Nightside 10 - The Good the Bad and the Uncanny

girlish adventurer who’d picked me up in the Bar Humbug. She looked ... older, more experienced. And not in a good way.
    She straightened up suddenly and shot me a quick smile. “Nothing to worry about. Only the usual generic warnings and curses. Real amateur night. Magic’s come a long way since ancient Egypt. Any one of the half a dozen protective amulets I’m wearing could ward off this stuff.”
    “Let’s not get cocky,” I said carefully. “Who knows how much power the wand could have soaked up after all these years on the Street of the Gods.”
    “Oh, hush, you big baby. We’re perfectly safe. Look at you, actually shaking at the thought of the mummy’s curse.”
    “It’s cold,” I said, with some dignity.
    “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Hot on the trail, and all that. Still, better safe than sorry, I suppose.”
    She took a bone amulet out of her jeans, and waved it around vigorously. We both waited, but nothing happened. The silence remained unbroken, and nothing nasty emerged from the shadows lurking outside the Looking Glass’s light. Polly gave me a condescending look.
    “Did it work?” I said, wanting to be sure about this.
    “Well, the amulet didn’t explode, and neither did we, and that’s usually a good sign, so ... Of course it worked! Trust me, sweetie. I know what I’m doing.”
    “Yes,” I said. “I trust you to know what you’re doing.”
    “There’s a good boy,” she said absently, peering through her Looking Glass again. The beam of light moved steadily across the wall before us, then stopped abruptly. “There!” said Polly, her voice breathy with anticipation. “That’s it. The entrance to the burial chamber is on the other side of this wall. We are about to see things no-one has seen for thousands of years ... And steal them! Help me with the lock mechanisms.”
    “You think they’ll still be working, after those thousands of years?”
    “Of course, sweetie. They’re as much magical as mechanical, and probably still drawing power from the elven wand. The Pharaoh expected to be revived someday, and walk out of his Tomb into the afterlife. They all did.”
    We worked together, examining the wall inch by inch, and the right places to press and turn and manipulate seemed to flare up before us in the light from the Glass, as though we were being guided through the workings of some intricate combination lock. I found it increasingly hard to concentrate. It felt like we were being watched by unseen and unfriendly eyes. As though we weren’t alone in the stone chamber, that some third person was there with us. Only iron discipline and self-control kept me from constantly breaking off to look behind me. That, and the knowledge that Polly would be sure to say something cutting and sarcastic.
    The last piece finally fell into place, and the whole wall sank slowly and steadily into the floor, revealing the burial chamber beyond. There was a brief stirring of disturbed air and a sudden scent of preservative spices. The wall continued to fall away, then I almost cried out as a pair of shining eyes suddenly appeared before me. I fell back, reaching for the gun I kept in a concealed holster. Polly stood her ground, and the Glass’s light settled on a tall statue with painted features. The eyes were gold leaf. I gathered what was left of my dignity about me and moved forward to stand beside Polly again, as the last of the wall disappeared into the floor.
    She didn’t say anything. All her attention was fixed on the burial chamber before her.
    The sarcophagus lay waiting in the exact centre of the room, surrounded by half a dozen life-size statues, painted as guards with ever-open eyes. More hieroglyphics on the walls, of course, and several large portraits. Presumably the Pharaoh’s family. A whole bunch of ceramic pots, to hold his organs, removed from the body during the mummification process. Even more pots, smaller and less ornate, holding grain and seeds and fruit, food for the afterlife. And lying in scattered piles around the chamber, more solid gold items than I’d ever seen in one place.
    They say you can’t buy your way into the afterlife, but this Pharaoh had made a serious effort.
    “Put your eyes back in your head, sweetie,” said Polly. “Yes, it’s all very pretty, but it’s not what we’re here for.”
    “You speak for yourself,” I said. “This is the mother lode!” “And it’s not going anywhere. We’d need trucks to transport this much