Chapter 2 #2
I gradually bring the oil lamp up to my eye level, my brows shooting up at what I see.
Beautifully detailed etchings flicker along the wall, including a rather long cartouche written in ancient Egyptian.
Atop a throne directly in front of me sits a life-sized depiction of Osiris.
Behind him stands his sister, Isis, with her hands laid protectively on his shoulders, and in front of him is his son, Horus.
The figure grasping Horus’s hand, though, isn’t any god I recognize; it must be Seti I being guided into the afterlife.
More importantly, though: I recognize three hieroglyphs emblazoned in vibrant red on Osiris’s chest. For the first time since Claude pulled out his Luger, hope sparks inside me.
“No one else has made it past this wall,” he explains.
“Given the other entrance is blocked by a cave-in, this is the only way into the cenotaph. None have been able to open it from here.” He takes a step back, heels clicking on the stone floor before he cocks the gun.
“This is the point of no return, Miss Hawkins.”
My gaze flicks to the ceiling, praying to a god I don’t believe in that this will work. It’s not that I haven’t concocted a plan—I have—but it’s half-baked and there’s a good chance I’m not going to get away with it.
I have to try.
I do have one trick up my sleeve, however. While Claude didn’t lay all his cards out on the table at first, I’ve been keeping secrets of my own.
Prior to leaving for Egypt, I researched the Temple of Seti I extensively, something I always do before an expedition.
While thumbing through the texts Nonna provided me, I found a journal.
Clearly copied over from the original source, it was mostly filled with boring observations and nonsense, penned by a man claiming to have assisted Petrie and Caulfeild in their 1902 discovery of the exposed part of the Osireion.
It did have one thing proving to be of value, though: a riddle, supposedly detailing specific Egyptian hieroglyphs present on the secret door to the lower chamber of the Osireion, only accessible from the main temple.
I had no idea how I might find it or what it meant at the time.
It only stuck out in my mind because it seemed so out of place among his other musings about Seti and his son, Ramesses.
But, staring at the symbols etched into Osiris’s chest, I know now what the answer to that riddle is:
The sitting god lays down his heavy head,
and the wall he bows to, falls away in ruin,
to see the world’s eye turn the old god’s fate.
It’s a combination of the god’s name, symbolizing his purpose. I’m an idiot.
Alright, time to focus now.
“The sitting god lays down his heavy head,” I mumble aloud, reaching for the hieroglyph of its name. When I brush the rough stone, I recognize the edges to be slightly raised from the rest of the wall. Eureka! I grip it with the tips of my fingers and nearly shout with joy as it turns on its side.
A mechanism inside the wall clicks audibly.
Despite the increasingly real possibility I might die today, a thrill runs through my body. Am I actually going to find the secret entrance to the Osireion? After all this, I wasn’t sure I’d live long enough to find the damned thing. Yet, here it is, nearly within my reach.
Apparently, Claude feels the same way, inching closer to get a better look. My empty stomach sours at his nearness, even as I’m counting on it.
I reach out again, this time for the raised hieroglyph beside it, and flip the symbol away from the fallen god. “And the wall he bows to, falls away in ruin…”
Something else inside the wall clicks, louder and closer this time.
Claude is practically breathing down my neck now, the fool. I smile, knowing he can’t see it. There’s always a chance he’ll pull the trigger in time to stop me. But if I don’t take advantage of this moment, he’s going to kill me once I find the amulet.
Better to die fighting.
I pretend to reach for the third symbol. “And…”
Aiming my elbow at what I hope is Claude’s jaw, I snap it back.
Pain instantly rattles up my arm as the sound of bone connecting with bone cracks between my ears. My captor yelps at the contact, and then something thumps loudly against the ground.
Turning to take stock of my handiwork, I find Claude sprawled out on the floor, unconscious, the gun limp in his hand. A red mark on the side of his face has already started to form. He must’ve hit his head when he fell, too, because there’s no possible way I knocked him out with a blow to the jaw.
Whatever the reason, I’m grateful.
“Serves you right, you fascist son of a bitch,” I mutter.
Leaning over him, I fight the urge to spit on him and kick the Nazi while he’s down.
Instead, I wrench my switchblade from his other hand and retract the blade before placing it back inside my pocket.
The familiar weight there reassures me. I take the gun as well, setting the oil lamp down to remove my pack from my shoulders and place it on top, easily within reach.
Despite knowing how to shoot them, I’ve never much liked guns.
But he’s going to wake up at some point.
And when he does, it’s better if I’m the one with the semi-automatic pistol.
Lastly, I fish the car keys and matchbook out of his pants pocket and place them in my own. He doesn’t stir.
Facing the wall again, I make a decision: I’m going to finish the combination. There’s no reason to have traveled all this way and not get what I came—and nearly died—for. Especially considering I’m holding all the cards now.
I do agree with Claude on one thing, though; I’m absolutely going to demand hazard pay from the museum for my troubles.
Unless, of course, the museum itself is behind all this. A problem for another time.
My breath trembles while reciting the final line aloud: “To see the world’s eye turn the old god’s fate.”
I shift the eye of Horus onto its side so the tips point vertically, and the final click sounds in the wall—
It’s only now I remember the chamber is supposed to be filled with water.
Before I can leap out of the way from the gallons of ancient liquid I imagine bursting from the entrance, the ground beneath me gives way.