MisStaked (32 page)

"Did Edmund show you around?” Dr. Grayson asked.

"No, he wasn't there. I took the liberty of making myself at home, so to speak. It was quite exciting. All the machinery, and the door itself set my heart to fluttering with expectation.” Leopold grinned and waved his hand behind his back, signaling Lewis to follow them.

Stud counted to five, then followed at a safe distance, keeping to the shadows, but well within earshot.

"So, you'll be staying to see the grand opening,” Dr. Grayson asked.

"Unfortunately, that is not possible. Lewis and I have to be in New York by tomorrow night. In fact, if we want to catch our flight, we really should be leaving,” Leopold said, absently looking at his watch.

"Is there no way you could postpone your visit? We hope to break through by late afternoon tomorrow."

"Would that I could, but the business world waits for no man,” Leopold said with a flourish. “You will keep me updated, I hope?"

"Of course. I believe I have your e-mail address in my files. If we find anything, you'll be the first to know."

"That is most reassuring. Now, I must bid you good night. We have already kept you up too late. Good night, doctor.” Leopold gave her hand a hard shake. He turned to Lewis. “Come, Lewis. Our pilot is probably threatening to leave without us, as we speak."

Stud followed after a few minutes. He waited behind a boulder near where the copter had landed, until the two men climbed inside. He had hoped they might say something to give him an idea of what they were planning. But not a peep. What did he expect—for them to reveal everything like a bad episode of Scooby Doo? Stud shrugged and decided to hit the sheets. If he was lucky, Breathred would still be awake. Nothing was worse than trying to sleep with the goofus’ snoring filling the tent.

His shoulders drooping, Stud walked toward the bank of tents. As he did, a shadow detached itself from the darkness and tailed him all the way back.

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If you find yourself hopelessly lost, look to the handbook as a guide. If that doesn't work, bend over ... Hell, you know the rest.

Lewis watched the landscape slip past under them. Leopold was still not talking, and it was driving him crazy. It was so unlike the old vamp Lewis began to suspect Leopold was losing it. He had begun to suspect it some time ago, but was still waiting for confirmation before saying anything.

Sitting here like a dumb-ass wasn't getting him anywhere. Lewis didn't want to admit he actually wanted to know, but dammit, the younger vampire did. He might not be as interested as old needle britches, but he was curious. Lewis knew if he asked, Leopold wouldn't let him forget who brought the subject up. Sometimes, being one of the undead was like being in kindergarten, only without the finger paints.

Luckily, Leopold cleared his throat, which meant he was ready to talk. Lewis suppressed a smile. He knew Leopold would break sooner or later. It just took longer than expected.

"Yes, Leopold?” Lewis asked. Hell, no sense in drawing it out. A little prompting never hurt anybody.

"Knew you wouldn't be able to contain yourself,” Leopold said, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow.

Asshole
, Lewis thought. Then he said aloud. “So, did you get in or what?"

"Unfortunately, not. Whoever placed the Mother in the tomb was afraid one day her children might find a way to release her. Beneath the dirt and grime, a series of runes prevents our kind from entering,” Leopold grumbled.

"So, we're screwed."

"No, my colorful sidekick, just derailed. Instead of seeing to the Mother ourselves, we'll have to let Grayson and her team liberate her."

"But, what if they wake the Mother?” Lewis asked, not really convinced the older vampire had thought things all the way through.

"They can't. If I'm correct, they can enter her chamber but will be unable to open the sarcophagus. According to the scrolls, it takes the blood of a Vampiric Lord to open it."

"We can't be sure of that. If the Mother is exposed to daylight, there is still a chance our entire race could be destroyed—if your scrolls are to be believed,” Lewis mused aloud.

"Dear Lewis, we have nothing to worry about. The validity of the scrolls is unquestionable. The very fact you quote proves it. They will not be able to open the coffin.” Leopold rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But we must not take any chances. Let our agent know under no circumstances should they attempt to open her coffin. The agent is smart enough to find a way to accomplish so simple a task."

"So, what are we supposed to do in the mean time?"

Leopold motioned for Lewis to write things down. “We make plans. The first thing you do is locate a truck to transport the coffin. Something big, maybe a U-haul. You should be able to do that easily enough. We can place it at the campsite at the ready. From there we can have a plane ready to fly us and the Mother to Seattle."

"Won't the professor try to stop us?” Lewis smiled, seeing a flaw in the big guy's plan.

"No, I will explain the truck is in her best interest. Security concerns should be enough to convince her of the validity of the lie."

"You got it all figured out,” Lewis hated to say.

"That's why I'm the boss. Now, have the pilot swing past a donut shop. I'm in the mood for a sugar high.” Leopold folded his arms and settled back in his chair.

Lewis just grunted and went to the forward cabin that separated them from the pilot. As much as he hated to admit it, Leo was on the ball. That was no guarantee it would work. With Leopold at the helm it was a good bet it wouldn't.

Despite that, Lewis couldn't just walk away. He owed Leopold too much. If it hadn't been for the vampire, he'd more than likely be just another dead pusher. Instead, he was one of the glorious undead. Which wasn't a bad trade-off in Lewis’ opinion. So, he'd stick it out and see what happened. After all the old man might actually pull this shit off.

"What do you mean it won't cut through?” Dr. Grayson screamed over the sound of the grinding drill.

It was already past mid-day. Dr. Truehart had been up since dawn trying to calibrate the delicate mechanics of the drill. He had attempted no less than ten times to break the stone door's surface—to no avail. In fact, on the fifth try the diamond-tipped bit had actually shattered. Luckily, they had brought a second for just such an occasion ... but it wasn't doing much better.

Truehart looked up to find Dr. Grayson's glaring face breathing down his neck.
Well, take a breath mint and calm down.
He squeezed away from her and went to the door. Nothing. All the last attempt did was knock about an inch of dirt off the slick surface.

Wait a minute. What the hell was this? The Englishman peered at the clean area, detecting a thin pattern of lines in the stone. Why didn't he see those before? “Doctor Grayson, come look at this."

Grayson pushed him to the side and peered at the door. “Any idea what it means, Edmund?"

"Languages were never my forte. They look like a form of pictograms,” Dr. Truehart surmised.

"They bear a remarkable resemblance to those on the tablet, but I won't know if they're the same until we uncover the entire structure.” She poked a fingernail at the flaking dirt that covered the door. “How could we have missed this?"

Edmund traced one of the figures through the grime. “We were in too much of a hurry. We made the most basic of mistakes. We were over-eager."

"Too, true. Do we have any language specialists with us? I can't remember,” Grayson said, absently.

"Sharbano and Roberts have some skill in that area, but they're both too inexperienced to be trusted to give an accurate translation. Dammit, we should have brought someone more qualified, instead of depending on graduate assistants."

"We didn't, so we're stuck with what we have. Before we do anything more to gain entry, the door's surface must be cleaned and a tracing made. We'll try a digital scan, as well, but I'm leery of depending on modern technology. I've seen too much lost due to poorly handled equipment, so we'll make an effort to back up everything. If we have to damage the door, we'll still have a record.” Dr. Grayson rose from the door.

"I should be able to translate it.” The sound of Petrifunck's voice brought Truehart's head whipping around from the door.

"Really, Petrifunck? Are you qualified for this sort of thing?"

"My degree is in ancient languages. From what I see it's a variation of ancient Babylonian with a few minor deviations,” Breathred answered.

"Preposterous!” Truehart exclaimed. This was truly too much. Grayson had lost her mind for allowing this bumpkin to tag along. “Babylonians in Canada? Forgive me if I say
bullshit
."

"Say whatever you want."

"Edmund, he's right. Look here...” Grayson pointed to one of the runes. “This symbol, here, is clearly one of the most widely used pictographs in the Babylonian language. I recognize this one also. It's the symbol of life."

Breathred drew a brush from his back pocket and swept at the mud until the row of symbols was completely uncovered. The symbols were as clear as the day they had been etched into the stone door. Breathred clicked them off in his head until they formed a sentence. When he finished, his mind was a blob of cold fear.

"Well, what does it say, man?” Truehart demanded.

"In the darkness born, life grows in death and hungers,” Breathred chanted in a voice, as cold as hell itself.

Everyone who heard him stopped in their tracks. Eighteen heads pivoted toward the door. A hushed fear ran through the crowd. Breathred knew no one would admit it, but they all felt it. When the moment passed, they would attribute it as foolishness, but it would still fester inside them. Maybe not openly, but it would sit in the backs of their minds until the door was open and its treasure revealed.

"Poppycock,” Truehart finally said

"Edmund, please,” Dr. Grayson snapped. “Breathred, are you sure that's what it says?"

"One hundred percent sure."

"Next thing you know, we'll be running around actually believing this madness,” Truehart continued.

"You know as well as I, these ancient cultures used these curses to ward off those who would defile their holy places. This is nothing more than a warning to evildoers. We are archeologists, Edmund, not actors in some cheap movie. Give us more credit than that.” Dr. Grayson said it loud enough for everyone to hear. “Breathred, I'm leaving you in charge of finishing the translation. Luna and Stud can help you with the tracing and digital record. Make sure to back up to disc as soon as you're finished."

"We will,” Luna answered for him.

"Thank you, Luna. I'll send Roberts back with the camera and discs. Breathred, is there anything else you need?"

"Can you have someone bring a couple buckets of fresh water to help break up the outer covering of dirt? I'd rather try that first. I'm afraid to chip away at the mud in case it mars the inscription."

"Roberts can do that, as well. In fact he'll act as your assistant for as long as you need him. Understand, Roberts? You'll be working directly under Doctor Petrifunck for the time being.” She turned toward a youth with a mass of unruly hair and a none-too-trimmed beard.

The boy gave an exaggerated thumb's up. “Gotcha, Doc."

"Anything else you need, just send him and I'll okay it,” Grayson told them.

"Donna, you can't be serious,” Truehart said.

"I am. Remember, I am the one in charge of this dig, not you."

"I'll try to remember. But if this goes to hell, it'll fall on your shoulders not mine.” The Englishman turned on his heel and strode away from the excavation.

"Okay, everybody, the show's over. Get a life, we have work to do,” Stud shouted, grabbing Robert's by the arm. “Kid, bring me back a low-carb banana latte, and don't skimp on the foam. Don't stand there looking stupid. Chop! Chop!"

"Stud, he isn't your slave.” Breathred snatched the chimp by the scruff of the neck. “Chris, don't mind him. Just bring the water."

"Sure thing, Doc,” Roberts said. Breathred couldn't help but notice the boy stuck his tongue out at the chimp before leaving.

"Now, let's get to work,” Breathred said, once they were alone.

"What do you think the rest of the inscription will say?” Luna asked, nervously.

"Nothing we really want to know."

The next five hours were the most tedious of their life. Breathred began by gently brushing loose dirt from the door. The initial cleaning took the better part of the first hour. After the last stroke of his brush they applied coats of water to the door, washing away yet another layer of the deposited earth. Gradually, the door became an open book set in stone.

What amazed Breathred the most was the door showed no sign of deterioration. Even after centuries under the earth, the door showed none of the pockmarks one associated with nature's effect on man-made artifacts. It was almost as if the door had just been set into place.

Another thing about the door was it was smooth—too smooth to be made with the tools available at the time it was made. Egyptian structures made from that era showed the marks of the tools used to construct them. If Breathred didn't know better, he would have sworn the door had been machine tooled.

Even the inscription was too precise to have been made with the nearly prehistoric tools of that time. His fingers traced the writing and never once snagged on irregular chips or cracks. It was too much to be believed.

"So, smarty pants. What does it say?” Stud asked. “Watching you fondle this door is getting old."

"Hush, let him finish,” Luna hissed.

"That's okay. I've got it all. I just can't believe what it says,” Breathred uttered.

"Well, what does it say?” Stud snapped.

"I won't bother you with the actual translation. But roughly it says a goddess descended from the heavens in the dead of night. In her glory she claimed the villagers as her children and ruled them wisely for untold generations. Then, in the thousandth year of her reign a consort came on the wings of darkness. The people grew afraid because her prince began to see her chosen people as cattle to feed his growing hunger. In time the people became bold and beseeched their goddess to rid them of the demon who preyed upon them.