He would be released; he had not touched the one who would ensure it, except to strengthen the bond between them, and he left the other enough to assist. They would peel the binding spell away and he would rise, magic restored, ready to claim his place in this strange new world.
He would deal with them then.
'Where is everybody?"
'Well, as no one knew when we were going to be allowed back into the workroom, I told them they might as well finish up any paperwork and then head home."
Dr. Rax turned to stare at his assistant curator. You told them what he wanted to shout. We have the first new mummy in decades and you dismissed my staff? But somewhere between thought and speech, the words changed. "That seems reasonable. No point in them hanging around with nothing to do." He frowned, confused.
Reaching the door to the workroom, Dr. Shane peeled off the six-inch strip of bright yellow and black police tape that has been pasted over the lock. "I'm glad you agree." She hadn't been sure he would. In fact, now that she thought about it, she wondered how she could have? could have? "And it's not like we'll need them for what we're about to do."
'No?" He had the strangest feeling that they were walking into deadly danger and half expected the door to creak open like a bad special effect. We should get out of here now, while there's still time. Then they were in the workroom with the mummy and nothing else mattered.
Together they removed the plastic shroud, bundling it carelessly to one side.
'I do feel a bit guilty about young Ellis though," Dr. Shane sighed as she pulled two pairs of cotton work gloves out of the cardboard box marked Wear these or die! "Heart failure might have been the cause, but our mummy certainly contributed to the effect."
'Nonsense." Dr. Rax worked his fingers into the gloves. "As dreadful as it was, as sad as it was, we are in no way responsible for that young man's fears." He picked up a pair of broad-tipped tweezers and bent over the coffin, breathing through his mouth to minimize the almost overpowering smell of cedar. Very, very gently, he caught hold of the hieroglyphic strip at the point where the winding ended on the mummy's chest. "I think we'll need some solvent. It appears to be attached to the actual wrappings."
'Cedar gum?"
'I think so."
He continued to apply a gentle pull on the ancient linen while Dr. Shane carefully moistened the end with a solvent-soaked cotton swab.
'It's amazing how little the fabric has deteriorated over the centuries," she observed. "I send a shirt to the dry cleaner twice and it begins to fall apar?!" The hand holding the swab jerked back.
'What is it?"
'The chest, where I touched it, it felt warm." She laughed a little nervously, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. "Even through the glove."
Dr. Rax snorted. "Probably the heat from the lights."
'They're fluorescent."
'All right, it was a by-product of the slow and continuing process of decay."
'Felt through the wrapping and the glove?"
'How about pure imagination brought on by misdirected guilt over that janitor?"
She managed a doubting smile. "I suppose I'll settle for that."
'Good. Now, can we get back to work?" Deliberately not touching the body, Dr. Shane stroked on a little more of the solvent. "This is the damnedest funereal setup I've ever seen," she muttered. "No Osiran symbols, no tutelary goddesses, no Ded, no Thet, no hieroglyphs at all except on this strip." Her brows drew down. "Shouldn't we? shouldn't we be studying the strip before we remove it?"
'It'll be easier to study once it's off."
'Yes, but?" But what? She couldn't seem to hang onto the thought. Suddenly Dr. Rax smiled. "It's lifting. Stand back."
He could feel the end of the linen lifting, each separate hieroglyph a weight of stone rising off his chest. The spell stretched and tore as it was pulled more and more out of alignment. Then, with a silent shriek that cut through bone and blood and sinew, it ripped apart.
He welcomed the pain. It was his first physical sensation in three millennia and a joyous agony. Nothing came without price and for his freedom, no price was too high. Had his limbs been capable of movement, he would have writhed, but movement would come slowly, over time, and so he could only endure the waves of red that raced the length of his body pushing all else before them, pounding all else beneath them. He only wished that he could scream.
Finally, the last wave began to ebb, leaving behind it a stinging of nettles in his flesh and the red glow of two eyes in the darkness.
My lord? He should have known that if he survived his god would have survived as well.
The eyes grew brighter until by their light his ka could see the birdlike head of his god.