ONE WEEK LATER…
"Carnahan, I'm going to bloody kill you!" Andy Hallet bellowed, arms and legs pumping as the pair of them sprinted down the uneven cobbles of the tiny alley. "We'll go drop in for a quick chat, he says! He's an old mate, he says! What the hell made me believe you?!"
"Well, like my dear old dad used to say, there's one born every minute!" Jonathan Carnahan's heart was pounding and his body was singing and he had almost burst into a maniacal cackle when the kid took a turn too fast and almost smacked into a brewery wall, but in a weird way Jonathan hadn't felt this absolutely exhilarated in a long time. "And how was I supposed to know that he'd still be touchy about that pesky business in '29? I'd say that was a gross exaggeration."
"A gross exaggeration?! You drove a herd of camels through his front room!"
"I'm sorry, d'you want to go back and commiserate with the bloke that just chased us out with a scimitar?"
Hallet paused in his stride long enough to shoot Jonathan daggers with his dark eyes.
"Chased you out!"
"Is this really the right time to quibble semantics?"
"Oh, brilliant. I'm Carnahan by association." The kid grumbled. "And why the holy hell are you smiling?"
Because that was what Jonathan Carnahan did, he danced as close to the edge as he could to defy fate to push him off. And until that day he was damned well going to have fun.
"Maybe it's just your bubbly personality lighting up my day."
"Piss off!"
Spotting a familiar landmark, Jonathan snagged the kid's wrist and dragged him clear through the apothecary and into the Irish pub on the corner, none of the patrons sparing them more than a passing glance as they crept by the bar in a crouch and slipped out a side door, leaving Jonathan in no doubt that the level of the clientele hadn't exactly risen since he was a regular when he was nineteen or so.
The running footsteps behind them faded away as the two of them popped out onto a more reputable quiet stretch of cobbles, to the faint sounds of playing children and the obnoxious shouting of streetside hawkers, all underlined by the vague seafood-and-shit smell of the water. Jonathan tucked in his shirt and fixed his jacket before shooting Andy a grin, sinking into a casual walk somewhere between a saunter and a strut like nothing had ever happened.
"And there we go. Tail dropped. Easy peasy."
And serves the little bugger right for thinking that Jonathan needed a babysitter.
"I hate you."
"Oh pish, a brisk jog never killed anyone."
Hallet had a hand over his heart, chest heaving like he was close to an apoplectic fit.
"I hate you so much."
"You know, for a young man I really thought you'd be in better shape."
"Oh, go die in a ditch." Hallet ran a hand wearily down his face, suddenly a thousand years old. "I need a damn drink." He groaned.
"Oh!" Jonathan said brightly. "What are you in the mood for? I know a couple of great places. Well, middling places. Well, you probably won't get stabbed right away."
"No!" Hallet immediately said. The kid flushed a little at his tone before scowling. "Like hell I'm ever going anywhere with you ever again."
"So dramatic, Andrew!"
For a long moment Hallet just stared at him, steaming, before turning smartly and stalking away.
"Ah, Master Hallet?" Jonathan said helpfully. "The hotel is the other way-"
"Fuck yourself!" The kid snapped back. Jonathan stuck his hands in his pockets and watched as the kid stomped away. He took in a lungful of crisp, dry air. And grinned.
Buying an apple off a street vendor he meandered back in the direction of the hotel. Hostel. Squat. Whatever. He'd slept in better places, but he'd also slept in worse places. He took a bite of his fruit and turned down another side street.
And stopped in his tracks.
Standing there in the centre of the road, tattered robe flapping in the slight breeze, stood Imhotep.
The apple dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. Imhotep slowly turned and Jonathan stared into that ruined face. The priest's eyes narrowed, recognising him, before he opened his mouth inhumanly wide and screamed.
Jonathan squeezed his eyes closed, and when he opened them again Imhotep was gone, the street empty apart from a skinny kid that stared at him before darting away. His mouth was completely dry. What earlier had been a comfortable heat was now overwhelming, scorching down on his head and shoulders and sending a trickle of sweat down his spine.
Suddenly weak, he caught himself against the wall of a nearby building.
A week.
They had come out of the desert a week ago, and Jonathan had discovered that the fog that first descended across his mind when he read from the Emerald Tablet would occasionally cloud his brain and with the swish of a skirt or a flick of a hand suddenly he was seeing people that weren't there, couldn't have possibly been there. People who were long gone, he knew without a doubt were long gone, those who were never going to come back.
And dear old Imhotep was following him.
The first time Jonathan had seen the spectre, they were fresh out of the desert. Jonathan had slept for the whole day and night, coming awake to a dry tackiness in his mouth and a rather pressing sensation in the bladder. After shuffling off to take care of business, Jonathan had groped around in the semi-darkness for the sink, washing his hands and splashing water on his face in an attempt to feel slightly human again. He had briefly considered stumbling down to the common area to find something to wash the desert out of his mouth before simply bending down and taking a mouthful of water directly from the faucet.
Ah, 3AM water.
He straightened, turned off the tap, looked at himself in the mirror, and-
How Jonathan managed not to scream like a little girl he really didn't know. The priest was standing behind Jonathan's reflection, ruined face and all, looking for all the world like they were in a queue at the grocers and he was waiting politely to be acknowledged. When the chap was satisfied that he had finally been noticed, he smiled conspiratorially and raised a finger to his lips.
Jonathan whirled, his sleeve catching on the soap dish and sending it clattering to the floor. Seconds later the washroom's lights snapped on and Rick was standing in the doorway, gun in hand.
"What's going on?" His brother-in-law snapped, entirely more lucid then he should have been. "You okay?"
There was no way Rick wouldn't notice the wild way Jonathan stared around the room before looking back into the mirror almost desperately.
Imhotep was gone.
"Nothing to worry about, old boy." His heart felt like it was trying to punch through his ribcage as he pressed a hand to his chest.
His brother-in-law looked around the washroom himself before glancing into the mirror himself. Jonathan could only see himself and Rick. Imhotep was gone. "Yeah, that's why you look like you're about to fall down."
"I daresay I was still half in the Land of Nod and startled myself."
Rick's look was doubtful. "Uh huh."
He was still clutching his racing heart. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Jonathan, do you have any idea what would happen to me if I let you die now?" Rick's brows quirked up.
"You're scared of my sister?"
"Aren't you?" Rick retorted. After a moment his voice gentled. "Listen, you sure you're alright?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Well, you've been dragged across the world and been pretty banged up, it's pretty easy for all that crap to come out now, and-"
His brain finally deciding that now was the time to actually kick in properly, Jonathan suddenly understood what his brother-in-law was hinting at. Stress. Shellshock. Sensations and emotions crashing in and threatening to crush you as soon as the adrenaline was no longer holding them back. Yes, of course! That made perfect sense! That's why!
Jonathan probably shouldn't sound so happy about it though. He squeezed Rick's shoulder, halting the man's awkward words as Rick looked at him. It wouldn't have been the first time the two of them had sat together, pulling each other back when a thunderstorm sounded too much like shelling, a car backfiring had sent one of them diving to the ground, or even a simple question sending one spiralling back decades.
"I know."
"Don't think I'm gettin' sentimental though."
"Perish the thought."
And the two parted ways.
That was a week ago.
And since then Jonathan's unconscious mind was still a mash of images he couldn't completely unjumble. Why he couldn't seem to bring himself to tell his friends or Evy he didn't know. Evy knew more about Jonathan than he was comfortable with. Evy knew more about Jonathan that she was comfortable with.
A week ago.
The fog would descend and his long-dead captain would be there ordering them over the top to face the army of Anubis while the dying Frenchman he was trying to save bargained for his life by offering him a hawk-headed canopic jar with a bloody hand. His SIS handler turned to him with a decomposing face and reached out to him with a skeletal hand and one of the GC&SE ladies reached into her perfectly-pressed pinafore and offered him a snapping scarab beetle.
The little girl from the farm that he hadn't saved solemnly held out the Book of the Dead as she stood at the head of a phalanx of corpses, the Union Jack crushed into the dirt. And to save all of them from the Creature, Evy was sacrificing herself again.
Only this time his sister was Sigrun Magnusson and the three doomed Americans had the faces of Andy Hallet, Kurt Steiner and Vasily Dragovitch.
Then the ocean of chaos rose up and everything was silenced.
LATER…
He wasn't looking forward to this, not at all. He'd tried several times now to contact Professor Fisher but he'd been away until tonight, this benefit dinner for the Archaeology and Anthropology department. Fisher was deep in conversation with the Chancellor and two other professors and he was genuinely considering interrupting to just get this whole thing over and done with when the prof farewelled them and stumped across the floor, leaning heavily on his cane while he stared wordlessly at the displayed artefacts.
Alex O'Connell was about to approach the professor that could bar him from the university his family had attended for generations, when he heard a delighted shout behind him.
"Alex!"
He spun, feeling like he was suddenly put on the spot. "Mum, what are you doing here?"
"What sort of question is that? We were invited, sweetie." Evy O'Connell smoothed his jacket and straightened his tie. Alex looked up to see his dad standing over her shoulder. Rick would support Evy to the end, though Alex knew his dad was bored witless at scholarly events like this. "What are you doing here? You graduated last year."
Oh.
Bugger.
He felt himself briefly freeze. "Ah, yes. Yes, ah, about that."
"Alexander?" But of course his dad noticed his miniscule tick. "Is there something you want to tell us?"
"Well, you see. About… my degree?"
"Yes?" His dad's eyes narrowed, and Alex swallowed.
"There's something wrong with your degree?" Evy frowned. "Well, I'm sure I can talk to George and sort something out-"
"No!"
"Alexander Rupert O'Connell!" His mum barked. "What have you done?"
Alex's eyes went wide. "I… didn't… actually…"
"What?"
He swallowed. "Graduate."
"What?" His mum breathed, a dangerous spark to her eye.
"Honey." Rick said warningly.
"What do you mean you didn't graduate?" Evy's voice rose dangerously, and Alex winced as some of the other professors looked around for the source of the noise.
"You better do some fast talking here, kiddo." His dad said.
Alex gulped.
"Ah, Mr O'Connell. I hear you have been looking for me." There was a cane tapping on the tile, and Alex whirled from his parents to face his professor, red creeping up his neck. In that moment he could have kissed his professor for walking up when he did.
"Professor!"
"Hello, George." Evy said with a strained smile.
"Evelyn, looking as ravishing as ever." Professor Fisher kissed her on the cheek.
"Still married, Fish." Rick joked, shaking Fisher's hand.
"How was the Amazon?" Evy asked. "I'm so jealous!"
"We'd welcome you back at any time." Fisher said. "Our girls need to see more women in top positions and the Old Guard could use a good shakeup-"
All right, the apprehension was killing him. "Professor Fisher," Alex interrupted. "Have you got the letter from Dr Magnusson yet?"
His parents looked at him, confused.
"Why would Magnusson be writing a letter?" Rick asked.
Alex flushed. "Er."
"Alexander O'Connell, what have you done?" His mum asked flatly.
But that was when the Professor decided to intervene. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do have a letter from Dr Magnusson." From an inside breast pocket he withdrew a thick envelope, and Alex felt all the colour drain from his face. Maybe he could accidentally spill a glass of red wine on the envelope, or-
"I've already read it." Fisher said, reading Alex's expression and anticipating his train of thought. "Let me quote you my favourite pieces." He put the envelope against his forehead in a rather theatrical way, and Alex was abruptly reminded that Fishy George Fisher was indeed another one of his uncle's old friends. "'Mr O'Connell is rash, undisciplined and argumentative'-"
"Alex!" Evy cried.
"I can explain-" Alex started hurriedly.
"-'he is impulsive and prone to flights of fancy, which, arguably, can simply be put down to family influence'-"
Rick swallowed an inappropriate laugh while Evy did a double-take. "Excuse me?"
Alex swallowed. "Professor, what I think Dr Magnusson means is-"
"'But'-" Fisher raised his hand slightly to halt the protests. "-'he is tenacious, intuitive and willing to take risks to protect his team and the people around him'."
"Oh." He frowned. Honestly he'd been convinced the entire time that Magnusson didn't like him in the slightest and he wouldn't have been there at all if she and Uncle Jon hadn't been close. It had been an entirely new experience being the annoying ring-in while his uncle was the established team member.
"'And in my experience as someone who has worked in the field of archaeology professionally for the last 13 years, it would be my careful and considered opinion that it would be a shame and a waste not to grant Mr O'Connell his degree'." His little pantomime done, Professor Fisher slipped the envelope back into his jacket. "You should have all the papers by the next week."
"Oh." Alex said, feeling struck dumb. "Thank you, sir."
"It's not me you should be thanking, as you are well aware." Fisher said. He knocked his cane against the floor a couple of times. "Perhaps over there."
Alex frowned and looked where the professor had indicated, and blinked at the familiar form crossing the ballroom floor, two glasses of champagne in one hand and sipping from a third in the other.
"Jonathan?" Evy said with some confusion.
And Uncle Jon must have somehow heard her, because he turned, and the confusion crinkling his brow smoothed as he saw it was them. He smiled and jerked his head in a 'c'mon' motion. Alex saw that his uncle wasn't that far away from Doctor Magnusson and her team, and he offloaded the other two glasses of champagne to the Doc and Mr Steiner. Andy Hallet saw where Jonathan was looking and grinned.
"O'Connell! Get down here!"
And Alex smiled.