The Anubis Plague полностью

Typically, Baahir was soft-spoken and well-mannered to everyone he met. It was a quality he had inherited from his mother. But when someone stood in the way of him and his work, he tended to erupt and lash out. He blamed it on the other half of his bloodline — his father’s half. But, in reality, it stemmed from his unresolved issues with the man. That’s what Baahir’s therapist had said, anyway. Not everyone deserved his wrath. Those that didn’t received a quick apology from him.

Baahir spun and continued forward. Mr. Rahal wouldn’t be getting an apology.

Slowly, Baahir leaned into a chamber. It was empty, save for a three-foot-tall altar built of stone near its rear wall. Definitely not a tomb. Thankfully, the space was tall enough for them to stand erect. Baahir unfolded himself, instantly forgetting his sore back. The walls of the room were etched from floor-to-ceiling in hieroglyphs and pictographs. He immediately dove into the story — a story Baahir knew well. But when Baahir was halfway through skimming over the text, he realized that it wasn’t the same familiar story, after all.

He dragged his light back to the beginning, stopping on the wall to the right of the chamber entrance. He was still missing something.

“What’s that?” Abbas asked, pointing his light at a section directly above the doorway.

Baahir added his light and was astonished by what he read.

“It can’t be…”

“It can’t be what?” Rahal asked, not understanding the significance.

As far as Baahir knew, he was the only one who could read the hieroglyphs.

Abbas’ voice was low and soft, and he uttered a single word — a name. “Anubis.”

Baahir looked up at the construction foreman. Abbas had figured out part of the riddle, but how?

Somewhere between finding the text above the passageway and Baahir deciphering it, Abbas had turned back toward the altar. And Abbas hadn't figured out the Anubis thing by reading the scripts, it had to have been something else. So, Baahir turned to see what Abbas had been looking at — something each of the had missed when they had entered the room. The wall above the altar put the entire story into context. It was easy to understand, even for a child.

“What?”

Apparently, Mr. Rahal still didn’t get it.

Baahir shivered with excitement and explained. “This — all of this — describes a collection of scrolls that was eventually put together to become the Book of the Dead.” He took a deep breath. “The first Book of the Dead.”

Baahir’s eyes opened wider as he stepped forward and inspected the altar. It wasn’t an altar at all. It was a chest of some kind — a vault! And as vaults only really existed for one purpose, Baahir was pretty sure he knew what was inside of this one.

We’re inside a temple dedicated to Anubis that features texts highlighting the god and his burial practices and funeral rites.

“And him?” Rahal aimed his light at a figure looming over the rest of the carvings, as well as the altar and the people inside the tomb. The impossible individual held out his hands as if he was offering something of value to them — to the world.

Knowledge, Baahir decided.

But there, between his open hands, was a depiction of a single canopic jar. It reminded him of another one he had seen many times before.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Baahir asked rhetorically. He peered up at the jackal-headed being. “That is Anubis…” he took a deep breath as Abbas, Rahal, and even the grizzled laborer, Ghazzi, encircled him, “author of the original Book of the Dead.”

Less than a mile south of the Giza Pyramid Complex sat the most luxurious nightlife destination in the entire region. Originally opened as a local watering hole in the mid-seventies, Seti’s Place had been purchased by a private investment group, torn down, and rebuilt into the spectacle it was today, The Pharaoh's Lounge. Only the social elite, or those with enough money, could get in without making a reservation months in advance. Not only were the services and menu impeccable, but so were the second-floor accommodations.

Weapons, drugs, women… The Pharaoh's Lounge dealt in them all.

Since re-opening under its new moniker, the establishment had successfully skirted the law with nothing more than an occasional slap on the wrist. The Pharaoh's Lounge was mostly untouchable because one of its oldest clients was a ranking member of the Egyptian Parliament. But the business’ resounding success wasn’t the only thing that interested its owner. Khaliq Ayad used the financial gains to feed his obsession, the ancient mythology of his homeland.