"You're going to Hamunaptra?" Liam asked, his face full of surprise. Anne was looking sceptically at the American in the cowboy hat, while Ama was scowling at him for the endearment he had used.

"Sure am. Me an' my buddies, takin' the first boat outta Giza Port tomorrow." The American answered, grinning widely at the Irish man's stunned expression.

"And just how do you intend to get there, Mr ..."

"Henderson, ma'am, my name's Henderson. And we got ourselves a guide. Little Hungarian fella. 'Fraid a his own shadow."

"Why are you telling us this?" Anne questioned, her suspicions getting the best of her. Beside her, Liam was still looking rather stunned that they were not the only ones in pursuit of the city and Ama looked deep in thought.

"Well, seems to me like we got a common cause, if you folks really are lookin' for Hamunaptra. 'Sides, can't a fella do somethin' nice for a pair o' pretty girls?" At this, Liam scowled and slipped his arm around Anne's shoulders, while Ama ignored the American studiously, still lost in her own thoughts. Anne regarded Henderson coolly.

"As you can see, I am spoken for. And I'm quite sure that Miss Massri has very little interest in you either, do you Miss Massri?" Ama blinked at the sound of her name, then registered what had been said.

"You would do well not to presume about my preferences Mrs O'Leary, but in this case, yes, you are correct. I cannot stand un-groomed Americans who so rudely interrupt private conversations." Henderson wrinkled his nose in disgust and shrugged, turning to walk away. Ama continued to speak though. "However, you mentioned your guide. He would not happen to be a Mr Beni Gabor, would he?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?" Before Ama could answer, Anne cut in.

"My husband and I would like to speak to him. Do you know where we could find him?"

"Sure thing sweetheart, he's right over there, sittin' with my buddies. I could introduce you if you want." He smiled a very charming smile, and Liam's arm tightened around his wife's shoulders, so much so that she turned to glare at him.

"Oh, honestly Liam. He's only going to take us to Mr Gabor, I'm not going to run away with him. We came here to look for him anyway, so if this gentleman knows where he is, then that makes our job much easier doesn't it?" Anne smiled at her husband, knowing he could hardly resist her when she smiled, and he grumbled something unintelligible, but loosened his grip around her shoulders nonetheless. She turned to Henderson. "Well, go on then, let's meet Mr Gabor." She began to rise, when Ama spoke.

"Do you really think this is wise? After what I have told you?" Anne pursed her lips and Liam looked curiously between his wife and the Egyptian woman before piping up.

"If you're so concerned, why not come with us and make sure we return safely?" Ama laughed, though there was no joy in it.

"Me? Go to Hamunaptra? I'd rather die."

"Well, you do have a rather threatening demeanour. Why not just come and threaten Mr Gabor in to making sure we return safely if it concerns you so?" Anne smirked as Ama glared at her, but stood and strode off to the table that Henderson had gestured to earlier. The O'Learys and Henderson followed, Henderson grinning like a fool, Anne smirking at the older woman's anger and Liam, wondering how he had gotten messed up in all of this.

The table was just beside a window, meaning it had far better lighting than their previous one. Around it sat three men, one with dark hair and glasses, although he was currently polishing them, one with a five o'clock shadow and a receding hairline, and the third was a skinny pale man with watery eyes that kept darting around the bar and a fez on his head. Ama knew by a mixture of instinct and word of mouth that this was Beni Gabor.

xxx

Beni hated Americans. He hated the way they spoke, always dropping their g's and d's, and he hated the way they always thought they were better than everybody else, especially him. Which was why leaving them in the middle of the desert had never really bothered him. After all, he got all the money upfront, and no one had ever confronted him about it. At least, until now. These Americans and their British doctor, they had been smart enough to only pay him half before they left for the ancient city, telling him he'd earn the rest when they were all back safe and sound in their hotel. Beni had thought this to be the only problem he would face with these Americans. But now, this woman was there, standing across from him, her hands on her hips, something akin to hatred in her gaze as she spoke to him in English, probably for the benefit of the people surrounding them.

"Well? It's true, isn't it? You've left people to rot in the desert, haven't you, Mr Gabor?" Her voice was heavy with an Arabian accent that he'd grown used to over the past few years, and accusation, a tone that one might normally associate with a school teacher, which was probably why he found it so easy to scowl up at her as he replied.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." This woman, whom he'd really never seen before in his life, perhaps she was the wife or sister of one of the men he'd sent in to the desert, only narrowed her dark eyes, complete disbelief behind them. "You're crazy." Beni had always found that the best thing to do in situations like this was to discredit his attacker, no matter how correct their accusations might be. "I've never even seen you before in my life."

"Liar." That one word is filled with more venom than he would care to admit, but before she could continue, the woman behind her, a pretty little thing made up of soft curves and light colours, backed by a tall, stern looking man who was watching the exchange with curious eyes, interrupted.

"I'm so sorry; my companion doesn't understand subtlety apparently. My name is Anne O'Leary, I'm an author, perhaps you've heard of me?" He had not. His head shake was apparently a surprise, if the slight widening of her eyes and the look of pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows her companion received was any indication. "Oh, well, um, I am quite well known, but perhaps not here. Anyway, that's beside the point." She waved her hand a little, as if to wave the idea away, and continued regardless. "You see, our friend, Miss Massri here, she has heard some, well, rumours, and you see, she's rather concerned about them, especially as we are looking to employ you." Beni opened his mouth to interrupt, to claim that those rumours were nothing more than unprovable hearsay, but the little English woman held one hand up to keep him silent. "Now, I understand that accidents do happen and that the desert is a dangerous place, which leads me to believe that these rumours are probably unsubstantiated in their origins. So with that in mind, I have to ask Mr Gabor, how many parties have you lost in recent years?"

Thinking quickly, Beni realised that to answer none would look suspicious, even when this stupid woman seemed so quick to dismiss everything she's been told about him, and that the man behind her was still watching him like a snake watching a mouse, as were the Americans surrounding him. That Massri woman (he still didn't know who she was, although the name seemed vaguely familiar) was watching him too, her mouth curled up in to a vicious sneer. Making a snap decision, (which he didn't like to do, but what other choice did he have?) Beni lowered his head in to his folded arms and began to sob dramatically. The Englishwoman gasped, her hands probably flew to cover her mouth.

"Oh, Miss," he looked up at her when he was sure that there were convincing tears in his eyes, "I've only ever lost one party, and it was so awful!" He sniffled pathetically and wiped his nose on his off-white shirt sleeve. The women, both of them, stared at him, one in incredulity, the other in what he hoped was sympathy. "It was a party of five, three brothers and their cousins, and the journey there was fine, but on the way back…" He paused to let out a small hiccup of a sob. "There was a huge sandstorm that threw us off-course on the way back to Cairo, and we got so terribly lost," he sniffled again, louder this time, "we ran out of food and then water too, we became delirious with sunstroke and dehydration. The other men, they began to turn on one another, I had no way to stop them, they had guns and I had none, they began accusing one another of awful things, sleeping with each-others wives and stealing money and the like. I think it was our fourth day lost that one of the men killed his cousin. From there it was madness, and, and, and by the time help found us…" He trailed off, swallowing and closing his eyes, as though it is an especially painful matter to discuss. The redheaded one's hands were over her mouth, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The man behind her had stepped forward at some point and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his brows furrowed in worry. A quick glance told him that his American audience was as enthralled as the couple. The Massri woman, however, looked like she was about to rip his arm off and beat him, and anyone that was believing his tale, with it.

"I was the only one left." He finished quietly, letting his head fall in to the cradle of his folded arms again. When the Englishwoman let out a soft murmur of "Oh how awful." Beni smirked down at the table. What a good tale. He'd have to remember that one. He looked up again, wiping at his face with his shirtsleeves, only to find an expensive-looking handkerchief in front of him. The tall man with his arm around the redhead looked at him expectantly and nodded towards it. Beside him, the Massri woman rolled her eyes, looking supremely unhappy. This, naturally, pleased Beni to no end and he made sure to lock eyes with her for a moment as he took the embroidered hankie. The initials were L.O.L., but he'd unpick the stitching when he got home so he could sell it on. Wiping his face carefully so as not to really dirty the thing, he sniffled again. "Thank you. You're very kind. Most people hear the rumours and assume they are true without ever asking me." The Englishwoman nodded sympathetically, but not before casting a withering glance over at her female companion, who glared back, clearly not understanding how these people were missing the cad right in front of them. Beni knew how. They were stupid. Most people were, especially the richer folk. And these two? They were rich alright. If the way the woman spoke hadn't already convinced him of that, the hankie would have done the job just as quick. Back to the matter at hand though.

"That is the only time I've ever lost a party, I swear to you." Well, it wasn't like there was anyone left that could prove him a liar, was there? "And it haunts me." He whispered perhaps a tad overdramatically, letting out a small sob for good measure.

"Oh, you must be joking!" The Massri woman exclaimed in Arabic, arms crossed, looking both furious and exasperated at the same time. The tall man shushed her, turning back to him after a moment of glaring. Shouldering the bespectacled man out of her way, the Englishwoman took a seat across from him and grabbed his hands in hers.

"Oh, Mr Gabor, how awful! What a terrible experience that must have been for you!"

"What a terrible experience it was for those listening." Commented the other woman dryly. Beni and the Englishwoman ignored her, although the bespectacled American was now looking at her curiously. That one might know a little Arabic, Beni thought, so he might be getting the general idea of Massri's disdain. It didn't matter though, the rest of them now all thought she was a callous shrew, which was very good for Beni and his wallet.

"I appreciate your candour, Mr Gabor, which is why my husband and I have a proposition for you." Sniffling once more for affect, Beni leaned in curiously.

"And what is that, Ma'am?" She smiled pleasantly and Beni found himself smiling back, just a little. She was a very pretty thing, and Beni had always had a weakness for pretty things, women or otherwise.

"My husband and I would like to join your expedition to Hamunaptra. We're willing to pay whatever price you'd like for the opportunity."

"Uh, I don't think that the doctor-" Began the bespectacled American (Beni had not learnt their names, and did not intend to), but he was cut off by one of his cowboy companions, the blonde one.

"We'd be more'n happy to have 'em come along to, ain't that right Daniels?" The other cowboy shrugged, polishing his revolver as he had been doing throughout the duration of the conversation.

"Sure, why not. Don't see any problem with it." The Englishwoman's smile widened and she turned to look at Beni.

"Name your price, Mr Gabor." He thought about it for one moment.

"50 pounds." At the slight raise of the husband's eyebrow, Beni added "Each." The couple glanced at one another, and appeared to have a quick, silent conversation before the wife turned back to him, smiling.

"Certainly, Mr Gabor. 50 tomorrow at the barge, and 50 upon our safe return to Cairo." Maybe they weren't as stupid as he'd first thought. He nodded as the Massri woman grabbed the husband's arm and pulled him off in to the corner of the bar.

They stood there for a few minutes, muttering quietly between themselves, although the Arabic woman's arms flailed as she talked quickly and furiously. Those left at the table watched in confusion and bemusement at the mostly silent but obviously frustrated conversation that was taking place. After a few minutes, he grabbed her arms and leant in slightly closer to her, looking her in the eyes as he spoke. She drew back cautiously, eyeing him as though he were mad, but then folded her arms under her breasts, looking slightly unsure but mollified. Nodding once, she turned on her heel and walked back to her spot beside the table. A little sheepishly, the man followed her.

"Something wrong dear?" His wife asked, eyebrow raised delicately, suggesting that if something was wrong she'd have a hissy fit.

"Oh, no darling, everything's fine." Oh, he was Irish. Beni hadn't really been expecting that. "It's just a slight change in plans, is all. You see, tomorrow we'll be paying Mr Gabor £75 at the docks, and then another 75 when we get back, because Miss Massri has decided to come with us." His wife clapped her hands together, although she was obviously not entirely pleased with this outcome.

"Oh, well, very good. Miss Massri," the other woman looked at her with very thinly veiled disdain in her eyes. Beni appreciated the sentiment, he often felt that when he looked at people like L.O.L. and his wife too, "we'll be meeting at the docks tomorrow at" she paused and looked to the blond cowboy.

"10, ma'am."

"10 sharp. Bring suitable clothes and a tent if you have one."

"I don't." Miss Massri replied through gritted teeth, likely displeased at being talked down to. At this, the bespectacled American spoke up.

"You can have mine. There's room in Henderson and Daniels' tent, I'll share with them, I don't mind." The two cowboys made vague noises of disagreement, but the look their companion sent them a glare which swiftly shut them up. Miss Massri looked at him, considering his offer for a moment, before smiling pleasantly and nodding. She was quite pretty when she smiled, Beni noted, in a sharp, school mistress type way, not like the Englishwoman who was soft and reminded him of the paintings of French Queens and their ladies-in-waiting. The American noticed too, flushing and looking down in to his drink as she answered.

"I'd appreciate that greatly, thank you sir." Beside her, the Irishman rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, obviously amused.

"Well, that's all that settled then. Anything else before we run home and pack?" His wife thought for a moment, tapping her index finger on her chin as she did. The Americans were shaking their heads, and Miss Massri was stood with her arms crossed beneath her breasts again, staring, eyes narrowed, at Beni. Beni, in turn was attempting to avoid her gaze, focussing solely on the couple before him.

"I don't think so, dear." The wife eventually said, moving to stand. Her husband placed his hands on her shoulders and gently guided her back down again.

"Well, before we head off, let's buy these fellows a drink, hm? To thank them for being so accommodating. Lord knows Mr Gabor could probably use one after that sad tale he told us earlier." Beni nodded frantically. He most certainly could use a drink, seeing as how his party of annoying Americans and professors had now nearly doubled in size. The wife sighed and nodded, waving her husband off towards the bar. Miss Massri grabbed a stool from the table behind her and brought it to the table side, pointedly placing it as far from Beni as she could. They made quiet conversation for a few minutes, the Americans attempting and failing to charm the women with tales of their exploits back west, until the Irishman returned with a tray and a glass of whiskey for everyone, even the women.

"Finest they had," he grinned, picking up a glass and holding it aloft. "Now gentlemen, ladies, I think a toast is in order!" Everyone followed suit, their glasses high as well as most of their spirits. "To Mr Gabor for agreeing to guide us; to our American pal for introducing us to him; to Miss Massri for her continued concerns about our safety, but mostly, to Hamunaptra!"

"To Hamunaptra!" Came the rousing chorus, then the glasses clinked and the whiskey was drunk. It was smooth and pleasant, obviously an expensive make. To himself Beni thought 'Yes, to Hamunaptra, and to the money you idiots are giving me to get you there.'

A/N: So the Mummy still doesn't belong to me, even after all this time since I last updated. If it's any consolation, I've been busy getting a degree, so…Sorry? Anywho, wooo plot. I'm not sure how well I captured Beni's P.O.V., but I gave it a go and that's what counts, right? This chapter is longer than most of my essays and took far less time to write… Anything in italics from now on is spoken in Arabic. I'm going to start working on the next chapter right now, I promise. Happy readings!