A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Maybe too much fun. Hence the longer than usual wait ^_^
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. Not even that random slave, because that would be cruel.
Chapter 16: Heist
The tunnels burrowed below the main floor of the palace were well-lit by hundreds of shallow alabaster oil lamps peeking out of the sanded walls. Inscriptions were engraved into the ceiling, warning any potential thieves of curses and traps.
"Technically, we're not stealing anything," Mello declared, ignoring the stammered translations of the slave who was guiding them.
"We're just taking back what's rightfully ours," Matt added, thinking of his smokes and gaming gear. Personally, he thought it silly to risk their lives for things that could easily be replaced or were worth more in sentiment than anything else, but it was Mello, and abandoning his most prized belongings was on par with betraying himself – a surrender of sorts.
Fortunately, not a single guard was in sight; all of the palace sentries had been dispatched to search for the pharaoh's killers. Apparently, it hadn't occurred to any of them that the rogue fugitives were audacious enough to break into the vaults for their confiscated possessions.
"So, what are we up against?" Mello asked, cracking his knuckles.
"I-I d-do not know f-for certain…"
"Anything from pitfalls to wires," Matt cut in, subconsciously slipping into his comfort zone. This wouldn't be too difficult – it was just another system to beat. Robbery and hacking were the same game played by different rules. The objective: infiltration. And the reward?
Well, that was up to the player.
The trio ventured deeper into the passageway, eventually coming across a set of stairs spiraling lower underground. Mello's arm shot out to prevent Matt from going any further. The blond rounded on the sniveling Asiatic slave, who flinched and raised his arms as though protecting himself from an impending attack.
"You go first," Mello commanded.
The older man whimpered and shook his head frantically.
Mello clicked his tongue. "Then," he said flatly, "you have outlived your usefulness."
Matt turned his head in time; there was a resounding thump as the man collapsed to the gravel-covered ground. The redhead hugged the Book tightly to his chest, feeling his heart thud furiously against his ribcage.
"You didn't…you didn't have to..."
"I didn't actually kill him, you idiot," Mello muttered, crouching down to inspect the slave's body. With a start, Matt noticed the steady rise and fall of the man's cotton-clad chest. Mello had merely rendered him unconscious. But why?
As if to answer Matt's unspoken question, Mello reached for the slave's left ankle and snapped it as effortlessly as if the bones inside had been made of chalk. He did the same to the right one.
"This way, it'll be too difficult for him to run off and tell anyone that we're down here," Mello explained, standing up. "As for sparing his life, I'm not going to risk obliterating a family tree. I don't want to alter history anymore than we already have, not if I can help it. If he dies today, it won't be by our hands."
"…I understand."
Mello squinted into the impenetrable darkness beyond the descending staircase. "We'll need some light down here. I'll get us a lamp." He turned to double back.
"No, wait!" Matt cried out in alarm. "For all we know, they could be rigged."
"The lamps? Rigged?"
Matt nodded. "What better way to stop intruders than to catch them before they could actually breach the treasury? Anyone who's familiar with the vaults would most likely know well enough to bring a candle or torch beforehand. No, the lamps are there to merely to tempt and bait us."
Mello let out a growl of frustration. "Time to get creative, then." The blond shrugged off his cloak and began twisting it into an oblong bundle. "This will have to do."
Matt watched as the nude boy made his way to the nearest wall pocket and dunked the tip of his robes into the pale stone lamp, which was filled to the brim with castor oil. Mello was careful not to disturb the bowl itself as he transferred the greasy cloth to the flickering flame at the end of the wick.
There was a faint vhoom as Mello's makeshift torch burst to life.
"Shit," Matt breathed. "Be careful."
The blond swung the flaming bundle downward so that the fire was pointing toward the sandy floor. "I'll give it one minute at most before it burns up."
Matt yanked off his robes as well and hastily dabbed a sleeve into the same lamp, drenching it with oil for later use. "Make that two."
The pair wasted no time venturing down the stairs, following the sandaled footprints that General Horembeb had so thoughtfully left behind after his last visit. The faded tracks would've been invisible if it hadn't been for Mello's cotton torch, which was shriveling into ashes by the second.
There was a noticeable discrepancy on the last two steps: the layers of sand sitting on top of them were undisturbed, like virgin snow. Mello and Matt jumped and landed safely at the foot of the stairs, clearing the obvious triggers.
Mello hissed in surprise. "Look…"
Matt glanced up, following Mello's gaze. There were several large boulders strapped above the entranceway, only visible now that they were on the other side of the wall. A nervous and giddy sweat broke out on his brow. Matt quickly turned his attention to the rest of the chamber.
"Hold on," he whispered.
The redhead scooped up handful of sand and tossed it high into the air. For a fleeting moment, the airborne grains exposed the deadly trap that awaited them.
As he had predicted, there were thin taut ropes stretched across the vault at neck and stomach level, ready to decapitate and disembowel any trespassers who walked right into them. Unsanctioned visitors would have no choice but to get on their knees and crawl – if they still had their heads on their shoulders, that was.
But Matt and Mello were no ordinary unsanctioned visitors. Using their improvised torch, they traced General Horembeb's footsteps to the corner of the chamber, painstakingly edging along the wall without touching it. There, a tiny lever jutted out of one of the bricks. The naked gamer felt a familiar thrill of joy as he pulled it down, successfully loosening the wiry ropes that now dangled limply mid-air.
"Score!" he crowed.
"Don't celebrate just yet," Mello muttered, gesturing for Matt to hand over his own bundle of oiled robes. Soon enough, they had another minute of light to rely on.
The men scrambled across the room, careful not to stray from General Horembeb's trodden path. Shelves and chests of the deceased pharaoh's personal toys, jewels and weapons loomed above them on the opposite wall, but Matt had his heart set on only one type of treasure, as did Mello.
"Come to Daddy," Mello said reverently, launching himself into the search.
Two floors and half a mile above his fellow successors, Near was maneuvering through the aisles of the silent palace library. The hood of his cloak was pulled protectively over his head, shielding his telltale white curls from sight.
The SPK leader padded past shelf after shelf of papyrus scrolls and books, fully aware of the vast treasury of knowledge that was just inches beyond his physical grasp. It irked him that he couldn't look nor touch.
Ankhesenamun was buried deep in the archives, hovering over the shoulders of two scribes. She looked startled by Near's arrival.
"How did you get in here?"
"There weren't any guards," Near answered uncomfortably.
The unknowing widow stared at him. "Where are they?"
"Here and there." Near blinked owlishly at the older woman before turning to leave. "Please, we require your assistance."
Ankhe, as Tut had fondly called her, reluctantly detached herself from the scribes' side and fell into step with him. Near kept quiet until they reached the entrance, where the previously stifled chaos became audible again. The queen promptly ran to the railing and looked in horror at the commotion below them. Slaves were running up and down the corridors, as were several fully armed soldiers.
"Tut was assassinated by Ay," Near informed her, meeting her questioning gaze. "He has framed us for the murder." He paused, hesitating before saying, "I'm sorry."
The royal swayed on the spot, clutching her stomach in anguish.
Near didn't know much about ancient Egyptian politics, but he knew enough to suggest, "You'll have to find another husband if you don't want Ay usurping the throne."
"Then I will write to the Hittite King," she whispered, her dark eyes wide with fear. "Suppiluliumas has many sons. He'll become the new pharaoh of Egypt. I will never marry my grandfather, never."
Near nodded solemnly. He didn't know any other form of condolence he could offer. "My friends are waiting in the throne room with the Book of the Dead," he murmured. "We need your help sending us back to the future. Can you do that for us?"
Something sparked within the young queen's eyes. "Why should I? It is your fault my husband is dead. If you had not succeeded with your mission, Ay would not have had any reason to kill him!"
"Tutankhamun was already a ticking time bomb. He knew it, Ay knew it." Near pursed his lips. "Tut did this for you."
"You are a mean boy," Ankhe wept.
"I'm an honest man," Near said quietly. "I was just stating the facts."
A/N: This is ultimately a Matt-centric fic; however, I felt that it would be too unfair/easy if I skipped over Near's part and made him show up in the throne room just like *that*
Trivia – The Hittite King sent his son, Prince Zanannza, to marry Ankhe. Upon entering Egypt, he was suspiciously murdered. Tut's widow then had no choice but to marry Ay :/
Special thanks to the latest readers and reviewers: TheCatchingLightAlchemist, Lady Friday, near's girl (I got the idea around Halloween xD Thanks for the reviews!), TeamDeanWinchester4Ever, akatsukifan (oh merciful Mello ^_^), Kira the Wolf, CharizardCyndi, OhMyGeePinkSucksAss ~
This is the penultimate chapter. I may or may not include an epilogue. We shall see!