Author's Note:
Dear readers, finally some action starts! I'm asking myself what the heck I'm doing, since exams are around the corner. But it's also time to get off my butt to do something useful after the hours spent mindlessly doing goodness knows what, (which obviously means not to the books of course!) and that means working on the story more so that you all will keep reading! ;-)
Thank you so much for everything encouraging that has been said!
Chapter 5: The Unexpected Turn of Events
Cairo probably never slept. It was the same bustle of activity, of pushing and shoving, of loud beggars, noisy carts, of mysterious women and persistent stall keepers, night and day.
It was times like these when Evelyn Carnahan wondered if the meaning of life stretched beyond waiting, a routine carved out of a necessity imposed upon herself. The surroundings looked the same, as they had for the past week, the buzz of people that converged and diverged upon a point, the careless spills of chatter that wafted past her ears.
Jonathan had disappeared once more, yet he was unwilling to tell her anything more than the customary phrase 'I'll be back by nightfall, sis' and she had learned to accept that their lives were not as linked as she had expected, not without little pain. It was an unpredicted time of change, to a large extent, engineered by her. Had she not suggested the return to Egypt, perhaps things might have stagnated where they were in England, falling all too easily into a routine, caught in a muted living with ears and eyes that were no longer be attuned to the welcoming pleasures and the unfamiliar interruptions that every slightest change would bring.
She strode, purposefully into the entrance of the Museum, heels clicking determinedly against the cool marble -
"Miss Carnahan." It was Abdul, with a slight roll of his eyes, resigned, fingers drumming the surface of the desk he manned.
"Abdul." She acknowledged wryly, raising a curved brow. "I am perhaps fast becoming part of the exhibit if this continues, you know."
"Yes, perhaps," He eyed her thoughtfully, wondering if he should dismiss her as he had been doing for the past week, until it was confirmed before his very eyes that she indeed, had affiliations of sorts with the Medjai chief and the latest addition to the Medjai, that American Rick O'Connell.
A certain movement caught his eye and he excused himself hastily, disappearing behind an inconspicuous door behind his desk abruptly.
She would know the reason soon enough.
It was bewildering, and not to mention rude, Evelyn Carnahan thought, to have a person leave in the middle of what she thought might shape up to be a decent conversation, feeling nothing less than a fool for her intrusion. For the first time since her arrival in Egypt, she wondered if she and Jonathan had made a mistake.
And out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a black figure, the spectral presence that hovered at the edge of his vision, before materialising into the human form of Ardeth Bay. He stood at the threshold, directly underneath the arch looking at the retreating back of O'Connell, who seemed to be avoiding her each time they met.
"Ardeth." She said without reserve, a sudden shamelessness washing over her almost immediately as she said those words, the knowledge of her persistence causing her to colour slightly.
"Miss Carnahan," He inclined his head, eyes grave. "Please, do allow me to speak first. If I had offended you in anyway the last time we met, please forgive me. I cannot take my words back, however. It is not safe for you to remain here. Take the first ship out of Egypt while you still can."
"Evy," She insisted, amazed at her own brazenness.
It could have been a smile, that imperceptible movement of his lips at her hurried input, correcting not his content, but his manner of address. But he waited, and said nothing.
She distinctly felt the urge to curse the politeness out of him, wanting to alternate between shouting at him for keeping her in the dark, wanting to rail at Rick O'Connell for behaving as though she carried a deadly pestilence, yet it was all carved outwardly into a tight smile.
"Will you at least answer my questions, Ardeth?" She challenged. "If your answers satisfy all that I need to know, then I will go back to England."
Perhaps it was a half-lie, and half a promise, she thought, regretting the words that fell so readily.
"You lie, Evelyn Carnahan. Was that a condition that I just heard? The wiles of women I am quite well acquainted with." He laughed then, a short but full-bodied expulsion of sound that made her breath catch in turn; it was the first time she had ever heard the Medjai warrior express anything other than the serious emotion, even though it was a laugh of disbelief, watching with no small wonder the subtle way it erased the lines from his eyes and metamorphosed the heavy-laden man into an untroubled one for but a moment.
"Perhaps." She graced him with a wicked look in return. "Will you help me then?"
He relented, she knew, by observing carefully the softening of his eyes first, before the words followed.
"You will ask then, and I will try to answer." There was reluctance in his tone, yet he found himself questioning with astonishment the all too ready agreement that came from his misbehaving mouth. For it was in her face he glimpsed briefly Lena Shirin, the same dark, bright eyes and the indomitable spirit that seemed to dictate the movements of the whole body, and for her he fell on his knees, refusing nothing. Her memory now, this desecration of happiness that was still close to the surface, brought brief tears, of which he suddenly felt ashamed, clearing them with a hasty blink before turning back to her, made earnest by that fleeting spell of emotion.
It was no longer denied, but it was odd, that she had received all that she had asked, yet stumbled around for words now, that her answer had come in the form of a man who would tell her all she wanted to know, for she had expected to form her own conclusions through the painstaking method of research in the archives.
He hoped, fervently, that she only asked him questions by which he would answer without hesitation, guilelessly.
"Did you ever hear of Rohan Carnahan?"
"The answer must be both a Yes and No. My father would have been a better person to answer your questions, but he is unfortunately no longer with us." Praise be to Allah, that he could suddenly speak with wisdom and caution, or so he thought.
"Is heby any chance alive? Or if no, how did he?" To pronounce this word laid claim to the finality of the situation, something which she was unwilling to let go; the struggle that was strong within merely appearing as speechlessness.
"He was killed, Evy," His voice had lost its edge, a caress, gentle and soft, like the smoothest silk that royalty coveted, gliding, stroking. "During the scuffles between the Wafd and the English troops almost a decade ago."
Was it moisture that she found gathering at the back of her eyes? She found herself wanting to shed tears for a father whose life as a parent was snuffed, whose end she had not witnessed, grateful for the reprieve time had granted, yet outraged at the way he was lost to her, amazed at the enormity of the emotion that loss never failed to bring about.
"I am sorry for your loss. I know the loss of a parent, a beloved, " He offered solemnly, thankful that she had not pursued the matter further, rushing to offer his belated condolences with great empathy, raising his arm to lightly touch hers, catching the slight shiver that ran through her, the corners of his mouth turning up.
She thought, chastely, of her father, the valiant hero whom every child might idolise. Had he and Rahiq Mahadeva not returned to Egypt, they might have remained the quintessential family in London, riding the new wave of culture that raged throughout the generation, amusing themselves with the unpredictable trends that swept across the Continent, to France, and finally, to isolated ol' England.
What if.
He thought, with the same sorrow, perhaps with a greater measure of stinging pain, of his wife and his child, grieved that the devourer, the cloak of mourning was only placed now on him after all those years, where it should have already been taken off and cast away into Sheol. It was not, he thought ruefully, the present that he particularly felt sorry about, rather, it was how the present might have become should she had not died.
What if -
There was an unrest that seemed imminent, so screamed his warrior instinct, pleading, wailing its harsh cry, yet his eyes registered nothing, and they darted to and fro, along with the slight movements of his head, wary, the barest movement carving his face into stone. His fists, his torso cried out, in a madness of frenzy, the knuckles tightening quickly - it took him a while to realise that Evelyn was still speaking.
"You see, no, I would like to know, why Rick seemed rather unwilling to face me." It had caught him by surprise, she knew, from the way he stared at her for a while, speechless.
It had never been more embarrassing, she reflected, that he had agreed to answer all that she had wanted to know, in expectation of political questions that was fitting her station, and probably brought herself lower in his esteem by spilling forth a statement that not only betrayed a major concern of hers.
"I was not aware that he was deliberately doing so," Ardeth frowned, confused. "But if it will give you peace of mind, O'Connell is no longer a stranger to the Medjai."
He saw her open her mouth again, confused, sharp in realising that the Medjai seldom, if not never, took in people as their own, unless -
But it was the ear-splitting sound of the bullets riddling through the compound of the museum that halted all conversation; they were caught unawares, as Abdul appeared once more, bearing arms, yelling hoarsely in Arabic staccato phrases to Ardeth, who nodded before springing into action.
He had grabbed her roughly, by the waist before diving towards the ground, faced downwards, so close that her lips tasted the unpleasant coarseness and bitterness of the ground and her back felt the delectable warmth and strength of his body covering hers.
It was truly uproarious, and Ardeth breathed in unconsciously, as if he savoured the anarchic movements of the warring factions, knowing that he was never more in his element in the charged atmosphere, scrambling upwards, dragging Evy with him towards the neighbouring buildings that offered shelter.
"Do not move from here!" He ordered before he swiftly drew his scimitar from its scabbard, running out into the sea of confusion.
The skirmish lasted possibly no more than half an hour, she estimated as she lay unmoving, struggling to draw her watch from her pocket, snorting to herself at the ungraceful picture she made, quite possibly the only one sprawled on the floor of the museum that had emptied itself of chirping tourist when the first gunshots had rung out.
"Incredibly, impossibly," Evelyn muttered to herself, knowing that those words did not quite make sense, yet not bothering.
She hoped to god that Jonathan kept himself far away from brawls, crossing her fingers before making the quick sign of the cross. Hell, if she had a good luck charm, she would have rubbed it within her palms too. He was only able to manage brawls neatly after a bottle of scotch.
It was safe to at least get myself up into a position less compromising and dangerous, thought she, scrambling on her knees and skirt, tripping slightly in the process, the last traces of the hasty youth reappearing in instances like these. Remarkably, the wild shot of panic that coursed through her had disappeared, and the calmness that she felt in the middle of the brawl outside amazed her deeply, like the unmoving eye of storms that devastated parts of the country.
There were shouts from downstairs, and the chorus of voices felt as if the skirmish moved away from the vicinity of the museum. There was a vantage point from the higher floors of the museum, she realised, taking its sprawling marble steps in large strides and stretches, exerting herself entirely, panting as she looked down from an obscure window from the top levels of the building.
What she assumed to be a minor skirmish turned out to be a worryingly bloodbath that littered injured bodies over the narrow streets; the damage done was too great before the local law keepers arrived to break it up. The mob had become the law, in the meantime, the crisscross of gunfire between those clad in black and the civilians dictating who lived in such times.
Had the Medjai stooped so low as to strike even the unassuming civilians?
She admitted that the thought had never crossed her mind, and to entertain it now of all times had a profound effect on her bearing. A sharp, loud curse had interrupted her state of shock, and she looked down again, only to see an unnamed man, drenched in blood, covering what was once a pristine white suit, draw his last breath with great difficulty.
"Evelyn Carnahan. It seems as if you are not quite a woman who listens well to instruction." The voice was unfamiliar, and she imagined such words said with a snarl, yet turned around to see the man who voiced them to be smiling slightly. His face was covered and all she was was striking green eyes.
"Do I know you?" She proceeded cautiously. "No, I don't believe we've met before."
"You simply don't remember only." He held out his hand. "I'm known as Severige to many."
"Severige?"
His lips twitched.
"Closer acquaintances know me intimately as Yasser Mahadeva. I believe your mother was Rahiq, wasn't she? I am a cousin of hers. Najya's brother, whom your brother had the fortune of running into yesterday." He spoke quietly, hushed, urgently. "But we must go now. There are a lot of people anxious to meet you. You are safe with me, among family."
He held out his hand, and with no small reluctance she took it and slipped out with him.