The journey had been long, but at last he was there. The mount Ardeth had chosen for this journey, a pretty chestnut mare named Candle Flame wearily dragged her feet as they rode quietly down a shabby back street. At a nondescript looking inn, Ardeth dismounted began unbuckling his saddlebags. An adolescent boy scurried out of the inn and reached for Flame's reins. He glanced fearfully at Ardeth's tattooed face. "Greetings, my lord," he mumbled.
Ardeth nodded curtly. "Rub her down carefully," he instructed, passing the boy a coin and slinging his saddlebags over his shoulder. "She has come a long way."
He casually strode to the front door and let himself in. The man behind the desk in the lobby gave a startled glance at Ardeth's face. Ardeth flicked a glance at him. "Tell Da'ud I am here."
"At once, my lord." The man nearly fell over himself hurrying to the door marked "Staff". You never knew about these Medjai warriors. Some of them had nasty tempers. Ardeth shot an amused look after him. Intimidating outsiders was part of the Medjai philosophy. A reputation of being cold and merciless came in handy at times.
Da'ud did take long to make an appearance. "Lord Ardeth," he exclaimed. I did not expect it would be you. I haven't seen you in Cairo in more than a year."
"Indeed you have not, my friend," Ardeth replied, extending his hand. The two men clasped forearms companionably. "I am here at least for one night, perhaps two. Your boy is looking after my horse."
Da'ud leaned over the desk, completely ignoring the clerk, and snatched a key from the rack on the wall. He handed it to Ardeth. "Come find me when you've washed," he said. "I'll have Aminah fix you something to eat."
Two hours later, Ardeth walked the streets of the city. Da'ud's inn had been a resting place for the Medjai whenever they visited Cairo for many years. While not a Medjai himself, Da'ud's grandfather had been. He also served as a source of information, collecting gossip like honey left in the sun collected flies. Still, Da'ud hadn't heard anything about Dr. Tierney, the curator of the Cairo Museum of Antiquities.
Dr. Tierney hurried through the corridors of the museum, making his last check of the evening. The museum had closed thirty minutes ago, and all the tourists had been ushered out. He looked around in satisfaction, and turned toward his office. Opening the door he went to his desk and started rifling through his papers.
"Good evening, Dr. Tierney."
The curator started violently, and spun around clutching at his chest. At the sight of the hard faced Medjai warrior standing against the wall, his face became ashen. "Oh God," he moaned. "I was afraid of this!"
Ardeth folded his arms on his chest and leaned back against the wall, saying nothing.
"I'm sorry," Tierney sputtered. "He forced me to do it. It wasn't my idea!" Ardeth merely lifted an eyebrow. Tierney turned, if possible, even paler. "I couldn't refuse!"
"Suppose you tell me," Ardeth said slowly, "why you thought we wouldn't find out that you deliberately sent a group of archeologists to their deaths?"
Tierney collapsed into a chair. "I knew you'd find out. I told him it wouldn't work, but he didn't care!"
"Of whom are we speaking?"
"Sir Randolph Varne," Tierney moaned. "He is the biggest patron of the museum. Without his support we wouldn't have been able to meet our operating costs these past few years."
"Why did he want these men killed?" Ardeth's voice turned icy. "The Medjai do not appreciate being used for other men's dirty work."
"It wasn't the men!" Tierney gasped. "It was the girl."
Ardeth's voice sharpened. "The girl?"
"Yes, Tia DeWitt! She worked as a clerk in the museum, and Sir Randolph insisted I send her with the group. He threatened me!"
"Am I to understand," Ardeth said, his voice cold enough to freeze lava, "that you agreed to send six men to their deaths in order to kill one girl?"
"It wasn't me! It wasn't me! It was Varne!"
Ardeth stood over the cringing man and looked at him with disgust. "Tell me how to find this Sir Randolph Varne."
Sir Randolph was enjoying an aperitif before dinner when his unexpected guest was announced. "Someone to see you, sir," his quavering butler said. Ardeth brushed by the servant and moved into the room, hand on his sword hilt, his narrowed eyes taking in every detail of Sir Randolph's appearance in his flawless evening dress.
"Ah, a Medjai!" Sir Randolph exclaimed with pleasure. "Let me see," he mused looking closely at Ardeth's facial tattoos. "The marks of Ma'at on your cheeks. Truth, yes?"
Ardeth inclined his head civilly. "That is so."
"Hmmm," Sir Randolph continued. "Your headscarf covers the tattoos on your brow, but from the marks on your hands, you must be a member of the Bey tribe. The War Commander, no doubt? Ardeth ibn Ahmed?"
Impressed despite himself, Ardeth nodded again. "You are well informed, Sir Randolph. May I assume that you also know why I am here?"
Sir Randolph smiled coldly. "I believe I can guess. Dare I hope this visit is a friendly one?" He settled himself comfortably in a leather chair.
Ardeth smiled, just as coldly as Sir Randolph had. "That depends entirely on your answers."
"This is about the exhibition to the Tirza burial site, yes?"
"One wonders how you even know of that site," Ardeth replied.
"I think you'll find I know many things," Sir Randolph countered.
"What is Tia DeWitt to you?" Ardeth asked.
Sir Randolph's voice became cutting. "Did that slug of a curator tell you her name?"
"I repeat, what is Tia DeWitt to you?" Ardeth asked again.
Sir Randolph settled back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "My fool of a son thought himself in love with the chit," he drawled.
"That is a reason to have a girl killed?" Ardeth asked incredulously.
"I choose not to be reminded of her – who she is or who she was." Sir Randolph said dismissively.
"Who she was?" Ardeth inquired.
Sir Randolph laughed. "You haven't the slightest idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. A proud warrior," he mocked, "unable to fathom the forces that go on around you."
Ardeth's lips tightened. "I know that you used me and my people to perform your private executions. We do not appreciate being used in such a way." He laid his hand suggestively on his sword hilt. "I should kill you now."
Sir Randolph laughed again. "You cannot." He laughed again as Ardeth pulled his sword from its sheath. Two security guards appeared with guns trained on the tall Arab. Ardeth froze, his eyes flicking from one to the other. "You cannot," Sir Randolph repeated, rising from his chair and approaching Ardeth. "And not just because of my guards. You cannot kill me because of what you are."
Author's Note: I found the meaning of the hieroglyphic tattoos on a website, that THIS site apparently won't allow me to put into the story. It's a great site about the Mummy movies. Wish I could give you the url! As far as the comment about the marks on Ardeth's hands referring to the Bey Tribe - it occured to me that Rick O'Connell in Mummy Returns had the "sacred mark" on his right forearm that identified him as a Medjai. Ardeth didn't seem to have this mark. Since there are 12 tribes of Medjai, perhaps each tribe had a different identifying tatoo. Probably it would be on the arm or the hand so that it would be easy to show as identification. Since Ardeth has a repeating point tatoo on his hand, I arbitrarily made that the Bey tribal mark. Rick O'Connell's mark would be from a different Medjai tribe. (Stay tuned, that comes up in another chapter).
Ma'at, by the way, is the Egyptian goddess of Truth.
Thank you for the review, Nakhti!