It was typical of Henry to arrive a day early. Aylisha watched from a doorway as subordinates scurried around him. The storage room was in complete disorder, with packing crates piled up where there was no space on the floor. Henry was surveying his handiwork when he caught sight of her.

"Ah, my dear Aylisha…" he purred as he made his way towards her. Had her mind not been concerned with what was in the crates she might have found time to wonder how two months in the desert could fail so miserably to give anyone a tan.

She forced herself to smile over gritted teeth as he took her hand and kissed it in an exaggerated manner. "I come bearing gifts" he continued, as he watched the porters carefully carrying further crates into the already full room. Aylisha mastered the impulse to wipe her hand on her dress and walked over to study some of the artefacts.

She couldn't hide her fascination. Finely wrought gold statuettes and furniture were unwrapped before her admiring eyes. They filled the room, decorating the dull wooden crates. Aylisha fancifully imagined she could smell the clean air of the desert coming out from the freshly opened crates.

Then something glinting at the corner of eye claimed her attention. It was a skilfully tooled short-sword. Its blade was undimmed by age, and emerged from an elegantly crafted handle of gold and lapis lazuli. Somehow she couldn't prevent a shiver going down her spine.

Henry had walked up behind her, and following her gaze saw what had attracted it. "Exquisite, isn't it?" he said, casually picking it up and twisting it in the air to watch the light dance on the blade. "Efficient too!" he added, as he ran a finger along the edge of the blade and quickly regretted the action. "Makes you wonder whether it got put to any use, eh?"

"I'd rather not, thank you." She replied, quickly turning to less deadly points of interest. As Henry replaced the blade, he was distracted by her sharp intake of breath. He turned to see her pointing towards a distant wall.

"What's that?" she gasped.

"Dearie dearie me," he tutted, "that is what we Egyptologists call a sarcophagus. Someone hasn't been doing her homework while I was away. Perhaps some after hours tuition…"

His barbed comments fell on deaf ears, however, as Aylisha was already weaving her way around the crates towards it.

As she approached the sarcophagus she saw the scratched engravings and inscriptions, and the lock upon it, and knew instantly whom it had belonged to. "Have you opened it?" she demanded of a surprised Henry.

"Yes, but there was nothing inside."

Her tense body had almost relaxed when he continued "But we soon fixed that."

"What?" Her voice was shrill to her ears, and from the wincing expression on Henry's face, to his as well.

"Calm yourself, my dear," he said, running a suggestive finger down the top of her arm. "You can't give the public a sarcophagus with nothing in. It just won't interest them." He lent closer to whisper in her ear. " Personally I think some sort of tomb robbers went a bit wild in the place. There were bits of corpses everywhere. However we found two whole ones in a pond and near the exit, which suited out purposes admirably. So we took those and hey presto, Bob's you pharaoh, as it were." He chuckled devilishly.

"You…just…" she stuttered, barely able to form words through her rage. How dare he treat people like that, whether dead or alive? He was the most arrogant, immoral and callous bastard she had ever met.

"Now, now," he hissed, drawing her into a corner, "we wouldn't want to cause a scene, would we?" His grip on her arm tightened suddenly, causing her to gasp. "Now, we both know that I can do this with your neck instead should this get out." He gave her arm an extra hard squeeze for good measure then released her. She spun away, clasping her bruised flesh. He laughed at the rage on her face. "Don't be so unsophisticated my sweet. I can guarantee that if I go I'll take you with me. I could probably find work again, but you…a woman cast adrift in an unfeeling world. No protection, no security. Who knows the depths you could sink to?" His eyes twinkled mockingly at her.

She didn't realise what she was doing till she heard the satisfying crack of flesh on flesh. Clearly neither did Henry, for her slap had carried the full weight of her arm behind it, and his eyes were now watering rather than twinkling. She fled the room, ignoring the shocked stares of the porters, and the admiring stares of anyone who knew Henry.

When she reached her office she locked herself in, and flung herself down on the couch. She refused to cry; the mixture of pride and white-hot rage in her forbade it. Instead through tremendous effort of will she forced herself to think calmly about the questions this little interlude had raised. She rubbed her arm in an absent minded fashion as she descended into thought.

According to her parents, Imhotep's body had sunk into the Well of Souls. Was it possible it had floated back up? Henry had said one came from a pool. What of the other body? Where and who was it? Henry must have found a second sarcophagus, but whom had he found to fill that awkward vacancy? From her fathers descriptions of the fights with priests and guards it didn't sound like there would be enough left of them for a whole body. As for Anck-su-namun, she was similarly incapacitated. So could it be?

The answer came to her in a flash, snapping her eyes open with realisation.

"Beni!"

It made sense, but Aylisha couldn't be sure. She decided she would check later tonight. She settled down on the couch and fell into a troubled sleep.