Author's note: [chapter revised in 2019] There you go, another chapter, when I've just begun writing the 13th. The title comes yet again from a Who song (can you tell I like them ;o) from the album Who's Next, and written by the bassist, John Entwistle for the trivia. I did do research on an Egyptian calendar that would name years after hallowed or symbolical beasts such as the Chinese would, but while I found 4 sorts of calendar (based on the seasons, the moon, the sun, or the stars) I had to make that up – as, I guess, Steve Sommers did when he came up with the "year of the scorpion". Anyway, on to the story.

Disclaimer: Stephen Sommers owns and developed The Mummy and The Mummy Returns; the characters, places, some situations are his creation. Some things I did make up, but every character here is fictitious, and doesn't have anything to do with any person, living, dead, or in-between. Who knows.

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Chapter 11: Going Mobile

Evelyn O'Connell was tired.

Not that this particular fact in itself was surprising: she was usually the first to admit that she was not much of a morning person. She could burn the midnight oil for what Rick qualified as an unreasonably long time, but when it came down to getting up in the morning… Well, sometimes it needed all of Rick's persuasion to get her eyes to open.

Now, having slept less than ten hours after a sleepless night would make anyone tired. Not being a morning person had very little to do with that, especially since the old clock in the entrance corridor had just struck seven o'clock in the evening.

However, strain had never dampened Evy's determination. And Sheikh al-Nazar didn't seem to notice that she blinked a bit more than was polite as he recounted his interview with Tom Ferguson.

Evelyn couldn't say she wasn't a little bit disappointed at first. For one brief, shining moment, she had thought she would find Ferguson in Nazlet El Samman and drag him back to her house by the ear to make him spill the beans about where Rick and Jonathan had been taken. Then, as Rick would have said, they would have been onto something constructive.

But things were never that easy, she thought as she listened to the Sheikh's tale.

She listened intently as he told her about the plans of that Hamilton fellow, and felt something twist her stomach at the correction al-Nazar brought about the Army of Anubis and what they would do if unleashed on the world. It was maybe a sign that she was getting used to apocalypses that Evelyn quickly got over her initial shock; but she all but gasped when the old man mentioned ever so casually that he had asked Anubis for information about his army. Of course, as a librarian, she had heard and read about High Priests calling upon gods in time of dire necessity, but the Bembridge scholars would dismiss such hearsay as fairy tales, not factual, verifiable reality. Then again, she thought, a small smile making its way on her lips, the Bembridge scholars were wrong about a lot of things.

"What did Anubis say?" she asked, the familiar feeling of mingled excitement and apprehension that appeared each time she was confronted with something unknown or unheard of awakening in her chest.

Al-Nazar marked a small pause, as though hesitating – as though he almost did not think she would take what he had said seriously.

"The great god Anubis told me that Ahm Shere would not see the next year. He is claiming her, and to him she must go."

Evy's mind began to race. She barely noticed Alex and Ardeth breaking off their conversation and looking at her.

"Dr Hakim said that the pyramid is probably still buried under the sand… That means it will be utterly destroyed on the next New Year's Day, doesn't it? Well, this means we've still –"

She felt her jaw unhinge in spite of herself as a certain thought popped into her mind.

The Egyptian calendar had nothing to do with the Gregorian calendar. And the next New Year was to begin on –

Evy felt colour drain from her cheeks.

"Oh my God… we've only got four days to stop them."

"Three, Mum," came her son's voice, a little bit more high-pitched than usual. Alex looked suddenly paler under his blond fringe.

Sadek al-Nazar gave a slight bow, and Evy turned back to him.

"Now you know everything I know. I hope you all succeed in your endeavours, whatever those might be. Farewell."

A second later he was gone. Alex's none too steady voice broke the puzzled silence that had settled after the Sheikh's parting words. "Whoa. What the hell did that mean?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes at her son's language, but for once said nothing, because Ardeth stepped in. "That we've got little time," he said quickly. "Evelyn, I'm going back to the Medjai. There is a lot to be done."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, thinking hard and fast about what she could do.

"Call the tribes, dispatch spies, find out where they are and when they intend to go to Ahm Shere, if they are not already gone. We might have to attack them in the desert as a last resort. And if this doesn't scare them into changing their mind…"

Evy had already seen the Medjai attack an archaeological party in order to protect Hamunaptra, the Lost City hiding both great treasure and great danger. She knew from experience just how scary it was, being on the wrong side of artfully and lethally wielded rifles and scimitars.

But another thing she knew by experience was that even the Medjai were not all-powerful, and that it only took one strong-minded person – all right, foolhardy and stubborn as a mule, too – to reduce three thousand years' work to nothing. If she, at the time, had managed to wake up Imhotep after two strong-arm warnings from the strange desert men in black, what could possibly stop Ferguson's boss from going to Ahm Shere and claiming Anubis' Army for his own?

Beside death, that is.

She kept her thoughts to herself and gave a nod to Ardeth as he headed for the door.

"Hey, what about us?" exclaimed Alex, making her jump slightly. "What do we do now?"

Ardeth turned his head and looked at mother and son in turn. "The wisest thing would be for you to stay here. However, as I know this won't be the case –" and there Evelyn could have sworn she saw a twinkle in his eye despite his stern face, "– I suggest you find a safe means of transportation. We may need to leave quickly. In this case I'll meet you at the south door of Fort Brydon tomorrow morning at eight."

This time, Evy felt a fully-fledged grin stretch her lips.

It just so happened that she knew exactly the man for the job.

Down in the cell that looked rather like a cellar, the heat had abated to a more reasonable temperature. It was almost cool in the room; one could guess that the night must have fallen not long ago. Soon, it would get colder, but nowhere close to the biting cold of the desert nights. In the middle of the Sahara, the night could chill anyone's bones through more efficiently than a European winter's breeze.

The small yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling was blinking unsteadily, and the bleak light it managed to cast in the room blinked in rhythm. Jonathan had been trying for quite a while to find a regular pattern to this rhythm, a sense of sorts, but he wasn't getting any result. Not that he was really expecting any, for that matter.

Staring at this bulb was a somewhat efficient way to not think about Tom and Hamilton and Anubis' Army and the Scorpion King and lots of things. Staring at this bulb made him avoid thinking at all. Unfortunately, thoughts drifted in and out, and Jonathan did not see any way to truly evade them.

This Hamilton was mad.

No, scratch that.

This Hamilton was a bloody raving lunatic!

Granted, Jonathan had never seen the Warriors of Anubis in action… But he had had plenty of more or less wanted details from Ardeth, who always did seem to enjoy taking the mickey out of him a little too much for Jonathan's liking. Before and after the big battle. If these kinds of stories had reached him when he was a small kid, there was no doubt that they would have often kept him awake all night.

However, Ardeth wasn't the one who had truly made Jonathan's skin crawl with his description of the jackal Warriors. The Englishman would always keep in mind the aftermath of the battle over Ahm Shere, after Izzy 'dropped' them for a while at the Medjai camp in order to at least say goodbye properly to Ardeth, make sure he was all right as well, that sort of thing.

The Medjai Commander wasn't quite what one could call 'all right'. Despite a few scratches he was physically intact, but he had lost more than a quarter of his men on the battlefield. His face was sombre as he described the fight in a few tense words. Evy's eyes were sad, and both Rick and Alex were uncharacteristically quiet. For his part, Jonathan was too busy trying to swallow the lump in his throat to speak.

And then, as he lingered a few steps behind the small group, he heard something that quite literally made his hair stand on end. A scream. A scream so terrified, so terrifying in itself that his first impulse was to start running madly and not look back. He did not run, however, but spun on his heels to face the source of the scream.

Good Lord…

It was a kid. A boy of twenty, more likely nineteen, his tanned skin almost grey with terror and glistening with sweat, his dark eyes wild and bulging. Everything about him spoke of something so horrifying it was unspeakable; from his eyes, in particular, came such a terror that Jonathan's stomach did a double somersault. He could not detach his stare from those eyes. He hadn't seen the like since the end of the war, almost two decades ago, when he'd been roughly the kid's age.

The boy had a large gash on his left side, and the men and women who tended to him came and went around him, blind and deaf to everything that went on outside of the tent. For a second, Jonathan was also blind and deaf to everything that wasn't that kid's eyes.

This was maybe why he jumped out of his skin when somebody touched his arm, as if sending a bolt of electricity through him. That somebody was Evy, and she was looking at him strangely; he pointed a somewhat shaky finger at the tent and the boy on the cot. She opened her mouth and her eyes widened.

"Holy shit. This kid looks like he saw the devil himself." Rick's low voice sounded none too steady either. He held Alex close to him, shielding the tent from view. Alex, usually so inquisitive, didn't even try to peek and just clung to his father.

"He's not the only one," said Ardeth's dark voice from behind them. "Older Medjai also seem to have this sort of terror in their eyes when the Warriors of Anubis come into their minds. Those Warriors are a wild, dark sort; they do not know the meaning of mercy, and they are ruthless and cruel to no end."

And he had taken the four of them along elsewhere, shifting subjects rather abruptly, which wasn't like him at all. But the expression in this anonymous boy's eyes had long stuck in Jonathan's mind, and from what he had understood afterwards, he wasn't the only one.

The Warriors of Anubis were the sort to fill some of the bravest people he knew with unspeakable terror.

And those were the kind of monsters that Hamilton planned to send after thousands of people!

Bloody lunatic.

Jonathan shivered, feeling the cold of the night gradually creeping over him. Rick was already sleeping; it seemed that he had been for some time, if the moment he had put his head on the ground counted as falling asleep. The American, faithful to old habits, had managed to wrap himself in his brown jacket, and somehow he looked fairly comfortable this way. He even sounded comfortable, considering the quiet but deep and steady snoring that came from his corner of the room.

The bulb went out.

Without any warning, the world – or rather, the cell – went pitch black.

For a long moment, Jonathan kept his eyes wide open in the complete darkness, hoping the small light would come back, almost waiting for it. He had grown so used to this yellowish excuse for a light that its abrupt disappearance made it look like a bright, shining star in hindsight. But the room remained dark, and although Jonathan still stared around, he couldn't even see the tip of his nose.

Only Rick's snores remained as a signal to his position. As in, 'Don't you step this way, I'm sleeping here.' After much deliberation with himself, Jonathan had to admit that it was sort of reassuring to know that he wasn't the only living man in this room. And it was a hell of an acknowledgement, because in any other circumstances he would already have taken off a shoe and thrown it across the room.

All right, maybe only thought about doing so – Rick could be in a really rotten mood if somebody woke him up the wrong way. And he really did not want to be on the wrong side of an O'Connell glare, even in utter darkness.

Nonetheless, sleep continued to evade Jonathan, who was gradually feeling more and more cold and bored. The image of the kid scared to death still hung in front of his eyes whether he closed or opened them, which didn't make any difference anyway.

He really could use a stiff drink right now.

There was something both scary and strange with staring at a world of black. Scary, because even for the most rational person on Earth, there still will be a little voice in the back of the mind whispering things like it's going to remain this way for ever, or you won't see ever again, even when light does come back. Strange, because the atmosphere changed radically. The movements somehow felt less real without the confirmation of sight. Even noises seemed to come muffled, the only actual sound being Rick's steady snoring from the other side of the room, a few feet away.

Said snoring was actually growing less steady, as Jonathan noticed. As it sounded, Rick was grunting and shifting in his sleep, and the Englishman was almost tempted to shake him awake or something. But the last thing Jonathan wanted was to trip over something in the dark and wake him in a far more sudden way. The consequences could be disastrous, as he observed thanks to a particular event that happened a few years ago.

It had been only a cat, and Rick had been only half-asleep, but the animal had had the very bad idea of leaping lightly on him to sniff his face. The American had sent the cat flying across the room before even realising there had been no immediate danger. Jonathan still recalled Evy's aghast expression, followed by an incredulous glare – oh yes, she was quite good at this one – that had forced his own laughter back down his throat.

Oh, of course. That change in Rick's sleep must have something to do with Evy. Or Alex, for that matter. Rick had seemed to forget how to sleep soundly when the lad had been taken two years ago, and remember only after Alex was back. As for Evy… Well, after what happened at that place, suffice it to say that it had taken some time for the three other members of the family to be thoroughly convinced that she was very much alive, quite well, and not going anywhere. As far as Jonathan was concerned, it had been a bit difficult to get it into his head that nobody was going to take his baby sister away after all. At least in the first four or five months following Ahm Shere.

Rick muttered something in his sleep, and Jonathan turned his eyes in the general direction of the sound.

"Speak up, old boy – can't quite hear you."

Whether Rick had heard him or not, Jonathan had no idea, but something in the mumbling became clearer.

"Mmhm… vvv… vy… Evy…"

Right on target. Jonathan winced sympathetically and turned back to where he imagined the door would be. If you didn't count the previous night, this marked the first time in years that the two lovebirds didn't sleep at least under the same roof. And since eleven years made for enough time to grow used to one's baby sister getting married and everything that went with it, Jonathan thought he could afford to feel sorry for his brother-in-law. At least be sympathetic.

Maybe it was because he was a little lost in his silent musings, or maybe he simply wasn't paying attention, but he didn't notice the sliver of light creeping from under the door right away. It was tiny, but growing slowly, meaning that somebody was walking down the flight of stairs holding a light. But even Jonathan couldn't fail to notice the sound of footfalls coming closer and closer down the steps, then the corridor. He scrambled to his feet and tried to locate his sleeping brother-in-law in the darkness, which was easier said than done.

"Rick? Come on, old chap, wake up, we've got company… I think. Rick, where the hell – oof!"

Of course, he tripped over the sleeping American and fell heavily on what he thought was his stomach. The next second, a hand that felt as though it had been clad in iron grasped his throat, crushing his windpipe quite effectively.

"D–don't be r–r–ridiculous, Rick, it's me!" Jonathan managed to choke out. The hand released its grip immediately.

"Oh… sorry about that. Old reflexes, you know."

Jonathan could almost hear him smirk in the dark room.

"Don't mention it," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You know," he heard Rick say after a couple of seconds, "in this kind of situation, it's better not to try to use long words. Short ones are easier to get out, see."

This time, he was absolutely sure that Rick was grinning. Which was confirmed when the door opened, letting in somebody holding a paraffin lamp, although the sudden light seemed so intense that it was impossible to say how many they were behind it.

"Gentlemen," came the unmistakable slimy voice, "please forgive us for disturbing your sleep, but it's a long way to where we are going and we must leave now. If you would follow us."

Now that his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, Jonathan could recognise the creepy-looking bloke who had led the taking in Cairo; Baine, Hamilton had said. And, considering the way Rick's face clouded dangerously, he was not the only one.

Outside, only a very thin crescent moon hung in the sky, but they could see everything surrounding them as if it were daylight. The stark white walls of the little houses of Giza looked pale blue under the starlight, and the shadows were longer and deeper. It was a little bit eerie.

They were being led to the same truck that had brought them there, and Jonathan sighed wistfully, wishing he had got as much sleep as Rick had these past few hours. Whatever sleep he was going to get in there would hardly be restful.

To his surprise, there were two old mattresses secured to the floor of the truck. They were so old that springs were sticking out in places, and several buttons were missing.

"That's for us?" Rick was eyeing the mattresses in a way that was both wary and sarcastic. "Neat, as my son would say. Is that the best you've got?"

"Certainly not, Mr O'Connell," said Baine with a smirk. "But it's the best you've got. We're keeping the very best for our superior."

"Lucky bastard."

Fortunately, maybe, for Rick, only Jonathan heard that, and he agreed heartily. Silently, of course.

He searched for Tom among the different faces that all looked the same under this bluish light, but didn't find him. This was rather disappointing. He had almost wished to see his former friend before going to Ahm Shere, to see whether he was in on Hamilton's plan or not, what he thought about it all. But then, he reflected a little bitterly, if the man was capable of everything he had done so far without asking questions, only to follow orders mindlessly, then there was nothing left to say.

Of course, seeing him lose so much colour at Hamilton's exposition had made Jonathan keep for a moment the feeble hope that he would do – or try to do – something to stop that. Tommy was always the one who would stick up for lost cases, try to right the wrongs, that sort of thing. He had sort of been Jonathan's conscience for a while, and there had been many times when Jonathan had pulled him back in time to save him from doing something downright stupid. Obviously, Tommy often got furious on occasions like these, calling Jonathan a self-serving git, but if he was proved wrong he would reluctantly admit to it. And it worked both ways.

So it was a little bit odd to picture Tom Ferguson executing orders without thinking. But then, everyone and everything seemed to be constantly changing; why should Tom be an exception to the rule?

Jonathan hadn't realised how exhausted he was until he put his head on the beaten-up mattress and fell abruptly asleep.

Evelyn was awake by the crack of dawn.

As light made its way inside the house, she packed a few clothes, food, and a number of Rick's guns, certain as she was, despite her dislike for firearms, that they would come in handy at some point. She also took her own favourite weapon, a slender scimitar, light but strong, that Ardeth had given her for practice after seeing her fighting against Lock-Nah's men.

When everything was ready, she went to Alex's room to wake him. After a solid breakfast – all the more so considering it would probably be their last real breakfast for days – they set off in Jonathan's car to what was gradually becoming the first real private airport of Cairo.

Evelyn couldn't help a sigh of relief when she saw the 'Magic Carpet Airways' sign. It wasn't hasty words painted on an old, dusty bit of wood this time, but shiny brass letters planted on a neat, dark bit of wood. Oddly enough, it was hanging on the same big wooden doors.

"Looks like he's changed things around a bit, hasn't he?" said Alex beside her with a whistle, looking at the great big doors.

"Let's hope he's still here," Evy muttered, a bit worried.

As if on cue, one of the doors opened, and a gangling black man stumbled out, holding a few rolled-up maps and scratching the back of his head, making the flying hat he wore tip dangerously over his eyes.

Evelyn and her son exchanged glances.

"He's still here."

"Most definitely."

She gave her sweetest smile and a small wave. "Why, hello, Mr. Buttons!"

Izzy's reaction was immediate, to say the least. He froze on the spot, and stood there with his mouth hanging open, fish-like, staring at mother and son with owlishly wide eyes. Utter terror was in them.

"Oh, no… no… no, not you lot again!"

"Come now, Izzy, I haven't said anything."

He frowned.

"Please, ma'am, tell me this is just paying a friendly visit to a pal who's saved your butts one time and nothing more."

Evelyn gave the most reassuring smile she could. "Oh yes, I was passing by with my son and we decided to pay you a friendly visit."

"Uh-huh," said Izzy, one eyebrow deeply frowned and the other raised. "With all those bags?"

"Well, we also happen to be in need of a swift means of transportation."

Izzy's face lightened. The four silver teeth gleamed in his grin. "I can take you anywhere, even down south to Memphis or the Valley of the Kings – you study this stuff, right? Name the place and I'll take you there. I got a new balloon, y'know," he added, beaming with pride.

Evelyn gave a wry smile and shook her head. It worked. Izzy understood. His eyes widened again, his mouth opened, and he swiftly spun on his heels and ran back behind the door, locking it behind him.

Alex rolled his eyes and muttered something Evelyn didn't quite catch.

"Exactly what did you say, Alex?"

"Nothing, Mum," he replied quickly. Too quickly. Evy smiled.

"That's what I thought."

"What are we doing, then?" he asked, grasping the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

"I think he might be in need of a little persuasion."

Grabbing the bags, she walked to the door, Alex behind her, and knocked firmly on the wood.

"Izzy, open this door!"

"Hell no," came Izzy's voice from some ways behind the door.

"This is ridiculous – nobody's going to shoot you!"

"That's what O'Connell said last time, but last time was worse than any time I got shot! What d'you want me for this time?"

"Something that does not include danger for you in any form – now open up!"

Evelyn was starting to get angry. She missed her husband, she missed her brother, and her patience was wearing thin.

That's when she noticed Alex had put his bag on the ground and was searching his pockets.

"Alex, what are you doing?"

The boy didn't answer. His face lit up as he fished a large paper clip from under his pocket handkerchief. "Got it."

Evelyn stared as Alex pulled and twisted the paper clip into a certain shape. Then, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, he introduced it in the lock and began to turn it gingerly, his ear close to the door, listening raptly to catch any possible sound.

"Alexander John O'Connell! Why, I never –"

She was interrupted by the sound of a lock opening, and Alex grinned up at her.

"Aw, Mum, you know I hate it when you call me that."

Evelyn remained speechless for a second as her son put his paper clip back into his pocket. While she was perfectly aware that Alex knew a good few tricks in the wide book of stealth and eavesdropping, it was the first time she saw him actually try something like this, not to mention make it work.

Alex was still grinning proudly, and she smiled in spite of herself. After all, these kinds of skills could come in handy. But still… It wasn't proper to be proud about the prospect of a successful career in burglary. No matter what some people argued.

"Well… I think I'll have a word with your uncle."

"Don't be mad at him, I asked him to show me this trick."

"My point exactly."

She put her hand on the doorknob…

The door had a bolt on the inside.

Alex's face fell. Evelyn took pity of him and smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, dear. I'll just take a leaf out of your father's book, now, shall I? It wouldn't be the first time."

She shook the door a little bit, to know exactly where the bolt was, and, as Alex's eyes widened slightly, pulled out a short-muzzle shotgun from the bag she had put the lot of them into, and checked it was loaded.

"Izzy, wherever you are, I hope it's not behind this door," she said calmly before she pointed the gun at the door and pressed the trigger. There was a loud crack, the recoil almost made her arm shake – but when the small cloud of smoke dissipated, she could see the bolt on the ground, and, on the door, a hole where it had been blasted off. She reached, and, delicately, knocked on the maimed door.

A shaking black hand pulled it slowly open, and Izzy's pleading face appeared.

"No, Mrs O'Connell, no… not that place again…" he moaned. "Please. That place is nothin' but trouble. Just to get to it there was that wall of water, then we crashed, and then there was those weird noises…"

"Oh, that? That was nothing," said Alex self-confidently. Izzy gave him an odd look.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, just a bunch of p—"

Evelyn just had the time to put a hand on her son's mouth before he could say 'pygmy mummies'. Then she gave the pilot her most motherly smile.

"Izzy, we just need you to take us there. There's no one chasing us, nobody after us – nothing's going to happen to you. Besides, we don't have much time, we have an appointment at Fort Brydon at eight."

"Mmhrph. What do you even need to go in that bloody desert for?" Izzy asked gruffly. "Last time, there was nothing left but sand – and blood, too, I bet."

Evy decided to play the 'serious' card. She narrowed her eyes and set her mouth in a firm line.

"Well, my husband and my brother have been taken. I will get them back, and I'll do whatever it takes."

"Yeah, me too," Alex chimed in at her elbow. Evelyn smiled inwardly at her son's determination. He looked so sure of himself despite his small size that she felt her own spirits lift.

Izzy shifted uncomfortably. "So, you say O'Connell's in trouble?"

"As I understand it, some thugs have kidnapped him and Jonathan for information about the pyramid of Ahm Shere and taken them there. Since the two of them think it no longer exists, I think we could say that they are indeed in trouble."

Obviously, Izzy was seriously torn between rushing off to his new balloon and scramming out of here, and helping Rick for the sake of whatever history they shared. Let's press this issue, then.

"Izzy, I'm aware I may not know a great deal about my husband's past. You knew him before I did; I'm sure you'll agree if I venture that he's not the kind of man who lets his friends down. He never let you down, did he?"

In response to her kind tone, she got a mild glare and a sort of growl. "Oh yeah, he did, coupla times. Like that time with the belly-dancer g—but I'm not telling you about that."

Too late. Alex's eyes widened. "Belly-dancer girl? Dad?"

Izzy shot him a swift warning glance. "You'll ask him when you get him back, kiddo."

Alex made a face, frowning. "Not fair. Nobody tells me anything interesting."

Evelyn turned back to the pilot, thinking there had been enough dilly-dallying.

"Izzy, please. Rick himself said you'd never let him down before."

"Turned him down, Ma'am, not let him down. There's a difference. Then again, there's a first time for everything, I guess. I'm sorry, Mrs O'Connell, you're very nice and all, and the sprog here is nice too, but the answer's no."

He gave her a sort of salute, putting two fingers to his flying hat, and turned away. This time, Evelyn had reached her limit. Ignoring her son's amazed stare, she picked up again the gun that she had used to blast off the bolt with, and fired a warning shot that resounded all around the place and made the sand fly inches away from Izzy's left foot. There was a strangled yelp, a herd of goats passing by a few metres away bleated in startled protest, and the pilot whirled round, looking panic-stricken.

"You – you – what the hell are you doin' with that thing? You're not gonna shoot me for real, are you?"

"I didn't plan to," Evy replied as coldly as she could. Good thing it appeared to be working. "But I'm going to if you don't take us to Ahm Shere, or where Ahm Shere used to be."

Izzy stared at her.

"You don't know how to handle my dirigible," he said quickly. "And if you shoot me, you'll have nobody to guide you to –"

Evelyn cocked the gun, ignoring the fact that the butt seemed to burn her palms. "Izzy… You are not the only pilot in this part of Egypt. Or even in Cairo, for that matter. Just the one I trust the most to go after my husband."

Alex looked at Izzy, then at his mother, beaming. "Whoa, Mum! Cool!"

Izzy rolled his eyes, and muttered under his breath something that sounded like, "Family of nutcases."

Evelyn had to concede the point.

The next moment, he was helping Evelyn carrying the bags. She thanked him warmly, but he only gave a resigned sigh and shook his head.

When her hands were free, she unloaded the gun and put it back into her bag with a lot of relief. She really felt no fondness of any sort for weapons like these, but having a few of them into her bag could be useful if things turned dirty.

Alex and she followed Izzy down the path to the airport properly speaking, and both of them stopped for a second to look at Izzy's 'new dirigible'. Gone was the hand-made, patchwork balloon with a small fisherman's boat for a bottom. What stood – or rather floated – in front of them was brand-new, light grey, slender, moulded like an arrow, and had actual cabins with a number of windows. The windows had patchwork curtains to them, the only remains of Izzy's bizarre flying contraption, and Evelyn, strangely enough, found herself almost missing the old machine.

The proud owner made a great gesture towards the dirigible, his silver teeth gleaming in the morning sun. "Ain't she beautiful?"

"Your favours seem short-lived, Izzy," Evelyn said with a smile. "I remember you saying these same words about your old dirigible."

"Yeah, but the old one was a slug compared to her. And Dee's great for blending with the sky – grey, y'know. And she works on hot air. Cheaper, less dangerous. Can't have customers blowing up, can I?"

Evelyn frowned. "Dee?"

Izzy cleared his throat. "Gave her a name. So's not to get her mixed up with the old one. That's Dee for 'dirigible'."

Alex gave a laugh. "Well, could've been worse."

Izzy frowned down at him. "I figured you'd be a smart ass kid, kid."

"Now, don't go using this kind of language in front of my son," said Evelyn, trying to sound serious. The state of things was bad enough already with Rick and Jonathan around.

"Right. Help me with that line over there."

"This rope?"

"Yeah, that rope. Go aboard and catch it when I throw it."

Alex was already on board, leaning against the rail. Evelyn complied, a bit puzzled. When she asked Izzy where the people who worked at the 'Magic Carpet Airways' were, he grumbled, "They're gone, ain't they? We're supposed to be closed on Sundays and Mondays, and today's a Monday. So you see, I'm really helping you because it's you – and 'cause you're paying well. So maybe O'Connell will do me a favour and not need help after that. 'Specially from me."

Evelyn gave him a genuine smile. "Thank you all the more for it, Mr Buttons."

"Quit that 'Mr Buttons' business," Izzy said gruffly, but smiling a bit all the same. "Sounds either too serious or just ridiculous."

"All right, Izzy. Are we ready to go?"

"Yup. All aboard? Yes? Well, ready to go, then."

Izzy hoped into the dirigible as the last cable was pulled in, and took his place at the helm. Alex ran to the bow to have a better look at the landscape, and Evelyn sat down on the sort of bench that ran the length of the hull under the rail.

Egypt in the morning was certainly one of the most beautiful places in the world. Far away down south, the dunes, not yet flattened by the implacable sun, stood proudly, casting shadows that were still long on the orange yellow sand. Evelyn watched the tall buildings of Cairo and the little white houses in the north getting smaller and smaller, and turned as the pyramids of Giza grew bigger. She could even start to see the Sphinx.

"We won't overtake 'em before nine, especially if you want to stop by the Fort," said Izzy, whose eyes were also on the Pyramids. "Maybe we'll be close when we stop for water, so you'll have plenty of time to look at them."

"Thank you," Evelyn replied, still looking at the great shapes casting even greater shadows.

It was a quarter to eight when the walls of Fort Brydon came into view. At the foot of the wall stood a lone black-clad figure. Ardeth Bay wore his black, worn travel robes, and, it appeared, every weapon he owned.

"Him again?" Izzy cast a glance that was half glare, half pleading look at Evelyn. "So it's gonna be just like last time, then. Gloom and doom and the world wiped out an' all!"

"No," Evy said firmly, "it isn't. And be nice to Ardeth, he came here to help when he could have done otherwise." At least he isn't going to complain about the destination of the journey.

When the dirigible came down to the level of the Medjai Commander, he looked it over for a few seconds, then shook his head with a strange sort of grin. After he climbed onboard, he gave Evelyn a look and said calmly, "I am not going to comment on this. But… I suppose there wasn't any other means of transportation, was there?"

"Hey, watch it," snapped Izzy, his wariness forgotten, bristling at any perceived slight against his beloved Dee. "I'm not that happy to have you onboard either, so don't you go sayin' dirty things about my dirigible."

Ardeth stared at the pilot for a while, during which Izzy seemed to pale a little; then a slight smile flickered over his face, and he said, "Apologies. Now quickly, if you please – there's no time to lose."

Evelyn shook her head to hide a grin; Alex didn't bother, and his clear laugh rang in the morning air. Izzy humphed and went to take his place behind the helm. The dirigible rose through the air, and Fort Brydon seemed to float away.

A moment's silence passed, only troubled by the flapping of the airs screws and the whooshing of the wind past the dirigible, then Izzy asked almost casually, "So… don't mean to pry, but what's the deal this time? Whatever O'Connell's got himself into, it can't be that bad… Can it?"

Is that famous last words or tempting fate? You decide…