Tongue Tied
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the motion picture The Mummy. I wish I was, but sadly, I have no rights to anything. Please, please, please don't sue me. I also have no money.
AN: Thanks to OceanFae, ForgottenStars, vampiremistress2sexy, Lindsay, Evanesce, and Mariella D'Angelo for the positive reviews! Made my day! Thanks again!
Chapter 10: A Camel and a Drunk
Ah, the camel. Madeline's greatest enemy. They'd joined in an unspoken truce when everyone had fled Hamunaptra. Madeline had been far too afraid of being murdered by a three thousand year old mummy to concentrate on exactly how much she hated camels. The camel must have shared her sentiments. Their unspoken truce lasted through the night as they'd raced across the desert... but this peace was not meant to last.
Rick had led the way across the desert, guiding both his small team and the Americans back to civilization, as Beni had vanished. No one had stopped long enough to search for the man upon their desertion of the city, and no one seemed to care that he was missing. In fact, no one had even commented on his absence in any way, not even in passing.
They'd flown over the dusty, rocky plateaus that immediately surrounded the city. Then they'd begun their treacherous ride over the desert's soft, shifting sand dunes. Many hours passed before the moon had set, and the sun began to rise over the dunes. The dim blue light of night turned to brilliant pink and gold once the sun appeared above the horizon line and began its steady climb into the sky.
In their haste to leave, they'd brought only the minimum of water and food, just enough to get them through the desert and back to Cairo. It was going to be a long, dangerous, draining journey as a result, and so of course Madeline's long withstanding grudge against camels everywhere returned full force the second the sun rose.
First, the camel decided to stop suddenly for absolutely no reason. It wasn't Madeline's fault; of this she was certain. Unable to keep up their furious pace for the entirety of the trip, her traveling companions had slowed down long ago, and she with them. She'd barely even been touching the reins when the animal came to a halt. Her camel must have just decided it was tired, and the middle of the freaking desert would be a great place to stop and take a breather.
Jonathan, of course, came to her rescue. His camel plodded through the sand and came to a stop beside hers. "Maddie, old girl, what the bloody hell are you doing?" he asked.
Madeline glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "I am not doing anything," she retorted. "This camel, however, is seriously screwing with me."
Jonathan sighed, shaking his head at her and clucking his tongue. "Maddie, my dear," he announced. "You are hopeless."
"Yeah, sure," Madeline replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm hopeless! Ha, ha. Let's everyone have a good laugh at Madeline! Now, if you're done, could you make the camel move, please?"
"All right, all right, don't get your bloomers in a twist," Jonathan exclaimed, smacking the camel with his crop. The camel started plodding forward. "Happy now?"
"Not really," Madeline said. "But thank you."
She turned from him almost immediately, concentrating intensely on the moving beast beneath her with a furrowed brow and subpar expectations. Any minute now, she was sure that this stupid animal was going to pull something else, and the end result would be her, on the ground, on her ass. Jonathan pulled ahead of her, leaving her to her fate.
"You're not so good on that thing, are you?"
Madeline jumped, gripping the camel's reins too tight, and thought for a moment she was going to fall off the stupid animal. What the hell? Madeline could not believe this. Why exactly did Burt Henderson always feel the need to pop on over and say something to her every time she was in the midst of doing something embarrassing? He must really be enjoying himself.
"Um… no… not really," Madeline stammered, avoiding his eyes. She tried to sound annoyed, but everything just came out awkward.
He grinned, shaking wind-ravaged blonde hair out of his eyes. "You know," he said. "I'm real good with horses, but I ain't ever been on a camel before."
"Lucky you," Madeline replied, still not looking at him. This was good. As long as she avoided eye contact, she could sound like a normal person. That couldn't be too hard. It was like not looking directly at the sun.
He chuckled. "Can't say I like the looks of it," he went on. "But I've always been pretty good with animals, so maybe I'd do all right."
What was this? Was he trying to relate to her? Or was he rubbing her incompetence in her face? Madeline couldn't decide. She kind of wished he'd leave her alone, though. At least then, she could be embarrassed in relative privacy.
"Hey, I just want to thank you for what you did," he said suddenly.
Madeline frowned at him. What had she done, exactly? "Um… ok..."
"It's just that Burns told Daniels and me you tried to help him," Henderson continued. "He said you weren't going to leave him behind. That's better than anyone else did for him."
Madeline's brow furrowed even more. She was confused. This didn't sound like mocking. This sounded sincere. Henderson kept talking. "That takes guts, helping someone else, and not just worrying about yourself, especially after seeing what we saw down in those tunnels. So, thanks for trying to help my buddy."
Holy crap. He was serious. He was actually thanking her for… for what exactly? Madeline didn't remember doing anything special. She'd tried to help Burns out of the tomb, and then dropped him like a hot potato. After dropping an injured man on the ground, she'd proceeded to be corned by a three thousand year old mummy, failed to kill it, and then asked Ardeth Bay, leader of the Med-jai, about a million questions pertaining to kittens. But, hey, if he was impressed, that was his call. Madeline decided not to contradict him. "How's Burns doing, anyway?" she asked.
"As good as he can be doing," Henderson replied. "He's lost both his eyes, and his tongue. He's not a pretty sight. And I don't know what kind of life he's going to live after we get him back to civilization."
Madeline nodded. All right, stupid question. How was the eyeless, tongue-less man doing? Badly. She probably could have figured that out on her own. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
"Hey, he's alive," Henderson shrugged.
Weird. She was having a conversation with Henderson. Was it possible that Madeline had entered an alternate universe where she wasn't a complete moron? "So what are you going to do when we get back?" she asked.
"Get Burns a doctor or something," he replied. "Then I suppose we'll get the hell out of Egypt. There was this curse thing, you know, on the chest we opened with the book in it? Chamberlain said that if this certain person was brought back to life, he was going to have to kill everyone who opened the chest in order to regenerate, or something like that. Guess that means the mummy you found back in there. Guess that means my ass, too."
Madeline crinkled her nose. "That sucks," she said, which was of course an obvious, unnecessary observation. But what else do you say to someone who's just revealed they're being hunted by a walking, talking mummy?
He nodded. "Yeah, it sucks all right. What are you going to do?"
"Um… probably get really, really drunk," Madeline replied.
He laughed. "Well that's a good idea if I ever heard one. You're American, right?"
"Well…. I guess so. In a way."
"You gonna be headed back to America?"
Madeline shook her head. "No. I've lived here just about all my life. Egypt's… well, I guess it's my home."
He nodded again. "That's too bad," he said. "Guess I won't be seeing you anymore."
Madeline turned to look at him in shock. Henderson gave his horse a kick, and rode up alongside Burns and Daniels.
What the hell? Did that just happen? Did Henderson actually imply that he might miss her? Why would he miss her? It's not like she was good company! She wasn't really company at all. She just kind of gawked at him and muttered strange phrases that only slightly resembled English.
"Madeline, what the hell are you doing?"
Madeline jumped about a foot in the air again and nearly fell off her camel. Rick put out a hand to catch her and pushed her back up on the camel's back. "What is wrong with you?" Madeline demanded, glaring furiously at her older brother. "I thought you were the end of the world!"
"Sorry," Rick replied, giving her a small, amused grin. He nodded at Henderson. "So, uh, small tip? Probably shouldn't stare after men with your mouth wide open like that. It's pretty unattractive."
"Bite me," Madeline retorted.
Rick chuckled. Evie and Jonathan rode up alongside Madeline as well. What was this, she thought to herself. A group meeting? "We have to do something," Evie announced.
"What?" Madeline asked, frowning. She honestly had no idea what Evie was going on about now.
"We have to do something," Evie repeated urgently, staring at Madeline like she'd grown another head. "We can't let that monster… wreak… havoc on all creation! You heard the Med-jai leader: That mummy is the bringer of death!"
"What does that even mean?" Rick replied flippantly.
"Excuse me, Mr. O'Connell?" Evelyn exclaimed, shocked.
"I'm just saying, that wasn't exactly specific," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Mr. O'Connell," Evelyn said, drawing herself up indignantly. "Do you need specifics? Because if you do, I shall be glad to give them to you. We have unleashed a creature that will bring the ten plagues of Egypt down upon us all. He's already brought the first! Did you not see all those locusts?"
Rick sighed. "Look, Evelyn, I'm tired, hot, thirsty, and quite frankly a little freaked out. We'll talk about this when we get back to Cairo." Then he rode up ahead of them all, obviously finished with the whole conversation.
Madeline could quite clearly see that Evie was, for all intents and purposes, extremely pissed. She turned on Madeline, who flinched away from her, expecting to get fire breathed in her face. "Is your brother always like this?" she asked, exasperated.
Madeline nodded, still a little scared of Evelyn Carnahan. "Uh-huh. He's a pain in the ass. Please don't hurt me."
Evie let loose a frustrated sigh, and gave her camel a good swat with her riding crop, following Rick with determination in her eyes. Madeline stared after the pretty young archeologist, with both admiration and apprehension. It was impressive that Evie was unafraid to take on Rick when he was in that mood, but then again, Madeline had done the same in years past, and it had always ended with a fight. A loud, angry, explosive fight. Madeline wanted no part of that mess.
"This is going to be a long ride back, isn't it?" Jonathan asked Madeline with a heavy sigh.
"Yep," Madeline agreed. "Very long."
Upon reaching Cairo, Evie led the small group directly to Fort Brydon, a large British fort that had been established during the Great War. The fort was massive, with towering walls constructed from aging, tan slabs of limestone, all riddled with bullet holes. Its front gate had an arch shaped doorway, the surrounding limestone plated with a greening copper design that fanned out in multiple circles, sort of resembling the sun. All along the wall, amid the flags flapping in the wind, men in British uniform walked back and forth, guarding the gate.
Madeline eyed the sky behind the high-reaching walls warily as she followed Evie towards the entrance. What was once clear blue sky was darkening quickly as deep gray clouds rolled in from the south, thunder rumbling in the distance and purple lightening forking down into the thick, humid haze. It seemed like Cairo was in for a rare, severe thunderstorm, and considering what they'd just left behind in the desert, Madeline could only see the storm as a bad omen.
They reached the gate and Evie jerked to stop, waving at one of the guards. He in turn waved at someone within the fort, and soon there were stable hands running up to the small crew to take their horses and camels. Madeline slid down off her animal, grabbed her knapsack, and handed the lead over to the stable hand. She was most certainly not going to miss that stupid camel.
Evie had insisted they come here, but Madeline wished she and Rick would have refused. Apparently, as Evie worked for the British museum and was therefore considered part of the British presence in Egypt, she'd been offered rooms at the fort as part of her salary. She was determined to grant them her hospitality should the fort staff refuse them, but she needn't have worried. As their entire group looked battered, lost and half-starved, the staff was more than willing to put them up in the rooms adjoining Evie's apartment, so they could rest and recover from whatever trauma they'd endured in the harsh Egyptian desert.
Henderson and Daniels followed a couple guards into the fort, supporting Burns between them, presumably on their way to get their friend some much needed medical attention. Evie walked with them through the gate, talking a mile a minute, while the stable hands disappeared into the fort with the camels and horses in tow. Jonathan took up leaning space on the fortress wall and began drinking heavily from his hip flask.
Evie saw the Americans off, and began waving at the rest of them to follow her inside. But Madeline hesitated, keeping her distance from the gate. She felt uncomfortable accepting such hospitality, especially when she and Rick had lodgings of their own, albeit on the other, shadier side of town. Rick didn't move either, not that Madeline detected any discomfort or awkwardness on his end. They both stood in the street outside the fort, staring at the gate, and getting rudely jostled by early morning foot and camel traffic. Evelyn waved harder at them, clearly getting impatient.
"Shouldn't we get back home?" Madeline asked Rick uneasily. "I mean, Burns needs the help, and Daniels and Henderson need the roof, but you and I don't…"
"That rat infested pit is not and never has been our home," Rick interrupted tersely. "We've got no reason to go back there; everything we need is on our backs. We'll rest up here a couple nights and then catch the next steamer to America… just like we should have done back when we first got out of the orphanage."
She blinked, taken aback by her brother's vehement and unexpected announcement. She stared at him, her jaw hanging, and shook her head. "You want to leave?" she asked.
"Yeah, I want to leave," he retorted, his eyes widening slightly as he pulled out his trademark sarcasm face. Madeline glared at him. "Did you already forget about the walking, talking, murderous mummy, Madeline? We're getting the hell out of this country and going back to America!"
"What do you mean, going back?" Madeline snapped. "We've been in Egypt as long as I can remember. I sure as hell don't remember America! And I'm in this too, you know… don't you think you should ask me before you decide to move us both across an ocean?"
"I'm sorry! I didn't think I had to ask if you wanted to put an entire ocean between us and the walking, talking, murderous mummy!"
Madeline took a deep, shaky breath, blinking furiously. "Evie thinks we have to do something to stop that thing, and…"
"And what?" Rick interrupted sharply. "Are you seriously telling me you want to jump into this mess, guns blazing, and take on some undead monster? Like we're heroes or something, and we plan on saving the world? Sorry, kiddo, but this is our lives we're talking about, not one of those stupid dime store novels I know you buy."
"I do not!" Madeline protested immediately. "And… and… I didn't say I wanted to save the world, ok? But if Evelyn can figure out how to kill that thing again…"
"We're leaving. End of discussion."
"So you're just going to abandon her?" Madeline demanded. "After she literally saved your neck?"
Rick rolled his eyes. "I'm not leaving her. She's coming with us."
"Like hell she is. Did you ask her? Because her answer is going to be 'like hell,' except she'll use much more educated and ladylike words than that. Probably."
Rick didn't look amused. Madeline huffed and barely resisted stomping her foot in the sand. Her brother also wasn't impressed. "We're leaving," he said again. "And Evelyn Carnahan can either come with us, or stay here and get herself killed. That's her problem. This conversation is over."
And just like that, Rick turned his back on her and stomped off towards the gate. Madeline gaped after him, shaking her head in frustration and disbelief. Her brother stormed his way across the dusty street and through the fort's towering arch. Madeline glanced up at the sky, noting the gathering clouds again, and another bolt of forked lightening. She shook off the argument with her brother to the best of her ability and jogged for the gate.
Jonathan waited for her, ushering her inside before him, and offering her his flask. Madeline accepted it and took a heavy gulp of his Scotch. "Thanks," she grunted, handing it back.
He nodded and took a heavy gulp of his own as they passed through the tunnel-like, limestone gateway. The second they reached the other side, however, they found Rick and Evie arguing in the middle of the sandy courtyard, and arguing loudly. So loudly, in fact, that they were attracting stares from passersby.
Madeline was in no mood to listen to a shouting match. This was not her first time in this fort; she and her brother had been here time and time again after he enlisted. She knew her way around fairly well. The sandy courtyard with its patches of stones and native plants was a familiar sight, not to mention the brownish-red tiles of the veranda that traveled the length of the interior buildings' limestone walls. To this day, it was lined with militantly placed potted palms, with the exact same amount of space between each one. She also knew that the fort hosted a very nice, well-stocked canteen… and she sure as hell had not been kidding when she told Henderson that she planned on getting drunk.
"Madeline? Are you coming with?" Jonathan asked, stopping his trek across the courtyard once he noticed Madeline hadn't followed him.
She glanced at Jonathan, and then took one look at the still shouting Rick and Evelyn before shaking her head. "Uh… no," she said. Then she turned and walked away.
Jonathan shrugged. "All right then, if you're sure!" he called after her, before muttering under his breath, "Stark raving mad, the lot of them." Then he followed the loud, still-very-much-arguing Rick and Evie up to the latter's apartments.
Madeline made her way across the courtyard and headed into the bar. Loud, traditional music was playing and the pungent smell of smoking incense was overpowering. For an English establishment inside of an English fort, the place had a decidedly Egyptian Kasbah vibe. The floors were tiled in brown and white, sporting a Moroccan themed pattern. There was a fountain in the middle of the room, spilling water into a small dip in the floor shaped like a clover, surrounded by smaller, multi-colored tiles. Miniature tables were pushed up against the walls, with small gold lanterns and tiny candles on top of them and cushions on the floor for seating. The walls and pillars were white limestone, stretching above her head two stories high, and their bottom halves were painted with traditional motifs in tan and blue and dark fuchsia. Madeline could see into the open-air second story from where she stood. Everything was arches – the doors, the windows, the halls, and the second story balconies above the bar. Thick, gauzy black curtains hung from the arches, pinned back against the pillars.
She took a seat at the bar, dropped her bag at her feet, and slumped over the counter. The countertop was gold, though obviously painted and very, very fake. A quick glance around proved she had very little company. It was rather early in the day, and there was no one in the bar except a few regular drunks, uniformed British officers and turban-wearing locals alike. There were women on the second floor, hanging over the balconies, all wearing revealing, sheer black and gold robes with scarves over their faces. Madeline knew on sight they were prostitutes.
Despite the currently small clientele, Madeline knew she could still get served. She'd been at this particular bar more times than she liked to admit, mostly with Rick and his army buddies after his return from Hamunaptra. The dark-haired, British man behind the counter looked unfazed by her decidedly dingy and unfeminine appearance. "What'll it be, miss?" the bartender asked.
"Whiskey," she grunted, barely looking at the man,
"What kind of whiskey?"
"I don't care. Strong whiskey. The strongest whiskey you have," Madeline replied.
"All right, miss," the man replied, turning away to get her drink.
"Wait," she called.
The man stopped and looked at her.
"Keep them coming," she said.
He nodded, and went about fetching her drink. Madeline sighed heavily. She waited for the bartender's return with ever increasing impatience. After what felt like eternity, the bartender returned with a shot of whiskey and placed in front of her.
Madeline grabbed the shot glass and tossed the liquor down her throat. It burned all the way to her stomach, and her lips twisted into a small, grim smile. Now life would be good again.
The bartender looked like he was going to go away. "Hey!" she said, stopping him. "Another one."
"Already?" the bartender asked, frowning.
"Yeah, already. Get me another one," Madeline returned. The bartender eyed her skeptically, but didn't argue. He filled her glass up and then walked away.
Madeline threw the second shot down her throat, grinning again as the whiskey burned its way down. Then she remembered why she was there, in the bar, drinking shots like water, and the smile vanished.
That horrible, undead, decaying monster haunted her thoughts, and Madeline was sure that if she tried to sleep, it'd haunt her in the shape of nightmares too. The memory of its ungodly scream and its dangerous, slinking movements made her skin crawl. But the mummy wasn't her only trouble; as usual, her trouble was Rick.
Running away to America? Really? That was his solution to this whole fiasco? She got it now; she really did. Rick's drinking and brawling and general irresponsibility and carelessness since he'd returned from Hamunaptra was making perfect sense now that she had seen the city and its horrors. She understood better now; the battles they'd fought with the Med-jai, the lives lost amongst the hired diggers, the horrible face of that living mummy – it was all going to haunt her, just like the battle with the Tuaregs and the deaths of his comrades and the creepy, unnatural phenomenon by the statue of Anubis must have haunted her brother, and now everything that happened this time around at Hamunaptra would haunt him too. But if they traveled to America, nothing would be different. They'd undoubtedly wash up in some big, dirty city, just like Cairo, where Madeline would work and lose countless low-paying, undignified jobs, and get falling down drunk in taverns where most people spoke English rather than Arabic – the spoken language would be the only difference. Rick would wander about, getting into brawls, drinking himself into oblivion, working and losing jobs as frequently as she did, and they'd live in a tiny one-room apartment with a common bath shared by the entire floor and rats nesting in the walls. Nothing would change. But Evelyn Carnahan would not come with them, and Rick would mope and sulk and be lonely on top of everything else.
And that was to say nothing of the steamer that would take them from Cairo to New York or Boston or wherever the hell they were going. Hell, Madeline couldn't even take a steamer upriver without the damn thing catching fire and sinking into the Nile. Her hopes of crossing the Atlantic without incident were not exceptionally high.
"Why Miss Maddie O'Connell!" a British accent sounded happily in her ear.
Madeline looked up. "Winston!" she exclaimed. In spite of everything happening at the moment, seeing his familiar, beaming face could still put a smile on hers.
Winston Havelock was an elderly, pudgy man, with great bushy white hair and moustache, and a face that was always red from drinking. He and Rick were army buddies, for lack of a better term. They'd met during the brief time that Rick had served in Cairo, alongside the British troops, before his company of Legionnaires pulled out and headed for Algeria. Rick hadn't done much during his Cairo service – mostly worked guard duty at the fort – but he had met Winston Havelock.
The elderly man was most of the reason why Madeline was so familiar with the Fort Brydon bar. She had been meeting Winston here, along with Rick, for years now, and although the old man occasionally (read, often) got on Rick's nerves, Madeline always had time for him, and he always had time for her. He had taken a liking to Madeline right off the bat, and treated her like a favorite niece or something.
"How is my favorite girl on this fine morning?" Winston asked, taking the seat beside her. He was wobbly on the stool, his eyes bleary, and his breath smelled like gin. Clearly, he'd been there a while, and drinking heavily. This was nothing new, and while Madeline did wish that Winston didn't rely so heavily on the drink, she truly didn't mind his drunkenness.
"Oh, I'm all right now," she returned with a smile, waving her shot glass at him. Winston laughed heartily.
"Ah, yes, when you're younger it does seem to make it all go away," he said in a reflective tone. "But as you grow older, well – it still helps, but it's slightly less fulfilling… why, I wonder every day why it is I'm still sitting here in this godforsaken place, rotting of boredom and booze. Ah, well… what are you drinking, Maddie?"
Winston Havelock always called her Maddie. And he was the only person in the world that didn't annoy the piss out of her when he did so.
"Whiskey," she replied. "Like always."
"That's my girl," he chuckled. "You find something that suits you and you stick with it, that's the key to happiness. Ah, yes," he grinned. "How about I buy your drinks for you today, Maddie?"
"Oh, no, Winston, I can't let you do that."
"Ah, you always say that, and still I end up buying them for you, every time. Now, I won't hear your objections!" Winston flagged down the bartender, who returned to their end of the counter. "A bottle of whiskey, my good sir, the same as this young lady's been drinking, for me and the lady to split."
The bartender gave the two of them a wary eye, but he filled the order anyway. Winston poured them each a shot. "Drink up, my dear!" he exclaimed, throwing back the shot.
Madeline followed suit. "Thank you, Winston," she smiled. "I've had the past couple of days from hell."
"Oh, tosh," Winston chortled, waving his hand at her. "It can't be all that bad."
"They were pretty bad," Madeline replied ruefully.
"Now, I'm sure whatever nasty old boss you have, or crummy customer you dealt with, or even any of those pesky man troubles, will eventually all come to pass," Winston said reassuringly, patting her on the shoulder. "And then you'll be wishing for the days when you weren't quite so bored! I know; I've been down that road before, Maddie my dear. Let me tell you…."
Madeline smiled to herself, rolling her eyes good-naturedly as she took another shot. She was about to hear every single war story Winston Havelock had to tell. The fact that she'd heard them all before – on several occasions – meant very little to her. All that mattered was, for the next hour or so, she wasn't going to have to think about Rick, or America, or that monster they'd left behind at Hamunaptra.
"… I just wish I could have chucked it in with the rest of them, and gone down in flame and glory," Winston was saying, his story winding down. "Instead of sitting around here, rotting of boredom and booze."
That was the way every last story Winston Havelock knew ended. He'd only told two so far, and it had taken nearly three hours. That was because he kept getting sidetracked by the pouring of shots, and the drinking of shots, and then, of course, by the prostitute he'd waved over halfway through the first story. Her name was Acenath, and she was a pretty woman with curly black hair, wearing sheer gold and black just like her co-workers, but she was also extremely fat. She laughed at everything Winston said, and sat massaging his shoulders.
"Well, Winston, maybe someday soon you'll get your chance," Madeline said comfortingly – and, truth be told, rather drunkenly. She wasn't falling on the floor, pee her pants drunk, but she was past the point of tipsy, she was sure. All she had to do was stand up, and she'd be in serious trouble. A smart person would stop… but Madeline only poured herself another drink.
"This world no longer has a place for men like me," Winston raved on. He was much more intoxicated than Madeline. "All the men like me died long ago, shot down in the sky, and buried in the sand! And they were good chaps! You know that? Such good chaps! I wish I'd gone with them."
"Don't say that," Madeline replied, frowning at the elderly gentleman. She patted his arm softly and gave him a small smile. "Then I'd never have met you!"
"Yes, and I would have never met you!" Winston agreed. "Maddie, my dear, I always do have the most splendid time with you. I know it's difficult to listen to an old man and his stories all the time, especially for a young person…"
"No, it's not!" Madeline interrupted. "I love your stories."
"Ah yes, and I love your company!" he exclaimed, grinning widely and drunkenly. "And I think I love this lovely young woman as well!" He turned to Acenath. "Acenath, my dear girl, why don't you come here and have a seat on my lap?"
Acenath laughed. "I don't think I'll fit," she replied in stilted English.
That's when Winston's head dropped down on Acenath's chest. And Madeline, although she had been enjoying herself, decided it was time to leave. She loved Winston's company, she really did, but the last thing she needed to see was Winston amusing himself with a prostitute.
"Well, Winston," she announced, getting to her feet. Immediately, the room began to spin, and Madeline had to concentrate very hard on not swaying back and forth. Winston looked up from his new companion. "I think I'll have to leave you now. Thanks for the whiskey."
"Any time, Maddie, my dear!" he laughed, waving good bye. Then he returned to the company of Acenath.
Madeline turned away from the couple, swaying in time with the room despite her efforts to the contrary, and began to stumble away from their corner table. She knew it would be bad once she stood up. The cushion she'd been seated on caught on her boot and nearly followed her across the room, but Madeline noticed in time and kicked it back towards the table. Then she squinted around the room as she passed the large bar, intent on walking a straight line without bumping into anyone or anything. The room was very blurry… but she still recognized Jonathan, seated at the gold-painted bar.
He looked glum, hunched over the countertop with a shot glass cradled in his hands and a tall bottle directly beside him. Madeline frowned, hesitantly stepping in his direction. As though sensing her presence, Jonathan looked up quite suddenly and saw her. He managed a smile, though it was grim, and waved her over. Madeline smiled back, a stupid, dreamy, drunken smile, and heeded the summons, practically falling onto a barstool beside him.
"Drinking alone?" she asked. "Didn't peg you for the type."
Jonathan snorted ruefully. "I'm the drinking type, period, I'm afraid. What have you been up to down here, old girl?"
"Drinking," she admitted. "Where is everyone?"
"The Americans are with the doctor," Jonathan replied, tracing the rim of his shot glass with his finger. Madeline watched with ill-disguised wanting as he seized the bottle by the neck and poured himself another drink. "And Evie and O'Connell are still in her apartment."
"Are they still at it?" she asked.
"Like cats and dogs," Jonathan returned, rather glumly.
"Let me guess. Rick wants to leave. Evie wants to stay and fight the evil mummy. Rick wants her to leave with him. Evie wants him to stay with her."
"That pretty much sums it up, old girl," Jonathan sighed, swallowing his shot and pouring another one. "I don't think I can take much more of this."
"Join the club, Jonathan."
He nodded and waved at the bartender. The man approached them warily, giving Madeline a very judgmental sideways glance that she did not appreciate. "Another glass for my lady friend here," Jonathan requested, waving his hand rather floppily in her direction.
The bartender complied, reaching above his head for the glasses hanging on hooks above the bar and taking down a small shot glass. He rested it in front of Madeline, his eyes never leaving her as he did so. He was frowning at her still, and if Madeline had been in a sober frame of mind, she'd feel very insecure about the whole thing. Instead, she squinted at him challengingly, daring him to make a comment.
"You sure you haven't had enough?" the bartender asked her.
Madeline tilted her chin defiantly and slid her shot glass in Jonathan's direction. He obligingly poured her a drink. "Don't you judge me," she snapped. "Just because you're all sober and in control behind the bar, and can somehow avoid the temptation to get drunk while bartending – which I don't even think is a good thing, quite frankly, I think it makes you a freak. And furthermore, I don't particularly care for your customer service. I think you have a bad attitude. So you just quit that judging me business before I ask to speak to your manager."
The bartender gave her a look – the look she was rather used to receiving from the opposite sex by now, attractiveness level be damned. It was the look that said 'Okaaay, crazy lady.' Then he held up his hand in surrender and walked away.
Madeline harrumphed. "The nerve," she grumbled.
Jonathan was staring at her, amazed and amused. "Maddie, old girl," he announced, pouring himself a shot as well. "From now on, when I drink, I will drink only with you."
"Here, here, buddy!" Madeline replied, clinking her shot glass with his. Then she swallowed the whiskey, giving only a slight twinge and cough.
Jonathan smirked, and then drank his shot as well. "I honestly have never been quite so depressed in my life," he announced.
"Oh, I know how you feel," Madeline returned. "Or rather, I did, about seven or eight shots ago. Now, life is good, mummy or no mummy. See, that's what I don't understand. Why don't more people drink away their problems?"
"I couldn't tell you," Jonathan replied. "But I've always found alcohol to be an excellent solution to all of mine."
"Precisely," Madeline agreed, nodding. "Which is why you ought to hurry up and pour us a couple more shots, Jonathan my friend."
"Will do," Jonathan agreed, pouring them two more shots. Madeline and Jonathan drank them down as quickly as they had been poured. "Madeline, my dear," Jonathan said in an almost paternal tone. "Not that I disapprove of your heavy drinking – in fact, I quite admire it – but perhaps you ought to slow down. Eight or nine shots of whiskey are quite a lot. I don't want to be holding your hair."
"Jonathan," Madeline retorted. "I will go as fast as I want to. If you don't want to hold my hair, that's your business, buddy."
"All right then," Jonathan replied, apparently unconcerned, pouring them two more shots. "If I'm anything, old girl, it's an enabler. Cheers."
They clinked their glasses again, and tossed the drinks back. The whiskey, if that was in fact what it was, traveled smoothly down her throat – no burning, no astringency, no nothing. She may as well have tossed back a gulp of water. Madeline blinked, staring at the diamond shaped tiles behind the counter, just above the shelves of liquor. Everything swam together, the bottles blurring something terrible, while the tiles seemed to move, running side to side like an endless stream of marching ants. Madeline blinked again, and looked down at her empty glass.
"Maddie?" Jonathan asked from beside her, though he sounded very far away. "You all right there, love?"
Love. Now, that was a new one. Madeline found, oddly enough, that she had preferred old girl to love, and then she found herself telling him so. Jonathan laughed. Madeline spun on her stool, gripping the edge of the counter when she nearly slid off. Jonathan watched her warily, pouring himself another shot.
The room was still blurry, and Madeline took a deep, steadying breath, swallowing in an attempt to cure her suddenly dry mouth. She shut her eyes against the blurring, trying to mentally force her intoxication back down to a manageable level. Why did she always do this? Idiot.
"All right, Madeline," she told herself. "You are drunk, and it is the middle of the day. No one can notice this. You must compose yourself." Her instructions prompted a snort of laughter, and Madeline had to give her head a good, cleansing shake. "That is not funny, now pull yourself together. Composure, woman, composure."
"I suppose that was an attempt at an encouraging inner monologue, old girl, but for the record you're talking out loud and I can hear every word you're saying."
Madeline's eyes flew open and she turned them on Jonathan, who still sat beside her at the bar, watching her with both good-natured amusement and mild concern. She giggled slightly, the sound strangely girlish and light, and Jonathan grinned back at her. "Oops," she replied.
Jonathan looked like he wanted to either laugh or pour her another drink, but an unexpectedly sensible, sobering thought danced through her mind and Madeline tore her eyes away from the still very tempting whiskey. There was an evil undead mummy on the loose intent on destroying the world! Also, Rick was trying to drag her off to America, and that was not ok.
She was also clearly drunk, and it was clearly the middle of the day. And clearly, she was a stupid, irresponsible idiot with not even the smallest bit of sense to her name. What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she do this? Why did she always do this?
"Uh-oh," Jonathan murmured beside her. "Big brother's coming to spoil your fun, it seems."
Madeline squinted in the direction Jonathan gestured with his glass. Sure enough, though he was rather blurry about the edges, Rick was at the entrance to the bar, ducking under the gauzy curtains billowing about the pillars. Madeline's eyes went wide. Shit. Shitshitshit.
She slid off the stool too quickly and the room spun. A quick grab for Jonathan's shoulder kept her steady, narrowly preventing her from crumbling to the floor. She swung her head from left to right and spotted a side exit.
"Evie's apartment is 328," Jonathan said knowingly when she turned to him. "Out the door, to the right, and then a left, and then up the stairs, to the third floor."
"Thank you," she slurred. Then she made a run (but it was more of a stumble, really, accompanied by much tripping) for the door. If Rick noticed her hasty, obviously impaired exit, he didn't care enough to follow or berate her. Madeline ducked out into the hot, humid courtyard, squinting up at the angry looking sky. The ominous clouds were still rolling in, thunder and lightning occasionally making themselves known as she fumbled her way along the veranda, concentrating very intently on the directions Jonathan had given her. Though the sky was stormy, there was no rain, and the air hummed with electricity from the lightning.
It took much longer to get to Evie's apartment than it should have. Madeline got herself turned around several times before she managed to locate the right turn-offs and the correct set of stairs. This was not because of her inebriated state, despite all evidence to the contrary. It wasn't her fault this whole damn place looked the same. The fort was a veritable maze of endless tan colored walls and identical potted plants. Every staircase was narrow and winding and tiled with shiny blue and white diamonds, and every floor consisted of a long, dark, narrow corridor that turned multiple corners, featuring beige walls and Moroccan tiled floors, with thick doors every twelve to fourteen feet. Some doors were wide open, providing views into bright, lavishly decorated common rooms with large windows and comfortable sofas, with tea tables and game tables and pianos.
Finally, Madeline managed to correctly count the flights of stairs and reached the fort's third floor. Then she wandered about the hallways, trying and failing to remember Jonathan's directions. By sheer luck, she eventually stumbled upon Apartment 328. There she fumbled with the door, twisting the knob left and right and tugging fruitlessly, hissing curse words under her breath.
The doorknob slipped from her grip as the door was tugged away from her, into the apartment. Madeline tripped forward, catching herself on the doorframe, and blinked stupidly at the petite, annoyed librarian across the threshold. Evie was frowning at her, clutching a book in one hand, and as Madeline squinted against her blurry vision, the other woman demanded, "Where in God's name have you been?"
She blinked again. "Uh…"
"Your brother," Evie spat, as though 'brother' was the worst of all curse words. "Has just informed me that he has no intention of helping stop this thousand year old monster we summoned before it destroys civilization as we know it! In fact, your brother has announced that you and he intend to follow the other Americans back across the Atlantic, to your home country, tomorrow morning of all things! I ask you, how will either of you manage to sleep if…"
"Stop," Madeline interrupted, holding up her hand and leaning heavily on the doorjamb. She hiccupped, gave her head a short, cleansing shake, and attempted to speak. "My brother," she slurred, waving one hand about dramatically in an attempt to mimic Evie. "Made this fantastic decision all on his own. I'm sure as hell not happy about it. Me, take a boat to America? Not happening. When it comes to sleeping, however…"
Evie suddenly recoiled from her, one hand covering her crinkled nose. Madeline frowned, pausing mid-sentence, rather insulted if truth be told. "Goodness gracious!" Evie exclaimed disapprovingly. "You're drunk! You reek of whiskey! What on earth possessed you…?"
Madeline lurched over the threshold and Evie instinctively ducked out of her way. She rolled her eyes at the unnecessary theatrics; it wasn't like she was going to fall on Evie or upchuck on her shoes. Madeline reached for a potted plant to steady herself and succeeded in irreparably bending one of the poor plant's branches. Evie hissed at the unintentional vandalism, clearly provoked, but with enough tact not to verbalize it.
"Hey," Madeline said, her words running together as she waved her hand in Evie's general direction. "If you can't get falling down drunk at the end of the world, then when the hell can you?"
Evie primly pursed her lips and straightened her back, clutching her book at her waist with both hands. "I believe never is the preferred answer," she returned smartly. "And at any rate, such an excess of libations should only be used for celebratory purposes; not at the end of the world, as you so succinctly put it, when there is still work to be done to remedy the problem!"
Madeline half snorted and half wheezed, leaning unsteadily against the wall. "What work? You don't even know what the hell to do to stop this! You're as lost as the rest of us – and I hate to rub a person's nose in their mistakes, as I tend to make a lot of them, but this whole mess is kind of your fault. So maybe you can just take your preachy judgmental sermon and… you know. Something unladylike."
"Yes, yes, yes," Evie rolled her eyes and waved her off. "I read from the book, I woke him up, me, me, me – do either of you O'Connells carry any other tune? I understand; this is my fault and therefore my responsibility and I intend to fix it! I am merely requesting some assistance in doing so!"
Evie's impassioned speech was pretty damn hard to argue with. Maybe it was Madeline's intoxication tying her tongue, but truthfully, she'd have a hell of a time arguing the point even if she'd been sober. Instead of retorting, Madeline gawked at her in silence. Evie didn't seem put-off or smug about her dumb, open-mouthed, dying fish impression, however. She simply tossed her hair and tilted her chin defiantly before looking down her nose at her guest. "So, Miss O'Connell? Do you also intend to run away to America like some spineless coward, or can I count on your aid?"
Madeline leaned on the wall, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her blurry vision. Unfortunately, she missed the wall entirely, knocked over Evie's potted plant, and nearly tumbled to the floor herself, narrowly catching herself on the nearby doorjamb. Evie flinched violently as her plant collided noisily with the Moroccan floor tiles. Madeline only blinked some more.
"Well," she hedged, still clinging to the doorjamb. "Wasn't planning on fleeing the country, actually – mostly because I've sworn off steamboats after that whole sinking into the Nile incident."
Evie rolled her eyes again and critically surveyed Madeline's tall, swaying frame. It wasn't the first time she'd felt like a cumbersome, overgrown tree, in danger of toppling over and bringing destruction along with her. But that feeling had never before been quite this acute. "Clearly, I'll get nothing useful from you until you've managed to sober up some," Evie announced. "Fine, then. My bedroom is just through that door there, on your right. I beg of you, go lay down and sleep it off. We will continue this discussion later. I suspect I'll require your assistance with your brother before the morning. In the meantime, I shall head out so I might read in peace. Someone should be doing something useful around here."
Madeline couldn't help being offended. She wanted to defend herself, but Evie wasn't wrong. In event of the end of the world, someone should do something useful, and clearly being a hopeless drunk meant Madeline had taken herself out of the running.
"Oh, yes. Mr. Burns is sleeping through there," Evie added, gesturing to the door Madeline was using to prop herself up. "Please let him rest and do not pester him with any drunken shenanigans."
Then Evie swept out of the apartment and firmly shut the door behind her (but not slamming it, of course. That would wake up Burns, and Evie was hardly inconsiderate enough to do that, all reckless mummy resurrection aside.)
Madeline stared at the door, feeling like a thoroughly scolded, misbehaved child. She closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning and tried to let the whiskey erase the feeling; erase the guilt and the inadequacy and the regret. Sadly, there was currently nothing strong enough to erase such negative, yet accurate thoughts.
She truly had every intention of following Evie's orders and heading into the bedroom to sleep away her alcohol induced muddle. But in her drunken state, she failed to remember which door led to Evie's bedchamber and which door led to the resting and off-limits Burns. She chose the latter door, of course, stumbling into the dim room and blinking rapidly to adjust her vision. The gauzy black curtains were shut, blocking out as much sunlight as possible. Despite her intoxication, Madeline still recognized the snoozing lump of bandages in the large, curtained, four poster bed as Burns. She also recognized the ivory canopic jar sitting on the nightstand and knew immediately that she was in the wrong room.
Sense and good manners demanded that Madeline turn around and leave. Unfortunately, Madeline had never been a connoisseur of either, and inebriated Madeline was even worse. Instead of immediately departing and heading off to pass out, she ventured further into the room. Burns didn't stir. Must have been slipped the good stuff by the fort doctor. Madeline slid her eyes over the unconscious man, over the lump of quality cotton bed sheets and the unsettling bruises and bandages covering his missing eyes. She shuddered and turned away. Poor bastard.
Burns held little interest for her; everything that could be done for him had been done. No, Madeline was focused on that jar. She really wanted that jar. It sparkled at her from the bedside table, all bright, shining and white in the gloom of the dim chamber. The lid was carved like a pharaoh's head, and the inlaid gold on his headdress caught stray sunbeams, winking and waving at her and inciting her temptation. Truthfully, stealing was never really in Madeline's wheelhouse. Even as children living on the streets, Rick usually took over petty theft and pick-pocketing. Madeline was too clumsy for such things, and too hesitant. She made a damn good distraction, though. In fact, she was practically an expert in knocking things over.
She still wanted that jar. If she'd been in a position to examine her actions, Madeline would know that the whiskey was making her reckless. Too many thoughts and feelings were coming through and spinning together into stupid, impulsive sludge. When the American treasure-hunters had first waved the canopic jars under her and Jonathan's noses, back at Hamunaptra, she'd found them pretty. She'd also found the Americans' smug comments and small successes annoying, reminding her of her own large failures – even with Evie leading the charge, the four of them had found little of value in the underground city. Besides, the whiskey was making some damn fine points at the moment; the jar was unguarded and easily available for snatching. The Americans had stolen those jars first. Finders-keepers. If she took it, who was going to stop her?
Wasn't she unemployed, anyway? Probably close to being homeless? If Rick left for America, she'd be all on her own here… a small monetary insurance would hardly be the worst idea. Madeline lurched towards the bedside table and grabbed the jar. Then she ran – albeit very clumsily – out of the room.
Evie's bedchamber was quiet and pristine, done up in varying shades of white and tan. Madeline leaned heavily against the hastily shut, heavy wooden door, clutching her stolen prize to her chest as she caught her breath and took a quick look around. The walls were a smooth pale shade of tan and her soft luxurious bedding was the whitest of whites. Her bed was large with four tall posts. The curtains were pulled back, letting sunlight stream prettily into the room and shine across her bedclothes. Madeline was annoyed at such finery. Really, she was envious at such finery, as she'd never experienced it before, not once in her entire life.
She shook the envy off and tucked the white ivory jar safely into her knapsack. Then she crept to the bed, cramming her bag underneath it. A large, fluffy white cat lounged at the foot of the mattress, taking advantage of the sunbeams as it squinted balefully at her.
"Huh," Madeline mumbled pointlessly. "Cat."
Then she collapsed face first on Evie's bed and promptly passed out.