Egyptian Rhapsody

Part One

 

ZZZZZ

 

“At last,” Anya’s petulant cry of exasperation greeted both Buffy and Willow as they walked through the Magic Box’s front door, a few minutes after closing time.  “I thought you’d never get come.  All afternoon we’ve had removalists traipsing through the shop, distracting the customers from making purchases, just to deliver your things.”

 

“I’m sorry, Anya,” Willow assured the flustered girl.  “But I’m sure you’re exaggerating ~ the executors were quite insistent that there were only a few crates…”

 

“Only a few?  Only a few?  Of course there is only a few,” the honey blonde shook her head and busied herself with counting the money that the shop had taken during the course of the day.  “Why believe me when I’ve been here the whole afternoon watching as the back end of a enormous truck was emptied into the store?  Of course I have to be exaggerating…”

 

“Err, where’s Giles?” asked Willow, glancing about the empty store.

 

“Giles?  You mean the owner of this fine establishment, who should be out here promoting sales?” snapped Anya, still counting the money, her eyebrows raising and lowering as she spoke.  “Your things have distracted him. But of course, maybe I’m exaggerating that as well.”

 

“Okay,” Willow frowned and watched as the furious ex-demon scribbled down some figures and put the money back in the cash register.

 

“Good day, Anya?” asked Buffy with mild amusement.

 

“No, as I said, Willow’s things kept distracting the customers.  They were all ‘oh, look at that’ and ‘oh my, is this new stock’ and ‘can we purchase that’ and they hardly bought anything.  The monetary transactions were not as good as previous Tuesdays and it has been most disappointing,” Anya huffed, gathering up her purse and coat.  “I’m leaving.  You can tell Giles, he’s somewhere in the training room, if you can find him.”

 

“If we can find him?” repeated Willow as they watched Anya leave, and she turned to Buffy.  “The lawyers said that there were only a few crates to be shipped from the estate in England.  I mean, a crate isn’t that big, is it? She has to be exaggerating, right?”

 

“Probably. You know Anya, if anything interferes with the accumulation of money then it’s the end of the world,” Buffy grinned, heading off towards the door that separated the main shop area from the training room, and Willow shook her head as she followed. 

 

“A few crates, that’s all, I wouldn’t have even asked Giles if I could get it delivered here if there was a…” Willow was stunned into silence as she followed Buffy into the training room. 

 

“Oh my god.”

 

It was said in union as they stared at the room that seemed impossibly tiny compared to the masses of old tea chests, trunks and boxes that were piled up.  Willow walked into the center of the room, the only available feet of space left vacant in the room, and turned about.  There were also statues and, lord forbid, three or four sarcophagi.

 

“I guess I won’t be doing any training tonight,” stated Buffy, joining her friend in the center of the room.  “Look at this stuff.”

 

“Yes,” a voice came from one of the sarcophagus and both the girls spun, screaming and clutching at each other as Giles popped out from behind the ancient casket.  “It’s quite extraordinary.”

 

“Giles, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Buffy admonished while Willow gasped for breath.  “God, don’t do creepy things like that.”

 

“Sorry, I was just…” he held his hands apart, obviously exalted by the sheer magnitude of promise that was held within all of the various boxes and trunks.  “This is a truly amazing collection with most of these items being actual artifacts from Egypt.  I’ve never seen anything like this ~ not even in the most prestigious museums of the world.  It’s…it’s…astounding.”

 

Willow was still silent, slowly pacing the small amount of floor space, the frown lines getting deeper and deeper as she chewed on her bottom lip.

 

“You need to get a pet even more so than when we were in High School,” Buffy shook her head at the highly agitated Watcher. 

 

“I have to admit,” Giles confessed, the grin that had been plastered across his usually stoic face became even wider.  “I am quite excited by the prospect of what is hidden away here.  Really, Willow, you should have told us that your family was interested in Egyptian artifacts.”

 

“I would have,” Willow turned back to the two. “But it was never mentioned.”

 

“You mean your great-grandparents had this most fascinating private collection and it was never even talked about?” Giles was practically bouncing with joy.  “I find that most unbelievable.”

 

“I don’t know that they were even my great-grandparents, I think you have to add another great in there somewhere,” Willow gave a shrug and continued to peruse the various bits and pieces that were neatly stacked around her.  “Anyway, my mom never really spoke of them…they were kind of considered the black sheep of the family.  You know, unusual.  I think they were archeologists, or something, but I’m not sure.  All I know is that no one really talks about them much …I didn’t even know this stuff existed until I got that letter from the lawyers saying that it had been around for years and if I wasn’t going to lay claim to it then the British Museum would be more than happy to take it off my hands.  I’m sorry Giles, the executors didn’t say that there was this much…” she looked about the various trunks and chests.  “Stuff.”

 

“Oh no, don’t apologize,” Giles assured her and Buffy shook her head in disbelief.

 

“Look at you,” the Slayer declared.  “You’re as giddy as a school girl.”

 

“It’s a truly fascinating collection of artifacts, Buffy,” Giles was still bouncing and shaking his head, his eyes feasting on what lay in the room.  “You really can’t appreciate how extraordinary this is…”

 

“I think I can,” she replied, grimacing at the huge sarcophagus that Willow was examining. “Since you keep repeating yourself.  Are there actual mummies in those things?”

 

“No, no, the occupants of these wonderful sarcophagi are no longer in residence,” Giles sounded somewhat disappointed.

 

“Well, as thrilling as this is, I have to go and pick up Dawn,” Buffy turned from the bouncing Watcher to the awestruck Witch.  “Are you coming, Will?”

 

“Actually, I might stay here for a while and sort through a few things,” Willow spoke softly, still trying to comprehend the ‘few crates’.  “Can you tell Tara?”

 

“Sure,” shrugged Buffy.  “Now Giles, remember as exciting as these things are they aren’t worth having a coronary over.  Okay?”

 

“You’re concern is appreciated, Buffy.  Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement that I can’t break.  Willow, will you be all right by yourself?”

 

“I’ll be fine,” she said softly, her fingers running across the carved hieroglyphics on the sarcophagus.  “I probably won’t stay long.  But I can make a start on working through this stuff…maybe find out some information about where it all came from.”

 

“There are a few trunks and tea chests marked ‘personal’, I think they’re back there,” Giles waved in the general direction of the back of the room.  “I’ll lock up and then, when you leave, all you have to do is turn off the lights, put the alarm on and pull the door shut behind you.  You know the code, don’t you?”

 

“Yep,” Willow nodded absentmindedly, wandering deeper into the warren of boxes and things.  “I’ll see you guys later and thanks for putting up with this mess, Giles.”

 

“Oh, no, it’s a pleasure, Willow,” he assured her as the grin once more broadened and he rubbed his hands together.

 

“And sadly that’s spoken with so much enthusiasm you just know it’s the truth,” Buffy crossed her arms and turned on her heel, more than happy to leave the overcrowded room.  “See ya, Will, don’t let the mummies get you!”

 

“Ha, ha,” Willow said, glancing back over her shoulder at the departing duo.  Moving amongst the treasure trove, she shook her head in amazement.  Nearly every wooden tea chest, with the heavy metal securing the wood together at the sides and corners, carried words that were in a foreign language, although a few were in English.  Mostly though they were addresses and old transport labels, they gave no real indication as to what the chests contained and she could feel a smidgen of Giles excitement start to intoxicate her.  Unfortunately, the heavy metal that sealed the wood ensured that she couldn’t open them with her bare hands.  It didn’t mean that they couldn’t be opened with the use of a tire lever, the sort that Anya kept under the counter for safety reasons. 

 

Five minutes later, with tire lever in one hand and a black marker pen with paper in the other, Willow made her way back into the training room.  She’d shut down the front shop lights and ensured that the front and back doors were firmly locked, the last thing she wanted was to be disturbed while she was exploring her new found inheritance. 

 

“Okay,” she glanced about the room, grinning like a maniac as she tried to figure out which tea chest to open first.  There were too many to chose from.  So she shut her eyes, held out the tire lever and started to spin.  “I’ll take what’s in box number….” She stopped spinning and opened her eyes, following the direction of the lever in her hand.  “One.”

 

The chest was no different to the rest and she tossed the paper and pen down on top of the chest next to it.  Carefully, she levered back the metal seal and jammed the lever into the crack of the wooden lid.  Even using all her weight as a lever, the lid barely moved.  It creaked and groaned, eventually shifting slightly as the nails were slowly prized out of their holes.  With the gap widening, Willow shoved the lever in deeper and threw her whole weight behind getting the lid off.  It worked, the lid came fee and went soaring up into the air as Willow fell to the floor, her hands instantly flying up to protect the back of her head as the tire lever landed to the left of her and the lid collided with another chest somewhere towards the back of the room. 

 

“Note to self,” Willow cautiously pushed herself off the floor.  “Once the lid starts to loosen, you don’t need as much brute strength.  Now…” she stared down at the padding that the box held, before pulling it away.  “Let’s see what’s in here.”

 

The first layer of padding was pushed away to reveal a sheet of heavy paper, the notes of which were written in black ink that had faded to green over the years and luckily for Willow, they were written in English.  Picking it up, she frowned.  Neat handwriting listed the contents, stating the names, a brief description, date and where the item originated.  They were formal and would have made any archivist proud, but for one thing ~ littered throughout the typical archive jargon were little personal notes such as ‘R found on second wedding anniversary’ or ‘Ruined new shoes’ or ‘Camels can run extremely fast’.  There were constant references to ‘R’ and the various mishaps that had befallen the adventurers as they collected their treasures and Willow couldn’t help but smile at the notes.  Keeping a firm hold on the paper, she pulled aside the next layer of padding, revealing the very last item on the list.  A small bust of Osiris, God of the Underworld. 

 

Carefully, Willow made her way through the chests contents and all of it was exactly as listed in the notes.  A few hours later, four of the large tea chests had been opened and each of them held a list that not only gave her an insight into the contents of the box and how they were found, but also about the people who found them.  And that was what interested her the most.  It wasn’t that the items in the chests weren’t beautiful or amazing in themselves, but for some reason they didn’t hold as much fascination as the people mentioned in the pages and their life. 

 

With that in mind, Willow put the lid back on the repacked tea chest, tossed her tire lever aside and headed in the direction that Giles had indicated with regards to the ‘personal’ items.  It was another hour and half before she found the trunks that the Watcher had mentioned and much to her annoyance, they weren’t actually at the back of the room, but rather near the very sarcophagus that Giles had been standing next to when he gave her directions.  Obviously the excitement had proven to be too much for the Watcher.

 

It took some maneuvering of boxes and trunks but she soon had easy access to the pigskin trunks, suitcases and heavy army bags that she assumed to be the personal items rather than merely part of the rest of the collection of artifacts.  The main trunk, a large black leather covered metal beast that stood at least four and a half foot tall and nearly double that in width, was thoroughly locked with an enormous padlock and she hoped that the other trunks would prove to hold a key.  Working through the various tags and labels, Willow decided on a heavy pigskin trunk with the initials E.O’C engraved in gold on the lid.  The buckles and straps that held it closed were worn with age, the leather was molded to the buckles and proved almost as difficult as the lids of the tea chests to get undone.  But the promise of what was held within was more than enough to strengthen her perseverance and she was eventually rewarded, after several curses and utterances that would have had even Xander with all of his work site experience blushing.

 

And the trunk held everything that Willow had been looking for.  Tissue paper, carefully folded and sprinkled with herbs of some sort, kept the layers of clothes, photographs and journals separate from each other.  At first the paper revealed nothing but clothes, the sort of clothes that were no longer made, with fabric so soft and fine and delicate that Willow was almost frightened to touch them in case they fell apart in her hands.  There were long skirts and blouses that had tiny little pearl buttons that were carefully hidden away under a layer of fabric. Amongst them all were underwear that Willow certainly couldn’t imagine wearing and stockings that had to be made of silk.  As she lifted the last layer of clothes out of the trunk, she found herself face to face with a picture that could have only been the owner of the clothes.  The sepia photograph, on a solid card base, had been hand painted, giving a subtle hint of color to the picture, lips and cheeks were blushed while eyes glowed darkly and chestnut hair was pulled back from the woman’s face as she stood by an empty chair with a nervous smile.

 

“Wow,” Willow sighed, picking up the old photo and studying the picture it presented.  Turning it over, she read the inscription on the back.  “Evelyn (Evie) Carnarvan, Cairo, 1926.”  Willow stared at the picture, tracing the woman’s features lightly with her finger, before placing it with the clothes and picking up the next photograph.  It was the same setting, but this time a young man had joined her, sitting in the chair and grinning very much like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.  “Evelyn Carnarvan and her fiancé, Mr Rick O’Connell, Cairo, 1926,” Willow frowned for a moment, something was strikingly familiar.  “Oh, oh, you’re ‘R’.  Well, you certainly got yourself into a lot of scrapes, Mister.”

 

It was strange to see the pictures, even stranger to think that her family would want to basically disown the couple.  From what Willow had read and could see of the two, there was nothing to be ashamed of.  In fact from now on she was going to disown everyone but her great-great, or however many greats there were meant to be , grandparents.  An hour was devoted to the study of photographs, pictures of their adventures, of associates and of a rather dubious looking man who was apparently her great whatever uncle.  She never actually saw him in a picture without a drink in his hand or a flimsy looking girl on his arm.  Some of the photographs were of Egypt, with the digs they attended, others were formal photographs done in studios in Cairo or London.  Wherever they were, they always seemed happy and in love.  Willow sighed and put down the last of the pictures. 

 

The next layer of tissue paper hid the finest swathe of black material she’d ever seen.  Gently, she lifted it free of the trunk and frowned at the weight of it.  Then something glittered in the dark cloth and she carefully unfolded it.  There, amongst the finely woven fabric, was heavy silver.  Some of it was woven into the material, while other pieces were laying loose.  For a moment, she stared at the silver, her fingers tracing over the design that was woven into the outfit and she glanced back at the pictures.  There was one, half obscured by the rest, of Evie dressed in an outfit that carried the same design.  Shifting slightly, Willow picked up the photograph and glanced between it and the fabric pooled on the floor.  It had to be the same thing, but it couldn’t be.  Evie was dressed in a distinct shirt and skirt type outfit with silver worked into the viel and holding the whole thing together.  All that Willow had was a pool of black fabric…it couldn’t possibly be the same outfit.

 

Then again maybe it was.  Willow fiddled for a little while, pushing and pulling at the folds of material, until it vaguely resembled the picture.  Of course, she wouldn’t actually be able to tell if it was the same outfit without trying it on.  Glancing around the empty shop, just to make certain she was alone, Willow shook her head.

 

“I must be going insane,” she muttered to herself as she easily slipped off her top, kicked off her shoes and pushed down her long skirt, tossing them all onto the huge leather trunk.  Trying to get into the outfit was frustrating, there were no zips or buttons or anything that could possibly be considered easy.  She had to first slip into the knee-length pants, which were huge and had no real waist, and the blouse section of the outfit.  Neither of them fitted, but that was where the swathe of material came into play, it wrapped tightly about her waist, holding the pants up and giving the top shape while soft layers fell down to the ground, forming a soft flowing skirt.  The heavy silver decorations cinched about her waist, holding everything in place and finishing the outfit off with a heavy beaded fringe that hung down from her waist, nearly to her knees.  By the time she had it all worked out and fitted, she was sweating.  “Okay, takes an hour to get on…but it’s surprisingly comfy.”

 

Pushing her hair away from her face, she looked at the photograph of Evie in the same costume and grinned.  There was something missing though, and she looked back at the trunk.  There, lying flat in the debris of tissue paper, were a pair of black leather boots with a curved heel.  Willow knew, even as she picked them up, that they wouldn’t fit, but it was still worth a try.  Surprisingly enough, they were big enough to get on, but not big enough to be comfortable.

 

“Ow, ow, ow, pinching the toes,” hissed Willow as her toes went numb in the too tight boots and she pranced around.

 

“What are you meant to be then?  The Queen of Sheba?  Or a Harem girl?” a voice rumbled in her ear and she screamed, spinning around, losing her balance in the overly tight boots and slamming back into the sarcophagus, making it wobble.  Spike’s eyes widened and his arms went up, steadying the unstable casket and effectively trapping Willow.  “Bloody hell, Red.  You’re not going to make a good harem girl if you keep upsetting the Mummy’s coffin.”

 

“Very funny, Spike,” Willow stated, glaring at him.  “What are you doing here?”

 

“Saw the light on, thought the Slayer might be training…” he shrugged and lowered his arms so he could find his cigarettes to light one.  Slowly taking a deep drag, he took a good long look at the flustered redhead and snatched the photo she was holding from her hands.  Exhaling, he quirked his scared eyebrow, glancing from the photo to Willow and back at the photo again.  “Very nice,” and he smirked as she took the photo back, scowling at him.  “What the hell is all this friggin’ crap?”

 

“My inheritance,” declared Willow indignantly.  Ignoring her angry bluster, Spike leant over the photographs she’d been so wrapped up in before and picked one up.  She immediately slapped his hand and he dropped the photo back in the pile.  “I’ll ask you to keep your hands to yourself, thank you very much!”

 

“Inheritance?” Spike took another drag and glanced about the overcrowded room.  “Well, well, well, who would have thought it?” he asked, swaggering over to the large un-open chest with its huge padlock.  He kicked it.  “What’s in here?”

 

“Considering it’s still locked, I think that gives you a pretty clear picture that I don’t know,” she said haughtily and spared the unwelcome vampire a venomous glare. It soon turned to embarrassment as she realized he had picked up her clothes that had been lying on top of the chest.  She stepped forward and yanked them away. “Will you stop touching things?”

 

He merely shrugged and knocked the ash off the end of his cigarette.  “Where’s the key?”

 

“There is no key, not that I know of anyway,” Willow stated flatly, rolling her clothes up and dropping them out of sight.  By the time she turned back to Spike, he was squatting down in front of the massive trunk with a piece of wire jammed in the lock.  “Spike, what are you doing?”

 

“What does it look like? I’m picking the damn lock…”

 

“If you break that…”

 

“Relax, I’m not going to break anything. In fact,” he twisted the wire once more, the old locking mechanism disabled itself and the heavy padlock swung open.  “Ta da! Let’s have a look see.”

 

“You really are a deviant,” she insisted, shaking her head in disbelief as he made quick work of the few straps that secured the trunk’s lid in place.  It was pushed open, falling back with a loud thud and Spike haphazardly pulled out a heavy blanket that covered the contents.

 

“What’s this,” Spike demanded, pulling out a strange little box like item and holding it up for Willow to see.  “Looks like one of those puzzle boxes.”  He started to twist and turn the little metal container, only it didn’t shift and he scowled down at it before tossing it over his shoulder.  “Bloody thing doesn’t work, what else is in here?”

 

Willow caught the box and shook her head.  “Why are you so interested in what’s in that trunk?”

 

“Because,” Spike pulled out an item that was bundled up in another blanket.  “Things that are safely locked up are usually worth a lot of money.  What’s this then?”

 

Willow glanced up at the heavy metal book that he held in his hand, the blanket that had protected it laid abandoned at his feet.  “Looks like a book.”

 

“No, I would never have guessed,” he said sarcastically.  Taking a last drag on his cigarette, he put it out and turned the book over in his hands.  “Bugger, I think it’s locked.”

 

“You mean the mighty deviant can’t pick it?”  Willow asked, fiddling with the little puzzle box that Spike had so willingly abandoned.  A quick glance at the blond found him struggling with the book, trying to force it open. Willow shook her head and her lips twisted into a smile.  “What are you doing?”

 

“What does it bloody well look like I’m doing?”

 

“Actually, it looks like you’re constipated,” Willow giggled and he stopped his valiant struggle. 

 

“Very funny, Harem,” Spike snarled, turning the book over and frowning at the strange shaped indentation that he presumed was the locking mechanism.

 

“Well, you did ask…” she started, her fingers still fiddling with the little box and it popped open.  “Oh, my.”

 

“By Jove, I think you’ve just found the key,” Spike grinned at her and held out the book, showing her the similar shaped device.  “You want to do the honors, love?”

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“Come on, it’s just a book,” Spike insisted, taking the key from her and slotting it into the compartment.  “What harm ever came from reading a book?”

 

With a wicked grin, Spike turned the key and the book opened.  Removing the metal box from the lock, he tossed it back to her and opened up the book.  Pages of paper, similar to those Willow had found in the tea chests, fluttered down to the ground and she bent to retrieve them.

 

“Hmm, ahm kum ra,” she furrowed her brow, working through the strange language.  Suddenly, Spike pulled them from her grasp, crossed his legs and dropped down to the floor, resting the large black book open on his lap.

 

“Ahm kum Ra,” Spike started to sound his way through the words and Willow dropped down next to him, turning her attention back to Evie’s trunk, quite content that he’d be happy to merely entertain himself with the book for a while. “Ahm kum Dei.”

 

Willow shook her head as she watched him puzzle over the words, stumbling a little over the strange pronunciation, he was like a little kid with a new toy ~ although she was certain that in five minutes he’d be back and ransacking through everything again.  Still, it gave her a few moments peace and she turned her attention back to her great whatever grandmother’s trunk and the next layer of tissue paper.  This time she hit the jackpot as it was torn away to reveal a number of journals.

 

“Rah tu dei. Rah tu dei. Rah tu dei,” Spike finished the translation and raised his scared eyebrow as a cool breeze whipped around the training room, sending the layers of tissue paper swirling about.

 

“What was that?” asked Willow.

 

“Just a draught,” Spike assured her, turning his attention back to the paper he held.  “Uh oh.”

 

“Uh oh?” echoed Willow as she frowned at him.  “Uh oh what, Spike?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nothing? Give me that,” Willow insisted, grabbing the pages from the blond and skimming through the words.  Her face paled and she read the endnotes aloud.  “’When the book of the dead is open and these words are spoken aloud, Imhotep, he who has been cursed with the Hom-Dai, will be raised and will bring with him the ten plagues of Egypt…’ This isn’t ‘uh oh’, Spike, this is…this is…”

 

“Worthy of a Giles’ ‘oh dear’?” he smirked at the pale redhead.

 

“Exactly,” Willow was starting to panic, somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was certain that one of the ten plagues had been the raining down of frogs.

 

“Look love, nothing happened, it’s just a joke,” Spike assured her, taking the pages back and flipping through them.  “You take things too seriously, now let’s see what else is in here.”

 

“No, Spike,” she snapped at him, dragging the book out of his lap and grabbing the pages from his grasp. “Don’t touch anything else.”

 

“But…”

 

“No, you don’t know what any of this stuff is really capable of and this…” she waved the pieces of paper in his face.  “Just proves that!”

 

Spike watched as she neatly put the written pages back in the front of the book, closed it and securely locked it. 

 

“Come on, Red,” Spike smirked at her.  “You don’t really believe in that hocus pocus do you?”

 

Little did he know that in Egypt in the ruins of an ancient city the sands were shifting and the beast had been woken.  A rage, originating from betrayal and wretchedness, swirled within and the creature called forth his army of the dead.

 

ZZZZZ

 

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