The Mummy (Ramses the Damned 1)

"Allow me to offer you a great bargain!" said the merchant. "This one here is not like the others. See? If you look you can see the fine bones of this one, for he was a great King. Come! Come closer. Have a good look at him."

Slowly Elliott obeyed. The wrappings were thick, moldering, as ancient in appearance as any he had ever seen! And the smell rising from them, the rotting, stinking smell of earth and bitumen; but there, beneath that thick veneer, he could see the face; see the nose and the broad plain of the forehead, see clearly the sunken eyes, the thin mouth! He was staring at the face of Henry Stratford, and there was no doubt.

The morning sun broke in glorious rays through the round porthole, piercing the sheer white veils of the small brass bed.

They sat together against the barred bedstead; warm from their lovemaking; warm from the wine they'd drunk.

Now she watched as he filled the tumbler from the vial. Tiny lights danced in the strange liquid. He held it out to her.

She took it from him, then looked into his eyes. For one tiny moment she was afraid again. And it seemed suddenly she was not in this room. She was on the deck in the mist and it was cold. The sea was waiting. Then she shivered, and the warm sun melted over her skin, and she saw the touch of fear in his eyes too.

Only human, only a man, she thought. He does not know what will happen any more than I do! And she smiled.

She drank the tumbler down.

"The body of a King, I tell you," said the merchant, leaning forward in farcical confidentiality. "I give to you for nothing! Because I like you. I see you are a gentleman. You have good taste. This mummy, you can get it out of Egypt, it's nothing. I pay the bribe for you...." On and on went the chant of lies, the song of commerce, the idiot imitation of truth.

Henry under that gauze! Henry locked in the filthy bandages forever! Henry whom he had caressed in that little room in Paris a lifetime ago.

"Come now, sir, don't turn your back upon the mysteries of Egypt, sir, deepest darkest Egypt, sir. Land of magic ..."

The voice faded; echoed for a moment as he stumbled a few steps away and towards the full light of the sun.

A great burning disk, it hung over the rooftops. It flashed in his eyes as he looked up at it.

And never taking his eyes off it, he grasped the cane firmly as he reached into his coat and pulled out the flask. Then dropping the cane altogether, he opened the flask and drank the contents in great easy gulps to the very last drop.

Petrified as the chills passed through him, he let the flask fall into the dirt. He felt the heat in spasms. He felt his numb leg come to life. The great weight in his chest slowly melted; and stretching his limbs with the utter abandon of an animal, he stared wide-eyed at the glaring sky; at the golden disk.

Before him the world pulsed, shimmered, then became solid again as he had not seen it since his middle years when his vision had begun to slowly fail. He saw the grains of earth at his feet.

Stepping over the silver walking stick, ignoring the shouts of the merchant behind him that he had lost his cane and must wait, he walked out of the bazaar with long easy strides.

The sun was high above in the noon sky as he left Cairo, as he walked on along the thin road to the east. He did not really know where he was going and it didn't matter. There were monuments and wonders and cities enough to behold. His steps were quick, and the desert had never seemed so beautiful to him, this great monotonous ocean of sand.

He had done it! And there was no undoing of it now. Eyes fixed on the vast azure emptiness above him, he gave a soft cry intended for no one, merely the smallest, most spontaneous expression of his joy.

They stood on the deck, the warm sun blanketing them as they embraced one another. She could feel the magic moving through her skin and her hair. She felt his lips graze hers, and suddenly they were kissing as they had never really kissed before. It was the same fire, yes, but now her strength and her urgency came to the fore to meet his.

He lifted her and carried her back into the little bedroom and laid her down on the bed. The veiling fell silently around them, snaring the light and wrapping them up in it.

"You are mine, Julie Stratford," he whispered. "My Queen forever. And I am yours. Always yours."

"Lovely words," she whispered, smiling at him almost sadly. She wanted always to remember this moment; to remember the look in his blue eyes.

Then slowly, yet feverishly, they began to make love.

HE YOUNG doctor grabbed his bag and ran towards the infirmary, the young foot soldier running beside him.

"Just dreadful, sir, burned to a crisp, sir, and wedged down there under the crates at the very bottom of the freight car. I don't know how she can be alive."

What in God's name was he going to be able to do for her, out here at this godforsaken outpost in the jungles of the Sudan?

He steadied himself against the doorjamb as he came to a halt inside the room.

The nurse shook her head as she came towards him. "I don't understand it," she said in a stage whisper, with a pointed glance at the bed.

"Let me see her." He pulled back the mosquito netting. "Why, this woman's not burned at all."