FLOATING

For the first time since marrying Tehotu, Tarita had slept in the guest bedroom.  She had fought with her husband more than once, but not to the extreme as last night.  However, he had struck her daughter.  He had never struck any of the children.  It wasn't something that they did.  Downstairs, she could hear the early morning activity of the servants as they prepared breakfast.  From down the hall, she listened to her sons, scuffling already.  She sat up and grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed.  Her heart felt heavy and her head hung low.  Tarita didn't know if she could face her daughter today, not after her confession.  Wearily, she made her way to the door and walked into the hallway.  Her bedroom was only a few doors down from the guest room.  From inside it, she could hear her husband snoring loudly.  He had yet to rise.  Of course he's still asleep.  He relies on you to get him out of bed.  Well, today, he would have to rely on himself.  She would not enter the room until he left it.  When she approached Laurel's door, she hesitated before knocking.  Would her daughter allow her into the room?  Tarita realized that she should have told her about Bart years ago.  She often wondered if Laurel ever questioned her parentage.  After all, she was so unlike anyone in the immediate family.  She was more like her father, her beloved Bart.  Tarita couldn't deny that she still loved him, still longed for his touch.  No one knew, but she kept a small photo of Bart in her own hiding place.  Every now and then, she took it out and looked at it, noticing how much Laurel grew to look like her father every day.  More and more of him was coming out of her.  Perhaps her daughter would eventually forgive her.  If she did, Tarita intended to show her the picture to give her an idea where she came from.  Sighing deeply, she pecked on the door.  She heard nothing.  Please, Laurel, forgive me.  You are all I have left of him.  She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open slowly.  The bed was empty.  Cautiously, she stepped inside the room.  The bed actually looked as if it hadn't been slept in at all.  At first, Tarita didn't notice the note sitting discreetly atop Laurel's chest.  She would have missed it altogether if she hadn't bumped her shin and whirled around to sit down.  The moment her eyes fell on the paper, she forgot all about her hurt shin.  When she read the note, she began to scream for her husband. 

*  *  *

Before Tarita and Tehotu knew Laurel was missing, she had already booked passage to Egypt.  The vessel, El Naufragio, was a small steamer that held no more than fifty passengers [if that].  It wouldn't mark the first time she had ever been on a steamboat, but it was the first time she had ever gone anywhere completely alone.  As she adjusted the bag on her shoulder, she noticed the curious looks of other women boarding.  She supposed they didn't like her style of dress.  They were wearing dresses and ridiculous looking feather boas or fur collars.  She had donned slacks that were long about the waist and then added a man's button down shirt.  She had braided her hair to keep it out of her face.  Laurel was certain that she didn't look very much like a young lady, but she didn't care.  She had three or four identical suits stuffed down into the bag.  She couldn't traipse around Egypt wearing dresses and heels.  Laurel sensibly chose a steerage pass and she took to the top of the deck.  It made more sense for her to stay up here.  She had the tendency for seasickness and didn't want to get caught in a small, stifling cabin if the urge were to strike her.  Laurel held on to the railing tightly as the boat began to chug along, drawing away from the dock.  She didn't know if she should feel scared or excited.  However, both emotions were running rampantly through her.  She felt she might also be making the greatest mistake of her life.  However, it was too late to turn back now.  She would not return home unless forced.

*  *  *

Another steamer had set sail that day, not far ahead of Laurel's.  It was more or less a private steamer, if such thing existed.  Whatever the case, it contained only four or five passengers, all men, all with peculiar markings visible on their faces and hands.  All wore flowing robes of varying colors.  One of the men stood out above them all.  Perhaps it was because his markings were slightly different, or that he sat separated from the rest of the men, or that he was simply alone by choice and wanted to brood.  He was young, no more than twenty-five, and handsome.  This pensive young man stood well over six feet fall, the body beneath the robes was well muscled and taut.  The layers of cloth hid many battle scars he had received since the tender age of fourteen.  It also hid various other markings on his shoulders and one in the center of his back.  It was his protector, Horus.  His angular face was strong and chiseled, adorned with very high cheekbones that were as sharp as his scimitar.  A beard delicately framed his face, tracing along his jaw line, and crawled up his chin, making an almost chunky 'W' shape.  It ended directly under a sensuous bottom lip and joined with a mustache over his equally appealing upper lip.  His nose was arrow straight and smooth.  Unlike the others, his wavy hair was long and fell to his shoulders.  It was jet black, at times giving off a blue hue, but it tended toward red if he kept his head uncovered for long under the sun.  His eyes, however, set him apart above all else.  They were dark brown and revealed so many emotions that the young man rarely had to speak.  What he wanted, what he needed to get done could easily come from one simple glance.  Of course, his eyes could be hard and cold, scaring the life out of many an enemy. 

He was part of a supposed mythical band of warriors known as the Medjai.  Many centuries ago, the Medjai were the sacred protectors of the great Pharaohs of Egypt.  In modern times, their job was much more complicated.  They were to protect their people from ancient curses and the creature that had once been known as Imhotep.  A year ago, the creature had challenged him and his men.  He had lost over twenty men in that battle, and their sons were waiting in line to take their fathers' place.  For now, the curse had not come to pass and the tribe was set to secure the fringes of the Lost City.  There were twelve tribes in Egypt and each was sworn to protect their people at all costs.  Each was sworn to duty and came when called.  At his young age, he was Chieftain of his tribe, destined to grow to greatness, and become leader of all twelve, but that was some years in the future.  Now, he led a modest band of men, still large in size, but nothing compared to the entire group.  The other men who had accompanied him on the trip were those immediately under him.  He had left his second in command to lead in his absence.  The young man was known to all as Ardeth Bay.  He was the quiet stranger who had paid a brief visit to Tehotu Aciquilla and Reginald Portafoy, asking for the return of the amulet he now held in his hand. 

He didn't figure he would ever make contact with the two men again.  They had taken something they shouldn't have and he had simply asked for it to be returned.  As Ardeth gazed down at the heavy amulet, he thought back to his encounter with the men at the museum.  He found himself grateful that they had cooperated with him.  The younger of the two men was one with whom Ardeth was familiar.  He had seen him before in the streets of Cairo.  He couldn't remember the context of their meetings, but knew the man was not a stranger to Egypt.  Ardeth was also fairly certain that he had been the one who stole the amulet.  He hadn't made any open accusations.  It wasn't his way, it wasn't the way of his people, but he had no trouble discerning the face of a thief from one not.  It mattered little.  He had the treasure back in his possession and it would be returned to its rightful place.  His mind drifted then, drifted a thousand miles away.  The only thing that brought him around was the distant rumble of thunder and the distinct slice of lightning cutting across the predawn sky.  A storm was coming, a bad one, and from the looks of it, they would be well out of the way of its path.

*  *  *

Luckily, Laurel's seasickness hadn't attacked her as aggressively as she thought it would.  She remained on the deck until she was told to go below.  She was about to ask why until she heard mumbled talk about a storm brewing just east of them.  Tehotu was superstitious and he had taught all his children that storms that came from the east were always the worst.  Laurel batted the thought aside.  Why should something as innocent as a storm cause so much panic?  Despite her annoyance, Laurel didn't argue.  She went to the stuffy little cabin and shoved her body inside.  She had no cabin-mate and was profoundly grateful.  It was hard getting one person inside, she couldn't imagine how two fit.  She opened her bag and took out her diary.  She hadn't written in it all day.  Perhaps if she wrote a little, it would keep her mind occupied, and she wouldn't feel so bored.  Laurel was completely immersed in her diary and didn't hear anything around her.  What woke her up was a harsh pounding noise that seemed to be just outside her cabin.  She simply could not take it any longer.  It was then that she heard the nervous chatter of other passengers outside the tiny door.  Some instinct, some intuition told her to grab her bag and leave the shelter below deck.  Listening to her inner voice, she did exactly that.  The closer she drew to the top, the louder the noises became.  The storm she had tried to blow off had suddenly become slightly more serious than a brief squall.  Hell had decided to visit the steamer.  Just before Laurel reached the top, the floor tilted beneath her.  Startled, she looked down and noticed that it was up at a slant.  What is this would become her last thought for a few hours.

*  *  *

The rain had just begun pelting the vessel carrying Ardeth and his men.  Off into the eastern horizon, the sky was ablaze with lightning.  He felt pity for any soul on that choppy water during such a terrific storm.  They weren't far from land, but had gone just far enough to escape the brunt of the squall.  Although he wasn't happy about it, he went below deck with the other men.  The day would grow steamy and the rain was a comforting shower.  Before he went to his cabin, Ardeth approached the young Egyptian captain.  He stood back and gazed at the horizon with a frown on his face.  His first mate was piloting the small steamer.  His attention quickly shifted from the storm toward the east and down to the telegraph machine.  Someone was tapping out a SOS.  Surprised, Ardeth stood back and let the men work.  Surely no one else was caught in this? 

The captain swooped over for the message after his second mate had translated the tapping into actual words.  He gazed at it and muttered a curse under his breath.  "Those fools.  Why didn't they turn around?"

"Is someone caught in the storm," Ardeth asked from behind them.

The men hadn't known the Medjai leader was in the room.  "Yes, a vessel east of us, about three hours behind."

"Turn.  We can help, can't we?"

*  *  *

Laurel's eyes opened and she was surrounded by water.  There was no longer a steam ship, a cabin, or a deck.  She was anchored to a floating piece of wood that had come loose from the boat.  She had no idea when she grabbed it or how she had lucked out enough to wind up there.  She could make out only five other people, most of whom were as exhausted as she.  The steamer was gone, likely at the bottom of the sea by now.  She couldn't remember much after the floor began to slant beneath her feet.  However, she had been one of six that had been in the right place at the right time.  She tried not to think about it, but she knew that if they didn't get help, none of them would survive.  She closed her eyes again and listened to the rumble of thunder as the storm passed and moved out to assault some other unfortunate souls.

Later, Laurel heard the sound of muted voices and the faraway chug of another steamer.  She was dreaming, she had no doubt about that.  Yet, it was a nice dream.  The small group of survivors in which she was included was being rescued.  She had no idea who they were, because she couldn't yet open her eyes.  In fact, she didn't want to open her eyes.  It felt nicer keeping them closed.  Only when a large hand took hold of her forearm did she finally look up.  She focused her eyes on the face of a dark skinned man with weird looking marks on his face.  As soon as he saw her face, she heard him utter a word in a language she didn't understand:  ustâd [professor].  She noticed a confused look on his face, but he quickly shook it off.  He began to pull her up and out of the water, and she tried to help him, but it was just no use.  She was dreaming.  That was it exactly.  Of course, there was an even bigger chance that she was dead.  Funny.  She had never thought the Angel of Death would have such beautiful eyes.

*  *  *

Once surrounded by the swirling iciness of seawater, Laurel was now embraced by bright light and heat.  Heat?  She must have gone to Hell.  Yet, wasn't Hell supposed to be a dark, dreary place?  Wake up, Laurel, you're dreaming.  Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes, afraid that she would see Satan looming over her.  Instead, she saw that her body was laid out on an uncomfortable cot.  The only walls around her were those belonging to tent flaps.  What was this?  She saw the other survivors near her.  After a moment, it all began to come back.  They had been rescued and brought to land.  Where?  This certainly wasn't London.  Had she made it to Egypt?  She sat up and glanced around, trying to get her bearings.  Her bag had somehow been salvaged and it sat beside her.  She touched the harsh fabric and found it slightly damp.  She waited a moment before leaning down.  When she was certain she wouldn't fall down on her face, she opened the bag and found that her diary was still on top, dry as a bone.  Hadn't she done everything she could to keep the bag out of the water?  If she hadn't died last night, then who was the man?  She set out a list of priorities.  First, of course, was to find out if she was in Egypt.  Once she had that task accomplished, she wanted to find the man who helped her so she could thank him.

She didn't try to stand, because she didn't know how steady her footing was.  Dazedly, she sat on the cot and tried to put her jagged pieces of memory back together.  She heard two men speaking nearby, but she couldn't see anyone.  Again, the language was alien to her ears.  Laurel waited, because the voices seemed to drift closer and closer to her cot.  They belonged to two men, one of whom was obviously a doctor.  The other was vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't place him.  Oh.  Wait.  He was the man who pulled you out of the water.  For a moment, she couldn't think straight.  Her eyes were focused on the deadly looking sword belted against him.  She had never seen anyone like him before.  This scary looking man saved me? 

Ardeth noticed that only one of the six survivors was conscious.  She was the one so very similar to the ustâd.  He noticed that she was gazing at him curiously, but at the same time, she appeared to be frightened of him as well.  Inwardly, he smiled.  It didn't help that he had entered the tent with the scimitar visible to all.  Since she was the only one alert enough to speak, he would approach, give his well wishes, and be on his way.  Laurel watched as the stranger began to walk toward her with the doctor following closely behind.  As he drew nearer, she realized that he reminded her a little of the description her mother had given her of her father.  Perhaps he knew her father?  It was something she wanted to ask, but again, his appearance and stance weren't welcoming.  Would he take the sword and cut her to ribbons?  Don't be an idiot.  Why would he save you from drowning only to slice you up?  You're a silly child, Laurel.  Although there wasn't much difference in height between them, he seemed to tower over her.  She had never felt so much like a child until that moment.

As he looked at the young woman, he was again struck by how much she looked like the ustâd.  He knew she couldn't be one of his children, because he had all boys, who were now men.  "Are you American?"

His voice was low, but fluid.  She shook her head.  "No.  English," she said.  He looks like the description Mother gave, or at least a little like the description.  Maybe he can tell me how to find my father

English.  He immediately thought of Evelyn and Jonathan Carnahan.  Her accent was the same, but her voice was a little softer than Evelyn's.  "I see that everyone is all right now."

She nodded vacantly.  She was ever so tempted to ask about her father, but he wasn't receptive at all.  In fact, he was fairly cold; his expression hadn't changed one iota.  If he hadn't spoken the words, she wouldn't have thought for one moment that he cared.  "I think so," she said, feeling as if his eyes would melt her.  "Thank you for what you did."

He nodded, acknowledging her gratitude.  "Thanking us is not necessary."  Without another word, he turned and left.

Laurel glanced at the doctor.  "Who…what is he," she asked.  She wasn't certain that the doctor could speak English.

"I'm not certain," the doctor answered.  "I would assume a Nomad.  I've seen him and others like him moving around frequently, but they do not come to Cairo often."

Laurel said nothing.  As soon as the doctor had left her, she collected her things and slipped away from the comfort and safety of the tent.  The street was abuzz with activity.  She had never seen a street so crowded.  Something about the man had struck her, and she was certain he could lead her to her father.  Her next mission was finding a horse or something so that she could follow.  With such a unique look about them, she didn't think it would take long to find them.

Thirty minutes later, on a fleabag camel purchased from a suspicious looking man, Laurel was on her way.  Her animal was stubborn and obviously didn't like her.  Not only that, she was also ridiculously high off the ground and afraid to move around too much but she was determined and would accept anything to reach her goal.  As she suspected, it didn't take long to find the robed strangers.  She wanted to remain at a distance from them, but close enough to follow.  It didn't strike her to think about what she was doing, the huge changes in the environment, or the dangers.  She was a naïve little girl on a mission with no beginning or ending.

____________________

To be continued…