WARNING:  I freely admit this is a work in progress. Yada yada yada (for translation of yadas, see chapters 1 and 2). Flames will be doused with buckets of snow that fell today outside my Dallas, Texas, apartment (I saved some in the freezer), but constructive critique will be much appreciated. Okay. On with the story!

APOLOGIES: Please forgive any errors I might make in either customs or language. I confess to a lazy streak that permits me to borrow phrases and customs from other writers. I mean no harm. Truly, I don't.

THE WINGS OF HORUS

By Meercat

Chapter 3

"Damn," Rick O'Connell whispered to his shadow. "I hate to tell you, buddy, but this place--and you--stink!"

     "When one does not wish to be closely observed," the Medjai answered, "one must do everything necessary to deter scrutiny."

     O'Connell pinched his nose in protest. "Eue de camel dung should do it."

     Soon after leaving the O'Connell home, Ardeth disappeared into an alley long enough to shed his distinctive Medjai robes. He emerged clad in the simple, earth tone style of the goat-herding nomads, his weapons hidden within the folds of his dark brown cloak. A low-wound kafiya and strategically smeared applications of moist dung hid the distinctive warrior tattoos.

He followed the tall, muscular American, his posture penitent and humble, to all observers nothing more than a lowly servant traveling along behind his Caucasian master. For once, O'Connell's stout frame and chiseled features proved as much a protection for the Medjai leader as they did for the American himself. Everyone noted the large man's passage--as well as his heavily armed state--and moved out of his way. Hardly a soul gave any note to the brown shadow that trotted on his heels.

     Cairo was a city of extremes. Opulent homes surrounded by date groves, fragrant gardens, and sheltering palms, glittering under the wealth of five hundred generations, where even the servants dined on ripe fruit and finely ground breads, shared walls with dingy, rotting alleys and a hopeless, starving humanity.

     Between one finialed archway and the next, they moved out of genteel British Cairo and into the seedier, much more dangerous old city.

     Staring down one man with desires on his valuables, O'Connell clenched his teeth and muttered over his shoulder, "I still think this is a Very Bad Idea."

     "So you have said a dozen times," Ardeth replied. "If you have a better plan, please feel free to put it forth."

     "We could both go home and let the world fend for itself. No? Well, you can't blame a man for trying."

     "That alley, there, past the opium house. Turn right and follow it to the end, then go left. The location of the sale is at the rear of a warehouse."

     O'Connell followed the Medjai's directions, holding his breath as he hurried past the hashish house, and soon came to the building in question. Ahead, three men stepped into the building, admitted by a figure shorter Ardeth but twice Rick's width.   

     "Last chance to back out." Receiving a Medjai glare, O'Connell muttered, "Damn," and rapped his knuckles against the door.

^~^~^~^~^~^~^

     Ardeth Bey stared through the drawstring lip of the bag. Indirect light from a nearby window struck the eyes of the statue, glowing red in the otherwise black interior. With a superstitious shudder, he drew the string and sealed the bag.

"I cannot believe we purchased the statue for such a small amount."

     Rick glared. "Small? You call a ten-year wage small?"

     "In comparison to the worth of the item, yes. On beauty and uniqueness alone, the Wings of Horus should have sold for twice that amount. Three times, even." The Medjai stared into every dark corner and shadowed niche both before and behind them. "I do not like this."

     "What's not to like? Dark, moonless night, narrow, blind alleys, shadowed doorways where any and all sorts of creatures wait to pounce on poor, unsuspecting travelers."

     "Ahhh," Ardeth's expression cleared, "so that is the answer. Brilliant, my friend."

     "Huh? I mean, of course."

     "They controlled the bidding until certain you had bid everything," the Arab warrior explained. "They will then steal the statue back and auction it again for still more."

"Right. I knew that."

Ardeth shook his head and drew a short dagger from behind his back. Most of his attention remained on their rear, while Rick studied the way ahead.

"You solve the riddle and do not even know it. Tell me, O'Connell. How did you manage to survive so many trips into the desert, battle twice with Imhotep, and defeat the Scorpion King without tripping over your own lack of wit?"

     "That's easy," Rick said as he readied his pistols. "I let you lead most of the way."

     "This explains why I am always being injured and you are not."

     O'Connell snickered. "Exactly."

     "We will address this imbalance once we are safely back to your home."

     Movement in the shadows, a gray form hidden within the black patch beneath a ratty awning, caught the American's attention. "Think we'll get there?"

     "As Allah wills, sadiqi."

     "I have three in front. Uh, make that five."

     "Three more follow."

     Rick smiled. "The odds sounds even to you?"

     Brilliant white teeth flashed in the dusky, bearded face. "Perhaps weighed a bit in our favor, but I will not complain."

     Ardeth deliberately presented his back to the nearest dark figure. Drawn by the lure of an easy kill, the first thief struck at what he supposed to be an unwary back. He found instead twelve inches of Medjai steel across his throat.

     Masked figures poured from alley mouths and shadowed arches. Ardeth stepped over one dying enemy and met the next, ducking beneath his clumsy sword swing like water off a smooth rock. However skilled the assassin thought himself to be, he was no match for the Medjai's lifetime of training. A figure eight with the knife disemboweled one man and caught a second across the forearm, severing an artery.

The close confines helped Rick and Ardeth more than it did the thieves. Fighting back to back, they two were able to fend off attacks but could not be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

     The sharp bark of O'Connell's guns reverberated through the narrow space, making clay pots hum and ears ring. Inside a nearby home, women screamed, a baby cried, and a man yelled an Arabic obscenity. In every direction, shutters slammed shut and lock bars dropped.

Two thieves fell, shot, before a masked assassin dropped from a balcony and kicked both guns from Rick's hands.

     "Woah!" A frantic twist of his hips saved O'Connell's best parts from the thief's knifepoint. "That is not nice!"

Ardeth, locked in battle with the largest and most knife-skilled of the thieves, spared a quick glance in his direction. "You expect them to fight nicely?"

"Not particularly," Rick kicked the knife out of the man's hand and brained him with a large jar of rancid cooking oil. "There are just some things it's not polite to aim for, if you know what I mean!"

"Like what, for instance?" Ardeth toed his opponent in the groin and slashed his neck on the way down. The man's dying grasp tore the kafiya from Ardeth's head, baring the forehead tattoos.

"Oh," Rick said as he saw the action, "never mind."

An assassin pointed toward Ardeth's face markings and screeched, "Medjai! Medjai!"

With screams of sheer terror, the final two survivors of the jackal pack vanished into the night.

     "Dammit to hell," O'Connell muttered.

     Drawn by the bitter fury in his friend's voice, Ardeth stepped toward him and asked, "Are you hurt?"

     "Nooooo," Rick fingered a diagonal tear across the front of his leather jacket. "Just another coat for the scrap heap. My favorite one, too. Evy and Alex gave it to me last Christmas. She's not going to be happy to see it ruined."

     "Surely her reaction won't be that terrible."

     "Think about it for a second. Evy. Not happy. Bring any pictures to mind?"

     Ardeth chuckled. "You will be sleeping in the--what is the phrase?--in the dog's house."

     "Not just me, buddy. She's going to hold you to your fair share of the blame."

     "Me!" Ardeth laid a flat palm across his chest. "I am innocent of any wrongdoing. I did not slash your clothing or step in anything aromatic."

     Rick looked down. He shook his left boot and muttered, "Shit."

TBC