Chapter 1 #2
As the hall darkens the further in we go, Claude fumbles with the matches in his hand before finally lighting the oil lamp he brought.
Firelight illuminates the temple walls in a flash of lambent yellow flames.
The lamp’s low light casts flickering shadows onto the hieroglyphics etched on every available surface, revealing the towering, cracked-stone columns valiantly upholding the slab ceiling.
I can almost imagine ancient Egyptian priests walking up and down these same halls.
I wrinkle my nose at the acrid stench of the match—before he carelessly drops it on the ground.
My eyes fall into slits and I straighten, once more reaching into my pocket for my switchblade.
A lover of antiquity would never litter inside an ancient temple.
With each passing moment, I become more and more convinced that Claude has been lying to me.
Definitely not the emissary from the museum. But, then, who is he?
Squinting into the growing dark, I do a quick mental check of whether or not I brought my flashlight.
I remember the glint of the bulb when I shoved it into my knapsack at home, but I haven’t thought of it again until now.
Batteries have proven themselves to be more reliable than fire anyway, and if something happens to Claude’s lamp—or Claude—at least I’ll have something to light my way. And potentially a secondary weapon.
Because there’s no way in hell I’m leaving here without what I came all this way for. Certainly not because of an inability to see in the dark.
I stare at the back of his head, preparing myself for a fight, even as I recognize my body isn’t quite prepared for one.
Not after hours of sitting in a cramped plane and then that damned car.
If my Jujitsu fails me, I could pull a muscle or throw out my back, and then where would I be?
Helpless, in the dark, and without a ride out of here. I’d be right at home with the mummies.
I attempt to fill the pressing silence as we pass into the second hypostyle hall. “What can you tell me about this place?”
My voice reverberates shrilly through the vacant temple. I wince at the sound; I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I already learned all I could about this temple and its history back home, of course. But, perhaps if I keep him talking, he’ll reveal his true intentions.
He clears his throat. “This temple, the pharaoh Seti the First built it in 1300 BC. Was once the center of worship for Osiris, god of the dead.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the crook of the famous Egyptian god he speaks of carved into a nearby column.
“Tombs of some of the first pharaohs were discovered here,” he continues, leading me down a shallow flight of steps. “People wanted to be buried in this temple.”
“Who knew a mortuary would be so popular,” I mutter.
He doesn’t reply.
Stopping so quickly that I nearly run into him, he points into the murky half-light before us. I squint past the rows of pillars to see what he’s gesturing at, finding only carved stone.
“Behind these walls is the Osireion, cenotaph to Osiris. The god himself is supposed to be buried inside the hidden room.”
The Osireion is where the museum said I’d find the artifact. They were very clear about it in their telegram. A few pieces of the puzzle of my purpose here click together as he leads me down another half dozen steps.
I almost ask him about the amulet I was sent here to retrieve.
I bite my tongue instead, my steps faltering at the reminder that Claude isn’t who he says he is.
Though he hasn’t tried anything yet, there’s a chance he means me harm.
Keeping my purpose here hidden does nothing except delay the inevitable, but I also don’t want to physically hurt him if I end up being wrong.
He continues, his English markedly improved.
Odd. “The chamber has supposedly been filled with water for years, from a nearby aquifer”—so that’s why I smell stagnant water—“including the sarcophagus chamber. No one has been able to enter that part of the Osireion in the modern age. I imagine that’s why you’re here. ”
My breath stalls in my chest. He should know exactly why I’m here—he shouldn’t have to imagine it.
Fuck.
Fear whips my pulse into a frenzy as my grip tightens around my switchblade.
Thinking about stabbing this man if I have to, sinking the blade into his flesh… I realize I can’t kill him in cold blood. I’ve never even threatened anyone with it, much less stabbed someone, especially with the intent to kill.
Soon, though, I may not have a choice.
Taking a quick left into a passthrough room, my thumb slowly slides the safety switch off of the blade and hovers over the release button.
Worst fears practically confirmed now, my breathing shallows.
The deeper in we go, the more trapped I feel.
As far as I can tell, the only direct route out of here is the way we came in.
With his back turned to me, I could attempt to make a run for it. I have no doubts that I’d outrun him. But if he has a gun stashed somewhere, I won’t get very far, and I’ll have tipped my hand. Besides, he has the keys to the car; even if I did make it there, I’d have no way of starting it.
I’m also not ready to give up on this whole endeavor quite yet—I came all this way, after all. But neither can I ignore my instincts.
I glance up at the sunlight sinking down through the small, man-made hole above me. A black and white pattern marks the bowed ceiling, and nearly every wall etching depicts Osiris. This must be his chapel.
I prod Claude, hoping I can get him to admit who he actually is. “I’m not surprised, then, that the museum has great interest in this temple.”
He turns his head as if to peer back at me, but won’t meet my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll be… pleased by your findings.”
I grimace. I’m sure you will.
As we pass into the Inner Osiris Hall, with only the sound of sand and pebbles scuffing underfoot, I nearly press the button to release my switchblade. Limbs restless, I squirm at the anticipation of what he plans to do with me. Is he going to leave me here? Does he want the amulet for himself?
I shake my head. Of course, he wants the amulet for himself. And what sort of idiot would leave you here and risk the chance of you escaping when he can simply kill you?
I hadn’t thought of that.
My pulse quickens again and I bite the inside of my cheek to focus—I’m running out of time to come up with a plan. Once we reach the entrance to the Osireion, I’ll be out of options.
“I have to tell you, Miss Hawkins, you’re not at all what I was expecting,” Claude muses. Curiously, his accent is no longer heavy with his native tongue. In fact…
Shit. I should’ve noticed it before. He barely said a word to me in the car ride, but the more he’s spoken to me in the temple, the more his throat intonations have become less French and more Germanic. I’d know it anywhere.
Following my instincts, I lean in for a closer look at his neck tattoo: it’s not anything French, like I assumed before.
Instead, the beginnings of a black-circled swastika peek out from the collar of his shirt.
My throat closes up and revulsion consumes me.
Unless Claude practices Hinduism or Buddhism, there’s only one possibility:
Claude is a goddamn agent of the German Third Reich.