Simon tore away from their hiding place and stumbled through the labyrinthine maze without any sense of direction, his only clue the hurried footsteps of the girl – or princess, as the man had called her – before him. He was certain now that they were going to get lost, but it seemed that she had a more keen sense of which turns to take and which to skip than he had anticipated.

  All the way back to the first junction, Simon meant to feel their pursuers breath on the back of his neck. By the time they came to a halt in a wide, somewhat familiar aisle, the footsteps behind them had faded away. It seemed as though they had outrun their pursuer.

  Sweat was pouring over Simon's face and back, and he was panting. When he looked up, he saw they had reached a dead end. And then, to his horror, the footsteps behind them were back, and he heard their pursuer's raspy breath, a cascade of curse words, and the sound of his heavy boots before he saw the man.

  “What are we doing?” Simon demanded urgently as the princess made no effort to move. Her khopesh was glowing more brightly now, illuminating a large portion of the sandy floor and the dead end before them in a reddish shade. It wasn't unlike looking through a crimson veil.

  “Hush,” she said.

  Seconds later, one of the men pursuing them appeared around the corner, his features thrown into relief by the shine of the princess' jewellery. His face was ugly and brutish, with a large scar that ran from his forehead to his thin lips.

  “Got you,” the man panted, and his lips curved into a repulsing smirk. Wrapped around his arms was a long, chain like a lasso, which he uncurled as he advanced on them. “Nowhere to run, princess. I've got you now.”

  Their pursuer had almost reached them when from the depths of the pyramid came a piercing scream that turned almost at once into a wet gurgle before it died away entirely. The man stopped in front of them.

  “What have you done with my partner?” he howled.

  The girl, princess, or whatever she was, straightened up to her full height. Her face was white and her lips taut with exhaustion, and yet, inexplicably, she was smirking. “Has no one ever told you not to meddle with a descendant of Ra?” she said.

  Her words gave the man pause, but only for a moment.

  “Descendant or not, there's no way to go. What are you going to do now? Kill me?” The man's smile twisted unpleasantly.

  “Too much trouble,” the princess said easily, “I'd rather not get my hands dirty today.” She took a step back against the wall, her fingers tracing the limestone behind them, and Simon, who had been scrutinizing the surroundings carefully as they talked, suddenly understood her plan and was ready for it.

  “Take my hand!”

  Simon didn't think twice and quickly grabbed the offered extremity. There was a very soft click followed by a low grinding noise just as their pursuer, with a flicker of realization in his eyes, stumbled backward.

  But it was too late. The man's face took an almost comical expression as he fell, his ravaged, cracked lips forming a surprised 'o'. For the tiniest moment, it seemed as though his body was suspended in midair, then he tumbled downward and into the pit that had opened under his feet. A horribly wet, crunching noise echoed throughout the dark corridor as he was impaled in the rump by a thick, pointy stake. He twitched there on the stake for several seconds, then went still. His hands, still on the chain, slackened and the weapon tumbled out of them and further down into the pit, the resounding clank as it hit bottom followed by the unmistakable hissing of snakes.

  “Thanks,” said Simon dryly, safe on the sides but still retaining a firm grip on the princess' arm. “That wasn't very pleasant …”

  “As I said,” she said slowly, still staring at the place where the man had just vanished, “best not to meddle with a descendant of Ra.”

  “What about the other one?” hissed Simon, as they felt their way along the edge and to the other side.

  “He must have hit that trap on the altar,” shrugged the princess with a tight expression. “Come on, now, best not dwell …”

  There was one good thing about their wild flight. Simon knew now where they were. And sure enough, as he watched, the princess' fingers found the hidden lever, and the wall in front of them slid aside, while a grinding sound behind them indicated the other door (which had thus far been hidden in the sides of the pyramid) closing.

  This close to freedom, Simon found himself longing for one of his excavation team to come along, even if it was Morgan. Right now, the memories of the chimaeras and the man being impaled inside the spike trap still fresh in his mind, he, Simon, would have gladly shared the hidden treasures with his cousin.

  Everything was quiet as they approached the gallery. Should he shout a warning for his team before they, too, fell before the princess' wrath? He tried to make a sound, any sound, but it was only dust, debris, and particles of rock that escaped his dry throat.

  They were at the passage Simon had been assigned to work on now … They rounded the corner into the gallery …

  Simon halted in his tracks, staring into the huge, pillar-lined hall, feeling dumbstruck. Where was everyone? As far as he could see, the gallery was completely empty.

  “But... But that's impossible,” stuttered Simon. “Where is everyone?”

  “Everyone?” said the princess sharply, but Simon wasn't listening any more.

  He skirted the edges of the room with his eyes, scouring it for signs of his excavation team... He couldn't see anything, no indication that anyone but them and the two men who had tried to kill them had been here in a long time.

  The depictions on the sides gleamed as though they had been repainted; each of the pillars (which had been crumbly and old mere hours ago) had been restored to what Simon believed was their original form; the area which was supposed to be roped off to protect the faded inscriptions (now shining with vibrant colours) in the caved-in corners was free from any kind of barrier. There wasn't even a caved-in corner to begin with.

  All equipment the archaeologists had brought with them had vanished as well. Pickaxes, dust brushes and other tools that had littered the ground before were gone, as were the two cameras of the twins, the twins themselves and, indeed, all of the excavation team. Not even Morgan was here, waiting for him, Simon, to return empty-handed.

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  “My team,” whispered Simon, “Dr. Pierce, Morgan, the twins –”

  “Trackers?” the princess' eyebrows narrowed.

  “Trackers?”

  “Chimaeras?”

  “Chimaeras? No, no, they're my excavation team... Archaeologists, you know... Or do you?” Simon regarded the princess with a frown, then had a sudden idea. “You know, people who uncover the treasures of ancient cultures?” he asked tentatively.

  “Grave robbers?”

  “What!” exploded Simon. “We're everything but! I mean we do excavate tombs and that sort, but – it's not the same as stealing! It's not like we're – er – taking the relics for personal gain!” he added, seeing her eyebrows move closer together.

  “Relics? What do you know about relics?” came the sharp response.

  “A fair bit,” he replied indignantly. “I did not study archaeology to be treated as a – a bloody tourist!”

  The girl crossed her arms defiantly at this outburst, and Simon would have done the same if it hadn't been for the ropes pinioning his wrists together. “You say really strange things I've never heard about,” she said. “How can you study treasure, and what's this archelogy? Are those perhaps silversmithing terms?”

  “No,” said Simon irritably, “it's what I do back home in London.” The girl's eyebrows moved upward, as though nothing he said made sense. Considering her ferocious nature, Simon decided it was perhaps best not to call her a savage after all, as he had been close to doing. “I would not expect you to understand,” he said instead.

  “Meaning?” she hissed.

  “You are mad, utterly crazy!” He hadn't meant to say it – the words just slipped.

  For several seconds, she gaped at him. Simon thought she was most likely contemplating a long, painful death for him. He didn't know whether he was against that or not. If she killed him, he would, presumably, wake from this madness. On the other hand, he wasn't really ready to gamble with his life just yet.

  Then, to his great surprise, the girl laughed.

  “What?” he said, utterly bewildered by this turn of events.

  Instead of a reply the princess skipped over to the exit, the crack in the limestone wall, and peered outside. Simon was only mildly concerned that she seemed to know of this entrance, which they had so carefully concealed from the view of the public. He didn't dwell on the issue, however, for her knowledge of the pyramid's layout was surely the least of his problems now.

  A moment later, the princess turned back to him and said, “We'll move as soon as it is dark.”

  “It won't be dark for hours,” snapped Simon. Now that the adrenaline was fading from his system, he felt famished, exhausted, and irritable. On top of those unpleasant sensations, what looked like a blistering sunburn on his left arm was itching madly; and the injury in his shoulder, where the metal spike had torn through his flesh, tingled unpleasantly, as though it were inflamed.

  “Hours?” said the girl with an air of surprise, bringing him back to the now. “Come see for yourself.”

  Simon walked over to where she was standing and squinted outside over her shoulder. Somewhere in the distance, he could see the shadowy form of a small settlement against a brilliant red sky. Was that Cairo? The metropolis seemed to have shrunk considerably since he had last seen it...

  Moving closer to the entrance to get a better look, his heart almost stopped at the sight that opened up in front of him. It wasn't only the capital city which had changed. Long shadows were crawling over the dunes and climbing the sloping walls of the pyramid, he couldn't make out the dust road leading toward the pyramids any more, and the sky was orange at the edges and dark velvet above, as though it were already nightfall.

  Simon's brain reeled. How could it already be this dark outside? He had left the excavation team around late morning, and although he had spent an extensive amount of time down in the pyramid, it couldn't have been more than a few hours. Yet, the impeding darkness seemed to suggest it was already way past sunset. The Great Pyramid glowed like a beacon in the dim, darkening surroundings. Cold evening air was streaming through the opening, making Simon shiver in the breeze. Had he become so disoriented that he had forgot the time completely? Looking downward, Simon realized that the entrance to the gallery had moved as well. What had been on ground level before was now a man-sized fissure in the tall, smooth limestone wall, which fell down abruptly in front of him.

  Momentarily overwhelmed, Simon closed his eyes, rubbed them, wishing that it was all a bad dream, although some annoying little part of his head had already come to the conclusion that this had to be real. And that something had gone horribly pear-shaped.

  Simon opened his eyes again, but the fall was still there, and so was he, on a small ledge several hundred feet above ground, a sight that almost sent him into vertigo. He took a step back into the gallery, where he collided with the girl again and would have tumbled back out to his death had it not been for her quick reaction. She seized his arm and pulled him back inside swiftly.

  Only then was it that he remembered that he was carrying a watch. He held it in front of his eyes into the light of the now rising moon, only to realize that it had stopped completely. The fingers had frozen in position, pointing at the number nine. Or was it simply nine in the evening now?

  Simon shook his wrist, but the digits on the device would not move.

  “What is that?” said the princess' melodious voice interestedly next to him.

  “Oh,” said Simon, “it's a watch.” And then, remembering that she thought archaeologists were grave robbers, he added, “It shows the time.”

  “But it doesn't do anything,” she said doubtfully, gaze fixed on the unmoving hands of the watch.

  “It's broken,” said Simon.

  “So why are you wearing it?”

  “It just broke.” Simon cleared his throat impatiently. It felt as though a ton of dust had coagulated in his lungs. And while the princess moved back into the gallery, he watched the moonlit landscape outside, still disbelieving what all his senses were telling him to be true –

  “Pray tell, what is this?”

  Simon turned to see the princess sitting cross-legged on the ground, holding up one of his archaeology books. His torn bag was open in her lap.

  “It's a book,” Simon said irritably. “Those are not yours...” What right did she have to go through his belongings? On the other hand, he had no desire to argue... That girl was rather evil... Perhaps it was best if he left her to it... It was just a magazine and a few clothes after all...

  But she was still watching him expectantly, so he elaborated, “You know, it's a sort of written account into which we put informa -”

  “I know what a book is,” she cut across him airily, flipping through the pages. “I've just never seen any like this... You must have fine calligraphers to produce such unified lettering, and look at those straight margins...”

  “They're done by a computer,” Simon said without thinking, and then, “A machine, like a... Oh, never mind... can I have that back now?” But he already knew the answer.

  “No.”

  Now that he had to come to terms with the fact that she wasn't a fragment of his imagination, Simon itched to find out more about her. Close-up and not glowing eerily, she looked even prettier than before.

  Her hair was a mane of long, soft, silky black like the surface of a still lake at night; her eyes were a brilliant, bright amber that stood in stark contrast with her dark, caramel skin and made him think of smouldering jewels; and the tattoo on her face (which he would have, under normal circumstances, disapproved of) was more refined and delicate than it had seemed to him before in the harsh light of the torches beneath.

  But who was she? Where had she come from? What was she doing here? Why did she look so unworldly and alien to him even when she was doing a perfectly normal thing, searching through his belongings while chewing her bottom lip? If it had been anyone but her, Simon would have been rather offended by the audacity she had to go through his things without asking... As it was, he was too taken aback by her beauty; indeed, had it not been for her terrible attitude, he might have believed she was an angel.