The trip to Egypt was pleasant and downright calming compared to our experiences in London. Captain Lars Torvak has proven to be a well-trusted sailor, when he's sober that is... and as for the crew of the ship, I think we all learned a thing or two from them. Pretty sure I picked up a bit of Mandarin, and of course their strange but very fresh hot pot seafood dishes were excellent. I'm not entirely sure Ewan got the hang of using chopsticks, though - he ended up sharpening them and skewering his spicy squid, much to Sinophile Sarah's mortified horror. What on earth we're ever going to do with him in another country, I'll never know...
We docked in Cairo right in the middle of the heat of midday, and our first impression was of the bustle and crush of the place... at least in the touristy sections. There were grand performances of snake-charming and magic in the streets, a tangle of bazaar shops, and across the very Nile itself in which our boat rested, we saw the grandeur of the pyramids. It truly was like a postcard or photograph in a travel brochure, tinged with desert heat and magic. Not that any of us wanted anything to do with magic at the time - we simply wanted to find a hotel, and to rest. It's not the fanciest place we're staying, our hotel, but it will serve for our purposes and we'll certainly avoid the bustle and crush, and the conspicuousness, of staying at someplace like the Shepheard Hotel. Our hotel has much better views of the Nile, anyway.
Not that we had time to rest when there were leads to follow. Over a quick lunch of hummus, stuffed grape leaves, pita, shish-kabab lamb, and incredibly rich, thick coffee, we recalled what leads we had, and decided whom would follow what. Clayton had apparently learned of an Omar Shakti living in Egypt from Edward Gavigan, and despite my protests he resolved to visit the man himself. Meanwhile, Ted still had the letter Faraz Najir had penned to Roger Carlyle so long ago, and Ewan volunteered to help him follow up on it. I followed them mostly. As for Bridget and Sarah, they figured looking into any possible history concerning this Black Pharaoh figure would be a good place to start - and what better place than Egypt's National History Museum?
Our roles decided, we were about to head out to seek them when the saffragi swept in to collect our coffee cups and read the fortunes from them, a practice Clayton's told me is similar to tea leaf reading. The vast majority of us seemed to have somewhat decent fortunes, and we assumed this would be the case for us all, however once he got to Ted's cup, something in his demeanor shifted. His eyes went wide, and his face paled as he nearly dropped the cup in fear, turning away and praying to himself in rapid, frightened Arabic. Clayton, who just so happens to be fluent in Arabic, wouldn't tell me what he said, but the saffragi was very kind to Ted after that... perhaps overly kind. Normally, people don't comp meals for nothing, especially not after reacting the way he did...
We didn't have time to contemplate this omen, however. Just then, a familiar face cropped up. In swept a group of tourists, ready to lunch themselves, and amongst them was Miss Marie Van Teufel, whom we'd acquainted ourselves with on the way to London. She seemed glad to see Ted and myself again, but I think Ewan putting the moves on her made her uncomfortable, because she mostly tried to ignore him and turned to chatting with the ladies. It was at this point we became acquainted with a Miss Alice Wittingham, an Austrian woman who apparently was some sort of celebrated psychic. She took one look at Ted, insisted he had a "malevolent spirit" haunting him, and pleaded with us to visit her this evening for a seance and spiritual cleansing. She told us she feared for his life - although Sarah was hooked at "seance". We were skeptical at first that it was anything more than a charlatan act, but Sarah talked us into it after the woman left with her entourage, and it was decided that after our research, we'd look into visiting her as well.
With that, we split and went our separate ways, not speaking with each other again until that evening - and boy, did everyone ever have a lot to tell. It was almost too much information, so I will do my best to paraphrase here.
Ted and Ewan had quickly come to the realization that neither of them knew much Arabic, so they hired a native guide - a young beggar boy named Mah'muhd, on Ewan's insistence that "the beggars always know what's up". He couldn't have been more than twelve, but his English was near perfect from his time begging in the tourist district, and he clearly could use our money, so we hired him. We weren't disappointed in our decision, either - the boy's smart as a whip and knows his way around the back streets of the Old Quarter better than anyone. He quickly took a shine to our kindness and showed us to Faraz Najir's shop in the Street of Jackals... unfortunately, it had burnt to the ground in a terrible fire. After allowing our new young friend to ask around in our stead, we discovered that Najir was still alive, and working out of a new shop in the Street of Potters. Tangling our way through the bazaar and buying a few things of our own for later as we went, we entered the shop and met Mr. Najir for ourselves.
He was a tired and somewhat sleazy-looking man, polishing a jewel-encrusted scimitar when we entered, his back to us. We soon discovered why when he turned to face us - he had horrible burn scars all across the left half of his face, no doubt from the terrible fire he'd been lucky to escape with his life. I felt pity for the man - no doubt his deformity made life difficult for him, and the fire likely had not done much for his mental state, either. In English, he addressed mostly the men as we entered, assuming we were tourists, however his demeanor faltered when we turned to asking about the Carlyle Expedition. He panicked, and demanded we leave and not return, even going so far as to slam the scimitar into the wooden desk so hard it became nearly embedded there. Oh yeah, he definitely had something to hide, and we wanted to know what. Ewan quickly came up with the bright idea to bribe him... and it worked.
Ten pounds richer, Najir nervously told us that a man named Warren Besart had come to him on behalf of Roger Carlyle, seeking certain artifacts - artifacts related to the Black Pharaoh. He sold them to the man, and thought little else of it. He also told us of a rumor concerning a stolen mummy that the Brotherhood apparently took, and that the Brotherhood also apparently wanted something at the Mosque of Ibn Tulin, but swore up and down he knew nothing else. Two new leads in hand, and plus a new friend in Mah'muhd, we quickly made our way back to the others with what we knew.
Meanwhile, the ladies at the museum had the bright idea to ask a guard there if there was anyone in charge of the artifacts at the museum. Bridget explained quickly to the man that she was an Antiquarian specializing in Egyptian artifacts, an employee of the Penhew Foundation in London, and that Sarah was her intern. The guard didn't buy it at first... until Bridget just so happened to mention that they were looking into information about the Black Pharaoh. The guard's eyes widened, and he immediately asked them to wait while he asked a Dr. Ali Kafour in the upstairs offices if he would be willing to speak with them. Five minutes later, their request was granted, and they found themselves in Dr. Kafour's office, sipping glasses of ice water and cooled brandy.
Dr. Kafour was an older gentleman, with kind eyes behind his wire rim glasses and greying hair slicked back gently. He seemed happy to meet the two women, yet behind his gaze lurked a certain curiosity... whether a dark or a light one, the women would not say. It was when Bridget broached the subject of the Black Pharaoh and the Brotherhood, however, that he simultaneously opened up and became suspicious. He explained to them that the Black Pharaoh was an ancient deity of some power, mainly worshiped by cult-sects in Second Dynastic Egypt. Around that time, legend told of a sorcerer of great power named Nephren-Ka, who ran this cult. So intertwined were the legends of this sorcerer and of the Black Pharaoh, that they both became one in the same. Around the time the pharaoh Sneferu came into power, the cult was disbanded and Nephren-Ka stricken from history. Supposedly he was buried in the Bent Pyramid - the Collapsed Pyramid that was originally built to contain the body couldn't be used for obvious reasons - however, the body has long been thought to be stolen and nobody is sure where it ended up... or if the legendary figure existed at all.
It was this legendary figure of the Black Pharaoh, also occasionally known as Nyarlathotep, that the Brotherhood worshiped, although the practice was thought dead. Dr. Kafour felt otherwise, and believed the cult still active in Cairo. He was positive that the missing mummy was that of the lost Queen Nitocris, stolen from the Clive Expedition dig site a few nights back. He was also sure that there was a branch of the Brotherhood somewhere in London, and knew that an offshoot cult dwelt in Kenya somewhere, but beyond that was unsure of its spread. He knew the Carlyle Expedition had been seeking information on the Black Pharaoh as well, but that some great tragedy had befallen them. This was characteristic of a lot of Penhew Foundation expeditions, and he was not surprised they were the next in line. He just hoped the recent Clive Expedition would be alright. Though the girls had no more questions, Dr. Kafour offered to remain in touch with them as needed, though if you ask me I don't trust him. Not yet. If the Brotherhood really has "a thousand eyes", he could be one set of them - and the last thing we need is someone feeding us false information or passing our location on to the Brotherhood.
Clayton had slightly different luck. As he asked at the consulate for directions to Omar Shakti's home, he happened to notice an Anglo-Egyptian man, smoking red and gold band cigarettes and observing him, but before he could say anything the man vanished. Another cultist on our tail? Another Gavigan, maybe? Just great, lovely. Because we needed more trouble in a foreign country. The consulate called ahead, Shakti agreed to the interview, and Clayton got directions and made his way there - only to realize the place was more a mansion with cotton plantations than a house! It quickly became apparent that Omar Shakti was no ordinary man, even more so when the man himself answered the door in lieu of a butler.
Shakti, a somewhat portly Egyptian with a jaunty red fez and glasses, welcomed Clayton in without a second thought. He had a cat as well, an Abyssinian that wound around his legs as he showed Clayton about the place. When they finally reached the lounge, he offered to tell all he knew, which wasn't much. Apparently, he told Clayton that yes, he did know Gavigan and often worked to donate found expedition treasures to the Penhew Foundation for further study. It was a matter of cultural pride, as Shakti put it. He seemed quite saddened to hear that Gavigan was dead, but was not surprised - the Penhew Foundation always had a history of bad luck surrounding it, in fact it was a cave-in that killed the Carlyle Expedition, which the Penhew Foundation funded. Shakti himself had never met any of the Carlyle Expedition members, save Sir Aubrey Penhew, whom he had a great working relationship with before the man died. As for any talk of a Black Pharaoh, Bloody Tongue God, or Nyarlathotep, he knew nothing... or claimed he did, if Clayton is to be believed.
You see, it was at this point that Clayton noticed cracks in Omar Shakti's facade, cracks that developed into rifts when he asked the man for a glass of ice water. It was at that point Shakti turned to one of his servants and asked them to get it while they continued speaking, but he spoke in Arabic, and Clayton as mentioned before is fluent in Arabic. Totally unaware that Clayton was listening in, he apparently murmured to the servant to dose the water with some sort of truth serum, and it was only by quick thinking that Clayton remained a free Byrd. The ensuing probing questions as Clayton played at being drugged only confirmed his suspicions, and he quickly managed to convince Shakti both that we were staying at a different hotel, and then to let him leave. Thank God he did, who knew what might have happened if he hadn't left when he did?
Call me crazy, but Shakti is up to something, something no good... possibly, something with Brotherhood ties. Indeed, we're all lucky thus far that the Brotherhood hasn't caught on to our presence here yet. I have a bad feeling that might change, however, sometime after the seance tonight... call it a premonition.