the healer. Nor did he leave in the hours or days which followed. Even as Andreas, Acacia, Aleta and Anatol came and went in the tent, Rick stayed. He held Ardeth's hand between his own two, somewhat larger hands, as if to keep him anchored in this world.
No one was sure for the first few days, whether or not Ardeth would survive. In the States, they would have known. Or so Rick told himself. Ardeth was young and healthy, but he lost a great deal of blood. He also pased out within seconds of arriving in the healer's tent, and didn't awaken. Despite the best efforts of the healer, there was still the possibility of infection. There was always that possibility. Rick wouldn't leave his side. He prayed to God, to Allah, to the ancient gods, to whomever would listen.
He promised that he would be a better brother, that he would stop tormenting the youngsters and lashing out at them. He promised that he would never leave Ardeth, that he would always protect him. It was only right. Ardeth was so young, but he would have sacrificed his own life to save Rick's. He made promises he could never keep, but it made no difference. He was sixteen years old, he lost his mother. . .he couldn't lose Ardeth.
On the morning of the third day, Ardeth opened his eyes. His soft moan woke Rick, who fell asleep beside his cot. Brown eyes met blue, then Ardeth smiled sleepily. Rick smiled back, not entirely sure why he was smiling, but it was infectious. His younger brother whispered, "Shukran, ya ahi." Then he sighed, and the brown eyes slid shut once more. He was merely asleep, a healing sleep which would help the boy recover his strength.
Rick kept his most important promise. The one to never leave Ardeth. That was why he was here, despite his bitching and complaining. If Ardeth came alone, the way he originally suggested. . .no. No, Rick had to be here, to watch his back. He pulled into the apartment off-campus they shared and looked over at his brother. Ardeth's feet were braced against the dashboard, his knees almost to his chest.
He wasn't feeling well. Rick asked softly, "Headache's gotten worse?" Ardeth barely managed to bob his head, and Rick reached out to gently massage the back of his neck. For a moment, he wanted to kill Andreas all over again, for getting himself killed in the first place. He wanted to kill Lock-nah for killing Andreas, and he wanted to kill Imhotep for hiring the bastard. But he fought the urges back, and told his brother, "Let's get you inside, and I'll make dinner." It was actually Ardeth's turn to make dinner. . .it usually was, since Rick wasn't much of a cook. But Ardeth was in no shape to do much of anything.
Including eat, it seemed. His brother acknowledged in a hoarse voice, "I don't think I can eat, Rick." Ah, hell. Rick was afraid he would say that. Ardeth groaned suddenly, and Rick bolted out of the car. Oh, no. No, no, no. Ardeth was so not gonna be sick in his car. He managed to get out, around to the passenger side of the car, and Ardeth outside before his brother started retching.
Once he was outside of the car, Rick was free to devote his sole attention to his suffering brother, rather than worry about how to get the smell of vomit out of his car. Ardeth fell to his knees, and somewhat relieved to see nothing was coming up, Rick put his arms around Ardeth's waist and pulled him upright. Ardeth barely managed to stifle a second groan, and instead, leaned heavily against Rick. Without saying another word, the American guided the other man inside the house and to the couch.
There was, curiously enough, no resentment toward his younger brother for this. . .Ardeth took care of the Med-jai people. He was a combination of king, general, and visionary. He took care of their family. Someone had to take care of him. Seven years ago, Ardeth made a choice to sacrifice his own life to save Rick's. The second he did that, Rick made a choice of his own. He was a lousy brother up until that day. But if it took the rest of his life, he would make it up to Ardeth. He carefully took off the hiking boots Ardeth wore today, then manuevered him up onto the sofa. As he covered his brother with the blanket, Rick heard a weary, "Shukran, ya ahi."
"You're welcome. . .go to sleep," Rick replied softly. Ardeth mumbled something, then fell silent. Rick sat down beside him, sighing deeply. He would sit with Ardeth for a few minutes. Sometimes, when he got these terrible headaches, they were accompanied by memories. Nightmares. Rick would sit with him a while, then go start dinner. But food could wait. It could wait.