Max Allan Collins

And soon the elite red-turbaned guards lay scat­tered across the bottom of the palace steps like hu­man refuse, while the Nubian king loomed above them like an unforgiving god.

Balthazar gave a solemn nod to his fallen foes, saying, 'We will meet again in the underworld,' and then he strode, two at a time, up the steps of the palace, to the golden doors at the top landing.

'Wait!' Isis called to him. 'What are you doing? Where are you going?'

Balthazar turned; at the crest of those steps he looked more like a great guard than the invader he was. 'The magician's powder should have worked its magic by now—we must modify our battle plan.'

Eyes flaring, Isis asked, 'In what way?'

'I am going inside,' the Nubian said, 'and aid the Akkadian.'

The queen gestured to her warriors, the women here and there about the steps. 'Shall we come, too?'

'No.'

'You would do this alone?'

'Yes—just as the Akkadian said he would stand alone against Memnon and his armies.'

'But...'

'Woman! Do I have a choice? ... Guard these doors!'

And Isis stood guard, as the Nubian king, unan­nounced, went calling on Lord Memnon.

When the alarms bells went off, Philos and Arpid were in the lower halls of the palace, stacking their bags of powder in a position deemed by the scientist as ideal for their destructive purposes.

Arpid had no opinions to express: he accepted his lot, and placed the powder sacks wherever he was

told. He had one of the sacks in hand when the echoing peal interrupted them. 'What in the name of the gods is that?'

'That's the alarm for the Red Guard,' Philos said. 'We must hurry!'

Doing as he was told, Arpid spun quickly, and— thanks to a small hole in the bag, which he held like a baby—a spray of black powder freckled Philos's face.

'Be careful, you fool!' The scientist wiped the dangerous stuff from his cheeks. 'There's a hole in that sack. We're not here to blow ourselves to noth­ing!'

'Well, maybe we should patch it.' The thief grabbed a torch from the wall and used it to see where the rip might be, and in so doing twisted around—like a dog chasing its tail—leaking a black powder trail.

'No,' Philos said, 'don't—'

But somehow, in the process, a drop of burning oil fell from the torch onto the black line, lighting it. Arpid yelled and—still cradling the very bag leaking black—began to run away from the ever-following, sparking line of powder.

As Arpid ran screaming down the corridor—the alarm bells adding to the chaos—the scientist shook his head and raced after him, snatching the sack from the thief's grasp, and stomping out the spark­ing powder.

Arpid, breathing heavily, smiled sheepishly. 'Sorry.'

The scientist regarded the thief with rising irri­tation. 'I should have teamed up with the Akka­dian's smarter partner.'

'What? Who?'

'The camel! ... Calm yourself.'