The Osiris Curse (13 page)

Sekhem said nothing.

“I can help,” said Tweed. “I…I know the Queen. Let me tell her the plight of your people. I can't believe she already knows this. She wouldn't stand for it. When she found out that the Ministry was experimenting on human souls she shut them down. She is a good person.”

Sekhem turned to stare thoughtfully out the window. He leaned over the writing desk, his face striped with sun and shadows from the half-open blinds. Was Tweed getting through to him?

“I applaud your faith in the human race…” began Sekhem.

“You misunderstand me,” interrupted Tweed. “I don't have faith in the human race. At least, not like that. We are barely more than animals. We kill for money, food, love, hate. Sometimes we kill for no other reason except that we can. I frequently despair of being classed amongst the sniveling, selfish lot of them.”

Sekhem glanced at him in surprise. “Then why try to convince me they would do anything but stand back and watch us die?”

“Because we are also capable of great kindness. We rally around when a neighbor loses a house to fire. We collect for the poor, even though we barely have enough to feed our own families. We go to war to help a nation a thousand miles away, because they asked us to save them from tyrannical rule. Thieves, vagabonds, and murderers will rise up and drag a man to jail because he beats his wife. Or because he mistreats animals.” Tweed sighed. “We are a race of dichotomies, Sekhem, as I'm sure your people are. And I know, I just
know
, that we would not stand by and watch what you describe happening.”

Sekhem turned around to face him. “You are wise, boy.”

Tweed didn't know whether to be flattered or patronized by this remark.

“So you will let me talk to the Queen?

“But you are also naive. Your Ministry is killing us. The Queen might not know, but they do. We have tried to talk to them, and they turned us away. My family has died. Thousands of others have died. What else can we do to get their attention?”

“So you'll start a war?”

“No. They started a war. We will end it.”

And then he looked up. Tweed followed his gaze just as something dropped from the ceiling directly on top of him. He had the briefest glimpse of yellow, rage-filled eyes, then something hit him on the head. A harsh, white light burst across his vision, stabbing into his brain.

Then only darkness.

When Tweed woke up, the room was empty. He blinked, confused. His head was throbbing. Tiny motes of glowing dust danced in front
of his face. He sat up and winced as the room spun sickeningly. He grabbed hold of the chair and felt around for his Tesla gun.

Gone.

As was Sekhem.

The plans!

He looked around frantically for the box, but it was gone as well. Tweed punched the floor angrily. He'd had them! He'd had the plans in his hands! And now they were gone.

At least they didn't kill you while you were out. Silver linings and all that.

A very small silver lining. Because Tweed had let the enemy know that he, Octavia, and Molock were on board the
Albion
.

Tweed had a sudden thought. How long had he been out? What if they had already docked in Egypt? He pulled himself to his feet, swayed for a second, then staggered over to the window. He yanked up the blinds, blinking furiously at the bright light that burst into the room.

He pushed the window open and leaned out. A few wispy clouds scudded past on a wind so hot it sucked the moisture from Tweed's eyes and mouth. He blinked rapidly and leaned out even farther. The ochre sands of North Africa drifted past below the airship. He looked to the right and could just make out a distant series of low bumps wavering behind the heat waves.

Was that Cairo? If it was, then they were close. He had to find Sekhem and Nehi before the guests started to disembark. If they escaped into the cramped streets and alleys of the city, they'd never find the pair.

He left the room. The corridor was filling with excited travelers eager to test the wares of the foreign city. What should he do? Just wander around and hope for the best? No, better to tell Octavia and Molock what had happened. Then they could search together.

Tweed burst into Octavia's room and staggered to a stop. He blinked and turned his head, taking in the chaos. Chairs had been overturned. Glasses smashed. Chocolates strewn across the carpet, and then trodden into the weave by heavy boots.

Tweed closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He heard Barnaby's voice in his head. Remove yourself from the equation. Take all emotion out of it. Think logically. Reason and deduce. Never feel and act. That was a big mistake. Feeling, and acting on those feelings, was a pathway to…well, to all sorts of terrible consequences, according to Barnaby.

Problem was, he was beyond all that now. His time with Octavia had made him realize just how wrong his father was. That taking emotion out of life wasn't a worthy goal. Unless you wanted to be a lonely old man who talked to himself and kept a collection of snails in the bathtub. (As Barnaby had once done.)

Sekhem and Nehi had been here. They had taken Octavia.

And Tweed was very, very angry about it.

He was just turning back to the door when he saw a note on the sideboard. It was addressed to him. He ripped it open.

Mr. Tweed. If you get this letter before we arrive at the pyramids, come join us on the upper deck for some fresh air. If you don't get this letter before we dock, then I'm afraid Mr. Molock and the lovely Miss Nightingale will have taken a fatal dive from the ship.

Tweed burst out onto the upper deck of the airship. The ornithopters were being readied, pilots warming the engines in preparation for
ferrying the passengers to their hotel. The massive collection of gas-filled balloons billowed and bulged about fifty feet above him, the heavy cables fighting to keep them in check. He ran to the front of the ship. The sun was setting behind them, stretching his shadow far across the deck. He could see the Great Pyramid drawing closer, the bright sun shining full onto its refurbished cladding, glinting in the hundreds of windows that had been installed in the newly-built rooms. He searched frantically behind every piece of machinery, every ornithopter, every shed.

Nothing.

He sprinted toward the rear of the airship. At the far end of the deck was a series of buildings that served as offices for the watchmen. Tweed sprinted around the side of the buildings, then skidded to a stop.

There was about four meters of decking between Tweed and the railing that curved around the airship. Octavia and Molock were both sitting on this railing, while Sekhem and Nehi—both wearing their human faces—stood before them, guns pointed at their chests.

“You made it,” said Sekhem “Good for you.”

Tweed studied Octavia. She was pale and trembling, but if he knew her, she was trembling with rage and not fear. She didn't look hurt in any way.

“What are you doing?” said Tweed.

“Giving you a lesson in life.”

“I don't need lessons from you.”

“Oh, but you do. You see, it is the duty of all adults to teach children that life is not fair. That life is not black and white.” He pointed the gun at Tweed. “I don't think you've been taught that lesson.”

Tweed took a step forward, but Sekhem held up his hand to stop him. “Please. Don't. Otherwise they will both die.”

Tweed stopped. He looked quickly around, searching for something,
anything that could help him. Octavia and Molock were too far away to reach. He was outnumbered. He had no weapons.

This wasn't looking good.

“Now to the lesson,” said Sekhem. “We talked a bit about choices earlier, remember? Of course you do. I'm going to give you the choice I was never given, Mr. Tweed. The choice thousands of my people were never given.”

Should he just rush them? But if he did that, Nehi might push Octavia over.

“Pick one,” said Sekhem.

Tweed tore his eyes away Octavia. “What?”

Sekhem pointed first at Molock. “Pick him, the man who probably has the best chance of stopping us killing hundreds of thousands of your kind. The man with the intel you need to possibly stop us.” He tilted the gun to point at Octavia. “Or pick her. Your friend.” He smiled. “You can save one of them. Who is it to be?”

Tweed shook his head. “You can't force me to make that kind of decision. I won't.”

“You will.”

“I won't!” Tweed shouted. “Could
you
make such a choice? If you were given the chance to save your wife or your sister, could you pick between them?”

Sekhem walked forward a few steps, his face dark with rage. “
Make the choice
.”

“No. I won't do it. There has to be another option.”

“There isn't.”

“There is. I won't pick which of them will die. But…I offer you myself in their place.”

“Tweed!” shouted Octavia.

Sekhem's face registered surprise and Nehi let out a short laugh. Sekhem tilted his head slightly. “Really? You would do that?”

“I don't
want
to. But I won't play god, Sekhem. I won't sentence someone else to death.”

Sekhem thoughtfully tapped his teeth with the barrel of his gun. He stared at Tweed for what felt like hours. Finally he shrugged.

“Fine. Have it your way.” He reached behind him and shoved Molock hard in the chest. Nehi did the same to Octavia.

“
No!
”

Tweed barged past Sekhem and slammed into the railing. There was no sign of Octavia or Molock. Just empty sky and the sand far below.

He whirled around, but Sekhem and Nehi had vanished. Tweed turned back and stared helplessly at the sand, squinting through tears of rage.

Octavia was gone.

He had killed her.

Octavia didn't think they would do it. She really didn't. Who pushes people off of moving airships?

But then everything happened in a blur. Nehi placed the barrel of the gun against her chest and pushed. Octavia tried to grab hold of Nehi as the air dropped out from behind her. Her fingertips brushed Nehi's shirt, but the woman took a step back and Octavia was left grasping air.

She plummeted past the hull of the airship. She tried to grab hold of something—
anything
—but there were no handholds. The sides of the airship were smooth.

Octavia twisted around to see Molock tumbling through the air a few feet away. The sight of him falling, with the sunset behind him and the ground far below, froze her heart with terror. She was going to die. This was it.

Her life didn't flash in front of her eyes, like some people said. All she thought was,
So soon? But I haven't figured anything out yet.

A surging blast of air suddenly snatched at her, pulling her clothes and hair. It got stronger, yanking her closer to the airship. She saw vents in the hull, descending like a ladder. Every time she passed one, a great in-breath of air jerked her closer. What was this? Something to do with the Tesla Turbines? A safety measure?

Whatever it was, it was pulling her closer to the
Albion
, and as she was about to leave the airship behind there was a final pull of air, sucking her beneath the hull.

Octavia screamed as she was thrown about. She tumbled head over heels, narrowly avoiding crashing up against the bottom of the airship.

Then the wind stopped. She floated lazily for a second, then dropped.

She hit something and bounced.

Octavia looked wildly around as she came down again. She had landed on a rope net. She grabbed hold of it tightly, staring down at the desert floor hundreds of feet below. Wind whipped her hair around her face, but it wasn't the fierce sucking air that had saved her. It was the wind created by the
Albion
sailing through the sky.

Octavia took a deep, shuddering breath of relief.

Then she heard someone calling her name.

Molock
.

She looked wildly around. The rope net spanned the entire length and breadth of the airship. She searched everywhere, but couldn't see any sign of the Hyperborean.

“Over here!”

Octavia turned toward the sound of the voice. Molock hadn't made it onto the safety net. His foot had become tangled in the rope and he was dangling over empty space.

The wind buffeted him, shoving him back every time he tried to pull himself up. Octavia started crawling toward him. She could see his foot starting to slip. He had managed to loop the rope around his ankle, but the wind pummeled him, blowing him back and forth like a leaf on an autumn tree.

“Hang on!” Octavia shouted. But her words were snatched away by the gale and flung out into the clouds.

Octavia found herself struggling against the air pressure. It had to be a safety feature, something generated by the Tesla Turbines. The makers harnessed the outflow of air and used it to save anyone who fell overboard.

Or were pushed
, she thought bitterly.

The wind howled and shrieked in her ears. She tried to duck
lower, pulling herself forward. She was about ten feet away now. Molock saw her coming. He tried to reach up with his hand, but every time he bent upward at the waist, his foot would slide further out of the rope.

“Stop moving, you idiot!” Octavia screamed.

Molock locked eyes with her. He shouted the word,
“What?”
At least, Octavia thought he did. She couldn't hear anything over the wind.

And neither, it seemed, could he. Molock put his hands to his ears, indicating he couldn't hear her. Octavia raised one hand and pulled it quickly across her throat, indicating he should stop doing what he was doing. It was only when Molock paled even further that she realized her gesture for “stop it,” could also be interpreted as “You're going to die.”

She dragged herself closer. Molock finally had the sense to stop struggling. Which was a good thing, because the only thing keeping him from plummeting to his death was the buckle on his boot.

Which then started to tear, the stitching separating slowly from the leather.

Molock opened his mouth to scream. Octavia lunged forward, slipping her arm through the rope and wrapping it around his calf, bringing it back up and linking it to her other arm.

With Octavia holding him, Molock eventually managed to pull himself upright. He grabbed hold of the edge of the net, then indicated that Octavia should let go of his foot. At least, that's what she thought he was indicating. His hair was whipping all over his face, and his jacket was riding up over his head, so it was possible she was wrong. But she let go anyway, and he pulled his foot through the hole.

He was snatched up by the wind and flung over the top of the net. He somersaulted over Octavia's head, then bounced and rolled to a stop about thirty feet away. Octavia sighed and dragged herself
back, flopping down next to Molock. He was gripping the rope rather tightly, his knuckles showing white against his skin.

“That was rather exciting,” he said in a shaky voice.

Octavia grinned. “Don't get comfortable. We still have to figure out a way back onto the airship.”

“No,” said Molock. “I think I'm just going to lie right here. Forever.”

Octavia looked around in frustration. She wanted to get back to Tweed, to let him know she was still alive, but she couldn't see any way off this net. After they docked it would be a different story. It would be easier to get free when they didn't have a thousand-foot drop beneath them.

The sun sank lower in the sky behind them. The heat burned against her neck as they approached the Great Pyramid (or rather, Tutankhamen's View, as it was now called). The newly refurbished pyramid, now made primarily of glass and steel, was topped with a glittering capstone that doubled as an elevator. The windows winked and glittered, dazzling her with a thousand reflections of the setting sun.

She blinked and looked away. New roads had been laid between Tutankhamen's View, the two other lesser hotels, and Cairo itself. Even from this distance she could see the steamcoaches chugging along, clouds drifting sluggishly into the heat-heavy air.

As they drew closer to the hotel, ornithopters started to lift off from the deck above them, carrying those too impatient to wait for the airship to dock.

Octavia soon realized how massive the pyramid actually was. From this distance it looked
reasonably
big. But when the ornithopters flapped their way up the face of the structure, shrinking in size the closer they got, she could truly appreciate the massive scale of it all.

“That is truly one of the most horrendous and exploitative buildings I've ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes upon,” said Molock sadly. “What was the government thinking?”

“Money,” said Octavia. “Some English conglomerate paid them a lot of cash to do that.”

Ornithopters were soon buzzing back and forth, ferrying more and more passengers to the hotel. The
Albion
drew closer, decreasing speed as it did so, and finally drifted to a stop directly above the capstone.

Octavia peered down through the net. There was a huge central shaft cut down the center of the pyramid. From this height she could see the lights of the various levels all the way to the ground floor, the hundreds of guests moving throughout the hotel.

“I suppose we should try to flag someone down,” said Octavia. “Can't stay up here forever.”

“No,” said Molock sadly. “More's the pity. It's actually quite relaxing now that the mind-numbing fear is gone.”

They crawled slowly toward the edge. Now that the airship had stopped moving, the wind had dissipated completely. Only the balloons were keeping the airship afloat. There was still no easy way down, and it took a lot of waving and shouting before they managed to catch the attention of a rather startled pilot. He almost crashed his ornithopter into the hull of the airship when he saw them, but he managed to get word to someone on board and about half an hour later a previously invisible hatch opened in the underside of the ship and they climbed back to safety.

They were ferried to the capstone, which was actually wider than it had looked from above, easily thirty feet along each side. Octavia and Molock joined the other guests waiting for elevators to descend the central shaft into the hotel.

There had been something bothering her about Molock's story.
Well,
all
of it bothered her, but there was something that worried her more than everything else.

“Are you sure there's a spy in our government?” she asked.

It was a worrying development, because it meant one of their own people was trying to cause the destruction of London. Cult or no cult, that was just…horrible.

“That's what our sources told us. That Sekhem had a member of the Hermetic Order deep within your government. High up.”

“But for what purpose?”

“Intelligence gathering, mainly. In this game you need to know what your enemies are up to.”

“If you don't mind me saying, we don't seem to be very good at the game then.”

They shuffled forward slowly in the line. Octavia's gaze drifted to the ground, where the busy roads were full of rickshaws and steamcoaches moving people back and forth between Cairo and the pyramids.

But there was one figure walking along the road in the opposite direction, heading back along the path the airship had traveled. She would recognize that hunched over walk anywhere. It was Tweed.

What was he doing, heading out in this heat?

Then she realized. He thought she had fallen to her death. He was heading into the desert to retrieve her body.

A rush of pain welled up in Octavia. She grabbed Molock and pushed her way to the front of the queue, ignoring the cries and shouts of annoyance. She shoved a young woman out of the way and climbed into the elevator. A man with dark skin pulled the door closed and swung the lever all the way to the left. The lift dropped down the shaft.

If the elevator was anything to go by, then the hotel itself was going to be ornate to the point of bad taste. Gold cherubs stared
down at them from each corner, and the walls were mirrored, so that Octavia found herself looking at her disheveled reflection stretching all the way to infinity. Her hair was all over the place thanks to the wind on the safety net. Her clothes were tattered, her bodice ripped at the shoulder and across the back. No wonder she had been getting such distasteful stares from the other guests.

Octavia watched through the gate as they descended past the different levels. She could scarcely believe it used to be a priceless pyramid, the tomb of Pharaoh Khufu. Now barely anything of the original structure survived. It had been hollowed out, rooms and staircases grafted onto the interior walls. Hidden lamps cast dim light across the corridors, illuminating the Egyptian friezes that had been painted over the old, faded, original art.

It was garish and tasteless, and a huge hit with the rich.

The elevator bumped to a stop and Octavia hurried out into the ground floor lobby.

“Wait here,” she said to Molock. “I need to find Tweed. We'll catch up with you later.”

Molock nodded in bewilderment and Octavia moved through the lobby, passing display cases where most of the original pieces from the pyramid were displayed: the sarcophagi, the staffs, the gold and decorative headdresses.

Octavia hurried past the front desk and headed for the door, a long oblong of bright light that cast the interior of the lobby in shadow. She dodged around valets carrying suitcases and travel bags, sidestepped guests queuing up to check in, most of them grumbling about the sheer cheek of them having to wait for
anything
, and emerged into the sweltering early evening air, blinking in the light.

Octavia had seen Tweed on the north side of the pyramid, heading out into the desert. She didn't think he could have gotten far. The silly bugger was on foot after all.