Chapter Twenty-Three: The Plan

 

 

***

 

Ardeth, Jonathan, Pierre, and Hubert sat outside on rocks as the late afternoon sun burned down on them.  They had attempted to find what shade they could, but there wasn’t much.  Down the little dirt path were several tents, rustling slightly in the meager breeze.

 

The Westerners had been in the Med Jai camp for several days and had adapted quickly to the rhythms of desert life.  Jonathan, having lived in Cairo for several years, adapted the quickest, used to the arid environment and oppressive African heat.  Similarly, Pierre, having lived in various squalid slums and shanties over the course of his life, found no problem sleeping like a baby on rough desert sand.

 

Jonathan felt comfortable in Egypt, and had even called it his home at one time.  He was used to the gritty, burnt feel of living in the desert.  And Egypt excited him–before Imhotep it had held promises of money and adventure.  But he knew his relationship to Egypt was nothing like Evy’s.  Egypt ran in her blood.  It was a part of her soul.

 

The tribe had been friendly and had welcomed them, offering them all of the available comforts.  But despite their general geniality, most of the Med Jai kept their distance.  They had been in seclusion for so long, hiding in the mountains, they were content just to watch them from afar.  They were awed by Jonathan, the man from legend, who, almost like a savior, had appeared out of the desert with the Black Book of the Dead.  He was a hero, a miracle, and the men and women held back, their emotions tinged with respect and hope.

 

The four men sat sprawled on various rocks.  Jonathan leaned back heavily against a stone slab, his eyes closed against the heat.  With the fairest skin, Jonathan had already developed quite a sunburn.  Opposite him Pierre sat, a shirt wrapped about his head, tensely perched on the edge of his rock, playing with a loose thread on his robe.  Hubert sat cross-legged on a flat stone.  He did not say much, awed by the three older men around him, but his eyes and ears took in everything.

 

Adil had left two days ago, and all of the men were nervous as to his fate.  There was no chance of reaching him or finding out if he had succeeded in reaching the slave’s quarters.  Ardeth was especially tense and afraid for his friend, although he did not say anything directly.

 

Abruptly the Med Jai stood and began pacing, flicking a fly from his ear as he worked off some nervous energy.

 

To distract him from his worries, Jonathan spoke, breaking the heavy stillness of the oppressive desert heat.  “Why don’t we continue discussing our plan,” he suggested, hoping to draw Ardeth into more productive conversation.

 

“Yes, yes,” Ardeth answered, still pacing, although Jonathan noticed his friend’s hands were more relaxed.  “You’re right, we still have much to discuss.”

 

No one spoke.

 

“Well, we know that we have to get to the Book of the Living,” Pierre offered, restating what they had already decided just to get things rolling.

 

“Yes,” Ardeth picked up, pausing.  “We know now that Imhotep has the Book somewhere in his palace.  We have to find it.”

 

“Once we find it, we can easily open it with the key,” Jonathan explained eagerly.  “Then, when we read the special words, his immortal soul is dragged back to the underworld.  It’s quite a site, old boy.  All blue and mystical.”  Jonathan began gesturing descriptively with his arms and wide eyes as he told his tale.  “A chariot comes rushing in and tears his soul away.  Then we pounce on him with knives and guns and swords and whatever else in lying around.  He’s totally helpless.  And he’ll be really surprised to see blood gushing from his body.  That look on his face is a killer.  Seriously, this’ll be fun.”

 

Hubert stifled his laughter while Ardeth looked amusedly at Jonathan.  “So that’s what I missed?” he asked wryly.

 

“Is reading from the sacred book the only way to kill him?” Pierre interjected curiously, lighting one of the last cigarettes he had brought with him from Cairo.

 

“Yes,” Ardeth replied, turning at the Frenchman.  “Only then will Imhotep become mortal.”

 

“Wait, hold on,” Pierre interjected hurriedly after taking a quick drag.  “I thought you said that reading the special words would kill him.”

 

“It won’t kill him but it will take away his powers,” Jonathan explained, scratching his chest through his dirty shirt.

 

“Oh, ok,” Pierre said, running his hands through his dirty blond hair.  “So reading the sacred words is the only way to make him mortal.”  He looked up peskily at Jonathan.  “There is a difference.”

 

“Actually,” Jonathan began, thinking and remembering.  “There is another way to make Imhotep mortal.”

 

Hubert looked up, curious.  “What is it?”

 

Ardeth, thinking along the same lines as Jonathan, shook his head.  “It is of no help to us,” he said firmly.

 

But Pierre was curious too, and more insistent than Hubert.  “Even so, what is it?”

 

Ardeth shook his head reluctantly.  “It is of no use to us, and I don’t think you would believe us anyway.”

 

Pierre protested.  “Come on, you can’t bring it up and then say nothing.  Try me.  After all I’ve seen in this new world, I think I can go on a little faith here.”

 

Jonathan took a deep breath, remembering a time when he was inside the pyramid of Ahm Shere, a day that seemed like a thousand years ago.  “There are only two ways that Imhotep can be made mortal.  The first way is if the holy words are read from the Gold Book of the Living.  And the second way...is for the God Anubis to strip Imhotep of his powers himself.”

 

Pierre’s cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth.  “The God Anubis?”

 

Ardeth stepped in, nodding firmly.  “Yes.”

 

“How do you know?  How do you know that the God Anubis could just take away his powers?”  Pierre looked at them expectantly.  Jonathan and Ardeth stared back at him until the answer hit him full in the face.  “Oh,” he said sheepishly.

 

Ardeth nodded slowly.  “I was not there, but in his second rising, Imhotep walked over a sacred mark on the temple floor of the Ahm Shere pyramid...” he paused, considering his words.  “That mark was placed between two jackal-headed statues, it was a place sacred to Anubis.”

 

Ardeth bit his lip, thinking.  “I do not know why Anubis interfered with his chosen one...but when Imhotep stepped on the mark his immortality was ripped from him.”

 

Pierre considered his words carefully, and Jonathan almost smiled, practically seeing the wheels turning in his friend’s head.

 

“So, if we could get that symbol, that sacred place, and could make Imhotep walk across it–”

 

But Ardeth was shaking his head.  “It does not work like that.  The mark itself is powerless.  But because it belongs to Anubis, through the divine will it can become a great thing of power.  Do you understand?”

 

Pierre slumped back dejectedly.  “Yeah,” he said.

 

“If I, or Jonathan, or even Imhotep, walked across the symbol again, nothing would happen unless Anubis decided to intervene, and use his power.”

 

Jonathan nodded in agreement, shielding his eyes from the sun.

 

Pierre sighed.  “Ok, so we know that the only way to defeat Imhotep is to read from the magical Gold Book.”

 

“After his powers are gone, it is possible to kill him,” Jonathan answered, nodding, but his mind was a thousand miles away.  He was traveling back in time, remembering the only time in history a human being had ever ripped away Imhotep’s powers: when Evy had read from the Gold Book in 1923, sending Imhotep’s immortal soul back to the hell from whence it came. 

 

He remembered the look of utter triumph on her face as the chariot swept in.  She was so young and so brave.  He felt an ache in his chest, the ache that came whenever he thought of Evy.  His little sister.  The thought of her imprisoned by Imhotep made him want to scream.

 

“Wait,” Pierre interjected into the silence, struck with a new thought.  “Isn’t Imhotep a kung-fu master or something?  I heard he had no trouble beating up your brother-in-law even without his powers.”

 

Jonathan hesitated, roughly called into the present.  He forced Evy from his mind.  He would be of no use to anyone if he was stalking around inventing ways to torture Imhotep in his mind.  “Yes, he is a skilled fighter.  But he can be overpowered.  And with the element of surprise...I think we have a good chance.”

 

Pierre nodded seriously, taking another long drag on the cigarette to calm his nerves.

 

“Since when do you smoke?” Jonathan asked irritatedly, as Pierre blew gray rings into the clear air.

 

“Since I’ve been under just a little bit of tension,” Pierre responded, holding the smoldering cigarette between two fingers.

 

“So we know we must read from the Gold Book.  Imhotep has it.  How are we going to get it?” Ardeth asked rhetorically, pacing across the rocky ground as he thought.

 

Silence met his question.

 

“We need the Book of the Living if we are to make him mortal,” Jonathan murmured to himself, getting up and joining Ardeth to pace across the small rocky pass.   “But we don’t have the Book of the Living.  We only have the Book of the Dead.”

 

“Which means all we can do is raise the dead,” Ardeth said, pausing to look at Jonathan.

 

“We can raise the dead,” Jonathan agreed, looking at Ardeth.  “And with the Med Jai army, with the element of surprise, we might be able to free the slaves.”

 

“True,” Ardeth said, thinking it over.  “But what will that accomplish?”

 

“There are over twenty Med Jai imprisoned there, including Rick and Adil,” Jonathan pointed out.

“We will need to free the slaves,” Ardeth agreed.  “But if we do that right away, Imhotep will notice immediately.  We need to find the book, first and foremost.  We need to sneak into the palace unnoticed.”

 

“But how can we sneak into the palace without Imhotep noticing?” Hubert spoke up, voicing the major problem on everyone’s minds.

 

Ardeth sighed.  Jonathan wrung his hands.  Pierre attempted to hide behind his cigarette.

 

“We need some kind of diversion,” Hubert pronounced, staring at the older men.

 

“Well, obviously, old boy,” Jonathan began, but Ardeth stopped him, a gleam coming into his eye.

 

“I have an idea.”  He looked around, nodding slowly to himself as he went over it in his mind.  A smile flitted across his face as he thought, a smile of satisfaction.  He looked at the three men around him.  “And it just might work.”

 

 

***

 

 

Deep into the night, the four men sat, discussing the details of their plan.  Ardeth explained his ideas, and Jonathan and Pierre jumped in, adding parts and making other aspects better.  They ruled out ideas that were too risky.   They discussed and argued and complained and disagreed. 

 

But, slowly, the plan began to take shape.

 

Every few hours some women from the tribe would arrive with water and stew, coaxing the men to eat and maintain their strength.  But the four of them continued.

 

They discussed who should complete each part of the plan.  Finally roles were assigned, so each person had a job and knew exactly what they had to do.  They made up alternate plans, what they would do if one part did not work, what they would do if one of them died or was unable to accomplish their goal.  They went over the stock of weapons the Med Jai had managed to salvage after their villages were destroyed.  They discussed weather and timing and positioning around Imhotep’s palace.  They went over every miniature detail.

 

Finally, towards dawn, Ardeth sat back, nodding, a satisfied and hopeful smile on his weary face.

 

“It’s a good plan,” Pierre said admiringly, stretching out his sore limbs.

 

“We really have a chance, old boy,” Jonathan agreed.

 

Ardeth stood in the morning light, stretching out his coiled muscles, looking down at his friends.  “I must inform the council of our plan.”  He smiled to himself, adding softly,  “I think they might even like it.”

 

Jonathan stood, slapping Ardeth on the back, fighting his desire to collapse somewhere, curl up, and sleep for half a day.  “We’ve never lost before.  We’re going to stage the largest, most bizarre battle the world has ever seen.”

 

“That we will, my friend,” Ardeth replied.  He met Jonathan’s eyes, and an ironic smile crossed his handsome lips.  “Imhotep will never be expecting it.  He thinks we’re all dead.”

 

That was the final trump card they possessed:  Imhotep’s ignorance.

 

 

***

 

 

In the late afternoon, after all four of the men had collapsed and napped, Jonathan lay awake on his pallet.  He had slept for several hours but had awoken recently, anticipation and tension making it difficult for him to relax.  He could hear Pierre’s heavy breathing next to him, oddly comforting in the dark silence of the tent.

 

His thoughts drifted to Evy.  The forming of their plan had given him a tangible hope of actually seeing Evy again.  Finally, in a few days time, he would have a chance of saving her, of rescuing her from her prison.  He missed her so much.

 

Evy and Rick and Alex had given Jonathan a real family.  He knew he wouldn’t make a good husband, but he was a damn good brother, friend, and uncle.  Evy had given him that opportunity.  His baby sister had given him a home.  She had given him a life.

 

Jonathan ached to be able to do something real in return.

 

And Alex...he would be able to see Alex again, too.  His little nephew, who enjoyed getting into trouble just as much as Jonathan did.  He smiled at his many memories of Alex running around and thwarting his parents.  Alex, who he hadn’t seen since he was eight years old.

 

Alex was ten now, Jonathan realized with a jolt.  Somehow he had imagined that everything had remained the same, that everything had been stagnant while Imhotep ruled.  But it was not so.  Alex would be bigger and different than when he knew him last.  He was growing up without his father in the palace of a dictator.  Jonathan swallowed in the dark.  He had missed some of the most precious moments of Alex’s childhood.

 

They had all lost almost two years of their lives.  But they could get them back.  They could defeat Imhotep and reclaim their lives.  Jonathan clenched his jaw, turning over slightly on the mat.  He would face Imhotep himself, alone, before he would back down.  He owed Evy that much.

 

“You two awake?” Ardeth’s voice jolted Jonathan from his thoughts.  The tent flap rustled and then swung open, revealing Ardeth and Hubert, looking down on him, grinning.  Bright light flooded into the dark space and hurt Jonathan’s eyes.

 

“Well, now I am,” Jonathan replied, rubbing his eyelids.

 

“Time to get up, my friend,” Ardeth said, moving into the tent and prodding Pierre’s heavy body with his foot.  “There is news.”  Pierre lay unmoving, his mouth open, his head flung back, and his arms flopped out to his sides.

 

Pierre lay, completely unconscious.  Ardeth prodded him again with his foot, to no response.

 

Jonathan sat up, grinning.  “Wait, Ardeth, let me try.”  He leaned over, placing his mouth right beside Pierre’s ear.  Suddenly he shouted angrily, “Give me back my wallet, you dirty thief!”

 

Pierre jerked awake, sitting up frantically as he reached for the nonexistent gun in his holster.  “I’m no thief, you swine!” he shouted, opening his eyes, but unable to see behind his curtain of dirty blonde hair.

 

Jonathan started laughing hysterically.  Pierre finally brushed his hair aside, only to see Jonathan, Ardeth, and Hubert laughing at him.

 

“Very funny,” he muttered, flopping back down on his pallet.

 

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Ardeth continued, smiling.  “We have good news.  The elders approve of the plan and have given us their blessings.”

 

Jonathan was still laughing over Pierre.  “I knew they would!” he responded to Ardeth while grinning at Pierre as the Frenchman attempted to regain some of his dignity.

 

“We now must teach the warriors their role and what they must do,” Ardeth continued seriously.  “Every man and woman in this village will fight.  We must prepare them.”

 

Before Ardeth could continue, a voice called to him from outside the tent.

 

“Ardeth?”

 

Ardeth opened the flap, letting sunlight filter once again into the dark interior.  “Yes?”

 

Dalil stood outside the tent, his robe dirty and stained.  “Excuse me, sir,” the young man said, “but I have news.  Hamir and I have just returned from scouting.”

 

Ardeth nodded.  “Yes, my son?”

 

“Imhotep has departed the palace.”

Ardeth blinked, surprised.  “He’s gone?”

 

Dalil nodded.

 

“Where’s he gone?” Jonathan inquired from the floor.

 

“We think the Americas, but we cannot be sure.”

 

Ardeth bit his lip, thinking to himself.  “When will he return?”

 

“I do not know, but he never stays away for more than a week.”

 

Ardeth nodded, turning to his companions.  Silence descended as the three men stared back at him, waiting for his judgement.

 

Ardeth issued his decree.  It was the command of a warrior, of a leader, of a man born and bred to rule his people and lead them to triumph.

 

“The night Imhotep returns, we strike.”

 

And they would do his will.

 

 

***