Beware
Daniels stood quietly in the darkness, his eyes fixated on the three mounds of dirt on the outskirts of their camp, the fires behind him casting a dismal glow over the sands. Idly he began tapping his thumb against the beat-up tin cup he held in one hand, for the moment the bitter coffee it contained forgotten.
Left alone, his mind began to wander towards much more foreboding thoughts. Beneath his feet there lay an entire city lost to the world, and he himself hadn't been completely sure of its existence. Until now. Now he was glad he had made the long journey. Their excavation sight was carefully watched by two anxious and tired diggers, left there to make certain no one from the other party laid a hand on their statue. Whatever treasures it contained would soon be theirs, and on its way back to the States, and he'd be damned if that goody-two-shoes and her boyfriend stole their limelight.
Burns was right. They had the chance to make history. The opportunity was all around them. He smiled to himself, though, at another memory. And get rich doing it.
With curious timing, his eyes focused on the lonely graves. This time, a different sort of thought crossed his mind. They would find wealth beyond his wildest dreams...but at what cost? And how far would he be willing to take it?
Daniels sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing at how sweaty and uncomfortable he felt. Nights in the desert were unquestionably cooler, but still more scorching than any summer back home. And he wasn't use to it at all. His hotel room back in Cairo had a fan, cross-ventilation he missed very much. The heat, combined with the day's events still fresh in his head, was enough to keep him awake and restless.
Tired of the sight before him, he turned on his heels, sipping his coffee. He flinched at the dark taste, swallowing it down quickly and wincing even more. Lord, this coffee's terrible! he thought sullenly. At least it took away the salt taste that still lingered.
Of a sudden, he felt impelled to look back towards camp. Scanning the multiple tents, he saw something that made his eyes narrow. Burns, wash basin and shaving razor in hand, was talking with that blasted O'Connell! He caught him motioning towards him--no, towards the graves.
"Oh, hell," Daniels cursed softly to himself. That's all they needed! O'Connell and his lot knowing their troubles. Burns always was too damn nice for his own good!
Shaking his head, Daniels made his way back into camp. Henderson had gone to bed, and he had no desire to speak with O'Connell. So, on a question derived out of boredom, he sought out Dr. Chamberlain.
He found the scholar sitting under the curtain of a lean-to, not far from the entrance into Hamunaptra. The Egyptologist seemed quite engrossed in a leather-bound book, lips moving as he silently read to himself.
"Interesting?"
Chamberlain jumped clear out of his skin at the sound of Daniels' voice, knocking the hanging lantern above his head and setting it swinging. The other grinned, leaning his arm lightly against the frame.
Regaining himself and adjusting his spectacle, he responded easily, "Nothing so interesting to you, Mr. Daniels."
Without waiting for an offer, Daniels stooped into the slight enclosure, catching the lantern and holding it still before sitting down across from the Egyptologist.
The doctor asked with an impatient courtesy, "Anything I can do for you?"
Daniels replied with a straight-forward question. "You said earlier there was something in that statue." Chamberlain nodded. "What?"
"Of course I cannot say for certain. Up until now I myself have had to humor Hamunaptra as a legend. Its been studied merely as a folklore."
"Okay, then uncertainly, what's there?"
The Egyptologist leaned towards him, as if about to share a secret. "Many notable scholars seem to be in agreement as to what is supposedly hidden within the confides of Anubis. Something you and your partners will find most valuable."
Daniels set his coffee cup aside. "I'm listening."
"History tells that it's made out of gold."
Eyes lighting with excitement, Daniels said, "So that's why O'Connell wanted to keep that statue."
"No doubt."
Something clicked in Daniels mind, and he cynically wondered what exactly O'Connell was asking Burns. He opened his mouth to say something more, but the lantern began swaying again, its fire dimming against a sudden breeze. The wind had changed it seemed, bringing to his ears the sound of people stirring. He exchanged a look with Chamberlain.
"Someone's on the move," Daniels remarked, his tone oddly casual. "Maybe the rest of them diggers decided to high-tail it outta here!"
Chamberlain thought it strange that he should make light of something quite serious. "That doesn't worry you?" he asked.
He smiled nastily. "Naw. Without that squirrelly little guide of ours, they'll never make it back anyway."
"Then who, pray tell, will do all the work?" the Egyptologist inquired with a tactful sarcasm. "Need I remind you, Mr. Daniels, that you and your partners nearly killed yourselves today?"
Daniels' blue eyes became black slits, shadows playing across his face as he said, "We always have you, Doc."
Chamberlain's jaw dropped and he clutched the parasol that sat across his lap, insulted by the remark. He appeared to be unable to come up with a useful response. Suddenly, he didn't have the opportunity.
Daniels blinked, feeling something shift in the sand. It wasn't the wind this time, to be sure. The sounds of movement that he had heard before grew louder--increasingly louder. Whatever it was, it was drawing near. The coffee in his cup began to ripple from the vibrations of the oncoming noise, the tent flaps moving up and down like waves. Then he heard it. The clear and distinguishable sound of horses!
He was on his feet in a flash, mental alarms sounding even as battle cries arose from the City entrance. Daniels drew his guns as he slipped out of the tent behind the doctor, dumb-struck at the sight he beheld.
The camp was under siege by countless dark-cloaked riders!
Fear made Dr. Chamberlain quicker to react. "Mr. Henderson!" he wailed, turning and running in the other direction. "Wake up!!"
The Bedouins opened fire immediately, scimitar blades catching the moonlight with lethal grace. Daniels managed to get one shot off before he was forced back by the sheer number of them. But as they drew closer he was able to get cleaner shots, blasting away and dropping as many as he could.
The Mumia Riders set torches to their tents, the blaze shooting towards the sky and illuminating the camp in a fiery orange glow. Diggers ran for cover helplessly, some struck down in their flight. It was total chaos!
Daniels backed towards the large tent he shared with the others, hoping to find them intact and seeking the safety in their combined revolvers. A horse as dark as the night slid towards him, and he quickly took aim on the rider, sending him out of the saddle with one shot. But there was simply too many of them.
He cocked his gun and jerked the trigger, but it wasn't the muzzle flash of his own weapon that he saw. He had no time to react. A shooting pain squeezed the muscles in his left arm, the impact of the shot viciously knocking him to the ground like a full-frontal blow; Daniels spun and fell.
The Mumia who had shot him was struck down by Henderson's pair of revolvers. The black rider fell dead from his horse, dropping his pistol, his blade gone flying; Henderson flinched from the sword as it catapulted to the earth near the fallen American.
Daniels reacted instinctively, knowing he was left vulnerable if he didn't get back up. Despite the pain, he rolled off his still good arm and fired a shot. Burns and Henderson were suddenly over him, protectively. Burns grabbed Daniels' bloodied arm, none-too-gently in his haste to help his friend to his feet. Daniels gritted his teeth, trying to force the agony from his mind, but he managed to stand, leaning into Burns for support. His left arm was numb, useless, hanging limply in Burns' grasp. He had lost his grip on his secondary gun.
Mind whirling in panic, Daniels could hardly believe his eyes as he watched the Mumia Riders suddenly back down. Diggers seemed baffled as well, stopping stone still as one strident voice echoed off the temple pillars. The voice was clear, spoken in English.
"Enough! We will shed no more blood!"
Gasping, wired from the pain and the threat of doom, Daniels was astounded, yet he would not let his gun fall. Burns' hand gripping his arm was white-knuckled, and Henderson watched each rider with uncertainty, guns still out and waiting. All of them sought out the speaker, their apparent savior.
Daniels was vaguely stunned when he saw O'Connell by the fire side, holding a lit stick of dynamite, brandishing it like a dagger. Always the collected fighter, O'Connell was cautiously summing up one specific Bedouin with black tattoos on his dark face and scimitar in hand. The other was doing the same to the American.
Obviously the leader of the Mumia Riders, the man said in a heavily accented voice, "But you must leave. Leave this place or die." His eyes never left O'Connell. "You have one day!"
With no other words they could understand save for that lone warning, the man slung himself into the saddle of a waiting horse without the use of stirrups, calling out in his foreign tongue to his band. Daniels watched, shock beginning to settle in, as the man turned his horse's head and kicked him into a gallop. The rest of the Mumia followed, leaving their camp site in fire and ruins.
As the maelstrom of hoof beats faded into the night, Daniels sucked in a rattling gush of air, suddenly feeling the warmth of his own blood oozing down his arm. Burns helped to steady him, but for a moment none of them had any words.
Even though relief and agony were making him suddenly weak, Daniels felt a pounding excitement. He spoke up eagerly. "See, that proves it! Old Seti's fortune's gotta be under this sand!"
Henderson was on the verge of smiling despite the whole ordeal, quick to agree. "For them to protect it like this you just know there's treasure down there!"
Daniels gave one last, dark look into the night, pushing his sleeve up against the wound. A vehement pain lanced up his arm at his own touch, and he caught his breath. He pressed the hot metal of his revolver against the hole in hopes of stopping the bleeding and sealing it up, trying to inspect how bad it was.
"No." The sound of O'Connell's sure voice disagreeing with their assumptions made him feel worse. "These men are a desert people. They value water, not gold."
Daniels watched out of the corner of his eye as Burns, shaving cream still smeared across his face, tried to appear casual as he holstered his gun and went over to stand where the mercenary was holding a dusty, shaken Evelyn.
"You know," Burns said thoughtfully, "maybe just at night, we could, ah, combine forces, hmm?" He looked at O'Connell expectantly, who simply stared back at him.
Daniels wanted to sneer at the idea, but found he didn't really have the energy reserves left. Henderson, still maintaining his weapons, came to his friend's aid, leaving Burns to negotiate with O'Connell; at this point, he didn't really care who slept where, either.
Henderson took Daniels' left wrist, asking, "How bad is it?"
"Get off me. I'll be fine," he replied defensively, not wanting O'Connell to see him weakened.
Dr. Chamberlain, battered parasol in hand, said, "You really ought to clean it up, Mr. Daniels, or else it could get infected."
He turned to him with sarcastic sincerity, his voice gravely and cracking. "Thank you, doctor. The thought hadn't crossed my mind."
Henderson pitifully slapped his friend on the back, instantly sorry he did so; the both of them winced painfully. Henderson didn't bother to apologize, knowing it unnecessary at this point. Wavering ever so slightly on his feet, Daniels went to sit by the fireside with Henderson as the Egyptologist went about giving orders to the natives to put out the fires and clear away the carnage. Burns and O'Connell helped to bury the dead, a tedious task at such a late hour.
Daniels drained a flask of whiskey as he let Henderson tend his injury; even though he preferred to do so himself, his own hands were shaking too badly to be gentle. Henderson rolled up his sleeve, peeling the cloth off the wet skin. He took up a canteen.
"This is going to hurt like hell," he warned.
Daniels grimaced. "Don't I know it."
Henderson nodded. giving his friend a slanted grin as he dumped warm water on the bullet hole in Daniels' left arm, quickly patting it dry with a clean cloth strip. It was too late to be gentle.
"Son of a bitch!"
Daniels forced himself not to double over against the pain, his hand flexing into a knotted fist. It did sting like mad, blood washing down his arm and splattering the dry sand. Grinding his teeth until his jaw ached did little to help. Daniels' watched Henderson's progress to give his mind something to focus on.
"So where do you think they came from?" Henderson suddenly asked.
"You mean them guard dogs?" When the other nodded, he scoffed. "Who the hell cares? Now that we know they're here, watching us, next time we'll be more prepared."
"Then maybe it's a good idea to join camps with O'Connell's team."
"We can handle them," Daniels protested.
Henderson made a face, glancing at his friend's arm he was stitching. "If you're trying to get out of doing work by gettin' yourself shot--" he joked.
"I'm trying to save us from losing our treasure," growled Daniels. Then, "Ouch! Jes-us!"
Henderson was serious, reminding him, "'Leave or die'. And he gave us one day. Now I'm not too smart, but I do believe that means they're coming back."
"We only need one more day. Chamberlain says there's treasure in that statue."
"And if he's wrong?"
Daniels was confident in his response. "Then I s'pose we'll just have to hunker down for another fight."
Not sure whether to sigh or smile, Henderson gave the wound one final look over, level brows knit together and one finger pressed into it. Daniels fought off a wave of nausea at the pressure, knowing it had to be done.
"Bullet went right on through," Henderson diagnosed, pleased. He flashed his typical youthful smile. "As long as you don't bleed out, I think you'll live."
Daniels tried returning the smile. "That's good to know."
He held his right hand against the arm as Henderson bandaged it. "Try not to move your arm at all tonight when you sleep."
"If I sleep," Daniels corrected. He looked over the snapping flames of the fire and watched O'Connell escort Evelyn back up to their tiny camp. "I don't think any of us will be sleeping too well tonight."
As he predicted, Daniels barely slept the remainder of that night. When he did close his eyes, he wasn't even certain if he slept or blacked-out. The dark night was continuously broken by the sound of gun shots still echoing in his ears, creating nightmares that forced him to awaken.
He rose before the full sun began its climb over the distant peaks and dunes, moving stiffly and cradling his injured arm against his chest. He re-dressed his wound, which proved a tad difficult, and left his comrades still slumbering in the tent. Out in the early morning air, he found the diggers preparing breakfast, and the smell made his stomach do flip flops in disgust. What disturbed him the most was the sight of O'Connell and Jonathan moving their scant gear and packs into the American camp.
Daniels said without any humor in his tone, "Well, if it isn't my favorite mercenary."
Tossing his pack at the American's feet, O'Connell smirked and replied pleasantly enough, "Morning."
"Make yourselves at home."
"We are."
Daniels gave him a mock-smile. He wasn't happy about this situation at all. Just then the woman shuffled over, setting an armload of things down, rather sluggish. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused when she looked at him.
"Good morning, Mr. Daniels," she said in a husky voice, though the greeting was nonetheless sincere.
Daniels tipped his head to her politely, giving her the once over. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn she was suffering from a hangover. He wouldn't ever have guessed O'Connell to be such a dog!
"Ready to go back down, are we?" Jonathan suddenly asked, shifting on his feet like an excited child.
Daniels flicked a brow. "Why are you in such an all-fire hurry, O'Connell?"
It was Jonathan who answered. "We found something of our own." He seemed eager to explain, but his sister's elbow in his ribs silenced his enthusiasm.
They turned to leave, but before following suite, O'Connell said to him, dripping with sarcasm, "Happy hunting." He saluted him, all smarmy, before going.
Daniels glowered at them for a moment, then his mind flew back to their own site. Feeling suddenly as if it were another race, he returned to the tent and found Henderson and Burns up, though still groggy; Burns squinted at him, his glasses still at his side.
"Rise and shine, ladies," Daniels said jokingly. Then his eyes grew serious. "Let's go check out our prize." Henderson grinned from ear to ear.
They gathered the diggers together, roused the still sleeping Beni, and made their way back down into the depths of Hamunaptra. They recalled the way easily enough, the corridors more welcoming and familiar than their first day prior.
In the Anubis Chamber, Dr. Chamberlain had the excavation site well in order, bright and early. He sat at a small table near the statue, lit by one small candle lantern, and he was carefully writing in a journal, compiling information that he perhaps thought would make him famous. He said something to the two natives with him, then smiled when he noticed the Americans enter the room.
"Ah, gentlemen," he said. "I think we're ready to proceed with the digging."
"Great news, Doc," said Henderson, thumbing back the brim of his hat. "Then let's waste no more time."
He motioned to the diggers and two men quickly detached themselves from the lot, reluctant but wishing it over with as fast as possible. The Egyptologist and the three Americans pressed near to the mouth of the compartment. Burns timidly fingered the dry rim. When his skin came back unscathed, he nodded to the others. Chamberlain ordered the diggers forward.
Daniels stepped aside to let them through. When a muscle in his left shoulder throbbed, he unconsciously hooked his left hand under his right suspender to keep from using that arm. Excitement left his mouth dry, and he breathed shallow breaths through his mouth, as if stirring the air any would prolong the process. The fingers on his good hand twitched, afire with anticipation. Burns and Henderson were much the same; Burns kept shining his glasses, anxious, while Henderson's eyes shone hopefully.
This is what it's all about, Daniels thought to himself, staring at the diggers' every move as if motion was an entire new fascination.
He watched with silent excitement, a turbulent jittery feeling that clutched at his chest until he couldn't breathe. Their Egyptologist kept ordering the diggers on sternly, and they strained to reach further into the compartment, fear obvious on their faces. One of the men jerked at something, which scratched across the stone belly of the statue. Finally they managed to get ahold of it, and began to drag it out.
Daniels jaw went slack at the sight of the large box they pulled out. It was adorned with colorful pictures and ancient writing. He noticed quickly how they seemed to be having difficulties maneuvering it in their arms, and he just knew that meant it contained something valuable, or a lot of something valuable. His eyes glittered.
They carefully brought the chest further out, and at a brisk command, they eased it to the floor. Daniels and the others followed the chest eagerly; Daniels' hand kept moving out as if to touch it.
When they managed to set it down, the two diggers backed away hurriedly, trying to hide behind the other natives. They each of them stared at the chest with an ominous look, a few muttering something unintelligible. As soon as they were off the box, the Americans were upon it.
Daniels, gaping in wonderment at what they had found, knelt down beside it and timidly put a hand towards the chest. When Burns blew years of dust off the lid, he drew his hand away. But only for a minute. He caressed the lid, a delighted smile spreading across his face.
The cheerfulness was short lived as Dr. Chamberlain immediately snatched his hand off the chest. Startled, Daniels glared up at the man's suddenly worried face,
"There is a curse upon this chest," the Egyptologist warned, his eyes devouring the hieroglyphic writing scrolled across the lid.
Daniels' disbelief in such things showed in his sloe-eyed look, and he responded with snide, "Curse my ass."
Henderson was all smiles, saying in a simper, "Yeah, who cares?" He just wanted to open it!
"Have a care, Mr. Henderson," Chamberlain stated sharply, jabbing his finger in the American's face. "In these hallowed grounds that which was set forth in ancient times is as strong today as it was then."
Half-rolling his eyes, Daniels began working his jaw impatiently. He didn't really give a damn enough to hear Chamberlain's useless prattle.
Henderson nodded without hearing, and urged the doctor on with a flurry of his hands. "Yeah, yeah, we understand. What's it say?"
Swallowing, Daniels leaned in closer when the Egyptologist settled over the writing, deciphering the ancient words with learned ease. However, the nonsense he spoke went over the Americans heads, having little bearing on their thoughts at this point. Daniels stared at the man's finger, hovering over a symbol, and waited for a translation.
He didn't like what he heard.
"Death will come on swift wings to whomsoever opens this chest."
Daniels' eyes leapt to Chamberlain in astonishment, suddenly caring what the Egyptologist made of the situation. The doctor seemed expressionless, but his friends were just as aghast as he was.
Suddenly, despite the scant size of the enclosed chamber, a soundless wind began to ripple though the room. The torches flickered. Daniels looked over his shoulder, wondering what could have caused such a breeze. His lips were of a sudden dry, throat parched. Now what?
Then gushed through the Anubis Chamber with a harsh vengeance that doused the flames on one of the torches. Daniels squinted against the wind, swiftly rising to his feet as Henderson's hat blew off his head, tumbling backward. The Americans were all up, armed and ready for the unseen danger. The diggers reacted like frightened cattle, crying out and running out of the room, trampling one of their own in their desperate attempt to flee.
Daniels watched them run off, slightly shaken, but instead of heeding their example, he thought them foolish. They waited, but nothing more happened. So he eased back down on one knee beside the chest, eyes dark and uncertain. He heard Henderson holster his revolver, the sound loud in the dismal room.
Their guide, Beni, was swaying nervously on his feet, looking all around the chamber in fear. He had his gun drawn and a death-grip on his torch. "We should not be here," he whined softly. "This is not good."
Ignoring his whimpers, Dr. Chamberlain read on to his companions. "It says, there is one, the Undead, who, if brought back to life, is bound by sacred law to consummate this curse."
Giving a slight nod and raising his eyes to look at no one, Daniels remarked in a dead-pan manner, "Well let's make sure we don't bring anyone back from the dead then, huh?"
His joke was lost on the dark moment. He met Henderson's quivering gaze with a hard one of his own, suggesting to the other that there was nothing to fear from any curse. Deep inside, Daniels wasn't even convinced of the fact himself. The premonition, the reaction of those around him and the past events left him with the feeling that he should be scared.
The Egyptologist continued the translation: "He will kill all those who open this chest, and assimilate their organs and fluids--"
Daniels shared a sickened look with Burns, whose eyes were as large as saucers.
"--And in so doing he will regenerate, and no longer be the Undead, but a plague upon this earth."
A heavy moment ensued, the dull stillness weighing in on them like a shadow falling. In that moment, no one even took notice of Beni, shaking like a leaf, backing towards the exit.
"Well," Henderson said prudently, "we didn't come all this way for nothin'."
Daniels nodded as Burns piped up eagerly, saying with determination, "That's right!"
"It's the curse..."
Everyone turned to gaze up at Beni, startled by his quiet statement. He was drenched in a cold sweat, eyes glassy with fear. One foot after the other, he slithered towards the chamber door.
"It's the curse. The curse..." As if his words struck terror home into his own mind, Beni turned on his heels and fled, screaming a last, echoing warning. "Beware, the curse! Beware!"
The remaining group seemed uncertain of what to make of the warning, not sure whether or not they should follow his example or simply think the little man off his head. Leaning slightly into his injured arm, Daniels drew his lips together in a firm line, eyes caught on the doorway, and convinced himself of one thing:
"Stupid superstitious bastard," he said coldly of Beni.
His mind lingered so on their guide that he didn't seem to notice that Henderson and Burns had summed up their courage and were grasping the lid of the chest, trying to force it open. When he heard the seal give, he started to turn and look, but suddenly the lid flew off in their hands, and a heavy blanket of smoke and dust rushed out. Daniels lurched to his feet, almost smacking into Burns as a thick cloud of utter blackness enveloped them all.
It was like a sandstorm had rolled into the chamber, and for awhile Daniels could see nothing at all around him. Apprehension made him hold his arm closer, his hasty moves causing the wound to throb again, seeping a little blood. As the blackness started to dissipate and the dust settle, he could see Henderson across from him. He was staring down on the chest, gun on it. He glanced over at the Egyptologist and Burns, both looking dumbfounded.
Trying to swallow against his raw throat, Daniels finally managed to step closer for a look, hesitant at first. He waved his good arm through the air, clearing the dust away as he knelt back down with the others. A display such as that could only signal something important inside the chest, and he was anxious to find out what!
Dr. Chamberlain was breathing erratically, and his hands shook a little as he reached into the open chest. Whatever lay inside was wrapped in gauze and burlap, as if it were something fragile and precious. Daniels held his breath as the doctor undid the loose tie, drawing the wrappings back. Chamberlain's own breath caught at what their eyes beheld.
It was sheets of gray metal, bound together. All of it engraved with more of the hieroglyphic pictures. It didn't shine nor glitter, and it certainly wasn't valuable looking. There was nothing at all to catch the eye, yet Chamberlain was bedazzled.
"Oh my God," he rasped. "It does exist."
He took hold of the thing gingerly, raising it from its burial sight in awe. Daniels was confused, staring at the dark slab as if it were a mere pile of stones. It wasn't gold at all!
Chamberlain was enthralled with it. He said as if talking to himself, "The Book of the Dead!"
Daniels was extremely disappointed. "A book?" he said softly in disbelief--and anger. "Who cares about a book? Where the hell's the treasure?!"
"This, gentlemen," Dr. Chamberlain responded adamantly. He rose to his feet, still clutching the book. The Americans moved with him, eyes on the unusual trophy trying to see what he saw, puzzled. "This is treasure!"
Daniels couldn't think of a word to say; he merely stared at the thing incredulously. Looking largely disgusted, Henderson spoke up, and Daniels' eyes flashed over to him once in understanding.
"Hell," Henderson said with a plaintive scowl, "I wouldn't trade you for a brass--"
Before he could finish that sentence, Henderson kicked the side of the chest in frustration, and one of the heavy sides fell off with a resounding thump! Daniels stepped back, gazing down on the new opening in the chest in wonderment. His jaw fell at the sight.
Inside were five fantastic looking jars, made out of alabaster and each with a sculpted stopper: a baboon, jackal, falcon, lion (which unfortunately was shattered) and a human pharaoh head, each one exquisite in detail. They were also gilded in gold!
Everyone lowered themselves down once again, drawn to the sight of the new treasures. Daniels crouched down, a smile starting to play on his lips as Burns laughed softly at the favorable turn of events. Henderson gaped in an excited way, pushing the Egyptologist away for a better look. The Americans were ecstatic that their time wasn't wasted for a mere book.
Chamberlain said with his customary finesse, "There's your treasure, gentlemen." He knew it was what they wanted to hear.
Satisfied and with a skewed smile, Daniels replied happily, "Well now we're on to somethin'."
He reached in and pulled out one of the jars, the one with the jackal lid. It possessed long, pointy ears that he feared would break. Inspecting it gently, turning it about in his palm, Daniels' smile widened at the gold work catching the firelight and the smoothness of the barrel. It was nicely heavy.
"It's not El Dorado," said Henderson, taking up the falcon-headed one, "but damn, it is beautiful!" He couldn't tear his eyes off it.
Burns took the remaining two that were still intact and handed the one with the baboon's head to Chamberlain. "Here, doctor," he said. "Consider it your payment, with thanks."
The Egyptologist didn't refuse the offer, but he asked, with a sly casualness, "What should I do with the book?"
Standing up and fingering his prize, Daniels said nonchalantly, "This isn't an archaeological dig, Doc. You hang onto it."
He beamed, but quickly checked himself. Daniels' mind, however, had wandered to other things. The notion of curses and death abandoned, he wondered how many other statues lay within the City ruins. And smiled.