Jon_Potter

The trip via steam locomotive was largely uneventful and a good deal more comfortable than the cab rides had been the previous day. The train followed the eastern bank of the Nile offering tantalizing, yet all too brief glimpses of the pyramids at Giza, the fallen ruins of Memphis, and other crumbling remnants of the ancient antediluvian civilization that had flourished here for ages before the Mycenaeans erected their first statue to Zeus.
At lunch time Pierre passed around spiced chicken wrapped in flat bread and honeyed cakes that he had bought in Cairo, and shortly after finishing their meal, the train pulled into the station at Tel el Amarna which Mikhay'el identified as their stop.
"I thought you said we were going to Ashmunayn," Jack said in an agitated whisper. The monk nodded.
"Ashmunayn is on the El Gomorya River to the west," Mikhay'el told him. "From here we hire drivers to take us the rest of the way."
"Another carriage ride, Doctor," JD smirked. "I guess I'd better prepare my shoulder for pillow duty." Helen huffed and busied herself with her bag.

The carriage ride from the train station into the hills west of the Nile was thankfully short, and Helen was just beginning to nod off from the constant rocking when they pulled into Ashmunayn - such as it was. It was far smaller and far shabbier than Cairo though there seemed to be no shortage of dusty beggars and sad-faced street urchins. They clamored around the two cabs as they pulled into town, and though the driver never slowed they somehow avoided being crushed beneath the carriage' wheels.
Mikhay'el directed them to a shabby hotel on the north end of town and the hostler met them outside as if they were the King of England's entourage. His face was split by an amber-toothed smile and he clapped his hands ecstatically at their arrival, shooing away the beggars and calling them all Effendis, which Jack quickly explained was a title of respect, meaning basically lord of master. It was clear that the hotel did not see many tourists this far off the main thoroughfares of the Nile. There were few amenities to speak of with rooms that were small and ill-kept; but the doors and windows locked and, Mikhay'el assured them, they would only have to stay in town for a night, possibly two before the curse could be lifted.
"Wait here, my friends," Mikhay'el said once they had settled on rooms and were unpacking. "I must seek out my brothers and make arrangements to save Miss Carlyle. I will return after nightfall, but in the meantime, remember: trust no one."

"I don't suppose that this... establishment... has a restaurant," Ellie asked as the day wore on toward night. Since Mikhay'el's departure she had made no effort to conceal the fact that she considered this hotel to be far inferior to any she had stayed in previously, and her voice dripped with that same disdain now. "I haven't eaten anything since the train."
"None of us 'ave, ma chérie," Pierre pointed out and Ellie's reserved demeanor fell suddenly away.
"Je ne suis pas votre 'chèrie', Monsieur Lefou!" she snapped in perfectly accented french."Je suis à votre employeur! Et je- Je--" She faltered, looking abashed at the others before rubbing her head and turning away.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not feeling myself." Pierre laughed the outburst off.
"It ees nothing. I too get grincheux when I 'ave not eaten, Madamoiselle," he soothed. "I am sure I can locate a restaurant or at least a qahwa zat sells ze pastries if you would like to go out and-"
"No," Jack interjected. "We stick out like a sore thumb in this town. I don't think we want to go traipsing around looking for trouble."
"I agree. We shouldn't risk delaying the exorcism and thus jeopardizing Ellie's health further," Helen put in and Pierre shook his head.
"Merde," he scoffed. "Every time I 'ear you say zat word: exorcism... It gives me ze willies!" Jack met his friend's eye and nodded his agreement. This was not a situation for fighting men such as they.
"There is a certain lawlessness still to be found here, far more than in the worst that Chicago or Boston or New York have to offer. I think it stems from the poverty and the division of classes," JD observed, caught himself beginning to ramble and quickly brought himself back on task. "As much as I would like to investigate Ashmunayn, I think we should do exactly as Mikhay'el suggests and stay put to the greatest extent possible."
"But what of Mademoiselle's faim? Her hunger?" Pierre countered. "Surely you would not deny such a belle femme, no?"
"If anyone has any urgent material needs, I suggest you make a list and Jack and I will make a quick trip out to gather what we can," the Professor conceded. "But otherwise, I think staying together here is in everyone's best interests."
"Actually, I think we should get a second room in case we're being set up or Mikhey'al is captured and gives away our location," Jack suggested.
"A decoy room?" JD observed and Jack nodded.
"I like that idea," Helen said, adding her own nod to the proceedings. "I can't think of any down side to it. What do you think, Ellie?" The dilettante shrugged and reached for the lock box amidst her luggage.
"It's only money," she said in a desultory tone.
"Wonderful," Helen said, getting to her feet. "Let's consult the proprietor."
"Pierre will help you with that while JD and I get food. I'd like to take care of that before the sun's completely down," Jack said. He casually checked his pistol before donning his sweat-stained jacket. "Mister, you stay with Ellie."
The negro nodded and pulled his .20 gauge from a bag he'd brought with him.
"But 'ow will you know where we 'ave moved?" Pierre asked his friend. "Should I seek you out once-"
"No, Pierre," Jack said firmly. "Just keep a watch for us - and for the monk too. This place ain't so big that we won't be able to find you in a hurry if we need to."

Like Jack's assessment of their hotel, Ashmunayn itself wasn't so large that getting lost was a worry. Nor was it so small that finding food was difficult. Jack's command of Arabic was sufficient for them to get directions to a coffee house that sold food more substantial than the pastries Pierre had mentioned. He ordered flatbreads, meats and vegetables in several styles both sweet and savory from the stocky man who operated the polished brass sarabantina at the bar, dispensing boiling water and gouts of steam that mingled with the general haze of tobacco and hashish in the air. While the two men were awaiting the food, Jack and JD drank small cups of strong turkish coffee and watched the locals smoke nargeelas and play games of mancaleh and backgammon.
No one paid them much attention, which was a relief. Jack had half-expected to be pestered incessantly for baksheesh, but here the regulars gave them no more attention than they would anyone else who came to 'their' qahwa. He saw numerous furtive glances sent their way and was quite certain that they were the topic of more than a few conversations in the place, though the constant gurgle and hiss of the nearby sarabantina prevented him from overhearing what was being said.
It also kept either man from hearing the figure approach them across the sawdust-covered floor until a gnarled hand reached out and tugged on the hem of JD's coat. The professor jumped in surprise, splashing a bit of coffee on himself. Jack's hand was inside his jacket and on the handle of his pistol before he'd even turned to see the man. He was dressed in a filthy robe that covered most of his head and dragged on the ground behind him.
"Ydhhb Bʻydā, Shḩādh!" Jack barked in Arabic. "Lā aş-Şdqāt al-Ywm!" The beggar peered out from beneath his hood at the two men. A full black beard shot through with a network of white and dark, hooded eyes dominated his hook-nosed face as he shook his head.
"I am no beggar and I do not wish your money," he said in perfect, Oxford English. "My name is Father Shanuda and I am a friend of Butrus."
JD visibly calmed. "Did Mikhay'el send you?" he asked eagerly. "Are preparations ready?"
"No! The man you are with, no matter what name he goes by, is not one of our Order, but is, on the contrary, high in the counsels of the Evil Ones," Shanuda cautioned, his voice only just barely audible above the sounds of boiling water from the brass contraption behind the bar. "His name is Khalid Abd al-Azi, and he has lured you here for the sole purpose of trapping you and your friends, killing, torturing or worse, sacrificing you to his blasphemous gods and then stealing the dagger."
"What?" Jack began. "Bushwa!" The old man ignored his skepticism and went on.
"I have followed you and your companions since your arrival in Egypt, but I have not contacted you to lull Khalid into a sense of security," he explained. "I cannot emphasize enough that you and your friends are in the greatest danger. Khalid would kill you all without hesitation if he felt that it would serve his criminal purposes."
Jack and JD exchanged confused looks.
"If you ever wish to leave Ashmunayn," Shanuda concluded, "you will need my help to destroy him."