and ingest them.”
“How did you know this?” asked Pandy.
“The slaves who carried him here spoke of it as they stood the bronze pole on its end. Naturally, they were all put to death for learning of the curse.”
“Naturally,” said Iole.
“Why did you tell us what to do?” Pandy asked the skull.
“Yeah . . . before, you wanted to eat me. Now you’re helping us?” said Alcie. “Why?”
“The boy wanted to know why I needed your . . . blood.”
“But I was having trouble with some of the big words in Egyptian,” said Homer, looking off.
“As I said, I don’t have much time left,” the skull added. “So I told him what to do. He obviously thought you all would benefit.”
“It’s just that they laugh at me when I know stuff . . . ,” Homer complained under his breath.
“All right,” said Pandy, looking at Homer.
“Sheesh!” said Alcie.
Pandy turned back to the skull. “I would like to know why you need our blood.”
“My own curse,” said the skull. “But my story is simple. My name was Habib and I was a common bricklayer, working on the tomb of the great Tutankhamen. I stole an amulet, a symbol of the Eye of Horus, that had been blessed and left in the tomb for Tutankhamen to find after his death. The amulet was to heal any wounds to the pharaoh’s body as it made its journey to Osiris and the land of shadows. I knew that the priest’s blessing made it very valuable and it would bring a high price if I could sell it. But I was caught coming out of the tomb and condemned to death.”
“By impaling?” asked Pandy.
The skull of Habib looked at Pandy with what little surprise it could muster, sending the right eyebrow sliding down over the nose cavity.
“Of course. You know another way?”
“Figs.”
“Please, go on,” said Iole.
“I was executed two days later,” the skull continued slowly. “But unknown to anyone, including me, was that the chain and the Eye of Horus had fallen into my waistcloth and was pressed against my skin. It was still on my body when I was brought into this chamber. So I was not truly dead. My body decayed, but the healing eye amulet with its blessing has kept me alive for centuries. Enough years to see to hundreds of people interred here, including Calchas. My flesh is almost gone, but my tormented spirit has lived.”
“Let’s get to the part with the blood,” said Alcie.
“Whenever a life force entered the chamber, a priest, a slave, a mourner, anyone, the eye would try to heal and restore me by enabling me to kill him and drink his blood. The force would impale him, but at his moment of death, his blood was no longer useful. It’s the reason that this temple was abandoned: stories of the monster in the Chamber of Despair and the certain death that awaited anyone in here.”
“If it’s keeping you alive, why did your bones crack and break just now?” asked Pandy.
“Everything must turn to dust eventually,” replied the skull. “No matter that my soul will live on, this is the moment of my final physical death. I even doubt that drinking blood would have really helped at this point.”
The skull’s tongue swelled up then shriveled again, turning darker by the second. It turned its sad, rheumy eyes on Pandy.
“The boy has briefly told me of your quest. Your powers must be great indeed, young one, to have done the things that I witnessed in this chamber.”
It paused for a moment, then with great effort spoke again.
“I do not know if it will help, but I would like you to take the Eye of Horus. It is the only thing I have and it was never really mine to begin with. Use it as you can. Perhaps . . . by passing it to worthier hands, the great Nephthys and Osiris will pity me and allow me into the land of the dead. It is the only thing I can do.”
“Thank you,” Pandy said, watching as the light in its eyes began to fade away.
“It is there, wound around my rib bones, underneath that bit of cloth,” said the skull,
“How did you know this?” asked Pandy.
“The slaves who carried him here spoke of it as they stood the bronze pole on its end. Naturally, they were all put to death for learning of the curse.”
“Naturally,” said Iole.
“Why did you tell us what to do?” Pandy asked the skull.
“Yeah . . . before, you wanted to eat me. Now you’re helping us?” said Alcie. “Why?”
“The boy wanted to know why I needed your . . . blood.”
“But I was having trouble with some of the big words in Egyptian,” said Homer, looking off.
“As I said, I don’t have much time left,” the skull added. “So I told him what to do. He obviously thought you all would benefit.”
“It’s just that they laugh at me when I know stuff . . . ,” Homer complained under his breath.
“All right,” said Pandy, looking at Homer.
“Sheesh!” said Alcie.
Pandy turned back to the skull. “I would like to know why you need our blood.”
“My own curse,” said the skull. “But my story is simple. My name was Habib and I was a common bricklayer, working on the tomb of the great Tutankhamen. I stole an amulet, a symbol of the Eye of Horus, that had been blessed and left in the tomb for Tutankhamen to find after his death. The amulet was to heal any wounds to the pharaoh’s body as it made its journey to Osiris and the land of shadows. I knew that the priest’s blessing made it very valuable and it would bring a high price if I could sell it. But I was caught coming out of the tomb and condemned to death.”
“By impaling?” asked Pandy.
The skull of Habib looked at Pandy with what little surprise it could muster, sending the right eyebrow sliding down over the nose cavity.
“Of course. You know another way?”
“Figs.”
“Please, go on,” said Iole.
“I was executed two days later,” the skull continued slowly. “But unknown to anyone, including me, was that the chain and the Eye of Horus had fallen into my waistcloth and was pressed against my skin. It was still on my body when I was brought into this chamber. So I was not truly dead. My body decayed, but the healing eye amulet with its blessing has kept me alive for centuries. Enough years to see to hundreds of people interred here, including Calchas. My flesh is almost gone, but my tormented spirit has lived.”
“Let’s get to the part with the blood,” said Alcie.
“Whenever a life force entered the chamber, a priest, a slave, a mourner, anyone, the eye would try to heal and restore me by enabling me to kill him and drink his blood. The force would impale him, but at his moment of death, his blood was no longer useful. It’s the reason that this temple was abandoned: stories of the monster in the Chamber of Despair and the certain death that awaited anyone in here.”
“If it’s keeping you alive, why did your bones crack and break just now?” asked Pandy.
“Everything must turn to dust eventually,” replied the skull. “No matter that my soul will live on, this is the moment of my final physical death. I even doubt that drinking blood would have really helped at this point.”
The skull’s tongue swelled up then shriveled again, turning darker by the second. It turned its sad, rheumy eyes on Pandy.
“The boy has briefly told me of your quest. Your powers must be great indeed, young one, to have done the things that I witnessed in this chamber.”
It paused for a moment, then with great effort spoke again.
“I do not know if it will help, but I would like you to take the Eye of Horus. It is the only thing I have and it was never really mine to begin with. Use it as you can. Perhaps . . . by passing it to worthier hands, the great Nephthys and Osiris will pity me and allow me into the land of the dead. It is the only thing I can do.”
“Thank you,” Pandy said, watching as the light in its eyes began to fade away.
“It is there, wound around my rib bones, underneath that bit of cloth,” said the skull,
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