Mr. Crocodile peered over his glasses, staring at the little metal crocodile.  “This is powerful hika. Not a type normally done these days.”

“Who even knows those old spells?” Tori asked.

“There is an old story,” Mr. Crocodile said, adjusting his spectacles. “Before the time of Sneferu, the Pharaoh came to visit his lector-priest. Now a young man in the royal retinue caught the attention of the lector-priest’s wife. Eventually word got out and the priest avenged himself by creating an effigy of a crocodile. When the young man was bathing with his wife, the priest recited the spell and cast the effigy into the water and it changed into a full sized crocodile. It seized the young man in its jaws and they both vanished into the water forever.”

“Before Sneferu,” the Professor said. “I say, that’s a good four thousand years ago.”

“That kind of magic survived?” Hawk said.

“No,” Tori said. “The Christian Pharaohs of the Thirty-ninth Dynasty destroyed most magical texts they could find. Or at least we thought they did.”

“Which set in motion Khemia being conquered by foreigners ever since,” Mr. Crocodile said.

“Simonetta had mentioned Ramesses XVIII,” Rebecca said.

“He was the greatest king of the forty-fourth dynasty,” the Professor said. “He did collect every surviving magical text he could find. They said he was the finest magician of his age.”

“The Tomb of the Mechanical Ka,” Mr. Crocodile said.

“Not so loud, sir!” the Professor said, looking around, making sure no one was listening.

“It is the object of your expedition, isn’t it now?” Mr. Crocodile said.

“What is…” Hawk started but was quickly cut off.

“But we mustn’t just announce that in public!” the Professor said, looking around at the crowd that seemed to be paying them no attention. “And the more correct translation would be the House of the Mechanical Akh anyway.”

“That is nothing but superstition,” Tori muttered. “Like the lurid tales of lost treasures that foreigners tell.”

The Professor cast a few more looks around as his posture seemed to relax. “On a happier note, the Governor of Cairo has invited us to a banquet, to celebrate the glories of the Antiquities Service, you see.”

“I wish you well,” Tori said, as she started to walk away. “I must report to the Priestess of the Cairo temple.”

“You are invited as well, Miss Mowi,” the Professor said. Hawk could tell from Tori’s expression she did not look forward to the event.

“Simonetta was there as well, Uncle Ted,” Rebecca said. “She must come.”

The Professor nodded. “I shall see that she gets an invitation. We must dress our finest, for not only will the Vizier be there—”

“The Vizier?” Tori gasped, her eyes wide. “The Pharaoh’s second-in-command?”

“Yes, he wants to know exactly what the attack was like. The Martyrs of St. Mark have become a growing problem for him, you see,” The Professor said.

Politics, Hawk thought. That always seemed to be what it came down to.

“I have to see my…my priestess…” Tori said, her face now very red. To Hawk’s surprise, she turned and ran off.

“She seems nervous,” Hawk said.

“Not every day one attends a soirée with the Vizier,” Mr. Crocodile said with a shrug.

“Our patron shall be there as well,” the Professor said. “The Nomarch Pafnuty Busiri. His Nome includes the Fayyum, where we will be digging.” I am sure the Nomarch would be very interested in the Tomb of the Mechanical Ka as well, Hawk added silently.

“So, on our best behavior then,” Rebecca said. Hawk looked at her. She was already thinking ahead to the banquet, and Hawk knew this was not the first party like this she had attended. The London Season or whatever they called it, that the rich English tourists were always speaking about.

“Excellent,” the Professor said as they started out of the station where a steamcar and driver were waiting for them. In the far distance stood the pyramids, the eternal constant despite everything else that happened in life, they would always be there at Giza. Hawk’s favorite part of Cairo. Emblazoned on the side was the monogram of the Nomarch.

“We are Mr. Busiri’s guests so we will be staying in his Cairo manor,” the Professor said as the car raced down the streets, dodging past other steamcars, peasants with horse-drawn carts and the occasional rider before finally screeching to a halt. Hawk had never been so happy to get away from one of the infernal contraptions. He had encountered them in all his travels, but the Cairenes had to be the worst of any jay-drivers he had ever seen. For a culture that was so preoccupied with the afterlife, their drivers were almost contemptuous of death.

“Are you quite all right, Hawk? You look a bit green,” the Professor asked as he and Rebecca made their way inside.

“I just need the minute.”

“As you wish.” The Professor vanished inside, but Hawk stopped in the atrium, just out of the midday sun. As Mr. Crocodile walked by, Hawk tapped him on the shoulder.

“I need to ask you something, if it’s not too much trouble,” Hawk said.

“Of course.”

“What is the Tomb of the Mechanical Ka? Everyone talks about it, but no one actually says what it is.”

Mr. Crocodile took a breath.  “It is what they commonly call the lost tomb of Ramesses the XVIII, supposedly located in the Fayyum. According to legend, it contained the Pharaoh’s fabulous treasures and a secret library of all the knowledge he had accumulated during his reign, including the most powerful spells. It was designed by the Persian scientist Al-Saghani with all sorts of ingenious mechanical and magical traps to keep the Pharaoh’s souls safe.”

“Spells,” Hawk said. “Like spells that could turn the effigy into the full sized animal?”

“Perhaps,” Mr. Crocodile said, adjusting his spectacles.

“It’s a lot of questions,” Hawk said.

“Very true. But they will have to wait, as we have a banquet to ready ourselves for,” Mr. Crocodile said, before he continued into the manor house.