Metal Birds

Chapter 40: Heat Syncope

Cairo, Egypt, October 14, 1940

"How did you get here?"

The words were a blur. His head throbbed. He found his face in his hands, groaning softly in an attempt to quell the pain and the nausea that overcame him.

"Arthur, how did you get here? Are you alone?"

"Yes... yes, I'm alone... yes."

He could hear himself breathing, his head felt too hot. What was wrong? No, no... he couldn't remember. It was all a blur. He remembered sand. That was simple enough to recall. Sand. And heat. He was parched. His throat felt like the desert surrounding him, dry, scratchy, pricking at his skin.

"Here, take this." His vision was blurred, but he felt someone press something into his hands. Round. Cold. A cup. A cup. Water. Arthur sharply brought the thing to his lips, perhaps only making his disorientation worse. But it felt wonderful. Water, something cold. It helped the throbbing lessen in intensity.

"Thank you."

"Lay down, if you must. It's dumb luck Seamus found you and not someone else."

"Seamus? That was Seamus?"

"Yes... are you alright? Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"Do you know who I am?"

"...Imhotep. You're Imhotep."

"Ah, you're not completely lost to us."

He found himself chuckling weakly, before it caught in his throat and turning into a weakened cough.

"There now. Do you need to lay down?"

He shook his head. The throbbing increased drastically. He ignored it.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you."

"Now, you must tell me. How did you get here?"

"I flew. Through Spain. I didn't want to risk Sicily, not now."

"You should have tried to send something ahead."

"I know. I just couldn't trust anything. I mean..." He let out a guttural sigh. "I apologise."

"Don't apologize."

Arthur blinked, blearily, before his vision cleared some.

"You had heat stroke." Imhotep stated, seemingly standing to move around the room. Arthur couldn't make it out just yet. He could feel a cold floor beneath his feet... where were his shoes? He sighed again, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Where was I? We're in Cairo right?"

"Yes... somewhere safe. You'll be alright. I assume you've heard about what the Luftwaffe is doing."

"Yes, I did... where's Seamus?"

He opened his eyes again, and the room became clear. He was perched, leaning far back in a low chair. He could tell that much. It wasn't exactly soft, but it was better than nothing. There was a rug just beyond his blistered feet. He was still gripping onto the cup, still shaking a little but, still sick to his stomach. But he could feel his head beginning to cool down.

"He's upstairs, keeping an eye out. Smoking. We've had to move a few times."

"You haven't been bombed, have you?"

"No, no. But Ludwig has been circling. Once or twice we've had to fend him off for the night."

He found himself swallowing, bitterly, a lump receding from his throat.