Gretchen's Task

She sat on her knees, head bowed. When she looked up, Meela was on a throne, draped in some kind of gauzy, gold fabric. A black snake twisted in her lap, but she didn't seem to notice it. Gretchen gulped.

"I know why you're here."

Gretchen felt her hands shaking. "I don't."

A slight smile tipped Meela's golden lips. "I think you do."

A strange sense of anger swept through her body. Her back straightened, and she put her hands on her hips. "Well, why are you here?"

"I'm dead. I died for love."

Gretchen glared. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. You never loved anybody, Meela."

Meela rose to her feet, the snake sliding down her skirt. When it hit the floor, it scattered into dozens of little black beetles. "That's because I'm not Meela at all."

Gretchen was jolted to consciousness. She breathed a sigh, absently kicking the blankets from her body and resettling herself on top of them. Light pressed persistently against her eyelids, the heat of early day settling damply on her skin. The sun was barely deterred by the thick fabric of the tent, prodding her to consciousness. She let out a groan, burying her head in a pillow in the vain hope of stealing another hour of sleep. She wondered why it was so excessively hot and still within the confines of her makeshift home -- why the desert and Egypt themselves had to scorch those in them so brutally. Snorting impatiently, Gretchen opened her eyes, staring blankly at the pile of books across the small space. She wondered why people ever decided to live out here in the first place.

She gathered her mussed locks in one hand, lifting them from her neck for a few moments' relief. Yes, she determined, she was definitely going to get her hair cut when she returned to Cairo. Her eyes scanned over the neat little articles so perfectly situated in the small space, wondering if Chamberlain happened to have a brush or comb of some kind. Letting out an impatient sigh, she figured not. She recalled he was bald on top...She glanced at the books again and noticed a thin, greenish ribbon hanging from the pages. Gretchen ran her tongue over her lips, and reached for the book, flipping it open to the marked page.

She glanced at the tent flap, as if expecting the professor to storm in and prevent her from taking his ribbon. Still...She examined the page thoughtfully, reasoning that it was probably important to him, and he would notice if it was no longer marked. Why did it have to be so very hot?

Letting out a sigh, Gretchen took the ribbon and folded the corner of the page over, deciding that she would return her borrowed article at the end of the day before he had a chance to miss it. She replaced the book, her fingers raking over her brownish tresses and gathering them into a pony tail. She tried to detangle the knots as best she could, realizing that the act tended to rip them from her head altogether. Frustrated, Gretchen tied up her hair with the ribbon, realizing a little late how very quiet it was. They must have all ventured into the ruins. She figured that was well enough; she really didn't want to go back.

Her hands rummaged through the sheets, catching hold of her slip amidst the mess of fabrics. She pulled the thin clothing over her body, denouncing the need for her blouse and skirt right now. She was alone, after all, and it was so very, very hot outside--

Gretchen froze suddenly, leaning towards the tent flap as slowly as she could allow. Perhaps it was nothing, but then--No, she was certain it was there this time. Someone was outside. Swallowing fearfully, she drew towards the back of the tent, praying that whoever or whatever it was would go without noticing her. A shadow fell over the front of the tent, and an instinctive gasp caught in the back of her throat. Her mind wanted to reason with her; wanted to assure her that it was one of the people in their company, but her racing heart wouldn't listen. She pulled her knees up to her chest, sitting motionless in the bed. God, why did she have to be alone right now?

The shadow lifted the tent flap, ducking his head into the opening. A wave of simultaneous relief and apprehension and wonder flooded her senses, beating chaotically in her nerves and veins. She forced a little smile, not knowing what else to do.

"Hi," she whispered. She watched his Adam's apple jerk nervously before he spoke.

"Hello," he glanced outside of the tent again, scanning the camp thoroughly before returning his black gaze to hers. "They are in the ruins?"

Gretchen nodded slowly. "Yeah...I think so."

He grunted, slipping awkwardly through the opening of the tent and letting the flap fall closed behind him. He lowered himself to a seat with some difficulty; Gretchen swallowed as his scimitar clanked against the carpet spread as a temporary floor.

"You do not go with them?"

She shrugged, glancing at the books again. She could feel his gaze studying the side of her face.

"You are wise," he pronounced quietly. Gretchen let out a forced, humorless laugh.

"Yeah," she murmured sarcastically, "that's me."

She felt a silence yawning between them, filled only by the sound of his steady, measured breath. She tried to quiet her nerves, remotely wishing she had eaten something. Her eyes jerked up to meet his suddenly, taking a careful draught of air through her parted lips.

"What are you doing back here, anyway?"

He sighed, glancing towards the low ceiling of the tent. "I am a Med-Jai. It is our duty to guard Hamunaptra."

Gretchen snorted. "Well you're doing a shit job of it." As soon as the words slipped from her mouth, her cheeks blushed in embarrassment. "God, I'm sorry, Ardeth --"

But he only sighed again, shaking his head. "No. You are right. My father always said...he always said my heart was my weakness. I do not want to kill these people."

She chewed her bottom lip, scouring her mind for something to say in response. "That's not really...I don't think that's a weakness. Not wanting to kill people. I think...I mean, I think that's normal."

Ardeth stared quietly into her eyes, his black depths piercing a strange, sleeping part of her soul. Gretchen swallowed uncomfortably, looking away from him. "The Med-Jai cannot afford to be merciful. We must stop the Creature from being reborn at all costs."

Her brow furrowed at his strange words, and she glanced up at him again, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully. "Well that's a hell of a task you got there."

A smile barely tipped the corner of his mouth, but his eyes seemed unamused. Sad, even. "I feel I am failing."

Gretchen's stomach twisted in painful realization. So often, she had acted as a caring ear to the problems and complications of dozens of men. Maybe she had only half-listened, or perhaps she had only seemed to give a damn, but it never ceased to irritate her how many of her customers mistook her bed for a confessional. And now, here was yet another man confiding his secrets to her as a stranger, and she was paying attention.

Taking a breath, she shook her head, trying to manufacture sincerity towards a subject they both knew she was completely unaware of. "You're not going to fail."

Ardeth only sighed, glancing at the flap of the tent in what may have been nervousness, had it been anyone else. "I should go. I only needed to be sure...They have found nothing?"

She shrugged. "Um...I don't think so. Yesterday they quit early. Some booby trap or something. The diggers, uh...well, some of them...melted."

He looked down, closing his eyes and whispering something in a language she did not understand. "If they come across a book, be sure no one reads from it."

Gretchen blinked a few times, trying to comprehend his words. "What? How'm I supposed to do that?"

His endless gaze drove into hers desperately, his hands closing over her shoulders. His words shook from his throat in crazed urgency. "If someone reads from the book, the world is damned. Please listen to me. If they find the black Book of the Dead, get rid of it. Hide it somewhere until you can get it to me."

She swallowed nervously, forcing herself to nod. Ardeth let out a slow breath, his grip releasing completely. He pulled himself to a stooped stand, making his way to the tent's opening. Glancing over his shoulder, he met her eyes again.

"Thank you."

Gretchen watched him crawl out of the tent, letting out a long sigh and reaching for her blouse. She hadn't been aware that she was holding her breath. Shaking her head, she began to slip the buttons through their loops ruthlessly, her mind swirling with confusion. Why had he come back? Why hadn't he killed everyone like he was supposed to? Not that she wasn't grateful for his "failure"--simply that she wanted to know the reason for his slip-up. His heart--her ass. She knew the stories. Plenty of people had traveled to Hamunaptra, never to come back. Surely he and his warriors were the force behind that. Why had he sought her out? What made her so goddamn special? She didn't want him hanging around, messing up things in her mind. She didn't need him giving her orders, searching for some bogus Book of the Dead and then stealing it away from some very determined treasure-hunters. It was none of her business, and she really didn't care. Why did he talk to her like she ought to care? As if it mattered to her whether he was "failing" or not?

Breathing a frustrated huff, Gretchen pulled her skirt up to her waist and cinched it, her eyes and hands ransacking the area for her shoes. Damnit, where had her shoes gone, now? Was she supposed to suffer the torid sands with bare feet now, too? She didn't take the time to connect the logic, but decided her shoes' disappearance was Ardeth's fault, also. He was screwing everything else up; why not take the blame for her shoes? Flustered, she brushed a few free strands of hair from her face, trying to slow her racing thoughts. This was ridiculous.

A frantic scream interrupted her rampaging mind; her head jerked up just as her tent flap was pinned open, Beni's pale, sweating face peering in at her with wild eyes. Gretchen raised her eyebrows, hands on her hips.

"Do you see my shoes?"

He breathed difficultly through his open mouth, pointing a shaking finger at her scuffed, leather sandals set neatly beside the chest. Gretchen scoffed, glaring at them irritably. Beni slipped into the tent without any invitation, sitting cross-legged on the floor and rocking back and forth. She barely took notice of him, slipping the previously missing articles of clothing onto her feet. He watched her, mouth gaping for a few more moments before asking hoarsely:

"Do you believe in curses?"

Gretchen's brow furrowed curiously. "What?"

Beni wrapped his arms about himself, rubbing his limbs as if with a chill. "Curses. Do you believe in curses?"

She shrugged, tugging at the lock on the chest thoughtfully. "No, I guess not. Do you know where I could get something to eat?"

"When I was eleven, I saw a fortune teller," he told her, his eyes gazing steadily into a haunting memory. Gretchen glanced at him before returning her attention to the chest. "She was a Gypsy with one eye, and everybody said she could see the future with it."

His American companion snorted, giving up on the lock and settling herself on Chamberlain's bed. "That's stupid."

Beni's frightened gaze jerked up to hers. Gretchen was beginning to get fed up with borderline-insane eyes glaring into hers. "She said to me, 'There is one, the Undead, who, if brought back to life, will kill all...and assimilate their organs and fluids, and no longer be the Undead, but a plague upon this earth.' That is what she told me!"

"Did you get your money back?"

The Hungarian took her chin in his hand, staring frantically into the depths of her eyes. "It was a curse! The curse on the chest--it's what she said! Don't you see?"

Gretchen shook her head. "So they found something?"

Beni slapped his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow and smearing it off on his pants. "This place is cursed like the Gypsy said. If it was not for that remaining five hundred dollars, I would be gone."

Gretchen looked at him, stretching out her legs in the cramped space. Her knees made a strange, popping noise in retort. Letting out a sigh, she leaned back, laying on Chamberlain's bed again and staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

"Isn't it weird how money's the most important thing we have to live for?"

She could feel him eyeing her strangely. "No...? Come on, Gretchen. Everybody lives for money."

"See, that's what I thought," she continued, not entirely certain where her musings were taking their conversation. "But...Well, like those guys who attacked us last night. Nobody's paying them. And if there is treasure here, they would have taken it a long time ago. It's the most important thing to them, and it's got nothing to do with money."

Beni snorted, pulling his fez from his head and running his fingers through his greasy locks. "It has to do with money. It must. Nobody would care so much for a pile of old buildings without it."

Gretchen sighed, determined to find the logic in the midst of the disconnected facts. "But what if it doesn't? What if they're all scared of some curse and what it would do to the world?"

He tilted his head to the side, watching her through squinted eyes. "Did you 'borrow' more of my powder?"

She shook her head, twisting around to lay on her side. "I'm just saying..."

Beni grunted, scratching the back of his neck and speaking with dismissive superiority. "Look, the reason those desert guys are here is the same reason anybody comes here. Everybody wants the treasure, and all they get is the curse."

Gretchen sighed, allowing a silence to stretch between them. Running her tongue over her lips, she asked quietly, "Do you think we're cursed?"

His brow furrowed. "Cursed?"

"I mean, do you think there's something the matter with us?" she persisted.

"The only thing wrong with us is that we do not have the money to get out of this goddamn place."

She sighed. "You think that's it? Well...what about other normal things?"

"'Normal things'?"

She nodded. "Like...I don't know. Like love. Have you ever been in love?"

Beni scoffed. "In love? What does that have to do with anything--"

Gretchen drummed her fingers on the carpet. "That's what I mean. I've never been in love. Isn't that normal? Aren't people supposed to be in love sometime in their life?"

The Hungarian let out a thoughtful sigh, lifting his shoulders enigmatically. "I don't know. I think people are supposed to be happy."

"Are you?"

The question hung between them in the hot, still air. Beni stared at her, his lips jerking with the want to speak, though no words slipped from them. He finally managed to respond with a half-hearted:

"Maybe we are cursed."

Gretchen rolled onto her back again, gazing up at the ceiling. "I'm not happy, either."