1. Mummy Treasure Hunt
"Smell that air, Mohammed." Peter said while he stood up, taking in deep breaths of the humid, almost putrid, air around the Nile that had just overflowed leaving a slick mass of fertile debris on it's banks. Peter turned around, his blond hair that needed a haircut followed his movement for just a few seconds before it fell back again on his moist forehead and neck.
Mohammed, his Egyptian employee stood huddled over a hole in the ground, digging away with a small shovel. Though the day was hot, the tanned, curly-haired Egyptian didn't show it. Well good for him to be heat resistant. Although this job had in fact been arranged by one of Mohammed's contacts.
"Yes, sir. It's very good air." Mohammed said in his typical singsong-like accent.
"We don't have this air in Brittain." Peter said, "The water particles in the air bring out a completely different smell of decomposition. It's quite refreshing really."
Peter turned around again and tried to pinpoint the origin of the smell. After all it was unusual that they'd smell it as far away from the Nile as they were. Just the day before the air had smelled of nothing but sand. A dry scent that easily irritated Peter's nose and throat. Although he did not like the general climate in Egypt, it really had all the necessary components to make a dried and perfectly preserved mummy out of a corpse.
"Even the lowliest can bring fort the grandest achievements." he claimed and returned to dusting the looser sand from the pit in front of him. The two of them were there to try to find one of the remaining peasant, natural mummies that were hidden in the sand. They were often in a questionable state, but museums still paid for them. And Peter couldn't deny he needed money.
"Sir." Mohammed called, his voice as quiet and even as ever.
"What?" Peter asked.
"I found one."
Peter hurried through the sand as fast as he could, feeling the annoying moistness of his clothes against his skin. He reached mohammed and saw his worker carefully haul up one of the offerings that had accompagnied the body. It was a string necklace with simple red and white clay beads.
"It seems to be one from the early egyptian empire." Peter analysed, "No jars with organs, simple wrappings. She was just put in the ground."
"Or she was very poor." Mohammed dared note.
"No, no. Even the poor got a better burial than this during the peek of the Egyptian empire." Peter shook.
Mohammed remained silent and started gently wiping the dust away from around the mummy. Peter looked in closer, leaned on Mohammed and nearly squashed the muslim when he put his hands on his back.
Mohammed ducked head first into the grave and didn't know how he managed to keep from crushing the mummy. He scraped his hands on the stone walls and caughed when the sturred up dust hit his nose.
"What are you doing?" Peter called out.
Mohammed got up, keeping his usual silence that irked Peter. All their work would have been in vain if the mummy got hurt. Leave it to the locals to mess up. Peter wished he'd found a British employee. Alas most British workers had refused his offers for other, more lucrative deals.
"Get the mummy out and prep it for ntransport." Peter said, leaving Mohammed alone and returning to the absolute cool of the car air conditioning.

2. A Desert Drive
Mohammed placed the mummified remains in the truck, protected from harm by layers of towels, bubblewrap and used shirts. He covered her gently and bound the mummy in a tight package. The cloths around her were tied with ropes to the truck, making her rest on a net about 20cm above the truck base. Mohammed wasn't taking any chances on transporting the remains.
He looked back and felt satisfied with his work. the burial site was restored to how they'd found it. For the Ka, the bird that was the materialisation of the soul during half the day, he'd left behind some of the mummy's hair. In such, the soul would still find it's way back to it's grave. But would it be able to rest without it's body? Mohammed wasn't all that religious, but he felt that he needed to honour some believes.
With a sigh, he left the comfortable evening temperatures and traded them for the freezing cold in the truck. Peter, his boss, had not grown accustomed to the desert climate of Egypt. During the day he sweated like a horse. During the night he shivered like a waif.
"Is the mummy secure?" Peter asked.
"Yes it is, sir." Mohammed said.
After that he started the car and manoevred out between the sandy dunes. This part of the desert was rather desolate. Roads didn't lead here and not many locals wanted to even set foot in the lands of Seth. They were said to be cursed. As if reading his mind, Peter said:
"A lot of people disappear here."
"Hmm."
"Just last summer a man of Britisch descent vanished less than a mile from here. I think they found his car, wrecked by a sand storm. There was no trace of him."
"You need to know when to go here." Mohammed said.
"He had lived here from his childhood. Worked not far from there."
"Maybe he had bad luck."
"A lot of people disappeared here." Peter insisted, "The curse of the farao."
Peter laughed. No doubt he didn't understand the potency curses had in this country. With rational thought one could keep telling himself that there was no curse, but as soon as the emotions took over things like ghosts and curses became a lot more viable.
Mohammed's family had been cursed for generations. They'd been struck by a string of misfortunes and bad luck. No-one but the firstborn in the family survived. From the moment they beared children it was like signing a death certificate. Mohammed wasn't superstitious, but some believes he felt needed to be honoured.
His mother believed it and not a day went by that she didn't pray for his life. His father had also not minded the curse. As soon as Mohammed was born, his father died in a carcrash, on his way to the maternity. Rational thought said that his dad had been less attentive on the road. Rational thought said that Egyptian traffic made more victims than mysterious curses.
The rest of the way to one of the roads that could actually be called a road, the two of them remained silent. Mohammed concentrated on the road while Peter stared out of the window. They started to meet more cars and pedestrians. Even a seldomly seen motorbike zoomed past them. Cairo rose up before them. The off-white stucced buildings reflecting the rays of the red setting sun. A mist of smog hang at the base of it, clearly visible in this soft light.

3. The Agency
The truck stopped in front of the little building that housed both Peter's house and business. The little sign that hung from the building was bright blue with white letters spelling "Waldham Detective Agency." Though to call his business a detective agency was a bit narrow. Peter took on any job he found interesting. Or any job that would keep him making money, like today's job. Because sadly, he couldn't live from just the interesting cases. Yet.
"Home Sweet Home." Peter said happily and entered his house, leaving the mummy for Mohammed to unload. He didn't need to keep himself occupied with the details. That was Mohammed's job. Peter was a man who stood a distance away and watched. Analysing from a far, like the armchair antropologists he had admired in his youth.
Peter went past the waiting room, which was never full and was only used to give their few clients the idea that he was a busy man. Appearance was everything. Every Brit knew that. He passed through his office, which was filled with heavy books and pictures of himself with important people. On his desk there were some pristine white papers and an old-fashioned quill and a modern recording device.
A door at the back of his office led to the living area and kitchen. From there a stair led to three small bedrooms and a bathroom. Peter stopped at the bar and took out a bottle of whisky. He poored himself a glass and settled down in the couch.
Mohammed appeared in the doorway with the mummy.
"Can you take her to your friends?" Peter asked.
"Tomorrow."
"Then put her in one of the bedrooms." Peter said.
Peter watched as Mohammed disappeared up the stairs. His mind left the dealings of the day in favor of the dilemma which take-out to order that night. Decent English food was nowhere to be found in Cairo. The selection of spicy foods that had the love of the common folk were not to the taste of Peter. Then maybe he'd order pizza again. Though he was getting sick of it.
Mohammed returned and waited. Peter got annoyed for a moment before he remembered that today was Tuesday, the day they stayed open until 10 pm. He sighed and said,
"Put on the lights and I'll move to my desk."
Mohammed nodded and opened the door. Peter wondered what the point was anyway. The real important cases were the ones where people could take the day of to come to him. Those were the ones that mattered. But sadly a lot of their business came from locals. People who needed to find a relative. People who wanted him for labour or digging. People who wanted other people killed.
Egypt really was a country that took adds literally. He said he'd do anything, they thought he'd actually consider killing. Baffoons.
Mohammed entered and said, "There is a client, sir."
"Let him wait for 10 minutes and then show him in. Tell him I'm on the phone."
"As you wish."
Mohammed disappeared and Peter quickly gave his office a once-over. Everything was in place, there were no untidy spots or carelessly left laundry. He'd left his whisky in the living room. He casually leaned back, took up the phone and started an animated, but fingated conversation directed toward the British consul in Egypt.
A little under 10 minutes later, Mohammed led in a tall, dark man, dressed in the flowy gowns that most arabs wore. He didn't seem to be Egyptian, but Peter never had gotten the hang of identifying races and nationalities in Middle-eastern people. They all looked the same with their olive skin, beards and black hair.
"Mister Rachid Baitar is here to see you."
"Welcome mister Baitar. how may I help you?" Peter said, using his best smile on the client.

4. Of Bulls and Jobs
Mohammed closed the door and left Peter alone with Rachid Baitar. Unlike usual he stayed at the door and listened. He had a bad feeling about the client. There was just an air around him that made Mohammed think they had to keep away from him. Mohammed had worked for the national police force for 5 years before he'd been given the order to keep his current boss out of trouble. He knew he could still distinguish the baddies from the goodies.
Peter on the other hand was blind, deaf and gullible. Mohammed listened as the trap was woven inside the office.
"How can i help you?" Peter asked.
"Sir, I come to you with a pressing, but delicate matter." Baitar answered, "You see my family was given possession of a rare and powerful artefact hundreds of years ago. We protected it as best we could, but alas."
"You lost it?"
"Lowly thieves seduced my grandmother into giving them the artefact. She was blinded by love and thought the artefact would buy her and her lover the freedom to be together. She didn't know the importance of the artefact."
"What kind of artefact is it?"
It is a golden necklace. The gold is old and has lost it's shine during the ages, the precious stones in it are beautifully set, but they look like grey rock. The girl thought it was a trinket that could only be sold to a museum. She didn't know the wrong she was doing."
"What happened next?"
"The thief left her of course. He took the necklace and was never seen again."
"And you want me to find the necklace?"
"No. I want you to take it back. It has been brought to my attention that the necklace has returned to Egypt. It's being held in the abode of a crime lord. One of the men who rule Cairo from the shadows. I'm being watched, I cannot hope to get it back myself. But you sir, you could do it."
"We're not an agency that goes against the law." Peter called, but Baitar could hear that his resistance was only for show. The story, which sounded like a movie plot, had grasped his attention.
"Sir it would not be stealing. It would be returning lost property to it's rightful owner. A good dead. A bit like that English hero... Robin..."
"Hood." Peter said with enthusiasm.
"Exactly." Baitar smiled, "I have the documentations here that this necklace was once in the possession of my family. I am it's rightful owner."
A rustling of papers indicated that Peter was going through the documents Baitar had brought with him. Peter was easily fooled. The shuffling of chairs as the two men got up alerted Mohammed to get ready to leave. As he had feared the next words out of Peter's mouth were:
"I am terribly busy, but I have taken an interest in your case. I think me and my employee will satisfy your request."
The following minutes Peter would explain their fees and successrate. Nothing of interest would be said. Nothing Peter could say would get them into deeper trouble. He crept away toward the living room where he waited for Baitar to leave. There was no way Peter would listen to his objections. Mohammed hoped his mother had been saying her prayers diligently. Bad luck was something he'd best avoid during the following days.

5. The Romance in Books
Peter had closed up shop after he'd taken the case of Baitar. The man had seemed poor at best, maybe he came from a family of fallen nobility, but the two of them had agreed on a price that wasn't unfair. It was a bit below his usual fee though. But this case seemed to be really what he needed to make a name for himself. He, the righteous Brit who'd steal back from the corrupt and give back what was stolen. Maybe he should sell this story to the papers.
Being very pleased with himself, Peter hadn't even waited to look up the details for this case. A thing he usually did to keep up his busy image. According to Baitar, the heirloom was called the storm sky choker. Pictures of the choker he found in books were the same as the pictures Baitar had shown. The choker was made of white gold, a single band that was to be worn over the neck, fine gold threads hand down on the chest in semi-circles. On certain points where some of those threads joint grey stones loomed lke dark raindrops. To Peter the whole thing looked rather depressing. And why was it called stormsky? He blamed it on the culture.
According to his books, the choker had been in the possesion of the faraos. At the end of the empire it had been lost and then later resurfaced. From there it switched hands, seemingly also associated with a curse. Why were it always curses in this land? Then finally it had reamined several hundreds of years in one family, passing from one generation to the next. The eldest child was always the keeper be it a woman or a man.
The period of the past fifty years was rather murky when the choker was concerned. The story about the thieves Baitar had told seemed to be authentic. And again the loss was accorded to the curse. According to the book the choker had been enchanted by priests to dispell the curse, but after several centuries the magic has worn off and the curse had yet again acted up.
A small vague part was written about the curse which seemed to work like the curse of the farao. Only the real descendants of the farao could keep the curse from running. Everyone else met with despair and ruin. Ilnesses came. People died. The choker vanished and then turned up again.
"At least it doesn't say anything about peopl who handle it during a short time." Peter mumbled.
As a rational spirit he easily cast the curse aside as the mindless fantasy it was. This Stormsky choker obviously was something very wanted. Peter was convinced more than one person had been killed over it. In truth those stones should have been bloodred.
Baitar's story appealed more to him. The story of the tragic love of a woman who lost a precious family heirloom that possibly had caused the curse to revive. The entire concept was so right for a movie or a novel. It could be a bestseller.
How awesome would the book be with a heroic British detective to rewrite the ending. A detective to find the choker, take it back against several perilous setbacks and then give it back to the rightful owner. In the book of course the detective would console the poor duped woman, marry her and take custody of the choker to keep it safe for the next generations. Maybe they'd even migrate to England and live in a castle.
Within minutes Peter was lost in his daydream. The heroic detective mysteriously resembled Peter. The duped woman was a truly beautiful Egyptian girl. She had long black hair that just slightly curled. But her eyes were blue and her teint was lighter than usual, giving her the look like she had some foreign blood in her veins.
Dreaming he fell asleep.

6. Thoughtful Surveillance
Mohammed sat in his car and nibbled on some spicy meat on a stick. He also had some crackers and a thermos of coffee to get him through the day. He'd been there since he night before. Watching the house that Baitar had claimed was where the artefact was.
The house in front of him was quite famous. It was indeed the home of one of the men who controlled Egypt. And although the politician who lived there was known to be involved in a corruption scandal or two, he was far from being a crime lord.
Mohammed had serious doubts about the story Baitar had spun as well. It was too complete, too prettily told. It was rehearsed. As if Baitar had told in on numerous occasions. And just who was mister Baitar? Mohmmed had contacted some of his old buddies and no-one knew of him. He didn't have a criminal record, which was good. But the family name Baitar was Maroccan more than Egyptian and there were few Baitars in Cairo. None of those were named Rachid. Either Baitar led the existence of a hermit, or he wasn't a local. Then why act like he was? It did not make sense. It was an unnecessary lie. Which made Baitar even more suspicious in Mohammed's eyes.
Nipping his coffee, Mohammed watched as the congresman left with his upper-price class car. His chaufeeur had put a selection of large bags into the trunk. Apparently the man was leaving on a trip today. Most likely an overnight trip. Which was very suspicious.
The bad feelings Mohammed had for this case multiplied by the minute, reaching heights that seemed impossible even to him. This was all a set-up. A trap. But why trap them? Peter was not known as being a great detective. He tried but the two of them survived on finding lost pets and the odd job digging for mummies while watching out for graverobbers. Though Peter didn't know the real reason they dug in the desert.
The two of them struggled to keep the agency open. There was no need to trick them into doing something illegal. On the other hand, maybe the more successful detective agencies had realised that this job was fishy and Baitar had had no choice but to turn to them. But if Baitar even knew when the politician he claimed had taken possession of something that was rightfully his was away on vacation...
Why didn't he just steal it back himself. Baitar obviously got some advantage out of using a detective agency. A small low-key agency. Maybe there wasn't much hussle when one of those disappeared. There'd also be fewer people who'd know about the case. Easier to make them disappear perhaps?
Mohammed felt his blood cool. Peter would be easy to get rid off. Though the man was a hero-worshipper and felt he too belonged to that same category, he didn't have an ounce of awareness to tell when things got dangerous. He'd be shot once he delivered the choker. Possibly they'd throw him in the desert for the police to find.
Mohammed heard the ringing of his celphone and answered.
"Dakairn."
"Mohammed?" he heard Peter ask, "Is that you?"
"Yes."
"How far are you on the case?"
"I've been staking out the adress Baitar gave you. The owner left with a set of bags. He's most likely making an overnight trip."
"Wonderful. We'll get the choker tongiht."
"Sir... I really don't think..." he tried.
"Make sure you prepare everything."
Peter hung up and Mohammed was left with the cold feeling of defeat mixed with a realistic fear for his life. Tonight he'd better not believe in curses but be wary of their consequences. Bad luck was the last thing he needed. He turned the ignition and heard nothing. A bad omen maybe?

7. Breaking and Entering
Night had fallen. Peter had been picked up by Mohammed and together they'd driven close to the target house. Peter felt excited. The two of them had left their car in a quiet street to make sure as little people saw them. Then they'd walked for ten minutes before they'd gotten close to the target. Mohammed had helped Peter get in by jumping over the fence and then opening the gate.
They'd run across the yard, staying low to the ground and hurrying from tree to statue to bush. During that time Mohammed had shown Peter a couple of the cameras. Peter could only hope they'd avoided all of them.
When they'd reached the door everything had still been quiet. No-one yelled. No sirens sounded. They'd gone undetected. So now they were at the back door and Peter watched quietly as Mohammed tried to open the lock. Peter grew more and more disappointed when he noticed the lock didn't pop open like it did in novels or on tv.
"Let me try." he said, thinking it couldn't be that hard.
He pushed Mohammed out of the way, having him bump his leg painfully against the wall. He turned and surprisingly the lock gave in.
"See, it isn't so hard."
Peter stepped inside without a single care in the world. They stepped into what seemed to be a kitchen. The floor was tiled and cool. Cupboards and a wide counter sepearted the room into three areas. One where there could be cooked, one where people obviously ate and another area that functioned as a hallway which led deeper into the house.
"Let's go to the bedrooms."
"Shouldn't we make sure nobody's home?" Mohammed asked.
"Pish posh. There is no-one." Peter dismissed the comment.
He strode through the kitchen and went through the doorway that led deeper into the house. They entered a large living area with comfortable couches, a wide-screen TV and a bar. Whomever the crime lord was, he had great taste. Peter passed through quickly though, heading straight for the stairs. On TV vaults were always kept in the master bedroom. Behind a painting.
Peter walked up the stairs like he owned the house and waited for Mohammed, who'd looked in all the rooms he'd passed, to join him there. The upstairs hallway was dark since most windows were obscured by curtains. One window was slightly ajar and a cool breeze drifted in.
"We have to find the master bedroom." Peter said, "You take that side."
Peter left Mohammed to search the rooms to the right of the stairs while he took the ones to the left. The first door he opened led to an office. A desk with a computer, printer and fax stood neatly against the wall. One who'd sit behind the desk would look out over the back yard. Nice. Against the wall a number of cases contained books and files. There were no paintings against the wall so Peter didn't even bother staying longer.
As he stepped into the next room he felt like he'd hit the jackpot. He stepped into a room with a king-sized bed. The rest of the layout of the room barely registered into Peter's mind as he headed for the painting above the bed. He removed it from the wall, it's frame resting heavy in his hands.
But there was no vault.

8. Call of the Curse
Mohammed waited in the hallway, still trying to come up with a way to make Peter leave without them having fulfilled the request. Suddenly Peter came out of one of the doors and beckoned for Mohammed to enter. Dumbstruck, Mohammed had no other option than to leave the hallway. He insisted on leaving the door open so they might hear anyone come in.
Peter shrugged and then asked: "Do you see another painting here?"
"A what?"
"A painting for a vault. I've looked but the one painting that was here didn't have a vault behind it."
"Who'd hide a vault behind a painting?"
"It's always a vault behind a painting in the movies." Peter pouted.
Mohammed meanwhile, opened the door that connected the master bedroom with the office. His ionstincts told him they'd have a better chance of finding the necklace here than in the bedroom. He looked around and soon found the vault, hidden below a fake panel in one of the closets. Giving up on his protest he opened the vault within seconds.
"Everyone can do it." Peter smiled smugly.
Mohammed was pushed out of the way and Peter looked inside. He took out a typical jewelry box, covered in red velvet. Opening it, he saw the stormsky choker.
"Easy as pie." he said.
"Let's leave." Mohammed insisted.
"Fine fine." Peter said, feeling like his fun had been thwarted.
The two of them exited the office and stalked down the stairs. Just as they wanted to leave through the kitchen again, a creeping sound alerted Mohammed that something was off. The sound was very familiar but it took him a while to recognise it as the sound of a key being turned into an open lock.
"Someone's coming." he hissed.
Peter stood frozen for a moment, but Mohammed pulled him down, out of sight. The two of them waited and heard the off-key whistle of someone walking through the house. Mohammed instantly knew that they'd crossed the path of a guard. The guard would most likely check the premises once every one or two hours while it's owner was away. If they were lucky the guard would not do a good job and leave quickly. But Mohammed didn't feel like trusting on luck.
"Follow me." he whispered to Peter when the guard had gone up the stairs.
The two of them tried to make their way through the living room. The light of the guard had temporarily dimmed their night vision. To his horror Mohammed suddenly felt his foot getting caught on something. That somthing turned out to be a small table with a glass covering. He caught the table before it hit the ground, but the glass shook loose from it's clasps and shattered on the ground with a loud musical noise.
"Run." Mohammed called and instantly dashed toward the door.
Peter followed, but at a much slower pace. Mohammed dragged his boss through the back door and down into the yard.
"Cover your face." he said and then ran through the farden, his arms up in the air to obscure his features. Peter followed him, tripping on several occasions but somehow manageing to keep upright. Mohammed opened the gate while Peter approached and together they left the house. Mohammed noticed that peter was still clutching the jewelry box to his chest.

9. Narrow-minded Chatting
Why did you take the box?" Mohammed asked, slowing down to a trot so they'd look less suspicious.
Peter, happy with the slow in pace looked down and saw the box.
"Isn't that what we went there for?"
"You should have left it."
"You think they'd only chase us if we took it?"
"I mean it makes us stand out."
Peter covered the box with his sweater hoping it would cover up what they were carrying. By the look on mohammed's face he could tell that it didn't help much. But they had finished the case now, hadn't they? No-one seemed to be coming after them. They'd worn gloves so their shouldn't be any fingerprints. When they reached their car they'd be home free.
If Peter remembered correctly the car was only two more blocks away from them. He felt a sense of triumph take over his body. He'd proven he was a hero with this case. He'd braved dangers and had taken back something that was stolen. But before he could brag about his success to Mohammed he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head.
"Oww." he said and tried to bring his hand to his head. But somehow his limbs didn't obey him like they usually did. The ground rushed toward him and a deep blackness tugged at the edges of his vision. He felt a weight hit him and soon realised it was Mohammed who'd fallen alongside him. Why had they fallen?
Peter lost consciousness and woke up after an uncertain period of time from acute discomfort. He felt bruised and battered all over. He felt like someone was knocking inside his head while someone else was throwing his body around. He moaned and suddenly felt someone grab his arm.
"Wha..." he said.
"Shh." Mohammed whispered as he crawled into vision.
"Mohammed... were are we?" Peter asked feeling the pounding in his head even more as he tried to focus his eyes.
"We're in the car. I think they're driving us into the desert to kill us and take the choker."
"Who?"
"Baitar." Mohammed said looking angrier than Peter had ever seen him.
"But... We were going to bring him the choker anyway..."
"I think the choker never got stolen." Mohammed sighed, "They used us to take the risks and now they'll silence us to make sure no-one will ever know they're behind it."
"Preposterous!" Peter called out, "Nobody is supposed to kill me. We have to get out of here."
"This isn't a book." Mohammed said, "We can only hope for the best and wait for an opening."
Soon after the car stopped and Peter was painfully removed from the place he lay on. He was thrown on the sand and when he looked up he stared into the eyes of Rachid Baitar. The man smiled at him with the same charming smile he'd worn on the day he'd first come to the agency.
"Thank you for getting me my item back." he said, "Alas I won't be paying."
"If you kill us a friend of mine will tell the police about what happened." Peter bluffed.
"Oh dear. You're a fool and a lier." Baitar said, "Come on we both know you did nothing of the sort."
Peter tried to get up and face his adversary with a proper attitude but he was hit from behind again and was left whimpering in the sand.
"Face it mister Waldham, help is not coming."

10. Beauty and the Beast
Mohammed held himself as still as he could. If he played dead he might not be guarded as heavily and then find a way to loosen the ropes around his wrists. But trying to struggle free and not moving where two things that didn't work well together. In the hour they'd been in the truck he'd barely managed to loosen his bonds enough to hold his hands two centimetres from each other. But it would have to be enough. Doggedly he continued his work while Peter kept talking to Baitar.
"Are you so certain of that?"
"Mister Waldham, of course I'm certain." he laughed, "I heard from the chief himself that there were no threats about the stormsky choker being stolen. You see he and I are good friends."
Mohammed was surprised. But then he'd only gotten a name. how easy was it to come up with fake papers if you were a friend of the chief of police? And it was not like Peter was an expert in recognising fake documents. Far from it actually.
"You are really stupid, aren't you, mister Waldham?"
"I beg your pard..."
"I was just stating a fact. After all you didn't even notice how shoddy that story was. You leapt right in. The mighty Brit who'd save one of the lesser folk." Baitar's face darkened, "I really despise you."
Peter remained silent. Mohammed hoped his boss would still distract the others until he had freed up his hands. But luck was again not on his side when Baitar turned to him and said
"And you, Dakairn. Give up your pathetic escape-effort. I know you're trying to get your hands loose, but the moment you run, you'll be hit by five bullets from my men."
Mohammed stopped contracting his muscles.
"How you have fallen. You were once one of the most promising new policeman in the force. One step wrong and here you are, dropped into a dead-end assignment. How does it feel to know you have to watch the back of a chauvinistic swine like this for the rest of your life?"
Mohammed kept quiet.
Baitar laughed and then continued: "Of course you know what's going to happen. Why won't you tell me?"
The barrel of a rifle dug painfully into Mohammed's back.
"You're going to kill us and dispose of our bodies."
"Well done. I see you are quite intelligent. I bet you even know I'm the one who wanted to steal the choker. I bet you knew my story was fake the moment you heard it. But oh yes, you aren't allowed to interfere with your boss' life. You only watch. But I guess even you don't know I've repeated this stunt over and over during the course of years. The choker has proven to be quite profitable. And no-one can stop me."
Mohammed kept quiet, closed his eyes and just begged for help. Whomever it was his mother prayed to. It was the last option he had. Even if he was a man of little faith, he refused to give up. So he prayed.
"Are you... praying?" Baitar laughed.
He turned to Peter and added, "I think he's already reserving a spot in heaven. Care to join him?"
Peter for once stayed silent. Mohammed opened his eyes and stared up to the stars. Would he be going there? Would the curse on his family end now that the first-born died before having children? Or was help still coming?
For a moment Mohammed thought God in the form of the stars winked at him. A spark lit in the sky, barely noticeable, but it was there, high up in the sky. Mohammed focused on it and saw that it grew larger. The light seemed to be brighter than he'd think because the surrounding stars dimmed as it grew bigger.
On second thought, something obscured the stars. A strong wind blew up the sand and Mohammed heard a scream to his right. A heavy object was dropped and then he heard the running of feet. He stared up and just saw blackness. The spark came into his view and then a woman moved before it.
"Are you ok?" she asked.
Her voice was soft and calm. She moved like she was not afraid of danger. Was she Isis who'd come to take him to heaven?
"I might take you to the sky." the woman laughed, "But heaven is too soon for you."
She reached out a hand and helped him up. Mohammed looked around and saw Peter staring at the blackness in front of them. It seemed as if he could see more for his eyes shone in a peculiar fashion. Mohammed tried to focus, but only when he took a few steps back did he see what peter saw. The dimensions of the beast were large. Wings sprouted from it's back and a long tail lashed the air.
"My name is Rebecca." the woman said, "And this is my dragon, Aten."
"We have come with an invitation to Darkling Dawn."

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STATS

Peter: male, 29 blond hair, blue eyes, out of shape description: Peter is a chauvinistic, impractical Brit. He is romantic in nature and likes to dream of better times (when Great Brittain still ruled most of the world)

Mohammed: male, 24 black curly hair, tanned skin, dark brown eyes. description: Mohammed is a hard worker, prac-tical and logical. Though he works for Peter he pretty much does his own thing. Because his family was cursed he's a bad luck magnet.

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Read about their dragons seperately:
Peter - Mohammed

Lantessama Isle
Peter and Mohammed hope to impress at Darkling Dawn
Background made with a picture found on google search engine