Fantasy fic-- Egyptian mythos-- unfinished, want opinions

[Elheru Aran]

OK, I started this when i was like 16... it's been going on and off for the past 3 years. If its start is a bit long, don't worry... you'll get to the fantasy bit before too long. I know it's probably craptacular, but hey... i figured i'd insert it to get outside opinions...

So, enjoy!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><
Prologue

When we were sitting in the back of the paddy wagon, I just plain couldn't believe that we were in it, and for the life of me I couldn't have explained why us three had just been hustled into the car without any explanation. But now I suppose I can see why. Although I suppose- eh? Oh yeah. I reckon I'd better start at the start, of course.

Chapter I

Well- Ibrahim, Paul, and I were sort of hitchhiking our way over Egypt. Ibrahim had that oh-so-wonderful idea, of course, but as he says, his excuse is that he's an Upper Egyptian, or Sai'di, from the south regions of the country. He's an exchange student at the university where I teach the history of the Middle East.

Paul is an aspiring archaeologist- he figured that along the way he could gain experience by volunteering at various sites. And I figure he's rather well endowed for that purpose at 6'6 and 200 pounds, most of it muscle. But you wouldn't believe how delicate he is at times- I've seen him lift out an eggshell-thin china pot from the soil without losing a fragment.

Me? I'm a rather light fellow, compared to Paul anyway. Compared to Ibrahim, on the other hand, I'm a positive giant- but anyway, the name's Jack Prussia. The doctorate from Oxford is entirely honorary, but the one from Rhodes isn't. The degrees aren't that important, anyway- I'm satisfied with a "Mr.", although Ibrahim insists on calling me "Professor". Oh well, at least I got him to stop calling me "Professor Mr. Prussia, sir"!

So, anyway, it was two weeks before the summer holidays began, when after classes Ibrahim walked in and asked me, "Professor Prussia, may I ask you of something?"

"Sure- about what?" I answered, "Have a seat, by the way. But if it's about the end-of-term papers, I've already told you-"

"Oh, sir, it is not that," he began, "it is that I have thought of returning to my country this summer. And I was wondering whether you might allow me to turn in my final work early so that I might be able to prepare for my trip."

I pondered that, ran over the next few days' schedule in my mind, and confirmed Ibrahim's desire. "Sure, you can do that. Of course-" I shot him a glance- "you're returning here, I hope?"

"But of course, Professor! The real reason I came was to tell you that my family says that any friends of mine that desire to come along, they would be very pleased to have them. And I was wondering if-"

"If I'd come? Well, I'd love to, but, well, I've got a lot of work going. Unless-" he interrupted at this point.

"Yes? What is it? I shall be very pleased to assist you to complete whatever it is so that you could come!"

"Oh, nope, not that sort of work. Let me see here- now where is that dratted calendar? It was right here!"

Ibrahim looked over my desk, and stood up to assist my search for the missing article. Lo and behold, it appears in the chair he'd just vacated!

He handed it to me, and I flipped through it. I was rather surprised- not unduly, though- to discover that if I wanted, I could've took three months off. More than sufficient for the length of the trip I would be taking. Thus, it was set that I would go- after I took my case to the head of the History department and proved it to him, of course. He gave in easily enough when I showed him the surfeit of holidays in my calendar.

There was another little problem- Ibrahim wanted someone else to travel with us. I made the rounds through the various classrooms and departments, but I had no luck till I reached the Egyptian Archaeology classroom.

Opening the door, I observed that there were only two people in the room, unless you counted the partially unwrapped mummy on the table at the head of the room. Those two people appeared highly absorbed in each other, which I perceived after a glance. A second, closer look revealed that one of them was an extremely pretty brunette, while the other was a large guy- he dwarfed the girl, in fact. I discreetly coughed, and their heads snapped towards me. Almost immediately, there was a yelp, and he reached up to his ear. Apparently a strand of her hair had gotten caught in the stud he bore in his left earlobe. They got untangled and backed off with profuse apologies to me, and he was opening the door for her when a door off to the side slammed open, making the three of us jump.

Hudson, the professor teaching that class, charged into the room and bellowed, "PAUL JACKSON! 'Ow many times 'ave Hi told ye- no makin' out in the classroom!"

To the girl, he courteously said, "Young lady, my apologies. Now, please- leave!"

Shutting the door behind her firmly, he spun around to face Paul, and fired another broadside at him, revealing his Scots origins in the process. "Young gennelman! Ye was supposed to be workin' on that mummy! If ye hever 'ad any dreams o' goin' to Egypt wi' me expedition, wal, ye'd best git on th' ball! F' th' las' time- nae mor' girls in 'ere!"

Somewhat shamefacedly, Paul nodded and walked over to the mummy, pulling some forceps out of his pocket. Regaining his composure, Hudson turned to me and said genially, "So, Jack, wot can I do wi' ye? Sorry about the scene, old chap, but that boy's something of a ladies' man."

Dryly I replied, "I noticed. That bit about dropping him from your trip this summer- were you serious?"

We were in his office by then. Quietly he closed the door, and walked to his desk, where he absently fiddled with some piles of paper before sitting down and answering my question.

"Well, Jack, I wish I wasn't. He's a nice boy. Hit's just that 'e is so- ye know- somewhat irresponsible, like ye noticed. So- well, lookit, chap, 'ere hit is- if he don't reform, he don't go," concluded the professor.
I was about to take my leave when a thought struck me. I turned around and asked Hudson, "By the way, this trip of yours- is it to Upper Egypt?"

Hudson confirmed it with a nod, and I went on with my thought. "Would Paul happen to be particularly essential to your trip?"

He thought for a while, then shook his head, "I don't think so, old boy. 'E pretty much just volunteered. There's twenty other kids I can take along if I want to. Why?"

"Just wondering," I answered neutrally, and left his office. I walked up to the mummy, which Paul had apparently left for a moment- he was in the corner, at one of the equipment cabinets- and noticed a notebook on the table. I scribbled a quick note in the corner of the page, and went on.

Chapter II

Later…

Ibrahim and I were waiting in the "Louvre", a small café in the university where some of the frats meet. It's named for the museum because of all the objects in it- although long ago I reached the conclusion that the name was a joke. For example, there was a reproduction of the "Mona Lisa", but some wit had stenciled a "Condemned" over it. Besides that, the painting had an elaborate mustache, sunglasses, and bead chains on it.

In any case, we were waiting for Paul. I looked at my watch. So did Ibrahim. So did Paul, who had just entered. Apologetically he muttered, "Sorry- the professor wouldn't let me go till I had gotten it mostly unwrapped. What was it you wanted to see me about, Mr. Prussia?"

I let him hang for a few minutes before giving him my proposition, mock-seriously, "Young man, Mr. Hudson apparently does not have great confidence in your skills, nor in your dependability."

He mumbled something rather shamefacedly, and I went on. "You apparently desire to go to Egypt with Mr. Hudson. Correct?"
He confirmed that with a few emphatic nods, and so I continued, "What would you say to the chance to go to Egypt, without having to have Hudson's approval? Now wait a second! This is conditional, okay? First, you have to stay clear of girls, starting now. Second, you have to stay out of trouble, with Hudson especially. And third- you need to be packed and ready. We're going early, day after tomorrow. I've cleared it with the praetor."

"Hear, hear! Salaam alekium!" That was Ibrahim, toasting our trip, and Paul and I lifted our drinks in agreement, Paul's face split by a wide grin.

Chapter III

Two weeks later…

We were lounging on the deck of the Menhadas' how, tied up at its dock at Aswan, where Ibrahim's family live-d. Paul had developed a most remarkable tan, while I had burned rater severely, as was my wont, so I was sitting under a canopy of sailcloth, doubly protected by a liberally applied coating of sunscreen. Grandfather Menhada was repairing a rope, while Paul was writing yet another letter- to who, I asked once, and got a very neutral answer, so I didn't have any idea who he was writing, likely one of his girls. And I was carefully typing up the progress of our trip so far. Carefully because of the sunscreen on my hands, and also because we were on the water. In any case, I was startled when Ibrahim bustled up, he startled all three of us. He shouted to us, "Professor, I have had the most won-derful idea!"

We all turned to him, and he went on rather excitedly, but unfortunately soundlessly. Bemusedly I held up my hand and told him, "Calm down! Take a few breaths and relax… yes, that's it. Now, what is this marvelous idea of yours?"

Grandfather added some more remarks to that effect, unfortunately (for Paul and I, anyway) in rapid-fire Arabic. Ibrahim sat down, caught his breath, and pulled a map of Egypt from his pocket. When he had regained his compo-sure and his breath, he began telling us his idea.

"Well, we are here in Aswan. I do not think you want to spend much more time floating on Lake Nasser, having and going to parties, and all that, so here is a proposition. You see this map?" We all nodded, even Grandfather, so he went on. "Aswan is here. My idea is that we may be able to go back up the Nile, up to El Rizeiqat. From there we progress westwards to 'Ezba el Gaga, and pick up a ride to north, stopping at Aysut. And at Aysut, we may be able to go to El Faiyum by way of Beni Suef, then from Faiyum to Shubra el Kheima, then from there to Alexandria by way of Tanta. From Alexandria, we can fly to Port Said and then to Cairo in time to catch our flight home!" he concluded triumphantly.

Paul let out a low whistle and inquired "where are you getting all the time for this? I mean, say three or four days at these places- why, that'll take up about four weeks!"

Ibrahim was somewhat surprised. Meanwhile, I had been tracing the path he'd laid out for us. And I noticed some-thing advantageous to getting Paul to come along. I turned to him and pointed it out to him. He exclaimed, "What-! Let me see that!" As he looked over it, he mumbled to himself, "Um... Temple of Horemheb site… Temple of Horus site… Hierakonpolis… El Mi'alla… El Nadura temple… Beni Hasan… Ibrahim!"

The person he so addressed turned around nervously from where he'd been talking with me and tentatively asked, "What?"

"Do you realize that along your route, there are quite a few major archaeological sites?"

Ibrahim's face began to stretch out in a grin, and Paul started laughing.

"You dog! You knew I'd want to go when I noticed that! Mr. P., do you see what this guy has done?"

"Yeah… convinced you to go without saying a word. Frankly, ol' boy, Ah don't see no reason why ya don't wanna go," said I in my best exaggerated Southern accent, walking up to him, "An' Ah don't see why we cain't leave sooner rather'n later." To Ibrahim, I ad-dressed the remark, "You in or you out?"

Ibrahim shrugged and said "Why not?" as his grandfather, who had been listening on the sly, jubilantly shouted out a benediction in his crackling tones. We solemnly shook hands on that, then promptly turned as one to embark. And Paul turned and said casually, "Oh, there's something I forgot… come here, little guy…" His hands shot out, took hold of Ibrahim, grabbed him, and dropped him overboard. "That's for conning me into this trip! No hard feelings?"

Ibrahim looked around a little, then said "None whatsoever, my man" as the boom of the dhow swung around, clipped Paul on the head, and propelled him into the water. We all had a good laugh at that, then went over to Ibrahim's home to pack.

Chapter IV

Three weeks later…

We were sitting in the back of a truck at El Faiyum, waiting for the driver to finish haggling with the merchant whose sacks of cotton we were sitting on. Ibrahim would occasionally grin at some points in their mutual harangue and translate. One of the more pithy comments from the merchant rather shocked the driver finally, and he settled the ride at pounds Egyptian fifteen. Or fifteen pounds, if you really want to simplify, but in any case, they settled.

And we embarked towards Shubra el Kheima, along the way discussing the trip so far as I ran over the highlights of the trip on my laptop. Unusually for him, Paul had been peculiarly reticent about volunteering at archaeological sites along the way. However, I suppose that's easily enough explained by the fact that most of the sites had an overabundance of volunteers- it was only on the really big ones along the way that he had been able to find any employ.

That in part explained our remarkably rapid rate of travel- even so, we only had three weeks remaining out of our eight-week holiday. I eventually drifted off to sleep- cotton is rather soft even if somewhat compacted by packing into sacks, and the vibration of the truck was rather conductive to sleep. It was a good thing, too- in the next few weeks there wasn't much chance for rest as we shuttled to and fro between places.

Chapter V

Later…

We'd been flying for it seemed almost forever, although from the way the sky had dimmed outside the helicopter told me that it was actually about two hours or so. The only other person in the helicopter was a tough-looking soldier, packing one of the ubiquitous Kalashinakov AK-47 automatic weapons. We'd tried to get him to talk- Ibrahim had even tried a Bedouin dialect of Arabic, as well as some Nubian- but he remained stoically mute, causing us to label him "Stoneface", attaching various ranks to him as we pleased.

All of a sudden we began to go lower, and at a remarkable rate because our ears were popping like crazy. Even Sergeant Stoneface up in front was grimacing, but we didn't care- we were also being rather buffeted around by turbulence, and we were finding out that Ibrahim gets dread-fully airsick. Unpleasant? You bet it was!

In any case, we landed very quickly, the doors opened, and more soldiers escorted us three into the military camp that we found ourselves within. It was all rather spruced up, indicat-ing that some brass were around. Approaching a group of four trailers, we squeezed between two of them and found ourselves in an enclosure shaded by tarps spread from the roofs of the trailers. The officer in charge stepped forwards and shouted in a squeaky voice, "Sir, we have apprehended the men you want!"

Out of a large crate on the ground came a huge man, even larger than Paul. Following him came a tall, trim, very high-ranking (if all the gold on his shoulders was any indication) man and then a short little person in a white suit, wearing an ostentatious Panama hat. Remarkably enough, the general deferred- somewhat reluctantly, though, I noticed- to White Suit when the little guy pointed at us and then towards the trailer in front of us. We were hustled - unceremoniously, I may add-- into the trailer, then the man in the white suit followed with the general behind him.

"Here, Roberts- go wash off your face. I can't tell you apart from the others," commented White Suit, hanging up his Panama and tossing me a towel while pointing to a small door in the corner. I looked at the towel, then looked up and told him, "You've got the wrong guy, Mr…?"

"Podarswaski, my dear Roberts. And I assume these two are Kraniopoulos and el-Qasr?" returned the little man jovially. I exchanged baffled looks with Paul and Ibrahim, shrugged, motioned them along to the lavatory, and we washed our faces and freshened up generally. Returning to where Mr. Podarswaski was, he took one look at us and groaned, "Oh no! Those idiots have gotten the wrong people again!"
Paul shrugged and told him, "I'm Paul Jackson. This is Professor Jackson Prussia, and here is Ibrahim Menhada. We were just-"

"No, no- I must apologize. Where are my manners? You must be tired out after such a long journey… sit down, sit…" Podarswaski told us. We sat around a table. He sighed resignedly, motioned to us to begin eating (which we promptly did- we hadn't had any lunch and it was nearly five in the afternoon, judging from the clock on the wall), and he mused a little.

"I see a little explaining is in order, Mr.- Prussia, is it not?" Podarswaski remarked after we'd made a decent start on the meal, and I nodded emphatic assent. He also nodded his bald head, which was glistening with sweat even in the air-conditioned comfort of the trailer, and went on with his spiel, "My men were looking for three men who you happen to resemble closely. They were given no photographs, simply a description to memorize, and so a very natural mistake was made. My apologies, Doctor."

I swallowed the bite of pita with mezza in my mouth and nodded acceptance of his apologies, then asked him, "Just who are these people we resembled? And is this whole thing-" taking in the camp with a gesture of my head- "all legal and aboveboard? I don't want to be involved with anything illegal..."

He stared at me for a minute, then up at the brass hat above him. The soldier- apparently a major-general, judging from the insignias on his shoulders and the number and area of the decorations on his chest- looked rather resentfully at us from under thick brows, but he somewhat grudgingly nodded consent to Podarswaski's inquiring glance.

Podarswaski nodded back and shifted position, pulling a foot up on his knee, then he told us, "Kraniopoulos is a weapons supplier of the Mediterranean and eastern Atlantic waters. He very closely resembles Mr. Jackson, there, the big guy, but Mr. Jackson is very likely nowhere near as ruthless as Kraniopoulos is. You, young Menhada-" pointing at him- "are practically the 'spitting image'-" to me- "as you Americans put it- of Abdel Ranui el-Qasr, the black-market supplier of Egyptian artifacts. And, Dr. Prussia, Joachim Roberts happens to be practically a duplicate of yourself. He is only the largest dealer in Egyptian antiques in the world. Unfortunately, they happen to be illegal antiques."

All I could do was stare. Ibrahim and Paul followed suit, Paul's mouth working soundlessly. Podarswaski nodded benevolently, a smile creasing his rotund face. He continued, "And in reply to your second question, unfortunately, if you mean that the Egyptian Antiquaries Organization knows of this project, no. This is an archaeological site that was discovered only a month ago, using satellite photographs to find the site. Here- these are photographs of the evidence that guided us here."

Paul was the first to break out of our stupefied staring at the little man, and he reached out towards the photographs. He immediately expressed surprise at their contents, as I could see his eyebrows go up and his mouth work-ing as he apparently tried to analyze mentally the photographs. As he finished looking at them, he threw them down on the table and I picked them up.

No wonder he was surprised- these were apparently photographs of a very finely executed Egyptian stela, with close-ups of certain sections of hieroglyphs and of the illustration at top. There were even traces of paint on the stela, which made it an extremely well preserved one. It had to be illegal- how else could the EAO have missed this place?

As Paul put down the last of the photographs, he sighed, with a rather dazed look in his eyes. He settled down into his seat and commenced looking through the ceiling. I recognized the look- two, three weeks earlier an archaeol-ogist looking to take Paul on for about a week or so had asked him to decipher some hieroglyphics on a piece of statue.

He'd done the same thing as he was doing now- looked carefully for a few minutes, and then commenced staring into space, and exactly five minutes later spouted a stream of Egyptian words, then supplied the English translation. He'd won a job then and there. He was about to do the same thing here, I presumed. I looked at my nonexistent watch, caught myself, and simply decided to rely upon my internal estimate of the time.

Seven minutes and twenty-three seconds later- approximately- Paul suddenly refocused and sat up straight. He declared, "Well, that does beat all!" I stared, then reflected a bit, and decided he'd been expressing his surprise at the contents of those mysterious hieroglyphics. I'd been half-expecting him to do the same thing he had done previously, that is, translate them right off. I was surprised again- he didn't translate. Instead, he asked straight off, "What do you want us to do?"

Podarswaski's self-confident grin vanished. He sighed, and apparently the general decided that the little Pole wasn't happy with the answer to Paul's question. Thereupon he decided to answer Paul himself. "Well, young Jack-son... I, that is, the organization that I represent, and as does Mr. Podarswaski, have two options. "

I wish I hadn't asked, but I couldn't help it. "Uh… what are those options?"

"Well, this place is under the most extreme classification level of the Egyptian government. Really, it is not us who has the options- it is you. Professor, you and Mr. Jackson are Americans- but Menhada here is a native. Nobody will ask questions if he vanishes." And I realized his meaning. Either cooperate with them, or two things could happen- confinement or, well, a bullet and the desert have no scruples about life.

I glared at him, and asked Podarswaski, "May I and my friends have a few minutes together? Alone," with a significant glance at him and the general, as well as the general's meaty stooge who had been standing back in a corner all this time. Podarswaski was only too happy to cooperate, and within a minute or so we were all alone.

I turned to Paul, and forthwith requested to know what he'd read of the hieroglyphs. He hemmed and hawed, then apparently decided to come forth.

"Well, Professor, Ibrahim, these were very clear," he nodded at the photos, "and so I was able to read them pretty well. See this cartouche? Well, as far as I can speculate, that's from Menes' reign- right at the beginning of the Old Kingdom. So this stela is amazingly old and amazingly well preserved. I'm thinking it was probably part of a tomb area, and somehow it got buried in conditions favorable to preservation."

Somewhat impatiently, I motioned to hurry up. Ibrahim was glued to every word. Paul went on, "What the first part is, is basically a elaboration of the illustration," he pointed out certain sections of the largest and best photo, "which is a sort of map of this whole area. The first part tells what the illustration is, and also tells how to get to Memphis from here. Uh," he seemed to visualize a map of Egypt, "that would mean we're in just about the farthest west area of the Qattara Depression. Anyhow, the middle tells of a great and old event- I can't make it out, it's badly obscured by many scrapes- probably exposed at some time, because the lower section is scraped too. Anyhow, they set up some sort of temple, funded by raids upon the Upper Egyptians, and then during the reign of Menes' grandfa-ther, a giant sandstorm buried the temple wholly. So I would presume that this temple is what these people are looking for, since the directions would have guided somebody to this approximate area."

I whistled. Ibrahim seemed to be in shock. Paul had a faintly disbelieving expression on his face. I could sympathize. So, to break Ibrahim out of his state of shock, I told them the conclusions I had reached from the general's casual remark about us having the options, not he. It would seem that we could either go on our way, keeping our mou-ths shut at the peril of our lives, or staying here, in forced or voluntary confinement. Either that, or they'd just take us out into the desert- and come back without us.

Before their reactions had developed totally, the door banged open and the general's stooge poked his head in, and announced in an astoundingly resonant voice- sounded like a bass drum, in fact- that they wanted us outside. As we got up, Paul whispered, "Keep a eye on me- when I get a grain of dust in one eye, follow my lead! Okay?"

I barely had time to nod acknowledgment before we stepped outside, into the cooling evening. The sun was be-ginning to set. And, most unusually, through the partially open door of the large crate in the midst of the enclosure, a slight purplish glow could be seen. But I had no time to mediate on that- Podarswaski appeared from a trailer directly across, wearing his old beatific expression. The general followed sullenly behind, and, vastly relieved, I received Podarswaski's news.

Apparently he and the general had been having it out in the trailer, and Podarswaski had gotten his own way, resulting in a reprieve for us. Conditionally- we had to stay on the site, rendering what help we could, or if we couldn't help, we'd be kept locked up in one of the trailers. But all that was rendered obsolete by Paul's overeager actions.

All of a sudden, he folded over, hand going to his eye. I turned towards him, as did Podarswaski. The little man took a few steps towards Paul, when all of a sudden Paul whipped upwards- carrying Podarswaski along! His rotund form made an excellent bowling ball, tumbling the sentries and the general's gorilla over.

A rifle flew up into the air, Paul grabbed it, and suddenly rushed towards the crate. I caught myself, and sprinted, beating Ibrahim only by milli-seconds. As Ibrahim skidded through, Paul yanked the door shut and wound a piece of electrical cord around the doorknob in an instant, then began running down a flight of stairs. The purple light was easily explained- ultraviolet tubes alternating with fluorescent. Paul was letting out an extension cord as he dashed along, and when a convenient generator showed up, Paul looped a rapid bowline around a protuberance and continued running. At some point wood steps were replaced sharply by stone floor, resulting in a three-body pileup.

We looked up, and simultaneously let out a unanimous whistle. For before us expanded a temple as grand as any of the magnificent New Kingdom temples of Karnak and Luxor! It was obviously very archaic, but it was still grand. We untangled ourselves and began walking. I gently reminded Paul to turn the rifle's selector to "safe", and we went on. Paul soon began to sound like a tour guide, so I tuned out and just looked- and looked- and looked...

For there was a profusion of history and artifacts apparent that even I, only an Egyptologist of modern Egypt, could identify as extremely old.

The entire complex was something any archaeologist with any sort of self-assurance would give their whole complement of teeth to spend the rest of their lives working on! There were early statues of the entire pantheon of Egyptian gods, as well as a few peculiar ones I was unable to recognize entirely. The reliefs and sculpture were all of the first water, with the peculiarly robotic appearance of early Egyptian art, but with a unique naturalness of their own. Even a single carving hacked away from one of the columns would have qualified as a work of art in its own right.

As we approached the entrance of the sanctuary, Paul stopped and looked curiously. So did Ibrahim. I, however, could not recognize the problem, and so I inquired of them.

Ibrahim was the first to explain. "Professor, sir, well, this is not a standard thing for most temples."

"What? It looks pretty standard- oh."

"Yeah," Paul put in, "most Egyptian temples don't have monolithic statues of all the most important gods right before the sanctuary!"

For between columns, in a row, facing towards the entry of the temple, were huge- at least fifty feet tall- statues of Re, Osiris, Set, Isis, Horus, Anubis, Thoth, Hathor, and Khnum. Along the sides of the chamber were statues in decreasing size of more minor gods- Sobek, Sekhmet, Nekhbet, Wadjet, Renunutet, Bast, Taweret, Ma'at, Nepthys, and Ptah. Re, Osiris, and Set were all at least sixty, more probably seventy, feet if an inch, and the rest of the principal gods at front were just about short of fifty. Along the sides, the more important gods were around forty or so, and the rest, proportionately to importance, were from thirty-five to ten.

Re was in the middle of front, sitting down. Be-tween his feet were the sanctuary doors. Osiris and Set- also sitting down- flanked him, O. on his right and S. on the left. Isis was on Osiris' right and Horus alongside her with Hathor. By Set were, in order from right to left, Anubis, Thoth, and Khnum. It was as if someone had posed the nine gods and goddesses and then taken a formal photograph- it was that realistic!

We gawked until Paul nudged Ibrahim and I, and we walked up between the feet of Re to the sanctuary doors. Remarkably, the scent of cedar was still present in the wood, and we commented on that as we struggled with the seal. We opened the door. And-- "Oy!" was the last thought that passed through my mind...

<><><><><

Sorry it's so long, but I decided to get the "real-world" portion out of the way first...