The next day, like most in the vast and uncompromising desert, dawned dry, hot, and sunny. The light soon would burn off the coolness of the night, and it was for that reason that Arnold's party got moving as quickly as possible, while the sun had just barely risen. Better to travel in the relative cool of the early morning than later, when the sun got a little higher in the sky.
The nine of them—Arnold, Helga, Curly, Raoul, and five natives—made good time, and were nearly at the place Arnold wanted them to be by noon, when it started to get really hot. Arnold and Curly discussed their plans as they rode; Raoul maintained his stoic silence. Helga, who would usually be in the thick of any conversation, pooh-poohing foolish ideas and cracking jokes, teasing Arnold and Curly, complaining about the sun and urging on her lazy camel, rode behind the three men, pensive and quiet.
Arnold felt uneasy. Something was wrong, and he had a feeling it had to do with her nightmares. He also had a feeling she wasn't telling him the whole truth about not being able to remember them. But what could he do? That was what he got for falling in love with Helga Pataki, after all…you couldn't pry a straight answer out of her in a million years if she wasn't willing to tell. It was all right. If she didn't want to tell him about the dreams, she didn't have to. But something about her behavior, and the dreams themselves, was making him squirm.
For now, he left her alone and concentrated on their search. After all he had been through already for the Lotus of Nefertiti, he was not about to miss it because he was daydreaming about his girlfriend. He thought back to the directions on the scroll, the map that he had found that would lead him to Egypt's greatest treasure. The ridges should be in sight soon…
There they were. High rocky cliffs looming in the distance, an anomaly in this strange land. He led the caravan towards them, speeding up slightly, eager to get to the tempting shade of the cliffs. His heartbeat quickened. If his map had been correct, and if memory served as it should—and Arnold had no reason to believe that either the map or his memory would fail him—he was very close to unearthing a treasure the likes of which had never before been seen. This was the equivalent of discovering Atlantis, or King Arthur's tomb. The Lotus of Nefertiti was buried in half-legend, half-fact, so that many archaeologists, men and women who were older and less idealistic than Arnold, didn't believe in it. But Arnold believed, and now—hopefully—his faith would stand him in good stead.
They reached the shelter of the cliffs and Arnold gave the order to set up camp. He tried to rest, to catch his breath and settle his racing mind, but he was too excited.
"You can start lunch going, if you like," he told his companions. "I've got to climb up there and check it out."
Helga spoke for the first time in hours. "What are you looking for?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think this is the spot—that's what my map says. Apparently, and this is the closest I could come—the translation's not exact—it said, 'Ruminate in sun and you will see the way.' So I'll go up there, while the sun's still bright, and see what I can see."
Helga looked up at the high, nearly insurmountable cliffs. They extended in either direction, too far to go around, and reared up about a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty, feet.
"I'm going with you," she said decisively.
Arnold shook his head. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."
"Exactly," she grinned, more like her old self than she had been all day. "That's why I'm going with you. Somebody's gotta look after you."
Curly spoke up. "If you two are going, I'm going too," he declared.
Raoul lumbered up and held up a hand. He was volunteering, too.
Helga shook her head. "No, somebody has to stay here and watch the camp. Besides, you're not built for climbing. You're too big."
Arnold put his hands on his hips. "Who's in charge of this expedition, you or me?"
She looked surprised. "You, of course. But I'm in charge of you." She kissed him on the forehead, grinning at his disgruntled face, and started digging in a pack for ropes. "Well, are we going to wait around until we get old, or are we gonna go?"
Well, when you put it that way…
Arnold gave in, as Helga had known he would. It was strange—she had worshipped him blindly for two decades, and it was he who was wrapped around her little finger. She loved him unconditionally, of course, and she had complete faith in him—but she had a sense of needing to be there to take care of him that was not going to allow her to let him make this climb alone.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she strapped herself into a harness and pulled on a pair of strong climbing gloves. He was unbearably handsome, enough to make her weak at the knees if she let him—so she didn't. Not now. The hot desert sun had painted him all bronze and gold, and his cat's eyes shone green and honest from his determined face. He had matured, too (though he had never seemed all that young), since she had known him as a child—torture, privation, and heartache could do that to a person. She had always looked up to him as a sort of god…but now he was a man, and that was infinitely more important.
He finished fastening his harness and looked at her. "Ready?"
"I am!" Curly replied exuberantly, bounding up. Ah, Curly. Their trusted pilot and companion, far removed from the days of his crayon-eating youth. Well, not that far removed—Curly had been the crazy one in school, and wasn't much different now. Here, however, his lunacy served them in good stead, and had saved all their lives on more than one occasion. Helga had been surprised that he had joined their little "mission," although she probably shouldn't have been—he was the sort who was always looking for another adventure. Like her. They were kindred souls, Helga and Curly.
They strung a rope through their harnesses, getting ready for the climb. The cliff was good for it, with plenty of handholds and ledges to rest on. They started off with bounding enthusiasm, Helga sandwiched in between Arnold and Curly. She rankled a little bit at this—she knew that they were trying to catch her if she fell, but she knew she was just as good a climber as either of them, if not better. Oh, well. She supposed it didn't matter.
Each was equipped with a grappling hook, which they would fling upwards, searching for a secure handhold. Then they would pull themselves up carefully by the grappling hook's rope. It was slow going, as Helga, who was the lightest and fastest, had to wait for Arnold and Curly to make their way upwards, due to the shortness of the rope joining them. The cliffs faced the west, so the further the sun moved in the sky, the less shade they had, and Helga felt a trickle of sweat running down her collar before long. Her muscles strained as she pulled herself up, and she paused briefly to wipe her damp forehead.
She took a brief rest, waiting for her companions. Curly caught up to her in a few seconds and the two of them turned to wait for Arnold.
Arnold saw that Helga and Curly were waiting for him and tried to climb faster. In his haste, he missed his handhold. His fingers slipped, and he fell down the rock face, his torso scraping against it as he scrabbled madly for somewhere to hold on to.
Helga scream was torn away from her as the tug on their rope caught her breath. She braced herself as the rope arrested Arnold's fall, stopping him from certain death on the ground some fifty feet below.
Arnold hung on the rope, catching his breath and trying to steady his racing heart before tackling the cliff again. Moving slowly this time, he made his way up level to Helga and Curly.
He nodded towards a ledge a little ways above their heads. "Let's take a break there," he suggested. Curly and Helga nodded, and the three of them make for the lip of it.
Once they were relatively safe on their feet, Helga threw herself into Arnold's arms. "You stupid…stupidhead!" she berated him, kissing him fiercely. "Be more careful next time!"
Arnold sighed, relaxing a little under Helga's familiar loving tirade. "I don't know," he teased. "A guy could get used to this kind of attention."
Helga gave him once last kiss and released him. "Well, if you pull a stunt like that one more time, you'll be getting attention from an undertaker."
He pulled out a canteen, taking a gulping the cool water gratefully. "Believe me, I didn't intend to pull that one."
They sat there in the dwindling shade, taking a well-needed rest, until Arnold jumped to his feet again.
"Okay, let's go, troops," he said cheerfully. "The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll be up there."
Helga and Curly got up, their energy restored, and began to climb again. It was harder going than before. They were all tired, despite their rest, and the handholds were smaller and weaker up here. Plus, any glance down from this height made them all dizzy.
They were only about twenty feet from the top when it happened. Curly's fingers, damp with sweat, slipped out of his glove. He hung dangling from one hand, trying to pull himself back up, but his exhausted muscles gave out, and he plummeted as his footholds crumbled beneath his boots. His grappling hook was yanked out by his fall, and it struck his head as he fell, knocking him senseless.
Helga was not ready for the sudden tug on her waist, and Curly's fall unbalanced her. With a cry of terror, she was swept off her feet, down towards the distant ground.
Her cry warned Arnold. He braced himself, taking up the slack as both Helga and Curly's weight pulled on him. He dug his fingers into the rock face as best he could, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep himself from falling along with them. Veins stood out on his neck and shoulders as he strained, but he couldn't keep this up long, let alone pull his companions up.
Helga hung by her waist, her heart pounding. Sweat ran down her back and collected along her hairline. Several beads broke away, dripping into her eyes and blinding her with stinging pain.
She didn't need sight to hear the rope above her begin to snap. Helga's mind shot into panic mode. What to do, what to do…Curly was dead weight on her, Arnold wasn't strong enough to pull them both up, or even stay like this, and she couldn't see a thing, plus the rope was snapping. Think, Helga, think! She'd been in worse fixes before, she knew. There had to be a way out of this, but…
An inkling of a plan began to worm its way into Helga's consciousness. She clamped down on it, searching for a solution. There it was!
As an idea formed in her mind, the rope parted completely, sending Helga and Curly plummeting to their doom, Arnold watching helplessly from above.