Author's notes: I can't believe how close we are to the end of this story. When I think of all the years I randomly remembered it, thought "Oh man, I wish I could continue this fic"… And I still don't know exactly what it took for the spark to come back – and stay until it was done! – but goodness, I'm so grateful it did. And while having to wait six months before publishing the new chapters was a little painful, in the end I'm glad I did. The main thing is that you're getting to see how it ends. (there's only this chapter and an epilogue left, MY GOD)
"Changing of the Guards" is one of my favourite Bob Dylan songs. The lyrics are a little trippy but very picturesque (in a "Stairway to Heaven" way) and the leitmotif is guaranteed to stay in your head a long time.
Disclaimer: Stephen Sommers owns and developed The Mummy and The Mummy Returns; the characters, places, some situations are his creation. Some things and characters I did make up, but every character here is fictitious, and has nothing to do with any person, living, dead, or in-between. Who knows.
FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM
Chapter 23: Changing of the Guards
The fleeting moment before Evelyn truly woke up was pure bliss. Her whole family was alive and safe, and she was lying in Rick's arms, practically on top of him despite the bunk being quite large enough for two, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his thumb softly caress her shoulder.
There was a knock on the door, a murmur, and the moment was over. Evelyn heard Rick's sharp whisper of "What d'you mean, 'an army'?" and woke up for good.
The day only got weirder from there.
Rick went off to investigate this new development while Evelyn went in search of Alex, who seemed to have disappeared along with his mattress and blanket. She found all three on the floor of Jonathan's cabin, uncle and nephew fast asleep and snoring softly. Jonathan's right arm was dangling from his bunk; Alex had grabbed hold of two of his fingers and still held them tightly. Evelyn decided against waking them up, and closed the door with a fond smile.
Outside the dirigible, it was chaos, or something approaching it. Soldiers in British Army uniforms alighted from cars and lorries and stood awkwardly between the rows of tents, while Medjai grabbed their weapons, most half-dressed and some still swathed in bandages.
The air was growing thick with tension when a stout man sporting the crossed swords and crown of a Lieutenant-General and in possession of a truly impressive moustache stopped in front of Evelyn and said in a booming voice, "You there, madam – could you tell all these people to stand down? We do come in peace, you know."
Evelyn stared at him, unsure why he had singled her out, before realising she was the only white person around.
Oh, for God's sake.
"I'm not in charge here, Lieutenant-General," she said coolly. Spotting Ardeth making his way through the onlookers, she pointed at him and said, "He is."
Somewhat to her surprise, the officer saluted, and smartly at that.
"Lieutenant-General Douglas Wilkins," he said, "in charge of the British garrison at Fort Brydon."
Ardeth stared at him with narrowed eyes. Despite the early hour and the accumulated fatigue, he stood tall, back and shoulders straight, every inch the Commander.
"Ardeth Bay, High Commander of the Twelve Tribes of the Medjai," he said gravely. "What are you and your men doing here?"
Lieutenant-General Wilkins plopped a hand behind his back and curled the tip of his moustache.
"Well, it's rather a long story –"
He was interrupted by a tall, thin man who came running in, glasses balancing precariously on the tip of his long nose.
"Lieutenant-General," he panted, "please stand your men down and make it clear that you're not in fact an invading army."
"You don't say!" said Evelyn, biting sarcasm bubbling up. The newcomer looked at her, adjusted his glasses, and looked at her again.
"Dr Evelyn O'Connell, I presume? Samuel Lyall-Hughes, First Secretary to the British Ambassador in Cairo."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed.
"Would that be the actual British Ambassador in Cairo, or a front for something more… disreputable? We have dealt with imposters claiming they were from official British organisations before."
Lyall-Hughes shook his head. "I assure you, my claim is quite genuine. When we are in Cairo again I can show you my credentials with the Prime Minister's signature. Baldwin's, I mean, not Chamberlain's, but I'm sure it will do. Commander Bay?" he added, turning to Ardeth and extending his hand. "It's an honour. I'm sorry to barge in like this uninvited."
Ardeth looked at the proffered hand as if it were an unknown species of snake, but shook it, still looking wary. Around them, people lowered their weapons, and the tension went down a notch.
"What are you doing here?" Ardeth asked, looking at Wilkins and Lyall-Hughes in turns.
Wilkins huffed, clearly miffed about being so badly snubbed.
"I was starting to ask myself the same question, actually."
"It came to our attention," Lyall-Hughes said smoothly, "that citizens of the British Crown were enmeshed in, um, a little bit of a situation here."
Evelyn crossed her arms.
"You might call it that. Or you might also call it theft, kidnapping, attempted murder, and tampering with forces beyond our understanding." Then, as Lyall-Hughes opened wide eyes, "The question is, what made you come here? Did someone finally realise what Charles Hamilton intended to do?"
"Ah, no. Well, not as such." Lyall-Hughes somewhat nervously adjusted his glasses. "You see, the British Consulate—"
"I told them," said a woman's voice in soft, cultured tones – the sort of careful Received Pronunciation that spoke of upper-middle-class. Evelyn whirled round.
The woman looked a little older than she was; her frizzy dark red hair had probably been deftly done and her clothes been prim and neatly pressed at some point, but now her entire person appeared worn, frazzled, and dirty. The way she held herself made it obvious she was tired but determined to stand her ground. She was holding on to Tom Ferguson, who in turn clung to her like she was a buoy and he on the brink of foundering. He had the strangest look on his face as he stared at her, awe and wonder mingled.
This answered a few questions and raised others at the same time.
Evelyn left Ardeth, Lyall-Hughes, and Wilkins to their discussion, and walked up to the couple.
"Mrs Ferguson?" she asked softly. "I'm Evelyn O'Connell."
Mrs Ferguson smiled.
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs O'Connell, although the circumstances leave a lot to be desired."
"They do, don't they?" said Evelyn with an impish grin she couldn't hold back. "Likewise. And please, call me Evelyn."
"Only on condition that you call me Elizabeth." Mrs Ferguson – Elizabeth – stopped and looked at her with a soft smile. "I apologise for staring, it's just – your brother talked about you so much, I feel I know you already."
Evelyn thought about the merciless teasing she and Jonathan had thrown at each other over the years and fought back the urge to roll her eyes.
"I'm sure he had a lot to say," she muttered. "So do I, when it comes to—"
Elizabeth shook her head. "You misunderstand me. I mostly remember him being exceedingly proud of his little sister."
"…Oh."
Evelyn felt heat rise in her cheeks. She opened her mouth, and, since words just didn't seem to be forthcoming, closed it. Instinctively, her eyes sought Tom for confirmation.
Tom still looked as though he had smacked right into a lamppost, but he nodded.
"Absolutely. Of course, on occasion he also said you liked to boss him around a little too much for your own good, but –"
Elizabeth elbowed him in the ribs, her eyes shining with laughter. "Tom!"
"Well, it's true! But yes, Jon bragged about you a lot more than he complained."
"He did complain, though, didn't he?"
They were both smiling the same smile, tinged with the same amused fondness. It didn't escape Evelyn's notice that Tom – for all that he still appeared awe-struck by the unexpected presence of his wife – looked a lot more at peace. There was a softness to his features that hadn't been there before.
And by the way…
"How on Earth did you get here?" Evelyn asked Elizabeth, who smiled wryly.
"Well, I was, er… kidnapped, I think the word should be – right off the street, in England – and brought here. I mean, in Cairo. I was held in a basement, and –" The hand that wasn't around Tom flew to her mouth. "Oh, goodness gracious – your husband! Is he all right?"
Before Evelyn could answer, a baritone came up from behind her. "Hon? Ardeth's calling in a big meeting in an hour, and he – um, hello. Who are you again?"
Rick stood beside her, looking at Tom and Elizabeth, frowning, as though trying to place her face. Elizabeth stared at him. Then a smile lit up her face.
"Good morning, Mr O'Connell. You're taller than I thought you would be."
Rick stared back for all of five seconds, then his trademark toothy grin lit up his face.
"Oh hey, Mrs Ferguson. Uh, right back at you, actually. What happened to you?"
"Well, as I was telling Evelyn here, I was kidnapped in England and put in a basement in Cairo – where we had that lovely conversation through the vent. You gave me a lot to think about, you know. I spent a couple of days trying to make sense of everything, and then, when one of those… agents, I suppose, came in to check in on me, I, um… grabbed his gun and turned it on him."
She said that quickly, blushing like a shy schoolgirl who had got away with a particularly intrepid dare. Her freckles stood out across her nose.
Rick nodded appreciatively.
"That must have taken guts."
"Guts I don't have, but that young man didn't know that. I marched him out of the basement and into the building proper – that's where I found out we were actually in the British Consulate. I made him knock on the first door I could find with a rank that looked official and we ended up in Mr Lyall-Hughes' office. The man – Mr Stephens, he said his name was – confessed everything he knew."
"What did he know?" Evelyn asked.
"Almost everything, as it turned out. Mr Lyall-Hughes and his superiors were not happy about Charles Hamilton and his plan, as you can imagine. They gathered all the information they could find about the intended destination and called up troops from Fort Brydon, and… Well, here we are."
"So it was you who called in the cavalry, huh." Rick nodded. "Good timing. The Medjai were starting to wonder what to do with their prisoners."
Evelyn agreed on that, although she couldn't help thinking that the British Army's presence might complicate matters more than it would simplify them. She looked at the little crowd of soldiers slowly trickling away to gather elsewhere, and in the flow of khaki spotted a familiar figure coming in from the opposite direction.
"I say, Evy – where the hell did all these soldiers come from? Please tell me they're human, at least."
Jonathan was obviously not fully awake yet but making a commendable effort. Rick looked at him, then at Elizabeth with a curious twinkle in his eyes, and to Evelyn's surprise leant to whisper in her ear, "This should be good."
"What do you –" began Evelyn, but her voice trailed off when Jonathan stopped in his tracks and just stared. His jaw dropped open and he went scarlet up to the hairline.
Elizabeth and Tom shared a smile. Then Elizabeth took one step forwards, and, quite graciously, extended a hand.
"Mr Carnahan," she said courteously. "Lovely to see you again."
Jonathan stared at her hand, then gazed down at his rumpled, dirty clothes. He made an awkward, half-hearted attempt at brushing off the dust and straightening his ruined jacket, then – probably recognising a losing battle when he saw one – just stood ramrod-straight with his chin up.
Evelyn, who had always seen her brother slouch and drape himself over the furniture like an overgrown cat since he had got out of grammar school, consciously or not, had to bite down a fit of laughter.
Jonathan took Elizabeth's hand and – to Evelyn's amused surprise – gave a quite correct bow. Then the unusual formality went out the window as he grinned what he probably thought was a roguish grin. The effect was marred by the fact that his face was still very pink.
"Lizzie, old girl! Fancy seeing you here."
"It was 'Miss McAllister' before, and it's 'Mrs Ferguson' now," Elizabeth corrected with mock severity. Jonathan squinted at her.
"Well, it's still 'Jonathan'."
There was a beat, then Tom snorted, then chuckled. So did Elizabeth and Jonathan, who closed the few steps between him and the couple and said, halfway between a delighted laugh and a whine, "I can't believe you two didn't invite me to your wedding! Honestly, was I so hard to track down?"
"You were in Egypt, Jon", Tom pointed out, "in the middle of the ruddy desert!"
Jonathan rolled his eyes.
"You could have bothered to send a telegram. Or a letter."
"Well, we would have if you'd bothered to tell me your address!"
"Goodness me, Jonathan, your jacket – what—?"
"Bah, that's nothing. Remember the time me and Tom sneaked into St Hilda's?"
"You mean when you two went missing for almost a week because you got locked in a basement and savaged by a sheep?"
"It was a ram! I mean, really –"
"C'mon," said Rick with a laugh in his voice, pulling gently on Evelyn's elbow.
"But –" Evelyn was highly intrigued by the conversation. She had been a young girl when Jonathan had gone off to Oxford, and he had always been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about whatever he had been up to whenever he got back home. Now, though, it was as if a window had opened on a wholly different world she knew precious little about, along with a side of her brother she had never been allowed to see, and both made her very curious.
Rick grinned.
"If it's blackmail material you're after, I'm thinking you already have enough on your brother to last a long, long time, am I right? Besides," he added with a smile and a jerk of his chin, "they obviously have some catching up to do."
"Oh, all right."
Evelyn reluctantly followed Rick; the trio, lost in memories, laughter, and updates on recent events and each other's lives, didn't even seem to notice she was gone.
The meeting Ardeth had called was to take place in the same tent Evelyn had witnessed the Council of Elders, two nights ago. At the entrance, she and Rick met Ineni, who was hopping along with the aid of a cane, her right leg bandaged from knee to ankle.
"It's nothing," she said when she saw their stricken expressions. "Just a little souvenir from the Warriors of Anubis."
"It doesn't look like nothing to me," said Evelyn, noting the little lines of pain around her mouth that hadn't been there the last time they had seen each other.
"Thanks for taking care of Alex yesterday," Rick said. "And sorry we had to impose on you. If I'd known…"
Ineni shook her head with a smile. "Nonsense. He's a sweet boy, and he was heartbroken. You didn't impose in any way." She stopped, and asked, a little hesitantly, "Is it true, what Ardeth told me? That Alexander found the Book of the Dead and brought back Jonathan with it?"
"He did," answered Evelyn, unable to keep the pride from her voice. Ineni nodded, looking pensive.
Rick's eyebrows went up a notch.
"Why do I get the feeling you're not too happy about that?"
"No, I am – I really am. Jonathan is a good friend and I'm glad he is still with us. But the Book…" Her long black eyes came to rest on the tent, their expression sad. "We lost many people to Anubis' Army two nights ago. Family, friends. It would be so easy to bring them back, but – we can't. It would be a… a soapy slope?"
"A slippery slope," murmured Evelyn.
"Yes, thank you. Last night Ardeth and I agreed to keep it a secret from everyone but the Elders and the Chieftains. How could we decide who lives and who dies? Who can be brought back, and who can't?" Ineni had to stop, her eyes very bright. "No-one should have that kind of responsibility. Even if…" She inhaled sharply, with just the hint of a sniff, and let out a shaky breath. "Anyway. Um. Not a word about the Book during the meeting, please. We don't want outsiders to know. Things are complicated enough."
"Of course," said Rick in a low voice, while Evelyn nodded, her throat tight. She held the tent flap for Ineni and entered after her, Rick following behind without a word.
Inside the tent, there were half as many people as there had been during the previous council. Ardeth, Ineni, Atifa, Lyall-Hughes, and Lieutenant-General Wilkins sat on the same colourful cushions, the last two looking slightly ill-at-ease. Presently they were joined by Tom, Elizabeth, and Jonathan; when they were all settled, Ardeth stood up to introduce everyone, then said, "Before we begin, I will state that this meeting is purely off the record. This is not the Council of Elders or the Gathering of Chieftains, only different parties coming together for the sake of diplomacy."
"Absolutely," said Lyall-Hughes smoothly. "This is not Geneva and we are not the League of Nations, either. May I have the floor, please?"
Ardeth gestured wordlessly. Lyall-Hughes sat as dignified as he could on his cushions and cleared his throat.
"First of all, I'd like to thank Commander Bay here for welcoming us into his camp and allocating this space for negotiations –"
Evelyn, feeling that this had the potential to go on for a long time, interrupted him. "Yes, Mr Lyall-Hughes, we're all very grateful here, but as you said, this is not Geneva. The point, if you please."
Lyall-Hughes gave her a calculating look. Then his gaze went back to Ardeth.
"Quite. Well, then, I would like to ask Commander Bay when he intends to release the prisoners. They are citizens of the Crown and we would like to repatriate them."
Ardeth evenly returned him his look.
"We did not intend to keep them forever. The Medjai are guardians, not jailers. But," he added severely, "directly or not, they are responsible for the death of over a thousand of our people and would have caused the end of the world if not for the O'Connell family. Will they face justice once they are in England?"
Lyall-Hughes looked uncomfortable, and this time the unorthodox seating arrangements seemed to have nothing to do with it.
"Oh, well," he said, "this is of course very unfortunate, but what kind of court would judge them? And what would the charges be?"
"How about treason and violation of the Pact of Paris?" Tom said hotly. "Charles Hamilton himself told me he'd used his rank and experience in the Chamber of Horus to secure contacts in the government of Nazi Germany. He intended to use a supernatural army as private mercenaries against an entire nation, for Christ's sake!"
Lyall-Hughes made a dismissive gesture.
"Charles Hamilton is currently in a state of… shock, for want of a better term, and as such cannot be held responsible for his past actions."
"Bollocks!" cried Tom, now rather red in the face. "He started the whole thing! Without him, none of this would 'ave happened! And now you're tellin' me he's going to get away with everything?"
"Let's say Hamilton's brains did get scrambled and he really can't stand in court," Rick cut in. "He had Baine, his right hand man – if he's still alive – and dozens of flunkies. Ferguson here wasn't the only one who said 'the hell with it, he's nuts', but he's the only one I know who actually helped us take him down."
Lieutenant-General Wilkins shook his head with what he probably thought was a genial expression.
"Come now, they were only following orders. Can't fault them for that, can you?"
Atifa raised her hand. "The men we captured at the foot of the pyramid fought by our side," she said dryly. "They went against their orders and decided to stand with us. They could have just let the Army of Anubis kill them while we died trying to protect them, or tried to escape and be killed anyway, but they didn't."
Rick made a 'see?' gesture in her direction, and continued, "Also, those guys are civilians, not soldiers. Right?" he asked Tom, a few seats over, who nodded. "Right. So the whole 'following orders' thing doesn't carry the same weight. And second, remind me whose orders Hamilton was supposed to follow again? The guy had to have someone above him, am I wrong?"
Lyall-Hughes suddenly became very interested in the creases in his tie.
"You see, the Chamber of Horus as an organisation is… not exactly what you would call 'in the limelight'. Rather the opposite, you see, 'off the books' as one might say. Charles Hamilton's province was the treasures of North Africa; others like him oversee other areas. There is a hierarchy above them, of course, but I am not at liberty to name –"
Evelyn narrowed her eyes at him. "The Chamber have their offices inside the British Consulate in Cairo, officially or not. Isn't that right, Mr Ferguson?"
Tom was still glaring at Lyall-Hughes and Wilkins in turn, but nodded.
"We were supposed to be from the British Antique Research Department," he said, "so as such the Consulate was a front in case outsiders needed to see offices. A lot of the work in Egypt was done from Giza, though, even if the premises were, er… less suitable."
"Did the Consulate know about this?" Evelyn asked, pointedly looking at Lyall-Hughes.
The man didn't squirm, but came close.
"What you must understand is –"
"Did they?"
"Yes," Lyall-Hughes all but snapped. "The senior attachés did, anyway. Hamilton had the deplorable habit of treating the Consulate as his own personal retreat whenever he was in Egypt."
Rick crossed his arms.
"There you go. So even if his direct superior couldn't see what he was up to, you could. So either Hamilton went rogue, and that makes you incompetent, or he didn't – and that makes you responsible."
There was a pregnant pause. Wilkins looked at Rick, flabbergasted.
"Are you threatening a British citizen on British soil, sir?"
"This is not British soil," Ardeth pointed out in a low voice. "Borders don't mean anything in the desert, but we are a day's walk south of Sudan. This is Abyssinia."
"And Great Britain hasn't recognised Italian authority over the Ethiopian Empire," Evelyn said sharply. "So if you want to discuss Hamilton's intended acts of war on foreign soil, I suggest you take it up with Emperor Selassie. I think he lives in Bath now."
Lyall-Hughes took off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "This is a diplomatic nightmare."
Evelyn was unmoved.
"Look," she said, using her most reasonable voice, "it doesn't have to be. All we ask is accountability. The people who gave orders need to recognise they were bad orders, and the people who followed them need to realise they shouldn't have."
"Hear, hear," piped up Jonathan. "Considering those orders included larceny, assault, kidnapping, and murder, I should say there's something rotten in the state of Denmark. How do you even recruit agents for that Chamber of yours? No offence, Tom," he added with a quick look at Tom sitting next to him, "but most of the fellows I heard talking didn't seem to find anything wrong with using Lizzie's life as leverage! How on Earth did it come to this!?"
"I should like to point out that if you want to discuss objectionable actions committed on British soil, I might as well speak up." Elizabeth's voice was low and somewhat hesitant, but it got stronger as she talked, her hand in her husband's. "I live in Dorset. I was taken right off the street one morning on my way to work, drugged, and shipped off to Egypt where I was imprisoned for a week in the very basement of the British Consulate. I shall be very lucky if I still have a job when I get back home. So I'm seconding what Evelyn said about accountability. And I shall follow your career with great interest, Mr Lyall-Hughes."
Lyall-Hughes stared at her with the look of a man who'd just been attacked by a mouse and found that it could, in fact, do some damage. Wilkins glanced at him, then at the company, a puzzled expression behind his moustache.
"Frightfully sorry to change the subject," he said, "but I must have misheard something. There was a battle fought here, yes? We saw the signs, they were quite clear, and the commander mentioned losing a thousand men. Whom did you fight, exactly?"
"We fought the undead army Hamilton unleashed from the pyramid," said Ardeth. "The Army of Anubis. Jackal-headed soldiers, seven feet tall, who can only be killed if you cut off their heads."
Wilkins blinked.
"Sounds quite. Um. Quite fantastic, doesn't it? Seven feet tall, you say? My word," he said with a weak chuckle. "How imaginative. Are you sure you're not having me on? Because that –"
Ineni, who had been silent so far and watched the proceedings, looking rather unimpressed, turned a scathing gaze on him.
"Foolish men released the jackal warriors two years ago," she said in the hardest voice Evelyn had heard her use, "and we fought them. They cut my brother down and I held him as he died. Do you know how many brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, and children we lost this time? One thousand two hundred and eighty-nine, and that's if the wounded all live. All because one fool thought Anubis' Army would obey his orders. Doubt us if you want, but if you laugh, 'uqsim biallah –"
Evelyn froze. The few words she'd had with Ineni just before the meeting replayed in her mind, along with the repressed anguish in her voice. Agonising about the impossible responsibility something like the Book of the Dead brought was bad enough; but knowing that the difference between losing and keeping a loved one was, in essence, a question of timing was nothing short of wretched.
She had held her brother's hand as he died, too. Even with Jonathan sitting in front of her now, tense and subdued but miraculously alive, this kind of memory left a mark she suspected would be indelible. Hence why she couldn't bring herself to regret the reappearance of the Book. It was selfish, she knew, but she just couldn't. Of course it heaped problems on an already difficult situation, and maybe it should have stayed lost, buried within Ahm Shere. But it had given her brother back to her, and for that she would be forever grateful.
Ineni broke off, and Ardeth looked at her. A lot passed between them through that look. Then his eyes came back to the assembly.
"What happened is this," he said, staring at Lyall-Hughes and Wilkins in particular. "Charles Hamilton released Anubis' Army and channelled its soldiers into the world. We held them back so they would not spread death and blood everywhere until Rick O'Connell and Jonathan Carnahan knocked out Hamilton and broke the connection. That is the truth; whether you believe it or not is moot. What matters is what you intend to do with Hamilton and the men who followed him."
"Keeping in mind," Evelyn pointed out, "that while the Medjai's obligations keep them in Egypt, the rest of us will keep a careful eye on future developments."
Lyall-Hughes's eyes went from Evelyn and Rick to Elizabeth, Tom, and Jonathan, all of whom were watching him with stern expressions. He coughed in his hand.
"Yes, you've made that, er. Quite clear."
"As long as we understand each other," said Evelyn with the sort of smile she knew could cut glass.
From the looks of it, Lyall-Hughes was smart enough to not underestimate that sort of smile.
"As God is my witness," he said solemnly, "I will go back to Cairo with the prisoners, then England, where there will be trials. And I personally pledge to make sure the Chamber of Horus goes through a serious overhaul."
"Good. Then we'll be witnesses, as well."
Evelyn met Lyall-Hughes' gaze like her sword might cross an opponent's. The man was a diplomat; his job was to smooth ruffles, cut corners, and leave a meeting with more than what he had brought. But he needed to understand just how serious they were. And whether or not he believed the admittedly unlikely notion of an entire army springing from the sands and sinking back into them at the drop of a hat, he had to guarantee that nobody else would try to play around with dark forces.
They would need to gather evidence themselves, she knew. Collect testimonies, mostly, since nearly all of the concrete proof – like the Diamond, like the Pyramid itself – had collapsed and disappeared beneath the sand. Evelyn doubted it would take something as simple as shovels this time to uncover it. The Scorpion King had had his chance, mortals had had theirs, and when New Year's Day had dawned Anubis had reclaimed everything.
The meeting was over; Lyall-Hughes left, followed by Lieutenant-General Wilkins, who saluted Ardeth uncertainly. Atifa, Tom, and Elizabeth waited a little before stepping out as well.
"Well," said Rick beside Evelyn, slipping an arm around her waist, "I don't think these guys will forget you in a hurry."
"Good. I don't want them to. Quite the opposite, in fact." She glanced at Ineni, who was talking with Ardeth and Jonathan. "Did you know? About her brother."
"Yeah, I did." She turned to her husband, slightly surprised. "Last time we saw them, last winter? We were talking about this and that, me and Ardeth, and the subject came up at some point."
Evelyn frowned. "Where was I?"
"You had your nose in a book. I think you were working on a translation of whatever you'd found that day, a tablet or a bas-relief or something." Rick grinned, and Evelyn was seized by a mad urge to hold on to him and not let go. She had missed this so much – the low-pitched tone in his voice that came out for no-one else, the affectionate teasing, the smile with the special sparkle in his blue eyes…
She leaned into him and laid her head on the inside of his shoulder, relishing his warmth, his scent, the beat of his heart, everything she had been deprived of for the past week or so.
"You okay, sweetheart?"
"Yes, it's just…" Evelyn watched Ardeth, Ineni, and Jonathan across the tent, speaking in hushed tones. To her surprise, there was something conspiratorial about their conversation, and all three were smiling. "She lost her brother," she said finally, her throat tight. "Only she didn't get a second chance. But I did. It's not… Well, it's not fair, is it."
"No, it's not." Rick laid his head on top of hers. "But you know what? I wake up every day happy I got my second chance with you. Life isn't fair; sometimes we get lucky, and sometimes we don't. Best we can do is enjoy the good while we can."
Rick always was a carpe diem kind of man, she reflected idly. While she usually was a little too focused on either the distant past or the near future to follow this line of reasoning, right now he made a very convincing point. She smiled into his chest.
"My husband, the philosopher."
Rick snorted.
"Right. Like that was deep. C'mon," he said, lowering his head to look into her eyes, "up you go. If I know you at all, you're gonna want to question every single one of Hamilton's men who survived before we go back to Cairo, and we can't do it from here."
Evelyn laughed softly. Then something crossed her mind, and she leaned back to look at him intently.
"You said 'we', didn't you?"
"Well, yeah, of course. Did you think I was gonna let you do all the work? Lyall-Hughes is a politician, he'll probably want to sweep the whole thing under the carpet. I don't trust him any farther than I can throw him. So we'll have to make sure everything's done right."
Something as round, as warm, and as bright as a miniature sun rose inside Evelyn's chest. She bit her lip, and said with a smile she had to fight to keep steady, "Have I told you that I love you today?"
Rick was still grinning when she kissed him.
It took them a couple of days to get all the information they needed, and even some they didn't. Rick could very well have done without the kind of oversharing some of the agents did; he suspected that a few of them laid it on a bit thick to try and make him forget they had been complicit in things like kidnapping and attempted murder. It almost felt like dealing with Alex when he'd done something especially stupid and tried desperately to hide it. The best way to handle them, as he figured out after a few 'discussions', was to let them talk, looking as deadpan as possible, and then say, "Okay, run that by me again, without the whining this time." It took time, but it was worth it.
The last of Hamilton's cronies he saw was Baine – a conscious choice on Rick's part. The urge to eviscerate the guy had considerably calmed down since Jonathan's resurrection, but he still itched to at least sock him in the mouth.
Only it looked like somebody had already beaten him to it, and in a big way.
"What happened to you?" Rick asked, eyeing the red and purple bruises decorating the guy's face.
Baine shot him a baleful look.
"Like that matters to you."
"You're right, but I'm curious. I know the Medjai didn't do this, because they don't beat up their prisoners, and they wouldn't even let me beat you up, either."
"Oh, poor you. I'm sure that must have been terribly vexing."
Rick didn't take the bait. In hindsight he was grateful that Baine hadn't fallen into his hands after Jonathan's death; much as the guy looked like a modern art painting now, he had a feeling he would have been a lot worse off had Rick been allowed to rearrange his face. The odd thing was that Baine didn't even seem to realise that one of his – or his men's – bullets had hit the mark and done the job. If he had, he would have gloated, Rick was sure of it. He had been insufferably smug during the whole trip with much less reason for it.
They had agreed the keep the Book of the Dead a secret, which meant Rick couldn't bring up the true reason he had wanted to beat him up for. Oh, well. Maybe he could have his revenge in other, smaller ways.
"Not really," Rick said as he sat down. "I had enough on my plate lately without wasting time thinking about you. Didn't even know you got all –" he made a vague gesture "– tenderised. How'd that happen?"
Baine huffed.
"I… miscalculated."
"Uh-huh?"
"Ferguson took me by surprise. The man is such a… Well, frankly, I didn't think he would react this way."
Rick squinted at him, thinking hard. "When was that?"
"Honestly," said Baine, rolling his eyes, "it's not that important –"
"It kinda is. When did Ferguson hit you, and what'd you say to him?"
"Oh, for – yesterday morning, just before dawn. He came in for a chat, and I got sick of his moralising, so I told him about his wife to shut him up."
"What about his wife?"
Baine crossed his arms, looking irritated.
"Hamilton had a… contingency plan, if you will. To cover his tracks. Whether or not his project succeeded, Elizabeth Ferguson was – like you and your brother-in-law, incidentally – to be eliminated Thursday at dawn at the latest. She's most likely dead by now. Granted, it was foolish of me, but I really didn't think… Well."
Rick nodded. Getting told that his wife was dead, after everything that happened? No wonder the poor guy had snapped. He shook his head.
"You really didn't think, huh. Well, good news: she's not dead. And she came here and brought in the British Army and a whole load of trucks, which means you won't have to trek back to Cairo on a camel. Doesn't that sound great? Now," he said before Baine – who was gaping at him – could interrupt, taking out the notebook he'd been writing in for almost two days, "I didn't actually come here to shoot the breeze. Why don't you tell me everything you know about Hamilton's plan, what happened, and so on?"
"And why should I do that?" Baine asked scathingly.
"Because the way I see it, authorities might want to forget the whole thing ever happened – and what do you think will happen to you if they decide to 'cover their tracks'? Except we don't want that. But we need leverage, and for that we need information. So," he said, putting pen to paper and looking at Baine expectantly, "where do you want to begin?"
The way the guy glared at him made it clear that he loathed not just him, but also the fact that he was probably right. Rick allowed himself a couple of seconds to feel smug, feeling he had more than earned it.
Baine gave him a dark, suspicious glance.
"This might take some time."
Rick shrugged. "There's no hurry."
It did take some time. Part of the reason Rick had kept him for last was that he had seen first-hand how much the smug bastard liked to hear himself talk. Given half a chance, he might start monologuing like there was no tomorrow – which was exactly what he did.
When they were done, Rick closed his notebook, got up, and walked out without looking back.
Baine, Hamilton, and their crazy plans belonged in the past. It was time he left them there.
The last night they spent in the Medjai camp Rick mostly spent drowsing and sleepily gazing at his wife in his arms, his eyes half-closed, his fingers ghosting along her bare arms. Insomnia struck every now and then since Ahm Shere, and he had found the best remedy was simply to make sure Evy was still there, warm and alive, with him. So he watched her, her soft curves, her lean muscles, and the small shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheeks. Every once in a while her brows furrowed into a frown and she made a small whimpering sound, and he stopped brushing against her skin and slowly caressed her arms and her back until her face relaxed. She'd had more nightmares than usual this past couple of nights. Understandable, considering everything that had happened.
Sometimes he wondered if she still dreamed of Ancient Egypt.
Like he was pretty sure he did.
It didn't happen often. Sometimes he would wake up in the morning with something on the edge of his mind, like the echo of a song he had vaguely heard before. Sometimes his dreams would be filled with rage and grief and the memory of Evy falling to her knees, a knife in her stomach – but it was a man who stabbed her, not Anck-su-namun. And sometimes he would hear the clash of blades, see a flash of laughing dark eyes, and feel the sense of steady companionship he usually associated with Ardeth.
That… was weird. He had never crossed swords with Ardeth. The one time they had actually fought, the first time they'd come face to face, Ardeth had his scimitar and he had a gun – and then a stick of dynamite when Ardeth knocked the gun from his hands.
Rick tended to ignore these dreams, and they were rare enough that they didn't bother him. After all, Evy's own past life memories had plagued her until they had to go to that temple, had to find the Bracelet of Anubis, and everything went downhill from there. No way in hell he would let something like that happen again because of some half-forgotten dreams.
Still, the next morning, while Izzy prepared the dirigible for the journey back and everyone was saying their goodbyes, he sidled up to Ardeth and cleared his throat.
"Hey, Ardeth – can I talk to you a minute?"
"Of course," said Ardeth, looking slightly surprised. Rick rubbed the back of his neck and looked over to Evy, who was in lively conversation with Ineni, Tom, Elizabeth, and Jonathan. Alex was a few feet away, talking to Maira, who was looking unusually surly.
"Listen, uh… You know how Evy had dreams that were actually memories?"
Ardeth nodded solemnly.
"If I told you I had… Well, not exactly visions, but, y'know… things that don't really make sense. As such." He paused. "Would that be coincidence, or – aw, who am I kidding. It probably means the end of the world is gonna happen again soon, huh."
Ardeth kept looking at him intently, as though trying to decipher something.
"What did you see?"
"Nothing?" At Ardeth's insistent look he amended, "I mean, nothing clear. Like… Evy's death, right? Only it's a guy who stabs her, and I have no idea who he is. And… This is going to sound weird, but did we ever spar? You know, with swords, or scimitars?"
To his surprise, a smile dawned on Ardeth's usually stern face. A real smile, with a flash of white teeth and the accompanying sparkle in his eyes.
"Not in this life, anyway."
The sentence took some sinking in. Then Rick blinked and a faint smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.
"Huh. Well, how about that. So it's not just me, then?"
"No, it's not just you."
"I have a… a previous life?"
"It certainly seems so," said Ardeth, still smiling.
To be honest, Rick wasn't so sure what to do with this information. Especially since Ardeth hadn't said anything about a possible apocalyptic outcome.
Rick squinted at him and crossed his arms.
"Okay, spill."
"What do you mean?"
"Where's the catch? What's going to happen if I dig into this? How do I know it won't bring about the end of the world in the next decade?"
Ardeth shook his head. "You don't," he said. "But do you remember what I told you, two years ago? About embracing the missing piece of your past?"
Rick remembered, even if in the midst of everything – Imhotep's return, Alex's kidnapping, Evy's almost-tumble from the dirigible and the ensuing conversation – he hadn't really given Ardeth's words much attention. Mostly because the concept of everything being already written or preordained thousands of years ago was foreign not just to his experience – as a soldier, then as a father, he had very intimate knowledge of just how unpredictable life could be – but also to his very nature.
Of course, things like that little business with the tattoo on his arm and the life-size 'how to kill the Scorpion King' instruction book did, like Evy said, tend to convert one.
"Whether you like it or not, whether you admit it or not, it's a part of yourself. And you'll have to make peace with that someday, my friend."
"Yeah, I know." Rick's gaze was drawn, as always, to Evy, whose eyes found his and who smiled her wonderful crooked smile. "Just tell me something," he added in a low voice. "I knew Evy, right?"
Ardeth stared at him. Then – unexpectedly – he grinned.
"Yes. You definitely knew Evelyn."
Something about the way he said it sent blood rushing to Rick's ears. He couldn't help a grin that he knew from experience must look goofy as hell.
"It's like that, huh? Wow." Something cold hit the pit of his stomach, and his grin fell abruptly. "Hang on, she died – Nefertiri, she died… It didn't end well, did it?"
"No," said Ardeth, his voice heavy. "It didn't. Do you want to know what happened?"
Rick was tempted to reply "Later." Goodbyes were almost said, his family was waiting for him. But curiosity won.
"If you can make it short," he said wryly. "I like a good story as much as the next guy and I know you like telling 'em, but we don't have time."
The corner of Ardeth's lips twitched. "All right. Well, a man called Narmer tried to steal the Bracelet of Anubis. Evelyn – Nefertiri – gave chase and retrieved it, but he murdered her, so you avenged her death with his."
"And I was a Medjai?"
"We both were."
Rick nodded slowly. Well, it certainly explained a lot. It raised a lot of questions, too.
"Next time," he said, with feeling, "I'll want more on that story."
Ardeth's grin lit up his face.
"Until next time, then, brother."
"ʾIlā l-liqāʾ," said Rick, extending a hand for Ardeth to shake.
A lot passed in that handshake: trust, thanks, and the certainty that they would see each other again. It all settled into the back of Rick's mind like a pillar of stone, the kind you knew you could lean on in times of need.
If this was the worst having a previous life could throw at him, he could live with it.
The dirigible was taking off. Rick climbed aboard, leaned over the rail, and called to Ardeth, "If you and your family want to come do some sightseeing in London one day, you know you're always welcome, right?"
"Only don't forget to call beforehand," Jonathan cheerfully piped up beside him, "so as not to give us a collective heart attack."
Alex snorted, and Evy swatted her brother on the arm. They were still low enough in the air to see Ineni laugh and Ardeth shake his head with a smile.
The Medjai camp fell away underneath them; the sky, already a deep, vibrant shade of blue, folded around them in a warm embrace. Evy kissed Rick as she passed and crossed the deck to go sit next to Jonathan, who was talking animatedly with Tom and Elizabeth; they made room for her on the bench and in the conversation, and soon all four were chattering away, the discussion punctuated by deadpan remarks and laughter.
Then his son plopped down on the seat next to him and gave him a would-be casual look from underneath his blond fringe.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey, Alex."
Alex looked at his father, then in front of him, face puckered in a frown, chewing a little on his lower lip. Rick watched him, waiting for him to say what was on his mind. The boy was growing so fast, every day. His hair was lighter, as usual when he spent time in Egypt, but had he really been this tall last time they had seen each other in Cairo?
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you be mad at someone who's mad at you for a good reason?"
Wow.
Rick had figured out quickly enough – before Alex even started stringing actual sentences together, in fact – that being a dad was a package deal, and as such included the occasional hard question. As usual, he gave it some thought before answering.
"I guess that depends on the reason. Why?"
"Maira's kinda mad at me. I think she's mostly sad, though, 'cause the Army of Anubis killed her uncle Tamer two years ago, and… Well. She didn't get him back."
The unspoken 'like I did' hung heavily in the warm air. Rick heard his son sigh, then felt his head bump against his arm. Alex didn't protest when he pulled him against his side.
"She has a right to be sad," he said softly. "Even angry. Sometimes it's easier than being sad. Why were you angry at her, though?"
"Because… Because she said that people die, and that's it, and it's dangerous to think you can bring them back. Like I brought back Mum and Uncle Jon. But they weren't meant to die! So… I just fixed things." He looked up, a mixture of defiance and uncertainty on his face. "Didn't I?"
Rick didn't have experience with other children. His Alex must be one of a kind; he was clever, kind-hearted, cheeky, an everyday challenge and an everyday reward. Rick had never, ever wished for a different kid, no matter how wrong-footed he had found himself on occasion, no matter how much he wished he'd been given all the answers beforehand.
Sometimes, though, he wondered what kind of hard questions other kids – kids who couldn't read hieroglyphs and hadn't raised people from the dead – asked their parents.
Rick drew his son closer and racked his brain for the right answer.
"People are never 'meant' to live or die," he said in a low voice. "Sometimes they die and you don't know why, sometimes they pull through and you don't know why either. You were very lucky to have the Book of the Dead, and we're all very lucky to have you. But Maira's… she's not exactly wrong."
Alex broke off from the hug and threw him a look somewhere between hurt and outrage.
"No, hear me out. You can't fix every death. You just can't. It's just… Life comes in different parts, right? Some good, some bad. The good can't last forever, but then the bad can't either, so it all adds up in the end."
Alex's glare faded to a pensive expression.
"That's what Mum said the other day."
"There you go."
Alex went quiet, and silence fell, snug, comfortable. The dirigible glided along quietly in the strange floating space between earth and sky. They were well over the desert now, the Blue Nile snaking up northward. Behind them, in the distance, lay the stretch of green that was the tropical forests of Ethiopia.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
A glance down confirmed Rick's impression: Alex was smiling, and not just any smile, either – the small crooked smile he'd gotten from his mother, which said the kid was feeling mischievous.
"I didn't tell you how I stole Izzy's dirigible, did I?"
Rick couldn't help a chuckle. "Nope. So, how'd you do it?"
As Alex embarked into a lively tale, full of enthusiastic gestures and a couple of colourful words his father chose to let slide, something clicked in Rick's head, like the last piece of a puzzle started a long time ago finally falling into place.
For the first time since the theft of the diamond – maybe even since they had left England – he realised he felt truly at ease.
Translations/notes:
FINALLY ^^ Poor Rick has earned his happy ending, huh. I think he's going to spend a lot of the return trip holding his son and/or his wife, sleeping, and enjoying the fact that nobody's pointing a gun at him for a change, and who can blame him?
For some reason, with the exception of Tom, Lieutenant-General Wilkins is the only other character I have a face claim for, and that's Stephen Fry playing General Melchett in Blackadder Goes Fourth, moustache and all. (Tom is basically a blond, brown-eyed Sean Astin with a bit of James Corden.)
The 'Pact of Paris' Tom refers to is the Kellogg-Briand Pact, signed in 1928 by (originally) 15 countries, including the US, the UK, France, Germany, and Japan, officially renouncing the use of war to settle disputes and conflicts. Spoiler: it didn't really work – partly because the states then just waged war without declaring it, well before 1939.
Benito Mussolini, wanting a colonial empire, invaded the Ethiopian Empire (which bordered Italian Somalia and Eritrea) in 1935; in 1936 the country was annexed to form the Italian province of East Africa, and Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie had to flee. FTaH is set in July 1937; at this point Great Britain, like Evy says, hasn't recognised Italian authority over the Ethiopian Empire, but it will the following year (1938).
'uqsim biallah: (اقسم بالله), "I swear to/before God"
ʾIlā l-liqāʾ: (إِلَى اللِّقَاء ), literally "to the encounter", "Goodbye" / "See you later".
The little story about how Jonathan and Tommy somehow got themselves locked up in the basement of St Hilda's College and "savaged by a ram" (and a ram it was, not a sheep!) pops up in chapters 5 (at the bazaar) and 15 (during the "road trip").
As for what happened between them and Elizabeth, well. I have my early 2000s version, which evolved a little bit with time and is rather different from the one I have now. One thing that hasn't changed is that they all loved each other very much.
So, dear reader of FTaH, I leave it entirely up to you: you can see 18 to 21 years old Jon and Tommy as having run around Oxford having little adventures and being idiots (and Elizabeth being quite fond of her disaster boys) – or you can see 18 to 21 years old Jon and Tommy as having run around Oxford kissing each other (VERY secretly, as men could and were arrested for less at the time) and being idiots (that's never changed, they were always idiots) and Elizabeth falling in love with her disaster boys, who reciprocated. So you can have 18-21 years old Jon/Tommy/Elizabeth as friends or as friends and lovers both. The main thing is that they all loved each other very much ^^