Disclaimer: The lack of slash in the movies should be a good indication of my current state of ownership.
Also, just as a reminder, all dialogue in italics is Ancient Egyptian.
Chapter 3: Things Possible
They were big, throbbing thumbs on this dusty, godforsaken street. Why was it that anyone who was ever of any real help could not manage to work in a shiny, new, easily accessible museum? Really, Jonathan thought, huffing and puffing his way past shady looking characters in suspicious looking side alleys whose only thoughts were obviously where it would be most convenient to dump his body after rummaging through his pockets for any nonexistent valuables, it was all one big sick karmic joke. You gamble a little money, lie to a few women, and accidentally find the map to the spot where all the pharaohs' treasure is buried and suddenly everyone's out to get you.
Considering how he had turned out to be such a kind and caring person, did he really deserve this Stephen Warren fellow to be nearly impossible to find on the hottest day in all of recorded history?
Of course, that was even before not thinking about who he was speed walking next to- and he was so much more of an amble along aimlessly 'til something hits you kind of guy anyway. What a fine pair they made, a middle age man sweating in his utterly British outfit and his companion wearing only tattered robes. While clothes were made to last in the old days, Jonathan felt certain that wearing them for a few thousand years was pushing it. Mental note then: after picking up this Warren they were going to go clothes shopping.
A kind of detached hysteria hovered in his mind as he contemplated the thought. Clothes shopping. With Imhotep. Dear lord, he had lost it, hadn't he?
At the very least he was pretty sure they'd finally reached the museum. Since the last time he'd seen it he'd been running away from hordes of boil-covered mind slaves of a certain undead high priest over a decade ago and it had seen a few- emphasis on few- renovations in that time (probably out the necessity due to the aforementioned hordes) it took him a few moments to become positive.
It was now, however, that something occurred to him: they had a bigger problem- beyond the, "He's an evil high priest who tried to take over the world twice and if we happen across any medjai death will swiftly follow," thing. They were, most unfortunately, lacking a cover story. How exactly does one explain to a fellow he's never met that for an indefinite amount of time it would be lovely if he could act as a translator for this suspicious looking fellow who speaks nothing but ancient Egyptian?
Perhaps the best route would be just to kidnap him.
Jonathan looked at Imhotep, hoping his eyes could clearly convey the message, "I'm sorry to impose upon your great personage – who has no interest in ever maiming in the slightest even for asking- if there was any possible way you could spontaneously learn English. Or at least get your exceedingly brilliant plan to win over Warren across in pantomime."
Judging by the way Imhotep's return look said either he was thoroughly bored by this whole affair or Jonathan's eyes were about to become stylish decorative pieces, he was forced to accept that was a no.
He should have known only half listening to Evie all these years would come back and haunt him. But honestly, who expects to need Ancient Egyptian in day to day life?
He was probably going to have to open the door and go through it. Imhotep was looking more and more annoyed as the minutes ticked by with no new development on the going into the museum front. Jonathan would not have the third attempt on the apocalypse on his head just because he couldn't keep Imhotep properly entertained.
'Come on then, Jonathan,' he thought to himself. 'Open the door or hope he kills you quickly.' Inspired by that happy thought, he finally opened the door and entered the museum.
Considering that it was so sunny outside you couldn't look directly at the sand without being blinded by the glare, it was impressive how the main lobby managed to be both dimly lit and slightly chilly- in other words, completely creepy. If this was someone's idea of setting the mood, Jonathan was thinking he might be better off muddling through on his own. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about one companion sucking the marrow from his bones while the other rose yet another evil mummy from the dead to keep as a minion- if this Stephen Warren fit in with the current setting, that is.
There was no on at the front desk, but Jonathan wasn't surprised. He didn't remember anyone ever being there before. It was best, he knew, if Warren was anything like Evie- and he was willing to bet, excluding the possibility he worshiped Anubis fervently, that was the case- to simply head to the library and start looking there.
It was only a tiny piece of his brain that warned him Warren might not even be here today, and as it was the same voice that said, "Don't play cards with those men," and other such silly statements, he ignored it with a practiced ease.
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The puzzling man led him through corridor after corridor- which seemed to be familiar in an even more vague sense than that which he experienced when he tried to recall aforementioned man's name. It had always been, before, superfluous. But now that it was he whom Imhotep followed and he, regardless of the man's apparent surprise at his return, who had called him back into this world, such a thing grew in importance. And until such time as he learned what purpose this man thought to use him- when he was now so clearly frightened of the former high priest- he would continue to follow him.
In this instance, with no followers and no powers he had no other choice.
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Ah, this brought back memories of the good old days. The times when his biggest problem was men he may or may not have owed money to who wanted to collect, as opposed to whether or not the hordes of the underworld were about to be summoned because he sneezed at the wrong time.
The library was just as dusty and depressing as he remembered, if less battle worn. Warren was apparently kinder to the shelves than Evie. With any luck he would also be the top of the head protruding from what looked like a fortress of encyclopedias in the nearby corner.
Which probably meant that particular patch of hair belonged to a crazed mass murderer whose single goal in life was to put Jonathan's head on a pole. Well, there was only one way to find out.
"Excuse me."
The patch of hair shot up to reveal its attachment to a man who looked even more pathetic than Jonathan felt a great deal of the time. The patch of hair turned out to be the only hair on the head, but in comparison to the enormous spectacles that rested on a rather small face it was hardly noticeable. Jonathan wouldn't put him past five foot three and no doubt a gust of wind would do him in.
He found himself hoping this was not Stephen Warren. It wouldn't do for the translator to be even more timid than himself. Nothing would ever get done beyond a heck of a lot of stammering and even more trembling.
"Yes?" A faint inquiry came out of the man's mouth.
"Ah, are you by any chance Stephen Warren?"
"Oh!" the man said, his eyes widening to saucer proportions. "You must be Jonathan!"
Well, never let it be said that Jonathan Carnahan couldn't handle surprises. The man didn't appear to be under any sort of mind control…
"Evelyn said you'd probably be stopping by."
"You talked to Evie?" Someone had clearly forgotten to give him the script for this part. It had never crossed his mind that they'd be expected.
"Oh yes," the man shook his head fervently. "She called not too long ago. She didn't sound terribly pleased…" the man trailed off for a moment, his hands shaking for a moment, his eyes glazing over. A split second later he seemed to have recovered, however, and continued, "She said something about you needing someone to translate some Ancient Egyptian?"
"Ah," Jonathan said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I never did answer you're question. Even though I'm sure you've figured it out by now, I am Stephen Warren. So what did you need translated?"
Jonathan wondered if it would be too simplistic to simply point at Imhotep. Warren took this time to suddenly take notice of Jonathan's companion.
"Who's this fellow? Evie never mentioned you were traveling with a friend." Certainly not first the word Jonathan would have used to describe him- or even the last.
"He's not so much my friend as the translation problem."
"Excuse me?" Warren seemed baffled. Jonathan immediately felt a very strong kinship with him. After all, aren't those who baffle together brothers?
"He only speaks Ancient Egyptian, you see. And my Arabic's too rusty to try and see if that would work," Jonathan explained. It would seem it you don't use it for over a decade, you really do lose it.
"He only speaks Ancient Egyptian?" Warren echoed. "But that's impossible."
"Believe me, I wish that was the case."
This was the part where Warren called the police. Or the crazy house. Jonathan felt he should at least be awarded points for trying.
Then something most unexpected happened.
"You speak this language?" Warren said.
His nerves suddenly had to work over time to quash an inexplicable ray of hope.
Imhotep merely stared at Warren for a moment (Jonathan was sure his heart would explode from the suspense. He half hoped it would) before he said, "Only when it is worth my time. I doubt you are."
Warren jaw dropped.
Jonathan really hoped that was a good sign. He didn't see any brains dribbling out of the man's ears, after all.
Author's Notes: It's only been…more than a year since I've updated. You know, I really didn't even realize how much time had passed since I looked at the last updated bit today. I'm going to hazard a guess that most people don't even remember this story at all. And length wise after such a long wait, this chapter is a bit disappointing…but really, I'm pushing it having it this long, I suppose, since I really should be working on my history essays instead. Ah well. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I have to admit, I was a really surprised at how many people did. And I hope you'll all review this chapter. I do promise the next chapter to be up much sooner than this one. –sweatdrop- I still can't believe how long it's been. –Remo
Thank you to all the anonymous reviewers, it's been so long you probably have no idea what you wrote, so I'm just going to mention you by name: Lanku, Laureselde, Fern Knight, M.M., K.D., Zozothewhite, Eves awakening, Jilly, blah, Yetipie, Kodak Moment, E, daft0as0you0may0think.
All the signed reviews, I will be answering shortly. –laughs- Mostly as a reminder that this story's still here.