A Historical Note. The Library of Alexandria was burned by Julius Caesar during the Alexandrian War in 48 B.C. He wasn't looking for the Book of the Dead, but he did destroy plenty of ancient literature.

Three Americans and Four Sacred Canopic Jars

Gretchen's breath caught in her throat. Her heart felt as if it was pounding everywhere at once; as if somehow, all of her veins had started throbbing. She swallowed uneasily, forcing her trembling fingers to trace over the heavy, black inscriptions to be certain the thing before her was real. A set of impatient, tanned digits gripped her knuckles, stopping her just before she could touch the ancient cover. She tore her eyes from the enigmatic artifact, gazing into the blackness of Dr. Chamberlain's stern glance. He lowered his eyelids a little, looking down his nose at her severely.

"You mustn't touch it. This book...may be one of the greatest finds in archeological history."

She held back a snort, folding her hands awkwardly in her lap. "So what's it do, exactly? What's it for?"

His shoulders rose and fell; his eyes fled her own, seeking refuge in the puzzling discovery in his lap. Running his tongue over his lips, his voice fell to an eerie whisper.

"Gretchen, this is the Book of the Dead."

Her gut sank hopelessly. That was exactly what she had been afraid of hearing. She took a breath, glancing at the heavy, black book with subdued interest. Gretchen thought it looked ugly and remotely frightening; more importantly, it looked like a lug to carry, and Ardeth had practically ordered her to get it to him by any means necessary.

"This book contains lost spells and incantations of the Old Kingdom. Julius Caesar burned the Library of Alexandria to the ground in search of this. It is said that somewhere in these pages is a spell that can bring people back from the dead."

Gretchen shivered, attempting to swallow the cool apprehension in her throat. Her brow furrowed at the book again, motioning towards the decorative design containing what appeared to be a simple beetle.

"And what's that?"

Chamberlain let out an irritated sigh. "That is a lock. And until I discover some way to crack it, we shall never know what this book contains."

Her mouth gaped at the comment, wide eyes gazing at the professor as his words connected in her mind. Gretchen leaned back as nonchalantly as she could manage, attempting to be conversational:

"So without a way to get into it, you can't really read from it, huh?"

Chamberlain rubbed his temple in exasperation, shaking his head. "No. I can't."

Gretchen breathed a sigh of relief, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. She glanced beyond him to the opening of the tent, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Let's open up the front and let some air in here. Now that the sun's gone down, it's actually kinda nice out."

He nodded distractedly, his fingers running over the surface of the book and its binding in vain. With a strangely genuine grin, Gretchen crawled to the front of the tent, opening the flap and slipping into the vaguely warm night air. She pulled herself to her feet, crouching over one of the stakes and untying the rope about it. She did the same to the other side, lifting the sagging fabric up and rolling it neatly. With a little difficulty, she rest the roll on top of the tent. She barely heard Chamberlain mutter a thank you. With a sigh, Gretchen noticed the quiet crackling of O'Connell's fire. She licked her lips indecisively, glancing at her employer. He was so engulfed in the book that he did not even realize her gaze. With a shrug, she turned away from the tent, picking her way over to the campfire uncertainly.

Gretchen lowered herself to sit on the log beside him, feeling his surprised glance on the side of her face. Sighing, he picked up a stick, poking at the yellow flames thoughtfully.

"So..." he sighed awkwardly, staring intently at the growing fire.

The prostitute ran a tongue over her lips, finally forcing out the words. "About last night--I'm...sorry."

O'Connell turned his head to look at her, silence filling the space between them. He opened his mouth to say something a few times, but never quite found what he was searching for. Breathing a sigh of self-frustration, he murmured:

"It's okay...I mean, I understand," he snorted, gazing off into the night. "It probably seemed like a good idea at the time."

Gretchen smiled sadly, running her fingers roughly through her hair until they came to the ribbon. She pulled it from her windy locks, her fingers mechanically working out the knot as she managed:

"I thought you were gonna die, I guess. And...and I really don't know why, but it seemed like a big deal--to me."

O'Connell stared down at his feet, concentrating on the grains of sand. His gaze jerked up to hers suddenly, piercing her with his depths of endlessly fantasia blue again. His jaw hung open, and she heard the beginning of an indecernable word slipping from his lips, but a hand slapped him on the back, and one very similar to it landed on Gretchen's shoulder. A familiar mouth pressed a gin-stinking kiss to her cheek, a benign chuckle filling her ears as the sound of uneasy footsteps traipsed to sit on the opposite side of O'Connell.

"Hello there!" Jonathan greeted a little too happily, dropping to a seat. "Gretchen, I missed you last night, love!"

She forced an embarrassed smile, avoiding the wondering eyes of her fellow American. "I got a little tied up, I guess."

The slightly inebreiated Brit took no offense. "Well, you missed out on an exquisite bottle of Glen Livet. Perhaps another time."

Gretchen nodded, strongly considering the idea of leaving the two men when a third party plopped down beside her.

"Hey, O'Connell," Beni sneered, holding up a mysterious bag in his fist. "Guess what I have got?"

Gretchen wrinkled her nose, staring at the smelling parcel with dread. The American Legionnaire only shrugged, muttering sarcastically under his breath, "Crabs? The clap?"

The Hungarian reached into the little sack, pulling out three dead rats by their long, hairless tails. Gretchen leaned back instinctively. "Get those out of my face!"

O'Connell cocked his head to the side, taking one out of his grasp. "Reminds me of the good ol' days."

Beni laughed nervously, revealing a long stick he had carried to the fire with him. Taking a deep breath, he jammed the stick down one of the rats' throats and through its body. Grimacing, Gretchen looked away as he slipped it into the fire. O'Connell did the same, much to her disgust and Jonathan's wonder.

"You know, that's really not entirely necessary--"

The American only grinned at him, twisting the rodent over the flickering flames. "When we were stationed out here, they were the only thing we could find to eat."

"Say, O'Connell," a new voice put in, "what do you suppose these honeys'll fetch back home?"

Jonathan loosened his collar, his attention drawn away as Henderson, Burns, and Daniels joined their haphazard company. The firelight gleamed over the ancient gold and ivory of their proud find; along with the Book, Chamberlain had informed her, they had discovered five canopic jars, four of which were perfectly intact. Gretchen had asked him what they were for, and the professor had explained that they contained the organs of the dead. Gretchen thought it was a little trashy--and vaguely disgusting--to tote around somebody's liver and spleen and whatever else, but when she saw the intricate, animal-headed lids and smooth alabaster jars, she reconsidered. Organs or no, those things were obviously worth a small fortune.

"We hear you boys found yourselves a nice gooey mummy," even Burns could muster the pride to be smug. "Well, congratulations."

Gretchen glanced at O'Connell, but he seemed unabashed. He forced a sarcastic snicker, grinning snidely at Daniels.

"You know if you dry that fella out, you could sell 'im for firewood!"

They had a nice little laugh, but Gretchen's stomach only turned. That was easy for them to say--the tourists staying in their fancy hotels with a ticket back to civilization. They had never had to walk by a pathetic vendor, hawking his stinking, cryptic wares in the slummy end of the suqs. Gretchen didn't have much of a taste for any of this so-called adventuring, but she may have been able to put up with its ruder points more easily if it wasn't for all the death that surrounded it. Everything about this place gave her the creeps, and now Chamberlain had that damned book, and O'Connell's group had found a mummy--

Evelyn's benign chirping interrupted her thoughts. "Everyone, look what I found!"

Gretchen suddenly felt O'Connell's eyes on her, and she glanced at him curiously. He cleared his throat, managing to whisper, "You're, uh, you're in her seat."

The prostitute furrowed her brow, glancing back at the Englishwoman. Evelyn was a little too absorped to really notice what was taking place for her sake. With a snort, Gretchen pulled herself to her feet, giving the Legionnaire an irritated glance before walking around and sitting complacently next to Beni. She had seriously considered, there for a moment, storming off in a feminine rage, but decided that really was no good. Where would she go? Back to Chamberlain and the Book of the Dead? She'd rather be here.

Evelyn held out her hands, cradling the ugly, dull remains of a few bugs. Gretchen wrinkled her nose.

"What the hell's the big deal? They're dung beetles," she muttered. Evelyn glanced up at her emphatically.

"They're scarab skeletons," she informed matter-of-factly. "Flesh eaters. I found them in our friend's coffin." Evelyn's pretty green-and-brown eyes glinted in the yellow firelight. "They can stay alive for years feasting on flesh and corpse."

A small silence consumed the space between the gathering of acquaintances. O'Connell ran his tongue over his lips, speaking the chilling words with detatched horror. "So somebody threw these in with our guy and they slowly ate him alive?"

Evelyn grinned devilishly. "Very slowly."

Gretchen glanced over at Beni, brow furrowed.

"That can't be right," she put in, her own uncertainty ringing in her ears. "Bugs that'll eat people?"

The Hungarian beside her snorted, grinning impishly at the company. "Let me know if you see any live ones. I do not want to run into them."

Henderson chuckled. "Ah, hell. It's a bug. Gimme a good set 'a boots, and the bastard's a goner."

But Evelyn was shaking her head, some dull discovery burning her lips. "No, you see, they never did that. I've been looking into it all afternoon. According to my readings, our friend suffered the Hom-Dai--the worst of all ancient Egyptian curses, one reserved only for the most evil of the blasphemers. In all of my research, I've never read of this curse having actually been performed."

Gretchen glanced at O'Connell, her blood pumping at a desperate speed in her veins. The curse, the book, the mummy--

"That bad, huh?"

"Well, they never used it because they feared it so," Evelyn explained readily. "It is written that if a victim of the Hom-Dai should ever arise, he would bring with him the Ten Plagues of Egypt."

The prostitute swallowed warily, gazing deeply into bright, yellow sparks with uneasy focus. She generally didn't believe in all this crap; it was useless superstition and hokum. But Ardeth had looked so wildly desperate, and this place kept giving her such a bad feeling...She glanced up suddenly, catching the Englishwoman's eyes.

"So how does he arise?"

When she spoke up, the Americans startled, as if they had been so captivated by the story that they hadn't quite found their way back to reality just yet. Evelyn's gaze twinkled, excited to share her knowledge with an interested ear.

"Oh, don't be silly," she chided. "It's only a myth."

"What a shame," O'Connell put in stiffly.

Jonathan nodded, a playful grin stretched across his face. "And I was so looking forward to getting to know the blighter."

A round of nervous chuckles wafted through the smoke; Gretchen glanced up and barely caught Daniels's eye. His gaze hardened, giving her a quick glare before turning his attention away from her entirely. Breathing a sigh, she nudged Beni.

"What time is it, anyway?"

He reached into his pocket, procuring a pocket watch that may have once been very expensive and flipping open its tarnished cover. He tilted its face in the unsteady light, trying to catch the numbers correctly.

"About 9:30," he informed her, jerking his head at Chamberlain's tent. "You have to be back for something?"

Gretchen snorted, shaking her head. She was fairly certain the professor wasn't asleep just yet, and if he wasn't asleep, then she couldn't hide the book--

Beni leaned closer to her, his breath hot and moist against her ear. "You know, you still owe me for that powder."

She breathed an irritated sigh, turning her head to glare at him. "Oh, come on. I'm working!"

A snide smirk revealed his stained teeth. "Not right now, you are not."

Gretchen turned her eyes stubbornly to the campfire, barely hissing, "I'll pay you back later."

Daniels let out a loud, obnoxious yawn, drawing her attention away from the weaselly antics of a certain Hungarian thief. He glanced at his compatriots, arching his back until every available vertebrae popped in response.

"We best be headin' back, eh, boys?"

Burns pulled himself mechanically to his feet. "Yup. There's lots more treasure to dig up."

He reached down a hand, helping Henderson up. The blond man tipped his cowboy hat mockingly, a smirk playing over his handsome features. "'Night, gentlemen, ladies."

O'Connell inclined his head; Jonathan gave them a sarcastic little wave. Gretchen glanced at Beni, waiting to see if he would join the Americans on their trek back to their camp as well. Evelyn's eyes flitted about to each of them, as if anticipating something. Licking her lips, she pronounced:

"Well, we do have a big day ahead of us. I think I'll be off to sleep, as well."

The rest of their company nodded, slowly beginning to move to their respective areas again. Gretchen stood as quickly as she could allow, murmuring goodbyes and walking briskly towards Chamberlain's tent. She really didn't need Beni bugging her about what she "owed" him just now. There were, apparently, more important things to worry about.

Slipping into the tent, she laid down as quietly as she could beside the professor--his stillness and steady breathing betraying his slumber. She could take the book right now, she knew. Her heart thumped in anticipation. Take the book and do what? Run out into the desert, praying she might run into Ardeth? He seemed to show up all the time, anyway; perhaps he ought to just sneak in right now and take it. He was probably more skilled at that, anyway. Besides, it was only a book--and a locked book at that. A strange feeling crept through her nerves. Why was she so very determined to help Ardeth with this, anyway? He was obviously just an ignorant, superstitious desert man. What could the book possibly do? Sure, there were the legends, and O'Connell's mummy, and the Creature Ardeth kept yapping about, but--but they were only stories. Myths, as Evelyn had said. Truthfully, Gretchen hated this place--it felt eerie and dark and haunted--but that still didn't mean water was going to turn to blood any time soon. As long as the book was locked, who really cared?

Breathing a satisfied sigh, she settled down to sleep. She would worry when there was something she should clearly be worried about.