River of the Dead

Author's Note: I am elated. Because at Jurong East Library I at last found the missing link in the series – Curse of the Pharaohs. Oh, I love Jurong East.

I have five reviewers, and I thank these lovely people from the bottom of my heart. Three of these people have never read AP before, so it must be undying loyalty to my humble self that made them plunge into the depths of an unknown fandom. Bless them.

Manveri Mirkiel: You like. Good you like. I thought I would find you at Jurong East – but I didn't. How did you celebrate Cormallë? We watched Return of the King in honour of the event. Twice.

Telpelote: Don't you dearie me, you object. I dearie you. You misspelled 'find'. I did think at least you would be able to understand the mythological implications……

Reicheruu: I AM updating all of them. I have! I knew you'd be cross – Squishy was crosser, you know. She actually flew at me and poked me.

Dream Descends: Oh yes! Another fan across the world – you wrote that SethosMargaret fic. It was the first AP fic I'd ever read on this website, and I liked it so – although I don't really agree with your opinion on their relationship. I suppose I said that in the review. But am I happy you reviewed. And yes, this is to be a multi-chaptered epic. I want to spread the AP joy.

Sapphire Dragon: Did I convince you to read AP? I did? Oh, god. I am ecstatic. Thank you, thank you. That was the point of this, in the first place – to get other people to read this wonderful series. And you're actually going to buy the books because of me. I feel…tearful. Thank you so much.

Irrelevantly, Rukuelle and I are playing AP Survivor now. We have gone from twenty people and two tribes to ten people in one tribe (Amelia, Emerson, Ramses, Nefret, David, Sethos, Sir Edward, Cyrus, Selim and a tad surprisingly, Margaret. She survived two tie-votes.) You can cheer your favourite character on.

Back to relevance. This fic shall be told through different points-of-views in manuscript. The main narrative is Narrative A (Amelia P. Emerson's journal), but other PoVs shall be supplied by Manuscript H (Ramses's personal version, with occasional additions from Nefret. I've always wondered what H stands for. Hidden?), Manuscript Collection M (Margaret M. Minton's memoirs. How alliterative), and two other manuscripts I invented specifically for this purpose, Manuscript S (Sethos's secret scribblings. I love alliteration) and lastly Manuscript O (for Outsider or Other: told through the eyes of Imhotep and Co.)

I don't own anything. If I owned Sethos, I'm sure you'd all hear about it. The education system would teach only intrepid disguise and nectarine-punching. Everything belongs to MPM and/or the Gods of Egypt. Shall now proceed, inshallah.

2. Parisian Perplexity

Manuscript H

"What do you think, dear?"

The question startled him out of his reverie. He had fallen into it by staring at her; admiring his wife had become a strange habit of his. Her red-gold curls caught the Egyptian sun and glimmered – and the cornflower-blue eyes set like live and laughing gems in their nest of gold. She was like a lissom flower that had sprung in the dust and the dirt of the suks. And as it happened every time, he felt his heart quicken.

"What do you think?" repeated Nefret. "Is it a fake?"

Walter Peabody Emerson – or more familiarly, Ramses – took the scarab from his wife's hand. Turning it over and inspecting it with a trained eye, he pronounced his verdict. "Fake. The hieroglyphics are not skilfully done. And it's the wrong dynasty, anyway."

"I thought so." Nefret retrieved it and replaced it on the stall. She smiled at the toothless owner, before shaking her head and drawing away. As they moved off down through the busy, squabbling crowd of the Khan el-Khalili, her hand sought his, and hand-in-hand they wandered through the suks beneath the noon-day Egyptian sun.

To any tourist's eye it would seem a charming, innocent occupation: shopping for souvenirs in the sprawling bazaars. But the native stallholders knew better; the Brother of Demons and the Light of Egypt prowled the suks in their everlasting effort to keep track of the illegal antiquities trade. Fakes were common enough and all very well, but any sight of a precious treasure kept in illicit darkness, and Ramses and Nefret would be on it in a second. It was a game they played with the antiquities traders of the Khan el-Khalili – a tricky, treacherous game. Over the years, Ramses had learnt to be as nimble a player as his parents, in order to extract the necessary information – and even better, the antiquity itself – from the reluctant trader.

They turned a corner and moved down another crowded alley, stopping every so often for Ramses to exchange words and a couple of coins with the beggars lining the streets. The Brother of Demons had acquaintances in the strangest of places; the most useful information source he had.

It was a lovely day, thought Ramses, and more importantly, it was a peaceful day. Those didn't come around very often. Their family seemed to attract trouble like honey attracts flies. But today was an exception; no dead bodies turning up on the dig, no agents from the War Office pestering him to go on another mission, and best of all, no one trying to kill them. Just him and Nefret, out on a stroll with nothing on their minds.

It was the perfect sort of situation for something new and awful to crop up.

It was the perfect sort of situation for the Gods of Egypt to throw them a new challenge, he thought.

He of course meant that metaphorically. So when they did it literally, he was really quite annoyed.


He was just discussing a couple of eighteenth-dynasty statues with a Nubian merchant when someone called his name.

It wasn't Nefret – he could tell Nefret's voice apart a million miles away. It was someone further up the street.

"Ramses!"

His second thought was that it might be another of his annoying admirers – the ones he thought he'd already shaken off when he got married, but they clung on like burs – and he braced himself for an attack.

Then he saw the person who was calling his name.

She wasn't anyone he knew. She didn't even look distinctly like someone who should be in this time period. She was wearing what appeared to be a leopard-skin gown and a star-shaped headdress, and she was waving a seven-pointed star wand. She looked highly distressed.

She looked a lot like the Egyptian goddess Seshat.

The Seshat-lookalike came panting up to him, waving that wand of hers. "Ramses! Brother of Demons!" she was saying between gasps of breath. "I need your help!"

"What?" said Ramses in confusion.

The Nubian merchant stared at him. "You were saying, Brother of Demons?"

"Sorry," muttered Ramses. "I was talking to the lady here…"

The merchant looked puzzled. "To your distinguished wife? But she is on this side."

"Not her!" exclaimed Ramses. He felt like going mad. "This one. The one in the leopard-skin."

The merchant glanced up and down the street. "There is no leopard-skin clad lady here, Brother of Demons."

It then struck Ramses that the merchant – and everybody else, to that point – could not see the strange intruder. He was going mad, then.

"I apologise," Ramses told the merchant hurriedly. "I have business to see to." He turned to speak to the lady dressed up as Seshat – but she was gone. Looking up, he saw her weaving through the crowd, occasionally looking over her shoulder and calling to him. "Ramses! Follow me!"

Ramses weighed his choices. She might be leading him into an ambush. But then, she might have something important to say. In the end, curiosity won over, and he began weaving through the crowd, after her.

"Ramses?" Nefret was on his heels. "Where are you going?"

He wondered how to explain something she couldn't see to her. "There's this woman in a leopard-skin…she keeps asking me to follow her…" God, he did sound mad.

Nefret gave him a funny look. "Oh, God," he groaned. "The thing is, no one else seems to be able to see her."

"But I can," said Nefret.

Ramses almost stopped dead. "What? You can?" Then he recovered himself. "Oh. That's good, then."

They ducked into a less crowded alleyway. The woman was waiting there for them. "Greetings, O Brother of Demons – "

"Who are you?" interrupted Ramses, a tad rudely. "What do you want?"

The woman flinched slightly. "I am Seshat."

"Seshat? The goddess?"

She nodded. "The gods have sent me here. They send their greetings to you, O noble Akhu el-Afareet, to your fair and gracious wife Nur Misur, to your great and glorious father Abu Shitaim and your distinguished lady mother Sitt Hakim – and to your uncle…" she seemed to fumble for an Egyptian title, and gave it up "…the Master Criminal. We desperately beg your help."

Ramses was feeling a trifle dazed. He opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't seem to find anything more intelligent than "I beg your pardon?"

Beside him, Nefret was staring open-mouthed. She remembered her manners and shut it. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Your lip is bleeding."

Seshat – if she was really Seshat, that remained to be ascertained – touched her split lip. "I know. It should not be so. But I am only here – and bleeding – because there is no other choice. You must help us. Amun-Re has chosen you to be our mortal hero."

The words continued to make no sense whatsoever. Ramses mouthed several words, but the only one that got voice was: "Amun-Re?"

Seshat began to explain the situation. "The other gods are trapped in the Void, by a spell cast by an evil priest and his minions. They need a mortal – a group of mortals – to free them. You and your family are the chosen ones."

Ramses got over his shock. "Prove it."

"Prove what?" asked Seshat. The frightened look came back into her eyes.

"Prove that you are a goddess."

Seshat stared at him. "But I am. I am. Truly. I seem to have lost most of my powers, you see, when I broke through the Void – although I think I am still invisible to most eyes, but that is a common trait. You must believe me."

There was the invisibility thing – but she could have bribed the merchant and any number of people to pretend not to notice her. Ramses shook his head.

Seshat emitted a little cry and flung herself at his feet. Ramses started back, but she hung on. "Please! For the sake of the gods and all Egypt, believe me!"

Nefret bent down and disentangled her firmly. "You are hysterical," she told Seshat.

Seshat staggered back out of Nefret's grasp. Her eyes travelled over their faces. "You don't believe me," she whispered. "You don't." She shut her eyes and clenched her fists. "Oh, help me. Thoth help me!"

It took them both by surprise. Ramses only had the time to seize Nefret's arm before they were both blasted backwards through the street, through the city, through space and time. Seshat stood motionless before them, but yet it was she who was moving them faster than a khamsin wind. Wisps of air darted around her. To Ramses's perplexed eye they seemed to take the shape of flying ibises.

And all of a sudden, they stopped. The two of them fell backwards and struck a wall. Painfully.

Seshat rose to her feet slowly. "It did work," she whispered in disbelief. "It did. I didn't expect it to…"

Ramses had her pinned to the wall with both hands wrapped around her neck in a flash. "What have you done?" he hissed. "Where are we?"

"I don't know!" squeaked Seshat, clearly terrified. "We are not in Egypt any more, that is all I can tell you."

"I can see that." It did not improve his temper. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

It was definitely not Egypt. The alleyway was no longer walled by slums and battered bazaar stalls – instead both walls were made of stone. It wasn't as hot.

Nefret's hand snaked into her pocket. The pocket was actually open at the back, and allowed easy access to the knife strapped to her lower limb. In a single fluid moment she drew it. Hiding it in the folds of her skirt, she stepped forward cautiously, edging towards the street the alleyway opened out into. Ramses dropped the so-called goddess and followed.

It was a boulevard of some sorts. People were strolling up and down it – not Egyptians, but Europeans: well-dressed men, and women clad in elegant gowns and clutching parasols and handbags. The street was lined with shops and pretty little restaurants.

Nefret slid her knife back slowly. "This is certainly not Egypt."

Ramses was swivelling slowly, making a survey of the surroundings. His eyes fixed upon one building in the distance and stopped there. He pointed wordlessly. Nefret turned and saw it too. Her mouth dropped open.

The Eiffel Tower rose above the city in all its iron splendour. The skyline was that of a neat, urban metropolis. The only disturbance were the dust clouds on the horizon – distant evidence that World War I was still raging somewhere else in France.

"We're in Paris," announced Ramses.

Nefret said something vehemently. It was Nubian. It was probably also very vulgar.

"So," she said sweetly and dangerously, turning to Seshat, who had just emerged from the alley looking like a mouse in cat kingdom, "why did you bring us here?"

"Because there is someone who will believe me here," replied Seshat tremulously.

"And who is this…believer?" asked Ramses sarcastically.

"Your uncle."

Both Ramses and Nefret gaped at her. "What?"

Ramses was the first to recover. His face regained its usual pharaonic impassivity. "Why would Sethos believe you? He doesn't believe in – well, in most things."

Seshat bit her lip again, which only served to enhance the bleeding that had already been started. "Se – someone told me he would. I can only but try. The spell was supposed to bring us to him, but he is not here. Do you know where he is?"

"No one knows where Sethos is most of the time," Ramses answered in exasperation. "I don't know whether to believe you – except that nothing short of magic could have brought us from Cairo to Paris like that. Unless I'm dreaming, of course."

"You are not," snapped Nefret. "Because then I'm having the same dream."

"Do you believe me now?" inquired Seshat.

Ramses glared at her. "If Sethos is really here, I might be well on my way to doing that."

Nefret took his arm. "We don't seem to be going back to Cairo in a hurry, so we might as well look for your beloved uncle in the meantime."

"He is not beloved," muttered Ramses, but permitted himself to be let across the street. "We can start in the café just opposite – that's as good a place as any, and I want something to drink."

The aforementioned café seemed to be a high-class establishment. The patrons were even better-dressed than the majority of the strollers. Nefret reached up and adjusted Ramses' tie critically. "You'll pass muster," she concluded, and turned to Seshat. "I hope you are invisible."

"So do I," murmured Seshat.

They entered the café, and were directed to a table for two in the corner. Seshat immediately melted into the shadows, although she had said no one else could see her. Ramses, for lack of something better to think of, ordered tea in his impeccable French.

They sipped that genial beverage and scrutinised the smattering of other customers. Ramses had to admit that the prospects were not promising – some sombre-looking gentlemen, a couple young chaps, four or five varied ladies. Anyone of them could be Sethos. Anyone.

"Well?" asked Nefret in a well-bred whisper.

Ramses shrugged enigmatically. "Can't tell. Look for the more outrageous ones – his disguises tend to border on the romantic side."

"And yours don't?" There was an amused twinkle in her cornflower eyes.

Ramses grinned back. "I'm practical. Filthy and practical."

He was discreetly observing a couple two tables away – a gentleman and a lady. The lady was not young, but she was doing her best to cover the fact: the latest fashion in hats and gowns, brilliantly rouged cheeks and lips, hair piled high and elegant. It was hard for Ramses to lip-read – she was delicately screening her face with the fan – but she seemed to be flirting with the gentleman opposite her in her husky, amused voice.

The gentleman did not look French – the bare snatches of conversation told Ramses he had something of an English accent. He was wearing a top hat, despite the fact that those were not in this season, and had tinted glasses and long, bushy whiskers. He spoke in a low tone – almost as if he did not want to be overheard.

Ramses returned calmly to his tea and leaned across the table to Nefret. "Make it look like we're having a conversation."

Nefret caught his subtle glance at the other couple and understood. She bent over to him across the steaming teacup. "You have your eye on them?"

"It would seem so." Ramses took a careful sip of tea. "And the gentleman seems to be rather suspicious – so we should be safer as casual passerbys, even if he's not my beloved uncle. One good thing about France is anonymity. At least here we're not recognised by every passing street urchin."

"Mm," said Nefret agreeably. "What do you think of her?"

"The lady?"

"No. I was referring to Seshat."

"Well, for a goddess, she seems pretty flighty."

"At least she's not trying to do the omnipotent-almighty act."

"You don't believe in her tale, then."

"Experience, Ramses dear. Don't believe unless you have proof. Isn't that always what Mother says?"

"She would. And don't talk to me about experience. I should think I have a lot more than you."

Nefret made a dismissive gesture of contempt. "They're leaving, you know."

"I know." Out of the corner of his eye, Ramses saw both of them rise. The gentleman raised the lady's hand to his lips…and then, Ramses saw it, so fast that he only caught a glimpse, but……

Nefret must have seen him stiffen, because her eyes instantly clouded with worry. "What is it?"

Abruptly Ramses rose from his seat. The two had left already. They paid the bill in a hurry, and followed.

They entered the street just in time to see the lady inconspiciously drop her handkerchief, and the gentleman discreetly stoop to pick it up and tuck it into his breast pocket.

"Don't stop," whispered Ramses, and arm-in-arm they walked past the gentleman without a second glance. Nefret would have glanced back, but Ramses nudged her sharply, eliciting a little gasp. They crossed the street, in the direction of the alleyway from which they had first emerged.

"Why did you – " began Nefret indignantly, when suddenly someone pushed Ramses away from her and pinned him against the wall, not unalike the way he had pinned Seshat earlier.

Ramses gasped for air. The hand around histhroat was like iron – this was a powerful opponent. He clenched his fist and lashed out with it, in a blow that could have toppled a camel.

Another hand grabbed his wrist and forced it back. "You don't want to be doing that, Ramses," said a familiar voice.

He was released. Winded, Ramses took several deep breaths, and focused on his attacker. She had cocked her head and was grinning at him. Yes, she. It was the lady from the café.

She turned her grin onto Nefret, who was poised like a Fury, knife at the ready. "You can put that away, my dear. I do apologise if my little joke offended you."

The looks, the gestures, the gait – they were all those of a high-class, well-bred lady. The voice was someone else's.

"It did offend me!" exclaimed Nefret. The relief in her voice was too tangible for her to sound really cross. "And that is a hideous wig."

Sethos ran his fingers through the dark blonde curls and yanked the whole contraption off, along with the hat. "That's very unkind, my dear. Who is your lady friend?"

Ramses had almost forgotten about Seshat in the confusion. The fact that Sethos could see her was rather surprising – but then, she probably would allow him to. "She claims she's an Egyptian goddess."

"I am an Egyptian goddess!" exclaimed Seshat indignantly. She pushed forward till she was almost face to face with Sethos. "I am Seshat of the Nedjer, and I come on behalf of the Gods of Egypt. Set sent me. Set asked for you." She whipped something out of her robes and shoved it nearly in Sethos's face.

Ramses had never seen the colour drain from Sethos's face faster. Under the face paint he went milky pallid. He snatched the object from Seshat's hand and examined it with keen horror. It was a message scarab, carved from some sort of blood-reddish stone. Ramses recognised one of the larger hieroglyphs as that creature known as the Set animal (it had long, squared ears, a long, downturned snout, a canine body and an erect tail – and bore an uncanny resemblance to an aardvark). It was too dim for him to easily read the other signs – but apparently Sethos could.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sethos's head snapped up, and he fixed Seshat with a glare like one would transfix a beetle with a pin. "What is this about?" Seshat opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off. "On second thoughts, not here. I'd forgotten that I'm still in enormous danger here – and since you're with me, so are all of you." He put the wig under one arm and marched off down the alley. The three of them followed.

"What are you doing in France?" inquired Ramses boldly. "Spy business?"

"What did you think?" Sethos's voice floated back to him. His uncle turned a corner and headed off down an even darker alleyway. "It's a temporary assignment, of course – they think the situation in the Sudan is stable at the moment, so they carted me off here."

"As a woman?" Nefret sounded highly amused.

"Remember Mrs. Fortescue? Well, Madame de Fontaine is her French counterpart. Same story – war widow, wealthy, eligible. They found out she was a German spy last month, and they, er, removed her. But then they decided it was too good an opportunity to waste, so they sent an impostor to her rendezvous to pick up her messages."

"Didn't they have any women?"

"You know the sort of women theWar Officehires. Only good for the seduction business. Not a patch on me in the disguise field." Sethos stopped ahead of them and glanced back. "I think we're a good distance away." Peeling off his gloves, he extracted the piece of paper that Ramses had seen the gentleman pass to the lady when he kissed her hand. Sethos read through it twice, consigned it to memory andate the evidence. After that, he proceeded to change, and explain in between.

"So for the last two weeks I've been masquerading as a Frenchwoman, picking up German secret data and passing them false information." He divested himself of the long gown and folded it up neatly. "Got to take good care of the costume. It's on loan."

"From a lady friend?" quipped Nefret.

Sethos scowled at her. "From a dressmaker." He was wearing shirt and trousers underneath. Ramses, who had never tried wearing full ladies' dress, could only imagine how hot it must be in all those layers. Sethos stuffed the dress, wig and shoes into a bag which he had produced from nowhere and began to clean off the makeup carefully with a wet handkerchief.

Ramses, who was leaning against the alley wall, asked casually: "So. When is your next appointment?"

"This was the last one." Sethos stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and applied a dark moustache. He began feeling in his pockets. "Damn nose. Lost it again. Anyway, after this Madame was supposed to mysteriously disappear, and I would be back in good old Egypt again." He put on his jacket and abruptly strode off down the alley, plunging through the network of Parisian back streets with alarming alacrity. Ramses stumbled after him.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere," muttered Sethos evasively. "We need to talk, Seshat and I. We're still not safe here."

"You have friends in France?"

"Not really." They returned back into the light – this time another district, less well-to-do, and more noisy. Sethos wove in and out of the crowd with ease. "You know France isn't my specialty. Actually, apart from the War Office people, I have only one other acquaintance in this city."

"And who is that?"

"You do ask a lot of questions." Sethos was evasive again. He stopped at a nearby flower stall and picked out a bunch of roses. For a man in a hurry, he certainly took his time counting them.

Nefret's eyebrows soared in comprehension. "Oh. Oh!"

"What?" asked Ramses irritably. Sethos thanked the florist in his perfect French accent and was off again.

"Did you offend her, or something?" asked Nefret, running to keep on Sethos's heels.

"I don't know who you're talking about," said Sethos loftily. He stopped again. They were in a street lined with small apartment flats. Sethos began counting flats and muttering to himself. Then he dove into a doorway and disappeared.

"What was it you found out?" called Ramses as Nefretraced through the door and sprinted up the winding stairs after Sethos.

"Fifteen roses means you're sorry!" came the merry answer.

Ramses had always wondered how Nefret knew these things. He supposed it came in the package with being a woman.

They skidded to a stop outside Flat No. 13, and Ramses swore he saw a look of apprehension pass over his uncle's face. It disappeared as quickly as it came. Ramses backed up behind Sethos. He could feel Nefret and Seshat leaning around either of his shoulders.

For a moment, everything was silent. In the silence there came the sounds of the life of the person living in the flat beyond the door. It was a low muttering – accompanied by the intermittent clacking of a typewriter.

Sethos took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

The clacking stopped, punctuated with an exclamation of "Oh, damn it!" Then the sound of footsteps stamping across to the door, which was flung open.

In the doorway stood a woman whom Ramses recognised. She was not exactly young – perhaps thirty going on forty. Her hair was jet black, and at the moment it was straggling rebelliously out of the chignon she had tried to pin it up into. She was dressed rather smartly in a brown and cream walking gown, but she seemed to be extremely irritated at being called away. "I said, I don't want room service! I want to finish this manuscript by today, and I can't do it if you keep coming up and insisting on cleaning……" She broke off as she recognised exactly who it was.

Her face underwent a series of mouthings, along with a look of abject horror. "You! Not you! What are you doing here?"

Sethos had inserted himself into the doorway so that she could not shut it without shoving him bodily out. He was leaning upon the doorframe, and wearing that particularly winsome smile that he reserved for, as Nefret called it, 'turning on the charm'. It was on full blast.

"Hello, Margaret. Don't mind if we come in?"

End of Chapter

Next chapter coming… An Unexpected Interruption

In which Seshat finds a sympathetic listener at long last, Ramses embraces superstition and Margaret gets herself a new scoop.