Chapter 6
A two-day boat ride down the Nile carried Rick O'Connell, Ardeth Bey, and ten Medjai shadows well away from the civilized region around Cairo. The river journey proved uneventful, save for the rather noticeable space that formed around them whenever fellow travelers saw the dozens of weapons carried by each man. Passengers who did not recognize the tattoos were quickly enlightened by those who did. The cone of space expanded until the Medjai spent more time alone than not.
On the third night, the party of horsemen camped at a small oasis deep in the untracked desert of the Lower Kingdom. At the center of the tiny glade, in the midst of an unbroken expanse of white sand and rolling dunes, a tiny spring bubbled up through a mound of rocks. The water gathered into a pebble-lined pool one foot deep and three wide.
As the sole Caucasian amidst dark-skinned, tattooed Arabs, O'Connell was the only pale blot in the entire camp. Even the horses, with their sorrel, bay, or chestnut coats, blended into the moonless shadows. The Medjai's dark blue robes contributed, no doubt, to their reputation as ghosts of the Egyptian sands. Only O'Connell, clad in camel colored pants and a sweat-stained, once-white shirt, skin and hair tinted gold in the light of a small cook fire, remained readily visible.
As he walked past, Ardeth handed his friend a rolled fragment of frayed cloth. By the time the Medjai reached the far side of the fire, O'Connell had unwrapped the coil to reveal four thick strips of dried meat.
"Do I want to know what kind of animal this came from?"
Ardeth bit the end of his own strip and grinned, "I would say not."
"Oh. Okay."
A horse stamped and snorted on the picket line, jostling its neighbors and disturbing the entire string. The nearest warrior stepped over to sooth the beast with gentle pats and soft, soothing words.
"See?" Rick O'Connell crowed as he gnawed on a strip of jerky. "What did I tell you? No Evelyn. End of story."
Settling onto a blanket to eat his own meager meal, Ardeth favored his friend with his most inscrutable gaze.
"I know that look," Rick said.
Ardeth continued to chew as he studiously examined the leather of his sword belt for any sign of wear. "What look might that be?"
"That one." O'Connell pointed directly at Ardeth. "The one on your face, the one that says you have a secret you're just dying to share with me."
"Ahhh. That look." Ardeth glanced up to see one of his scouts entering the camp. "Jamal?"
Jamal bin Ibrahim, the most experienced tracker in the party next to Ardeth himself, nodded once and held up four fingers. Message delivered, he uncorked a water skin, tossed his head back, and filled his mouth with the lukewarm liquid.
"Ardeth?" O'Connell recalled the Medjai's attention.
"Yes?"
"Are you going to tell me or not?"
"What is there to tell," Ardeth shrugged; his eyes danced in the firelight, a poorly managed smile on his face, "other than the fact that your wife hides in a wadi a dozen meters beyond the ring of our firelight?"
"What?" Rick jerked around and studied the dark desert around the camp. "But--how-"
"Surely you saw her on the boat."
"On the-" Rick narrowed his eyes in pique. "No, I didn't see her on the boat. Did you?"
"Twice."
Ardeth slid his scimitar into its metal belt hoop and laid the weapon on the ground at his feet. He turned his attention to the bindings of his knife hilts. The leather of one grip was loose close to the pommel. He'd have it repaired as soon as he returned to the main Medjai stronghold.
"Twice?"
"Once when she stabled her horses," Ardeth reported, "and again late the first night as she crept onto deck for a bit of fresh air."
Rick favored the Medjai with a glower hot enough to scorch sand. "I don't suppose it crossed your mind, even once, to tell me about it?"
"She is your wife," Ardeth grinned. "It is not my place to help you keep up with her."
"I should kill you right now. I really should. Or at the very least beat you to a pulp."
"Which would you prefer--to fight me or to do something about your woman, whom I might remind you is very likely pregnant? Do you wish to leave her out in the desert all night or will be invite her into the camp?"
"One of your men can take her back-"
Ardeth shook his head. " Our party is already too small. We can't spare even one man."
"But-"
"The situation cannot be changed." Ardeth slashed the air between them with his hand, officially ending the discussion. His tone reminded Rick of Ardeth Bey's power as First Medjai. "The best we can do is adapt."
Rick gnashed his teeth, hissed a curse, and tossed the remains of the jerked meat into the fire. He faced the darkness and yelled, "Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell! When I get my hands on you, you're going to wish you had married that juicy mummy! He'd've been a hell of a lot nicer to you than I'M going to be!"
Two men rushed to calm the startled horses. The warrior who'd only just settled the first restless beast, his work now undone, glowered at O'Connell. The Medjai who could not understand English readied their weapons and searched for the cause of his anger until a whispered explanation from Jamal eased their concerns. All of them smiled. One man dared to laugh.
Long moments passed before a slight figure led two horses into the first broken shadows around the oasis. Though weary and dirty, Evelyn showed little of the exhaustion one might expect from a woman who'd spent a hard day traveling across sandy desert.
"Umm. Hello, husband."
Rick squinted, growled, and bared his clenched teeth.
"Oh dear." Evy ducked her shoulders and glanced toward Ardeth. "I don't suppose he's very happy right now."
"No, I do not believe 'happy' would describe his feelings," the Medjai chieftain answered.
"Ohhh dear," she repeated with more trepidation, in the same vocal tones her husband might use to say, "ohhh shit."
Rick pointed to the sand at his feet. His every word carried a distinct threat. "You. Will. Come. Here."
"Ummm. I'd rather not. If that's all right."
"You. Will. Come. Here. Right. Now."
Her own temper piqued, she dug her heels into the sand and said, "No." What the word lacked in power, it more than made up for in pride.
"Dammit, Evelyn."
One large leap carried Rick across the distance, where he grabbed Evy's shoulders and tried to shake sense into her. Someone laughed, a hard bray of sound that cut through his anger. A glance around showed every Medjai in the camp watching their every move. White teeth flashed in the campfire light. Tattooed warriors elbowed one another and pointed to the feuding couple.
Rick led Evelyn to the far side of the spring. The short distance gave them some semblance of privacy.
"Why are you so upset?" Evelyn asked before her husband could resume his scold. "We've traveled in the desert a dozen times since we married. Why should this trip be any different?"
"Because . . ."
Rick sighed, anger submerged under softer, more fragile emotions. He laid his wide, calloused palm across her still-flat stomach. His thumb rubbed back and forth across her lower rib cage. Both voice and body language gentled with love.
"Because I think you might be pregnant."
"I am."
Rick blinked. "What?"
"I am. Pregnant."
He stiffened from crown to heel. "You know?"
"A wife knows these things." Evy blushed with a mix of embarrassment and pride. "Things tend to interrupt . . . things."
"You know?"
"Rick? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You know, and you're OUT HERE ANYWAY?" Rick grabbed her shoulders and shook his wife until her teeth rattled. His normally deep voice rose to an almost feminine screech. "Evelyn, are you INSANE?"
"No, but I will be deaf if you keep shouting at me like that."
"Do you have any idea of the risk you're taking?"
"I have been pregnant before, Richard Alexander O'Connell. Remember Alex, our son?"
"Before, yes. In London, where there are doctors and hospitals and soft beds and servants and family to help you! In case you haven't noticed, we are in the middle of a gawd-damned desert! And funny, I don't see a single doctor, hospital, or soft bed!"
"It's not like I'll be giving birth out here," she countered. "That's still six or seven months away."
"Problems can develop long before then and you know it. Dammit, Evy. I lost you once." His voice broke. "I couldn't stand it if-"
A familiar horror passed across Rick's face. Evelyn saw it often following their fight with Anck-su-Namun, Imhotep, and the Scorpion King. Recollections of her brief visit to Heaven had faded to gossamer dreams. Later memories--when Rick panicked if she disappeared unexpectedly or when Alex awoke at night screaming for his mother not to die--lingered. Hard images, their sharp edges sliced open new wounds at unexpected moments.
Evelyn tried to soothe away the terror with gentle strokes along his cheek and jaw. Her eyes met his and tried to convey to him her strength and love.
"I know, Rick. You won't lose me. We've both survived far too many supernatural dangers to be frightened by more mundane things that might be."
"I love you so much."
"I know."
A whisper of cloth caught Rick's ear. Ardeth stood close by, his face shielded in shadow.
"Well, it looks like you were right," Rick said. "I'm a fool." He raised a cautioning finger to his wife. "No comments from the peanut gallery."
"I will not argue." Despite his joking words, the Medjai's demeanor was unexpectedly grim. "However, we have larger problems than your wife's disobedience."
Instantly sobered, O'Connell pulled Evy close to his side and asked, "What is it?"
"Another of my scouts reports a second party in the desert. They camp at an oasis some two hours' ride to the north." Ardeth pointed that direction with his chin. "According to Iben, they number fifty men, well provisioned and heavily armed. We are outnumbered some four-to-one."
"So?" Evy failed to see the relevance. "It could be a caravan or . . . or innocent travelers or . . . something quite . . . benign."
Ardeth shook his head. "Iben recognized two of the men."
"Lemme guess," Rick sighed. "They were in the gang that robbed the temple and stole the statue in the first place. And they're headed back that direction."
"Yes, and unfortunately yes."