“…and this depicts the god Horus, who lost his left eye fighting Seth, ruler of chaos.”

“Looks okay to me.” The hawk had one eye half-open like it had been caught in a mischievous wink, but was otherwise fine. It even carried off the enormous dimensions of its stove pipe hat with remarkable aplomb.

Memshavit inclined her head. “It was later healed by Thoth, god of wisdom, thus creating the phases of the moon.”

I nodded attentively. Something I’d been doing a lot of in the last two hours. It seemed easiest. And most expedient. If I was going to find a way to escape unnoticed then it wouldn’t do to annoy the woman in charge—regardless of my limited interest in the minutiae surrounding the lives of her gods. Maybe if it had been less dryly narrated, or adapted into a vid series—or even an action-packed novel—it would have held my attention. As it is, I might as well have been on a virtual museum tour.

It suddenly occurred to me that if people were still watching my adventures from the real world, then my viewers had probably found something more entertaining to watch. The post-millennial generation had become educationally spoiled by modern media and its emphasis on the present and the future. The past was now for dilettantes, and the odd child watching big-eyed as someone’s brain was pulled out through their nose cavity. Oh, and romance readers. Because nothing quite says love like a non-functioning toilet.

(Yet another thing I was grateful for in the AOD world was the lack of a need for such facilities. Though I didn’t want to even think of what had occurred to that function in the real world.)

For my own part, the only thing I remembered about Egyptian gods was from that Moses animation. You know—the one with the smarmy conmen priests doing a dance number and citing the power of Ra and his besties. That had been cool. Catchy, even.

I eyed the priestess speculatively, but quite apart from her age, she was far too earnest to fill that role. And neither agile nor oily enough. Still. I wonder what would happen if I activated my Illusory Storytelling ability and began playing that song? Would she—

My musings were ended—probably fortuitously—by our arrival at a closed door. It was nothing special, just bare planks and a small hole at hand level.

But: “Past this point, you must not attempt to enter. It is forbidden.”

I nodded again, this time less in the nature of a puppet. Things were finally getting interesting.

“For an unsanctified person, or a person not of the Order of Mut, to cross this threshold would break our sacred covenant with the goddess.” Her stick rapped emphatically against the floor. It was a wonder she had any paint left on that sucker.

“Sounds important. Yet it’s left unattended?”

Her dark expression turned smug. “The door is fitted with the most advanced lock that has ever been devised. None may pass without the key.”

Rogue Me or Rogue Me Not!

Get past the Sacred Door to discover the secrets of the Temple!

Reward: ???

Reward: 500 XP!

Reward: Artifact (Epic)!

Penalty for non-completion: None

This was beginning to sound more and more like the old-school adventure games I played when I was a kid. Of which my grandmother had had quite the collection, and I had had quite the addiction for. Something about the contradictory nature of their mind-bending simplicity appealed to me. Brain over brawn. Even if that brawn was only in one’s fingers. Relentless button-masher I was not.

But if this challenge followed the adventure game convention then it was a cunning one indeed. I had not so far seen any objects I could safely pilfer. Guards were posted on every other corner, discouraging would-be thieves. And there was no door knocker, indicating a lack of NPC receptionist to be fooled and/or bribed into allowing me entry.

It was also too populated to use my Bardic skills to immobilise the guards and subsequently tear the door down by force: AKA Option B. The alarm would be signalled immediately.

No, this was going to require finesse. And darkness if it was going to be done at all. Though…it did occur to be me that unlike an adventure game an RPG isn’t linear, I didn’t have to overcome every challenge in order to progress. I could just give this one a miss…. No matter how curious I was to see what was behind that door.

So, Naah.

Memshavit, evidently deciding that I had been sufficiently warned, shuffled over to the next exhibit. And the next. And the next. When she finally ran out of important objects to show me, she turned to the more functional areas of the Temple, though these were clearly less to her taste.

I, on the other hand, was fascinated. Not only did the Temple have its own library, schoolroom, apothecary, cafeteria, and menagerie, plus other assorted factories and shops, it also had a bath that, had it been outside, would have qualified as a modest lake.

Very impressive. It must have been a triumph of engineering to collect that amount of water in a country as dry as Egypt. Of course that assumed it had been pumped from the Nile and not simply carried here. An alternative which wasn’t so unlikely. Edifices such as the pyramids hadn’t risen from the desert unilaterally after all. A lot of helping hands must have been required. Water, by comparison, would have been a doddle.

By the time we entered the temple’s courtyard, Memshavit was leaning heavily on her cane.

“This is where I must leave you, outlander. My duties include much beyond your mere education. Although you have exhibited more patience than many.” She paused for a moment before evidently deciding something. “Come to me when Amun-Ra spills his last rays and we will speak farther. If you desire it. Mayhap the lessons you have learned today have sparked an interest that will translate into a calling.”

She lifted one hand and was instantly surrounded by her clutch of handmaidens. “In the meantime: explore our citadel, meet its inhabitants. Here in the Temple of Mut, everyone is represented. Which means no one stands alone.”

I was still decrypting that remark when she was swept back inside, supported by her attendants.

Congratulations! You have completed the Official Tour of the Temple of Mut!

Reward: 50 XP!

Reward: Improved Reputation with the Temple of Mut! Neutral—>Friendly

Reward: Tour Badge (Temple of Mut) stamped! Visit 4 other Temples of Egypt to become an Official Sightseer!

Congratulations! Level Up! You are now a Level 23 Lone Disranger!

Reward: Stamina increase +1! Overall HP limit now 855!

Reward: 2 Attribute pts!

Illusory Storytelling Upgrade! (Lvl 2)

Yes! It was high time I levelled up. I was beginning to wonder if a glitch had frozen my progress.

Then:

New parasite detected!

The larvae (common) you have been nurturing has divided via mitosis! Making you now the proud owner of 2 parasitic larvae!

Debuff (-20% HP) now increased x2 (-40%)

Shit. The game clearly didn’t like me ignoring my internal housekeeping. Tapeworm 1 and 2.0 would have to go. Though I still didn’t have the required potion in my inventory—the reason why I hadn’t dosed myself before now. Without any apothecary skills I was dependent on sellers or dumb luck.

(The game was usually quite generous when it came to keeping lurgies at bay, though come to think of it, I hadn’t been awarded anything specifically parasite-related since Lvl 19. Not that I wanted to go back and repeat that particular experience. I had been exploring a cave and stumbled into the sticky strands of massive Glow Worms. Oozing, disgusting little beggars that had literally eaten me from the inside out.)

Anyway, if memory served me correctly there just happened to be an apothecary on these very premises. It was just across the courtyard, through the entrance to my right. Easy peasy. If I could just ease my way past—

“Good morning, my lady. How are you on this fine morning?”

I eyed the legs stretched out across my path. The owner of both the voice and the offending limbs was seated on the edge of the courtyard’s central fountain, slumped casually and beaming fit to raise any city-sider’s hackles.

“I’m, ah, fine. Thanks for asking.”

The man, who was middle-aged and trim, if a little disheveled, seemed to brighten, if such a thing were possible. He leaned forward conspiratorially, though he didn’t lessen his volume.

“So no problems health-wise? No unsightly lumps or mental lapses? I’ve had both, you know.”

“Sorry?” I squeaked, unsure myself if it were a question or a expression of sympathy.

“It was a few years ago now, when I was in the military—special services. All very hush-hush of course.”

I blinked. If this man had been a part of a secret government department then it was no wonder Egypt was in such political turmoil. Spies don’t usually advertise their profession to strangers; at least, not to my knowledge. (Come to think of it, they must have a hell of a time in job interviews, denying any experience of previous employment.)

“Why, only last week I was telling a good friend of mine that he needs to go to the infirmary and get his head examined. And do you know what they found?” He leaned forward again, eyes locked on mine.

“What?” I asked reluctantly. I wasn’t sure I liked where this was going. Having a nervous disposition wasn’t the only reason I didn’t like playing gore-games.

“An engorged node on his brain stem. Bilious of course, but it could have been fatal.”

“So you nearly saved his life.”

“Yes. Very nearly. I have some knowledge of these things, you know. Having been educated by the trials of life. I’ve always found it important to take opportunities to learn while you can. To talk and exchange information regardless of the source.”

“So you’re like…some kind of sage?”

He huffed out a laugh, though I could see that the notion pleased him. “Indeed, some might call me that. Though I am most famous for my exploits on the field. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? Qalaa of Mut. The Citadel.”

I edged slightly backwards. Getting caught up in a conversation with a chatty NPC war vet was not in my immediate plans. I had much to do if I was going to make a break for it tonight—or find out what was behind that infernal door.

Diplomatic Challenge Issued!

Remove yourself from the presence of The Citadel of Mut without causing offence to earn:

Reward: Negotiator Skill! (lvl 1)

Reward: +1 Wisdom!

Reward: 20 XP!

Really? What kind of man is so clingy that you get rewarded for simply talking your way past him?

“Um. The name doesn’t ring a bell, I’m afraid. Military history wasn’t high on my own list of educational opportunities.”

I was gradually beginning to notice what I had been too distracted to notice earlier. There was a barrier of solitude around Qalaa; an empty space that was being conscientiously respected by the crowd around us. They evidently knew something that I had not.

He laughed, a great barking laugh that expanded his force shield by a factor of one. That is, the individuals closest to us edged one step farther away.

“I mean the field of play, not battle. I was held to be the most promising ten-year-old in the history of the game of (hockey). Until I broke my leg, of course. Ah, those were the days.” He sighed in remembered glory. “I still watch, you know. People say I should become a coach, but I haven’t been approached yet. Not sure why. Perhaps they don’t realise that I’m available. Though nowadays, I’m more an expert in the game of Senet.” He gestured to the board sitting on the fountain beside him. “Somewhat less exciting, but it keeps me occupied.”

This claim would have been more convincing if there was anything actually on the board, or if another player had been present. To me, it looked more like an excuse to be sitting around accosting innocent passers-by than a genuine past-time.

“Well, I’d better go. Can’t stop and chat. Time waits for no woman.”

“Indeed yes. Or man. But what is it that you do, exactly?”

“You mean, for a living?”

“If that is how you wish to interpret the question.”

“Ah…” What? “I’m a Bard.”

“Which is?”

“A travelling performer. I play my lyre in exchange for coin or other items of value.”

“What a coincidence! I sang in public once. Ended with me being seized by the medjay on a trumped up drunk and disorderly charge. No one around here appreciates talent. You would be better served to go to the Temple of Hathor. They take in performers of all kinds. Dancers, singers…actors. Even the occasional animal act. You may be unaware of this, being foreign and therefore ignorant, but Hathor is the goddess of joy and love. She revels in the pursuit of pleasure. I myself make it a particular point to visit during the spring celebrations. The entertainments are unsurpassable.” He paused thoughtfully. “And the food isn’t bad, either.”

Actually my tour guide had mentioned a Hathor; though Memshavit had fast-forwarded her description with uncharacteristic haste. I’d had the impression that she disapproved of such a frivolous goddess.

But how had we gotten on to this subject? Oh, yes. The need to leave.

“Interesting. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Thank you for the information,” I said politely and edged farther backwards and slightly around the fountain—away from The Citadel.

He responded by mirroring my actions, turning to follow my movement and sliding toward me, leaving the Senet board behind. It was like being trapped in a physical game of Simon Says.

“Information, as I said, is my speciality.”

“I thought you said your speciality was Senet? And hockey. And maybe singing?”

“A person of such broad interests is not limited to one expertise. Life is a smorgasbord of opportunities. Which is why I suggest you diversify.”

“Howzat?” I asked, startled.

“What are you doing?” a new voice whispered. It was coming from the pumpkin I was cradling, and the disapproving tone identified its source beyond all doubt. Gerdy. “This is not appropriate behaviour—keeping your master waiting while you gossip about nothing. Silence this rattle-pate at once.”

Qalaa remained oblivious. “Take that vegetable you’re carrying, for instance. Evidently you have some fondness for produce. Have you ever thought of changing to the less stressful occupation of farm management?”

Okay, enough was enough. “I really must go, Mr., ah, Citadel. But it was nice talking with you. Really, um, helpful.”

“First, tell me what you are seeking. If I am the sage you claim I will have an answer.”

“Actually,” I said in a burst of honesty. “I’m looking for a potion. Do you know if the temple’s apothecary sells a purge for parasites?

“Pah! That’s an easy one. Ask me something harder next time. The man you are referring to is something of a perfectionist, and deems such lowly remedies as beneath his skill. If you wish a cure—and I know this because I myself am not above contracting such ailments—then you would be best served to go to a stall outside. Merchants and artisans pitch tents along the road to the temple to secure the business of passing supplicants. Among them will be a man named Humnut, of Nubian descent. Good fellow, though somewhat quiet. Mention my name and he’ll fix you up with a potion to stave off anything short of death.”

“Thank you again. But now I really must go.”

“Indeed you must. Wouldn’t want those nasty little devils tunnelling into your bloodstream and stopping your heart, would we?” His face screwed up in titillated horror. “Best make haste before it’s too late.” He lifted his hand in a wave, smiling magnanimously, and drew his legs in to sit like a lady. Permission to leave granted.

Congratulations! You have completed a Diplomatic Challenge!

Reward: Negotiator Skill! (lvl 1)

Reward: +1 Wisdom!

Reward: 20 XP!

It’s really that simple? Ask him a question and he lets you leave? I gave my own wave, hesitant at best, and hustled in the direction of the Temple’s open gate. Without looking back. Afraid that if I made eye contact I’d be called back again, and further drawn into his web of self-importance.

“Finally!” Gerdy fluttered out of Bert’s pumpkin to alight on my shoulder and craned her neck to do some people-watching. Or people-disdaining. True to form, she snorted in disgust. “Look at all these civilians. Completely unaware of the presence of a power beyond their ken. A simple pit trap would reduce their numbers by at least a half.” Her voice tipped up in hopeful inquiry.

“No plotting to kill the populace,” I reproved, more loudly than I intended.

An exotic-looking woman in dark eye makeup gave me the side-eye and whispered to the armed man beside her. He conducted his own examination and deemed me wanting, hustling the silk-clad woman away like the well-trained bodyguard he was no doubt programmed to be.

“Maybe we should have this conversation where there’s less people.”

“There would be less people if you would only find a nice abandoned cave we could redecorate.” Her tiny nose screwed up. “I would even allow you add your own special touches.”

“Big of you,” I muttered from the side of my mouth. It probably appeared as a weird spasm. Ventriloquism was harder than it looked.

“It may even be to our advantage. Anything you bring into the dungeon would be sure to attract other humans. The resulting increase in our death tally might even impress those braggarts at the academy!”

That would only be acceptable if I desired to limit myself to a fixed location. Which I do not.

“Bert! How are you feeling? Still drained?” It was good to hear from him. Also reassuring to know he was conscious enough to muzzle his miniature Rottweiler.

I circled around a group of women gossiping about the foibles of men and finally reached the gate. Which seemed to serve as a retirement opportunity for martial gentlemen. Or so I assumed from their relaxed posture and lack of actual duties. They barely even looked at me when I exited the temple, and even that was probably more due to curiosity over my foreignness than any professional concerns. Maybe the more elite guards patrolled the waterfront.

I am feeling much better. Can I assume from our direction that we are going to meet the delightfully named Mr. Humnut?

“Definitely. I need to get back to maximum Health. At only 60% a rabid hamster could lay me out cold.” I squirmed my way past the queue of people laying their offerings of food and drink on the long bench outside. Then I had to push through the customers hovering around stalls of varying sizes, shapes and colours.

“Noble lady! Come see…”

“Outlander! Taste our fine cuisine!”

“…scarves, dresses, robes made of the finest linens!”

And noises. Burbles of interest competed with sudden barks of laughter, the screams of a tired child, and over everything, the calls from unoccupied hawkers.

And then one shout caught my attention. “Musical instruments! Made by the finest carvers! Played by the Princess herself!”

My head turned. I couldn’t help it. Music stores are my kryptonite. I had spent many hours ogling beautifully detailed guitars and rifling through music scores. On one notable occasion I had even travelled halfway across the world to visit an outlet that specialised in medieval instruments. It had been the most enjoyable week of my life, even if I had returned empty-handed. (They’d been functional masterpieces. Too rich for my blood.)

I made a mental note to myself to stop for a look on the way back. With the improvement to my finances I could definitely afford to buy a new lyre, potentially enhancing my active Skills. Though I would still be restricted by Level. The best I could hope to equip based on my current status was an Epic. Strong, but one step down from Legendary.

Unfortunately, finding the pharmacist proved a little more difficult that I’d expected—due mainly to a lack of audible advertising. As Qalaa had suggested, Humnut was dour to the point of mutism, conserving words like mana in a Boss battle.

It was only after an exhaustive examination of each of the booths that I’d spotted the sign at all; about the size of my hand with a picture of a stoppered bottle painted on it. Wherein I discovered that the proprietor had been standing in the shadows, waiting for business to come to him.

At least the transaction was easy enough. Request, grunt, then an exchange of coins for the potion, which I downed there and then. I even stocked up on other essentials, such as mana and health standard, plus a few Greater potions that boosted attributes. A luxury that I’d never been able to afford before.

May as well. I didn’t know when I would next be able to find a supplier. Plus, the exchange rate was extremely favourable. Apparently ancient Egyptians valued silver above gold, due to its comparative rarity. I could save the yellow stuff for the remainder of the world’s cultures.

Though the issue of how I was going to transport it all was still unresolved. Despite access to two different Outfitters, neither stocked a holding bag with more slots than the one I currently owned. At this rate I would have to leave the majority of my treasure in the Temple’s coffers. It also limited any potential purchases to those I could stuff into my system inventory. Clothes (including armour), weapons, and potions only.

Speaking of which, I considered as I tugged up my piece of temple-supplied cloth, I can’t wait to get back into pants again. Though I’d been surprised that the Clothiers carried northern apparel. The Temple of Mut must have a wider range of visitors than I’d suspected.

Unfortunately, food didn’t qualify. It had to be placed, along with the marrows I’d bought for Bert, in my holding bag, using up ten precious slots. (Plus, no chocolate. I did ask.)

But fortunately, by virtue of being a bard, any instruments classified as a weapon. Which meant I could visit that solitary music store with a glad heart and a bottomless wallet.

Consequently, it was with unmitigated eagerness that I finally approached the music booth. Already I could smell the fresh cut wood being shaved into elegant shapes. Sap and glue, with just a hint of man-sweat. A heady brew.

Five seconds later, my eyes confirmed I was right. A teenage boy was carving the neck of what looked to be an arched harp, while the proprietor dealt with a pair of young women. They were giggling and string-plucking with an enthusiasm that bespoke a complete lack of skill or familiarity with music and its related notes.

He abandoned them when he saw me hovering, though I’d been immediately distracted by an assortment of flutes. The pretties of the music world. Most of this selection were made from reeds, of course. A resource easy to find in ancient Egypt. But it was the bone versions that stood out amongst the different shades of brown. Bigger, More elaborately detailed, and undoubtedly more expensive than their dull cousins.

“You are a flautist?” The angle of his eyebrows suggested he was doubtful.

“I can carry a tune, but no, I generally gravitate toward stringed instruments.”

“I thought as much.”

“You have a Skill that can sense what I play by the way I look?”

“Of course not. I saw the lyre on your back earlier when you turned in the street. Although now that I look closer, the calluses on the tips of your fingers would also have been a clear indicator.”

I smiled, sensing that I’d met a soul mate. “What—“

An unmelodious twang interrupted what I’d been about to say, prompting my eyes to squeeze shut in sympathy. For the harp. Such a beautiful instrument to suffer the gigglers’ abuse. “If you want to get back to your other customers I won’t take offence.”

He smiled. “Unnecessary. Those two haven’t come to buy anything. They don’t have the funds. Along with a complete lack of musical calling.”

“So why are you letting them play with your stuff?” The girls had now gravitated to the tabla drums, tapping the heads with their fingertips. It was actually a relief. Drums can be played arrhythmically but they don’t shriek when in pain like most instruments.

“They come in regularly and try out every piece. And in the process they attract attention away from all the surrounding stalls.” He directed my own attention to the people who had stopped their own browsing to see what all the noise was about. Many of these were men.

“Ahh,” I sighed in understanding.

“Just so. Allow me to introduce myself. Fenmat, maker and seller of fine instruments…. Including lyres.” He bowed deeply.

“A pleasure.”

“Though I sense that you’re looking for something beyond the common stock from the shop front. Your own lyre is, after all, a Rare specimen.” One eyebrow rose.

“Actually, I’m wanting something particularly special. A piece made by a Master craftsman.”

He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I do have a lyre that fits that description, but…I hesitate to ask…”

“Do I have the funds?”

“Yes. Pardon me if I offend, but you do not look as if you can afford the price a masterwork commands.”

A valid caution considering the potential for rogues and thieves to make off with his most precious stock. Especially when the stall itself could be broken into with a pair of dress-making scissors. If he revealed where they were I could inform an accomplice and quickly own everything for the bargain price of nothing at all.

“The temple can vouch for me. At least my solvency. If I fetch an acolyte…“ I turned uncertainly towards the temple gates.

“Not necessary,” he said hastily. “It is only next door after all. Amun can make the trip.”

And also ensure the acolyte isn’t said accomplice, I thought cynically.

He walked over to the young woodworker and whispered directions. It appeared to be a welcome distraction as, within seconds, the boy lurched to his feet, running with enthusiasm toward the temple gate.

Shit, I wished I were that age again. Joint pain might be reduced in the virtual world but youthful energy could not be reproduced.

The store owner and I talked shop while we waited for Amun to return, which proved to take even less time than expected. Though that could have been partly to do with in-game time dilation. Waiting was another aspect of life that millennials had understandably not found desirable in modern vid games. Leading to a speed-up of any uninteresting production frames. The game’s internal clock would reflect an appropriate representation of how long it would normally take, while in real-time the player only experienced a fraction of that.

(Except in sims of course. As I learned on my one and only foray into that genre, those fuckers are hard-core. Somewhere out there in the virtual world there is a level 1 Gardener avatar still waiting to tell me the paint was dry on a fence that took six hours to construct. Only the lapse of my subscription will end her suffering.)

The boy wasn’t even puffing when he returned, which I felt to be a black mark against AoD’s authenticity. No one is that fit.

He gave a nod to his employer, who accepted it with a smile. “Amun, please take over the counter while I speak with my client.”

Amun looked glum, but complied. Perhaps I’d unfairly maligned the poor boy. Maybe he lacked the vocal chords to produce a wheeze.

“You’ll have to excuse my apprentice,” Fenmat said in a low voice as he ushered me through a curtain in the back of the stall. “I took him in after he had his tongue removed by the Pharaoh’s guards. It seemed our king was not in favour of a ballad he composed.”

I bridled in alarm. If musical performances could result in violent mutilation, then I’d dodged a metaphoric bullet by not offering my services to the locals.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he assured me. “The Pharaoh is not normally so volatile. I think Amun struck a nerve when he raised the issue of the youngest prince marrying his half sister. Especially at the betrothal ceremony.”

“Was it true?”

“Oh, yes. But hardly politic to mention. After all, if the Pharaoh condones it, then it falls upon us to ignore the issue entirely.”

“Very wise.”

The room/sheet-fortress that Fenmat led me into was bigger than I had expected, almost tardis-like in its dimensional incongruity. There was just no way that it could fit in the space available against the temple wall. Architects with tape measures would scratch their heads in perplexity. It managed to include a kitchenette, chairs, thin planks, reeds, tools, spare instrument parts, and…a large wooden sarcophagus that took up most of the farthest wall. Either the man had a deep and disturbing reverence for his dead, or he was of the ‘be prepared’ brigade. I hoped it was the latter.

I hoped for it even harder when I realised that Fenmat was leading me unerringly in that direction. Or at least that any contents were well wrapped up and not at all fresh. Decomp was not a smell that should ever have been added to a twitch suit’s system memory.

I stepped back a little when Fenmat lifted the lid, but instead of a corpse, the most gorgeous examples of crafting art dazzled my eye.

In the sarcophagus’s head lay a lute, with an entire turtle’s shell for a sound box, inlaid with mother of pearl and sporting paintings of dancing ladies along its neck. A beautiful instrument, if functionally limited. Two strings didn’t offer much range. A supporting player rather than lead.

Within the coffin’s pelvic region lay a sistrum; an older version of the tambourine, with metal disks that appeared to be actual silver. Matching clappers were tucked in one of the empty rectangles inside its frame.

A trumpet occupied much of the right leg, cone elaborately carved with people engaged in war. Probably best not to ask after that one’s provenance. I was pretty sure that the military were the only people allowed to use them in this era.

And best of all a lyre, nestled comfortably in the chest cavity. The coolest thing I’d ever seen. Oh. My. God.

I looked at Fenmat and indicated the instrument. “May I?”

He nodded, though I detected a nervous tension around his eyes. And no wonder. It’s not every day you keep a Royal Sumerian lyre in your coffin.

It was shaped somewhat like a flattened boat, with a boxy body and crossbar masts that rose out of…completely the wrong places for a mast, and why then am I describing it as a boat? Mainly because of the front, which featured a bull, made almost entirely of gold, atop the sloping neck of its bowsprit, looking like a quintessential figurehead. Its eyes were wide open in an expression of surprise and gleamed dully with a dark blue material—lapis lazuli if I remembered correctly. Also in blue was its beard, which has always seemed a somewhat odd affectation to me. I mean, I’ve seen a bull. I’ve even been brave enough to poke my hand through a gate and give it a scratch, but I’ve never seen one with what looked like half a dozen weird blue fingers in their mouth. And underneath these weird digits, along the bull’s neck, were pictures inlaid in bright white shell inside a black background. To be honest, they looked more like comic strips than skilled portraiture. Animals, some with human heads, glared, clawed, and ate each other in rapid succession. The herbivores seemed to be the most consistent losers.

All in all, a lyre designed for royalty. Only the tuning pegs and strings were standard issue. Yet my fingers still itched to stroke them all the same.

ROYAL SUMERIAN LYRE (gold, Epic)

Functions:

Player: Able to record and recreate any tune that is played upon it. Initial Memory: 4

Boomerang: Returns to player’s hand when dropped.

Stampede: General Damage Ability commensurate with player level.

Transformation: Enlarge and minimise capacity. Command word - “Lyre”.

Okay, Christmas may have passed me by in the real world, but Santa has definitely left me a present!

My hands trembled as I lifted it to see how it would feel to play. Bulky, but lighter than the gold would suggest. It was also surprisingly balanced considering that most of the metal and inlay was along one side.

Fenmat shuffled closer to me, probably in the hope that he could catch the lyre if I made the monumental mistake of dropping it. “A magnificent instrument, is it not?”

I strummed it lightly. No sound came out. And wouldn’t until I equipped it. But I didn’t doubt that the tone would be true.

So it wasn’t long after that that I left the stall and headed back to the Temple, with the lyre concealed under my holding bag and most of my slush money spent. I would have to either visit my vault or shake down Bert for a refill. Not that I was complaining. In fact, I was grinning more broadly than I had in years. I could hardly wait to play with my new toy.

I stopped only once on my way to our new quarters, while venturing past the forbidden door. There I noticed two priestesses, one of whom was waggling something inside the aforementioned small hole. After a few seconds of this, she muttered something to her associate that sounded surly and gave the door a swift kick. It seemed the lock was more fiddly than Memshavit had advertised. It took a few more seconds of activity for it to click and finally swing open.

I tried to peer past them to see what all the fuss was about, but only caught a brief glimpse of a plain section of wall that looked much like any other wall before the door closed, leaving me none the wiser.

You really need to get through that door.

Bert, giving me helpful advice. What a shocker.

“Why? What’s in there?”

I can’t say, he hedged. But go anyway.

“Fine. Just let me get a little rest in first. We’ll come back later tonight.”

After I figured out just what my new toy could do.