brave Nuphel-Don, devoted apprentices at her side, in the elaborate draped clothing I’d seen in the frescoes outside, feverishly inscribing, lit by candles or torches, as the air ran out and the remnants of the city trembled outside, guardians forever of the king’s tomb, and forgotten or even cursed by everyone except Johnny, who had dug up her story.
After what seemed like forever in the long entrance hallway—and hang on, how big was this place, anyway? The site itself wasn’t that big—it finally branched, a Y-shape rather than a T, curving rather than straight. Both branches held a blackness so solid it was like asphalt rather than air, and something deep inside me, seeing the light of the entrance recede, whimpered—a dark room, the sound of bullets resounding, echoing, a darkness punctuated only by lighters, matches, strange men.
It was so quiet I could hear Johnny’s watch ticking. Once we turned the corner, even the grey light from the entrance would be gone. We would just have our flashlight.
Johnny turned left, and I followed without protest. One way was as good as another down here. The air, amazingly cool after the furnace outside, smelled of dust or sand and nothing else. Johnny and I had been so thoroughly sandblasted that even our sweat smelled of the desert. If They tracked by smell I didn’t even think They’d be able to find us.
A slithering bump behind us; I whipped around with the flashlight, seeing nothing.
“Nicky.” Her voice steady again, though very high. “I need the light.”
“Sorry.”
I kept it on the walls and floor as we walked, taking turns at what seemed like random, often backtracking, our footprints already smudged by other tracks. From the corner of my eye I saw dark shapes moving and thought: Just do what she said. Ignore them. Do what she said. She’s got you this far. Plus maybe you can smack it with the shovel. Whatever it is.
I was very aware that we had no way out down here, that it would be the work of a moment if one of Them wanted to block the doorway. That we’d never leave.
Clicking, behind us, distinct now. I turned again, unable to help myself, shining the light quickly around, up, down—still nothing. But the air in the clay-lined tunnel felt different, had mass, weight, had pressure, the way you know someone’s home when you open the door whether you can see them or not.
“John. There’s something in here with us...”
“I know. Keep walking. Don’t run.” She sped up, though, so I had to lengthen my strides to keep up. “Not all of Their servants could be seen. That’s mentioned in some of the stories out of China and Egypt and the Aztecs. Atlantis, too. Numerous accounts later saying that what destroyed many homes and temples couldn’t be seen.”
“I hope it’s not one of those things. I hope it’s Boba Fett.”
“Me too.”
“I mean, not to say that getting caught by Boba Fett would suck more than getting caught by… whatever that is.”
“Yeah. And I wouldn’t have to pay out the reward money either.”
“That’s true.”
A left, a right, a left. Back again, the invisible presence receding, as if mocking us. A left, a left, a right. A room with a shining black table in the centre of an old, wavy-edged brown stain, tapestries in the background still bright and clean, gold threads winking like neon signs in the single pass of the flashlight. A room with stone chairs, carved with sea creatures, sharks and octopi, lobsters, things I didn’t know. A room with battle scenes on the wall, incised hard into clay, not carved into stone—horses, chariots, arrows, spears, an enemy obscured by the shadows as we rushed past it.
Something glittering in another room, barely glimpsed before we turned—vases, masks, horns, cups, all made of gold, clean and smooth and menacing, decorated with bright blue and green stones. The sand on the floor ran out and we were walking on bricks, the flashlight glittering off something in them, maybe flecks of mica, like Johnny’s granite countertops back home. Whatever was behind us, the legion behind us, grew; I felt the air grow crowded with their presence, refused to turn around and look. We doubled back, crisscrossed, circled.
“Are we lost?” I whispered at last. The air felt heavy, charged. Even if I had not known something was coming, the signs were becoming physical, impossible to ignore.
“Yep. And we can’t waste any more time on this. We’re going to have to ask for