Part 3 (1/2)

I closed the bathroom door behind me, hoping he wouldn't notice in his hurry to play with the grimoire. Outside, there was a short hallway leading to what I presumed were bedroom doors. Elkhashab didn't strike me as the sort to share the same side of the house with guests, so I ignored these and moved on. There was a s.p.a.cious living area with a giant TV and shelves lined with priceless figurines of this G.o.d or that G.o.ddess. On the opposite side of that, I found a foyer leading to the front door; I searched for a security system but found none. I could see wards around the front door instead.

An arched pa.s.sage led to a kitchen, but there was likely little of interest in there. Another arch seemed to do nothing but give a view of a magnificent statue of Sobek set in a lighted niche, but once I got closer I saw that another hallway beckoned. These might lead to Elkhashab's private rooms. I checked the door and doorjamb of the first one before opening it. No juju. No hairs across the threshold. And unlocked.

It was a study. A writing desk sat facing the wall shared with the hallway and door; the other three walls were lined with bookshelves. Centered between them was a comfy chair with a table and reading lamp next to it.

I clapped my hands together and rubbed them. s...o...b..-Doo's legacy had to be here. Pull the right book and one of those bookcases would move aside. Or ... I pranced over to the reading light and pulled the dangling chain. It turned on!

But nothing else happened.

d.a.m.n.

I began to systematically pull on every book he had on his shelves. Some of them were interesting, some were genuine grimoires I might enjoy snagging later, but most were dreck. None revealed a secret pa.s.sage. I moved aside the comfy chair. I lifted the rug to look for trapdoors. Nothing. The writing desk, a long shot due to its placement, was similarly uncooperative. I sighed heavily and admitted that I could have been wrong.

There were other rooms to check. The whole house, if necessary.

I exited the study and closed the door behind me. I turned right to the next door and examined it as I had the first one. This door had nothing in the way of magical traps, but it did have the old hair-across-the-doorjamb trick. I opened the door and then bound the hair back into place as I closed it. Feel secure, Mr. Elkhashab. n.o.body opened this door.

The room was an art studio. Canvases of ugly splatter paintings rested against the walls, five or six deep. An easel near the window had plastic sheeting spread underneath it with liberal staining. Despite this precaution, the floor of the studio-cheap linoleum tiles-had been anointed with droplets of various colors. A low countertop with cabinets underneath held his art supplies-lots of paint tubes and a container of paintbrushes, along with turpentine. A sink waited nearby to wash away the excess. On impulse, I tried the faucet. It sadly provided naught but hot and cold running water.

The canvases hid no secret doors behind them, and I was starting to get seriously frustrated. I'd been searching for an hour and had nothing to show for it. I moved the easel. I picked up the ceramic pot full of paintbrushes. I pulled up the edges of the plastic sheeting. I got a whole lot of nada.

Desperate, I began picking up the mess of paint tubes scattered about the counter, one by one, feeling intensely stupid as I placed them back exactly as I'd found them. Something clicked after I picked up the tube of phthalo blue. My eyes darted around the room, looking for canvases falling away. Nope. Behind me, the easel rested serenely, except for the unG.o.dly mix of colors scattered about the legs.

On the other side of the countertop, however, a neat little square of darkness beckoned. There was a set of stone steps leading down to something that was no doubt very naughty.

I circled and took a few steps down, looking for a way to close the door. Elkhashab would never leave it open when he wanted to perform his dirty deeds. There was a rather large b.u.t.ton labeled CLOSE in Arabic script, but it had an odd white glow around it, so I hesitated. A few more steps down and I lost all light from the studio, but there was a dim glow from some light source farther down, whether a tunnel or a room I could not tell. I cast night vision and scanned the area carefully with my improved sight. I spied a smaller, unlabeled, and non-glowing b.u.t.ton at the base of the stairs and pushed that instead. The door mechanism slid shut and a set of dingy old incandescent bulbs winked on, illuminating what turned out to be a tunnel after all and making my night vision unnecessary. I dispelled it and proceeded cautiously down the pa.s.sage, which had smooth walls of the same adobe material used in the rest of the house.

I really was walking down the tunnel; there was a fairly steep grade, almost to the point where I wished there had been a staircase instead. Clearly this delved underneath Elkhashab's moat and continued on from there. After a few hundred meters it dropped again, even steeper, and soon the wished-for steps appeared to ease the descent. Once the tunnel leveled out, a brief three or four meters led me to a stunning room that Elkhashab had very little to do with constructing. He'd put up the lights, no doubt, and his presence was smeared over the chamber like a greasy film, but there was no doubt that this room was at least twice as old as I was. Far beneath the well-doc.u.mented and preserved ruins of Crocodilopolis, a grand hall stretched before me, supported by ma.s.sive pillars of stone. Sarcophagi stared at me with four-thousand-year-old eyes, not with the heads of humans or Anubis but with Sobeks, unlike any ever seen before. They didn't rest p.r.o.ne but leaned upright against the wall. It was an archaeologist's dream. Or a dark wizard's. I had never seen a Sobek sarcophagus before, but in this room there were at least twenty, each seven feet tall. I wondered if the mummies still remained inside and if they were well preserved. I paused to take a closer look at one that seemed to be in particularly good shape.

On top of the crocodile head was the tall yellow headdress and red disk signifying Amun-Ra. Instead of the customary crook and flail held by the pharaohs, this carved figure held a was scepter in the right hand, signifying power, and the ankh in the left, held by the loop and with the base pointing up to the figure's right shoulder. The human body was carved from limestone with tiles of colored stones inlaid, mosaic fas.h.i.+on, to provide color. Some of these were gilded, and jewels still gleamed around the neck. The crocodile head was polished basalt and skillfully carved. The teeth were limestone but had been painted white at one time. Much of that paint had deteriorated, but a few discolored flecks hinted at what it must have looked like when new. The scepter and ankh were not carved of stone but appeared to be gilded bronze.

I wasn't an expert on Egyptian artifacts by any means, but these sarcophagi couldn't be older than the Middle Kingdom period-and I wouldn't be surprised if they were from the time of the New Kingdom, judging by the craftsmans.h.i.+p on display. Normally the limbs and feet on sarcophagi were mere suggestions, painted on or highlighted with the slightest of bas-relief sculpting, but these were fully sculpted.

Miraculous that it hadn't been plundered-not only by Elkhashab but by centuries of grave robbers. Yet there was no other treasure in the room, so if it was a traditional burial chamber, then quite a bit of stuff was missing. But why take everything else and leave these untouched? Most curious.

I was about to reach out and touch the ankh when I heard the swirl of water and an animal grunt from the next chamber down, traveling and echoing the way sound will when water and stone is involved. I froze.

There was much more than Elkhashab's handiwork to fear here. Aside from whatever made that noise, untold ancient hoodoo could be waiting to descend upon my head-perhaps from this very sarcophagus. Though my cold iron aura would most likely protect me, prudence dictated that I shouldn't touch it without checking it in the magical spectrum first, and I let my hand drop. These weren't going anywhere; I could come back to examine them later. I had much more reconnaissance to conduct.

I crept down the hall in front of the line of sarcophagi, my eyes toward the center of the room. Elkhashab's string of bulbs, s.p.a.ced at odd intervals, created puddles of yellow like streetlamps, allowing the edges of the room to languish in shadow. Past the first set of pillars, I saw some familiar markings on the floor: a circle enclosing another circle, and inside that not a pentagram but a mixture of lines, Hebrew characters, and mystical symbols straight out of The Greater Key of Solomon. The White Knife and the Black Knife were there, the Sickle, the Sword, and all the rest too. Elkhashab was definitely more than a crocodile priest. He dabbled extensively in the dark end of the magic pool, like Nebwenenef before him.

A supporting wall forced me to move toward the center. A doorway there led to another room, decorated with bas-relief doodads heralding Sobek's spiffiness. At least, I inferred as much from the gaping maw of a crocodile sculpted at the top.

The next room was poorly lit. A single light made a half-a.s.sed effort at fighting the darkness from the edges. The scent of water and fetid rot twitched at my nostrils; something had died in there. Maybe many somethings. The pervasive miasma was enough to make me draw Fragarach from its sheath.

Two steps into the room, I heard the water gurgling again. Cursing the weak effort of the token bulb, I recast night vision to better see what I was missing. The chamber was of a similar size to the one I had just left, except that in the center of the room there was no floor with mystical symbols scrawled across it; rather, a black pool with ripples betrayed recent movement. Pillars rose out of it to support the ceiling.

There was no great mystery about what awaited me in the gloom. Elkhashab, that pantweasel, had left me with one or more crocodiles to deal with. A faint electric hum drew my attention over my left shoulder.

A large old-fas.h.i.+oned freezer lurked there, a thick cable snaking from underneath it to the room I'd just vacated. He must have run the electricity behind all the sarcophagi. I opened the lid and saw that it was full of steaks and roasts. Oberon would have approved. I took a few out and threw them to the edge of the pool, then tossed a final one into the pool itself. Something responded in the dark, and I slid along the wall counterclockwise, holding my sword point in front of me. Anything that wanted to eat me had to eat my blade first. Once I'd started to move along the longer wall, a splash sounded from the s.p.a.ce I'd vacated, followed by serious macking noises. I saw gold glinting in the dim light, and then an enormous pocked back stretched sinuously into the water: It was the largest crocodile I had ever seen, festooned with enough metal to make reestablis.h.i.+ng the gold standard plausible. I hurried to the next supporting wall and another doorway. There was nothing that I could see to keep the crocodile from entering the next room, but perhaps it didn't want to leave its comfy mini-swamp with easy-to-hunt rump roasts.

The subsequent chamber was fairly well lit, like the first one, allowing me to dispel night vision, but its contents were entirely different. Instead of sarcophagi along the walls, there were boxes-the wooden kind you used to see a lot of before the planet started to run low on trees and people figured it might be better to use recycled cardboard instead. They were probably full of the treasures missing from the burial chamber. I left them alone, figuring it was best to leave it all conveniently packaged for the Ministry of Antiquities. I was much more interested in the creeptastic vibe coming from the far side of the room.

Elkhashab had repurposed an ancient stone worktable, perhaps originally intended as an embalming station, by turning it into a makes.h.i.+ft altar. It was stained with fluids that were supposed to stay on the inside of bodies, and there were a couple of smallish skulls on either end. Around the altar itself he'd drawn a couple of large circles, symbols of invocation and protection written along the circ.u.mference and ritual materials placed carefully inside. Adjacent to these were other circles-the summoning kind. Circles of binding with pentagrams. A telltale whiff of sulfur confirmed that he'd successfully summoned physical demons here, not just the spirits suggested by the first room's circles. He had the seals of calling, binding, coercion, submission, and banishment painted perfectly between the points of the stars. Almost too perfectly.

I scanned the altar again with a new suspicion. The two skulls were facing at exactly the same angle. He had some bowls full of ritual ingredients-salt and salamander tails, that kind of thing-and those bowls were precisely equidistant from one another. The candles were brand new and of the same kind. The ritual knife was placed perpendicular to the edge.

I thought back to the guest bathroom with the air freshener and the primly folded towels. The order of the library. Even the studio, meant to look sloppy and spontaneous, had been carefully arranged that way. This guy was an obsessivecompulsive.

It made sense. The precision required to be a practicing magician was no joke.

I decided to mess with him. A fingernail's scratch across the seals of coercion, submission, and banishment would drive him crazy. He'd spend hours repainting just to make sure everything was perfect. That is, if I didn't kill him first.

Golden figurines of Sobek, Amun, and Amun-Ra stood impa.s.sively on the altar, their dead painted eyes calmly awaiting tribute and sacrifice. I smirked; Elkhashab appeared to be hedging his bets on which form of Amun would get all the love. Amun had been a headliner in the early Egyptian dynasties, but he had to share top billing with Ra later on, and Sobek was considered in some tales to be a manifestation of the combined G.o.d Amun-Ra. Elkhashab must be harboring doubts about which was to receive sacrifices from the Grimoire of the Lamb.

This room was the last one. Nestled in the corner behind the altar, off to my left, a spiral staircase twisted up into the ceiling. If it led all the way up to the surface, that was how he smuggled stuff out of here. He would never leave his house with contraband when he was under surveillance; he would choose to emerge elsewhere.

It also explained why he never went for the big score with a sarcophagus; never mind that it would invite too many inconvenient questions, there was no way he'd get one up through that wee well. I doubted he could get one up through the steep tunnel that led to his studio either. I wondered why he hadn't installed a rudimentary lift instead. Too conspicuous?

The staircase bore investigation. It was probably my best way out, after all. But the altar needed a closer look first. I circled it and discovered a small table nestled against the far side, almost like a hallway desk, yet lower in height so that it was invisible while looking at the altar from the direction I'd entered. Stacked on it were two sheaves of paper-no, parchment. Incredibly old stuff too, mostly illegible, the ink having faded and flaked away after centuries. In the magical spectrum, the writings were quite clear, however; they glowed with ancient hoodoo. I'd bet five biscuits that these were the writings of which Elkhashab had spoken-the writings of Nebwenenef.

My immediate impulse was to destroy them, but I decided against it, figuring that Elkhashab would notice right away and know that someone had been there. Like everything else around the altar, the sheaves were placed and organized with attention to detail, and I didn't want to give myself away yet. I'd definitely come back and take care of them before I left, however.

I turned my attention to the staircase. It was a st.u.r.dy metal one; it didn't creak or s.h.i.+ver as I ascended, and my inner ninja approved. My stomach, however, began to rebel as I got closer to the ceiling. Something smelled foul up there-but it was a different stench from the one in the chamber of the crocodile G.o.d.

Once I got my head in the s.p.a.ce between the ceiling and the floor, I paused. The smell was definitely coming from the room above, but I couldn't see very much. Silently, I withdrew a dagger from my satchel and poked it up through the hole to see if it set off any kind of trap. I wiggled it around. I swirled it all around the edges. Nothing.

I did a quick peekaboo, feeling silly, but whatever-I didn't want to end more than two thousand years of existence as a victim to one of Elkhashab's b.o.o.by traps. No reaction, and I didn't see much of anything. It was fair-to-middling Stygian darkness in there.

Casting night vision, I took a longer peek and did a complete survey, three-sixty. There was a break in the railing of the staircase so that one could enter or exit on this floor. It appeared to be a single chamber, smaller than the ones downstairs. There was a lone sarcophagus here, but a more conventional type rather than one of Sobek. It was situated conventionally as well, resting p.r.o.ne instead of leaning upright against the wall. Three large cages filled the rest of the room, and it was from them that the stink emanated. Behind me, there was just the bare stone wall, and the staircase continued to wind above into farther unknown levels. I put my dagger away.

I climbed and left the stairs to check out the cages. The first one held a small skeleton without a skull. The next held a rotting corpse, also headless, dressed in tatters of once-white linen that had been chewed on by rats. Or maybe by those flesh-eating scarab beetles from The Mummy, which still gave me nightmares. I couldn't tell if the body was male or female, but it was young. I remembered the two skulls resting on the altar; I'd thought them there for gravitas or a sense of theatre, but the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had actually sacrificed kids. Sure, demons would let themselves be bound for one of those.

Another still form lay in the third cage. The legs faced the door and the rise of shoulders concealed the head-if there was one. The reek was awful; there was a bucket filled to the brim with waste in one corner. Strangely, it gave me hope.

”Hey, kid,” I whispered. Then I realized I didn't need to whisper and I should probably speak in Arabic. ”Wake up!” I called. No reaction. My throat tightened, but I shouted it again. The child didn't move.

Concentrating on the lock, I bound the metal tumblers to the unlocked position, swung open the door, and entered the cage. The boy-for it was a boy, about ten years old or so-still had a head. He was alive but unconscious, and the pulse I felt at his neck was weak. He was probably dehydrated and starved. Elkhashab had just left him in here while he went off to America to steal an ancient grimoire.

I couldn't let him stay here any longer. He needed medical attention now. As I had done before with Oberon, I created a binding so that this boy could use the magic stored in my bear charm for energy. Once the binding was complete, his eyes popped open and he scrambled away from me until he was at the back of the cage, his hands raised defensively as he begged in Arabic not to be killed.

”Salaam,” I said in the same language. The poor kid had every reason to be terrified. ”I've come to take you out of here. Let's get away from that man.” I backed out of the cage and left the door open, speaking to him from freedom. ”Come on.” Belatedly, I remembered that he probably couldn't see anything. He might be thinking that I was Elkhashab. I cast night vision on him and spoke again. ”Let's go. Up the stairs. Let's get you home. Your parents are worried.”

I hoped he wouldn't take too long to decide. The energy in my charm wouldn't last forever and was already getting low.

The boy's eyes grew wide. ”You don't work for him?”

I snorted and shook my head. ”No. I prefer life over death. If anyone dies today, it will be him, not you. Come on.”

”Who are you?”