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Authors: Stephen Cole
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Patch.
‘’Course not.’
‘I never used to be.’
Jonah raised an eyebrow. ‘And what? You are now?’
‘Sleeps with the lights on, doncha, Cyclops?’ sneered Motti.
‘So?’ There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Patch gave him two fingers, Motti gave him one in return and Patch wandered back off towards the TV room. But Jonah found his eyes lingering uneasily on the eerie mural on the wall, at the shadowy, undefined figures ranged across it.
‘Who painted that?’ he asked.
‘Coldhardt. Kind of freaky, huh?’ Motti paused for a deep swig of beer. ‘He calls it
Still Life
.’
‘I thought that meant when you painted flowers and fruit and stuff.’
‘Maybe he means, whatever freaky bad stuff’s happened in that picture… there’s still life.’
‘If you can call it that,’ said Jonah quietly.
‘Hey. It’s OK.’ There was no sneer in Motti’s voice now Patch was out of earshot. ‘I told you before, I fixed this place. We’re safe. Nothing can get in here.’
Jonah looked at him. ‘No
one
, you mean.’
Motti nodded, half-smiled. ‘Whatever.’
* * *
Ophiuchus, also known as Imhotep – the man who couldn’t die? Tye searched Demnos’s face for signs he was trying to deceive them, but his gaze was clear and confident.
Con, however, was looking at Demnos with barely disguised contempt. ‘You expect us to believe there’s some four-and-a-half-thousand-year-old man running around?’
‘There are many who do believe. A great many.’ Demnos let his stare linger on Tye. ‘The scraps of the Spartan scytale cipher I have in my possession were…
recovered
together with fragments of a further document. It is marked with the sign of the snake. I believe it is a copy of Ophiuchus’s prescription for Amrita, in his own hand. And that it is genuine.’
Tye’s mouth had dried. ‘Fragments, you said?’
‘Fragments that Mr Demnos does not wish to share with us,’ said Coldhardt casually.
Demnos’s dark eyes flashed. ‘I am not a fool,’ he snapped. ‘I know the value of the prescription, even incomplete.’ He paused, regained control. ‘But I have come to believe further parts of the same parchment exist in the hands of another collector, who may or may not appreciate the true importance of what they possess.’
‘Who is this collector?’ Tye asked.
‘Her name is Samraj Vasavi. A cheating harpy, obsessed with her own cleverness.’
‘You didn’t always think so,’ murmured Coldhardt.
Demnos glowered at him. ‘That was many years ago.’
‘I heard people talking about Samraj out there,’Con said. ‘How she’s just funded a private hospital for sick children. She is worth a fortune, yes? Runs a multinational.’
‘Serpens Biotech,’ said Demnos, like the words tasted bad in his mouth. ‘The company trades in genetic research. If Samraj has opened a hospital, it’s to secure a steady stream of guinea pigs for the experimental cures she hopes to sell to the world.’
‘You think she may be pushing Amrita as one of those “experimental” cures?’ asked Tye.
‘It is possible. But the only way I can know for sure is to find out how much of Ophiuchus’s prescription Samraj has in her possession.’
Coldhardt idly pulled flecks of dust from the white rosebud on his lapel. ‘Which is why Raul is in need of our services.’
‘I am paying you well to uncover the truth,’ Demnos stated. ‘And I must know quickly.’
‘Why the sudden rush?’ Con’s gold lacy dress shimmered as she crossed one leg over the other. ‘I mean, if these fragments have been lying around for thousands of years …’
‘Word has reached me that a great mastaba was recently unearthed at the Sakkara necropolis, outside of Cairo.’
‘An Egyptian tomb,’ Coldhardt translated, ‘in the ancient city of the dead.’
Demnos nodded impatiently. ‘Many artefacts were discovered inside, many personal effects. Experts believe this could be the tomb of Imhotep.’
Con couldn’t
‘’Course not.’
‘I never used to be.’
Jonah raised an eyebrow. ‘And what? You are now?’
‘Sleeps with the lights on, doncha, Cyclops?’ sneered Motti.
‘So?’ There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Patch gave him two fingers, Motti gave him one in return and Patch wandered back off towards the TV room. But Jonah found his eyes lingering uneasily on the eerie mural on the wall, at the shadowy, undefined figures ranged across it.
‘Who painted that?’ he asked.
‘Coldhardt. Kind of freaky, huh?’ Motti paused for a deep swig of beer. ‘He calls it
Still Life
.’
‘I thought that meant when you painted flowers and fruit and stuff.’
‘Maybe he means, whatever freaky bad stuff’s happened in that picture… there’s still life.’
‘If you can call it that,’ said Jonah quietly.
‘Hey. It’s OK.’ There was no sneer in Motti’s voice now Patch was out of earshot. ‘I told you before, I fixed this place. We’re safe. Nothing can get in here.’
Jonah looked at him. ‘No
one
, you mean.’
Motti nodded, half-smiled. ‘Whatever.’
* * *
Ophiuchus, also known as Imhotep – the man who couldn’t die? Tye searched Demnos’s face for signs he was trying to deceive them, but his gaze was clear and confident.
Con, however, was looking at Demnos with barely disguised contempt. ‘You expect us to believe there’s some four-and-a-half-thousand-year-old man running around?’
‘There are many who do believe. A great many.’ Demnos let his stare linger on Tye. ‘The scraps of the Spartan scytale cipher I have in my possession were…
recovered
together with fragments of a further document. It is marked with the sign of the snake. I believe it is a copy of Ophiuchus’s prescription for Amrita, in his own hand. And that it is genuine.’
Tye’s mouth had dried. ‘Fragments, you said?’
‘Fragments that Mr Demnos does not wish to share with us,’ said Coldhardt casually.
Demnos’s dark eyes flashed. ‘I am not a fool,’ he snapped. ‘I know the value of the prescription, even incomplete.’ He paused, regained control. ‘But I have come to believe further parts of the same parchment exist in the hands of another collector, who may or may not appreciate the true importance of what they possess.’
‘Who is this collector?’ Tye asked.
‘Her name is Samraj Vasavi. A cheating harpy, obsessed with her own cleverness.’
‘You didn’t always think so,’ murmured Coldhardt.
Demnos glowered at him. ‘That was many years ago.’
‘I heard people talking about Samraj out there,’Con said. ‘How she’s just funded a private hospital for sick children. She is worth a fortune, yes? Runs a multinational.’
‘Serpens Biotech,’ said Demnos, like the words tasted bad in his mouth. ‘The company trades in genetic research. If Samraj has opened a hospital, it’s to secure a steady stream of guinea pigs for the experimental cures she hopes to sell to the world.’
‘You think she may be pushing Amrita as one of those “experimental” cures?’ asked Tye.
‘It is possible. But the only way I can know for sure is to find out how much of Ophiuchus’s prescription Samraj has in her possession.’
Coldhardt idly pulled flecks of dust from the white rosebud on his lapel. ‘Which is why Raul is in need of our services.’
‘I am paying you well to uncover the truth,’ Demnos stated. ‘And I must know quickly.’
‘Why the sudden rush?’ Con’s gold lacy dress shimmered as she crossed one leg over the other. ‘I mean, if these fragments have been lying around for thousands of years …’
‘Word has reached me that a great mastaba was recently unearthed at the Sakkara necropolis, outside of Cairo.’
‘An Egyptian tomb,’ Coldhardt translated, ‘in the ancient city of the dead.’
Demnos nodded impatiently. ‘Many artefacts were discovered inside, many personal effects. Experts believe this could be the tomb of Imhotep.’
Con couldn’t
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