Curse of the Pharaoh: A Brock Stone Adventure

Stone rolled his eyes. His youth felt so far away it seemed as if the memories belonged to someone else. They rode along the dark streets in silence. In the distance, Stone could see the Great Sphinx and the Pyramids of Giza bathed in moonlight.

“Did you ever go back to Paris?” Rose asked.

“Why would I do that?” Stone snapped.

“You mean the ‘universe’ never brought you back to her? How tragic. She was so certain that book was going to change your life.”

“It did.” A bitter taste filled Stone’s mouth. Rose was dredging up memories he’d buried. “And how do you know about that?”

“The ‘universe’ told her to take a walk by the Seine that night.”

Stone grimaced. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

They followed a dirt road that ran parallel to the Nile. At the outskirts of the city, they came to a wharf where fishing boats were moored.

“Not here.” Rose pointed south. “Just a bit farther upriver.”

They finally reached a private dock where a large paddle steamer sat at anchor. It was painted white, with double smokestacks and a stern paddle wheel. Painted on the hull in bright red letters was the name P.S. Tom Sawyer.

“Are we on the Nile or the Mississippi?” Stone asked.

“The owner is an avid reader of Mark Twain,” Rose explained. “He had it brought over from America.”

Stone shrugged. He too enjoyed the works of the famed American humorist, but he didn’t love having something in common with a criminal and a slaver. They parked near the riverbank and made their way on foot to the dock.

“Follow my lead,” Rose said. “Don’t get in a rush and remember your role.”

“Got it.” Stone hated blindly following orders. He had gotten his fill of them in the service. But he knew when he was out of his depth, and this was one such occasion.

Two guards armed waited at the end of the dock. They greeted Rose warmly. Their eyes climbed up and down her shapely figure, drinking in her beauty.

If Rose took notice, she didn’t let it show. She called each of them by name and asked after their wives and children. After pleasantries were exchanged, she introduced Stone as Lord Rockwell. She added a surreptitious wink that Stone pretended not to notice.

“A lord?” one of the guards asked. “From what country?”

“I’m American, but I have recently become Scottish nobility,” Stone said.

“He purchased it with his father’s money.” Rose rolled her eyes and the two guards snickered. “Lord Rockwell enjoys games of chance, although he claims he is not very good at them.” She gave Stone a condescending pat on the cheek.

“I play for fun,” Stone said. “It’s not really about the money for me.”

“In that case, you will find more than your share of entertainment aboard the Sawyer,” one of the guards said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. The pair stepped back and allowed them to pass.

“How did I do?” Stone whispered.

“Not bad. Just remember not to lay it on too thick.”

At the end of the dock, they encountered another guard. He apparently knew Rose well and accepted her explanation without question. He smirked at Stone as they stepped on board.

The sounds of music, loud conversation, and raucous laughter spilled out from the decks of the old steamer. Rose led him up to the top deck, where well-dressed men sat drinking and laughing while a trio of belly dancers gyrated for their entertainment. Rose took her time, sashaying around the deck, greeted several men with a peck on the cheek, and introduced them to the newly minted Lord Rockwell. To a man, they were all amused by the newcomer in their midst.

“Where did you find this one?” a dapper man asked. He spoke the Queen’s English with clipped precision — a Londoner if Stone didn’t miss his guess.

“He was a guest at the club tonight,” Rose said.

“Baron Brimble. A pleasure to meet you.” The Englishman’s handshake was soft and moist. “I didn’t realize America had a noble class. Isn’t your mantra, ‘All men are created equal?’ or some such nonsense?”

“Yes, but we know better, don’t we?” Stone winked. “At least, that’s what my father says.”

“Judging by your accent, you hail from the American south.”

“Texas, but I’ve been away from home a long time. My father is called a cattle baron, but that is just a nickname for a man with more money than sense. Unlike him, I am an actual lord.”

“Truly?” The corners of Brimble’s mouth twitched in amusement. “What part of Scotland?”

“Cliffton, on the west bank of Loch Cliff in northern Shetland.”

“Shetland?” Brimble shuddered. “Just thinking about the place makes me want to sit beside a warm fire. You are descended from Scottish nobility then?”

“No. The title came with the purchase of a castle.”

Brimble choked on his sip of whiskey. Stone gave him a rough pat on the back.

“First time drinking?” he joked.

“Please forgive me. Something must have caught in my throat.” Brimble took a moment to clear his throat and wipe the tears from his eyes. “Do you enjoy poker, Lord Rockwell?”

“Is a horny toad a lizard?” Stone grinned and winked. “The answer is yes, by the way.”