This is actually really cool, I thought as I reached for my necklace again.

The contours of the two pendants hanging from their piece of string weren’t smooth enough to be completely comfortable against my skin, but they provided comfort just the same. One, a sharply feathered ostrich of hardened sand, the other a bull-headed harp, its magic a faint hum against my upper chest.

An MP3 recorder in a prehistoric world. How’bout that?

I had spent the last two hours programming it with my most used songs and, as I had suspected, it both played and replayed beautifully. Of course, if I was going to use it for defence, such as in my Hail Mary skill, or adapt a new song for Illusory Storytelling, then it would have to be enlarged again.

Still, the extra step would be worth it. Lyres can be inconvenient, tangling in greenery and bumping into passers-by. Plus, there was the extra benefit of a lessening of the weight across my back; after having carried it for weeks, losing it was comparable to cutting off your hair after growing it for a decade. My centre of balance was out of whack and would need time to adjust, but I felt free of encumbrance, and a good deal lighter.

I’ll need to replace the necklace’s string with something a little more durable, though. The harp’s passive Boomerang function would ensure that it could never be misplaced, but I didn’t like the idea of Gunga falling. As a small, inanimate object she would be both difficult to find, and oblivious my call.

I felt a pang of loneliness. Gunga, my birdy friend. I hope I see you again soon. I very much missed my tall buddy. Bert made for an intelligent conversationalist, but sometimes you just need a soft, warm body to hug.

“Have you finished playing with your new toy?” a strident voice interrupted. “Time is a-tickin’.”

Of course, not all warm-blooded bodies inspired physical affection. Gerdy, for example, had all the attraction of a rabid porcupine.

“Familiarity with one’s weapons is surely a worthwhile activity,” I said, with an edge to my voice. “Your precious fairy handbook must list that somewhere among its appendices.”

“Hrumph,” she replied, wings twitching irritably. Which I took to mean that it did indeed detail something of that nature. Training adventurers did seem to be one of a dungeon’s primary functions.

“However, in this case you’re right,” I conceded. “Time is indeed getting away from us.” I had spent maybe a little too much time perfecting my recordings. Whether to ensure their effectiveness or from pure vanity even I didn’t know.

A gentle tinkling sound indicated that I was stroking the harp yet again. A bad habit, that. I wouldn’t last long in stealth mode if I strolled around with my own musical accompaniment. And with the pyramids (aka big-ass tomb) in my sights, that habit might even extend to waking the dead.

With an effort I pulled my hand away and got down from the bed, where a rug met my bare feet. At least my room allocation had undergone an upgrade. Evidently having enough treasure to sink a ship had entitled me to a few extra perks. Though, come to think of it, Bert’s dungeon treasure had covered the floor in my old room, so there could well have been a rug beneath. Regardless, it wasn’t as if I would get to enjoy any improvements for much longer.

Unless tonight’s escape attempt was unsuccessful. Which is a distinct possibility if I don’t get my ass into gear.

But first, footwear. There might not be much chance of getting glass from broken beer bottles stuck in my feet, but that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of other hazards to one’s tootsies. Even the rough paving stones outside the Temple had done a number on the pads of my feet before Healing had kicked in. If the texture was true to life, the non-pixelated version of ancient Egyptians must have sported hooves, especially with the sun baking everything it landed on.

Unfortunately, as I suspected, sandals weren’t included in my inventory. Boots it would have to be. Matched with the flowing robe I’d bought earlier that day, it would probably look odd, but not so odd as to occasion comment. Strange foreigner, yada, yada.

Within seconds I’d equipped the clothes I’d selected and was already feeling better about myself. It wasn’t my usual ensemble and certainly wouldn’t be featuring on the cover of Vogue, but it wasn’t threatening to slip off every time I took a step so it was a vast improvement to my temple dress.

The final touch was the marrow I secured across my back with duct tape and string. With any luck, anyone who saw it would think I was an archer, patrolling the temple with an ornate green quiver. No bow, though. But hell, anyone that looked that closely would already have recognised I was carrying a concealed vegetable.

Bert at least approved of his alternate living arrangements.

This is better, he said. Much nicer than the pumpkin; less chance of being dropped. And I really was getting sick of the lack of variety. I’ve absorbed so many carotenoids that I swear I’m turning orange.

“Still convinced we need to get through the mystery door? Pretty sure I could just walk past the gate guards and find a private spot to fly from. They didn’t seem particularly interested in me earlier.”

Trust me, you’re not getting through the next part of this adventure without first seeking what is in those rooms.

“Wait. You’re actually climbing down from your pedestal of neutrality to offer advice?”

I am not informing you in my AI capacity; I am telling you as a dungeon core who has an interest in keeping its mob boss alive. Non-nomadic cores can be extremely territorial, prone to attacking other cores’ creatures in a rather hasty and brutish fashion. I would rather not risk my existence—or yours—through unpreparedness.

“‘Other cores’? Are you saying the pyramid hosts a dungeon? With a core like you?”

Not like me. More advanced. The pyramid core has had years to level up. It was, after all, present at the game’s inception. My own rise may have been faster than average—due largely to your habit of putting us both in danger—but it has still only been a matter weeks since my birth. He ‘coughed’ slightly. My pardons for the nomenclature. I do not mean to offend your sex.

“What? With the word ‘birth’? It would take a lot more than that to offend me. Although if you start comparing your new moods to ‘that time of the month’ we’re definitely going to have words.”

A flicker at the corner of my eye was all the warning I had before I found the front of my robe seized. I staggered two steps forward, mainly from being caught off guard, but also because the pint-size tea light towing me was surprisingly strong. Especially considering that I could hold her on one finger. (Established fact. Guess which one I chose.)

“Let’s go!” Gerdy whined. “If you two keep chatting, the sun will come up and we’ll have to spend another day in this overcrowded hellhole! Let’s see some urgency!”

“Okay, okay! We’re outta here.”

——

Torches had sprung up in the courtyard when I exited the residences, casting more shadows than light. Perfect for sneaking.

And tripping—though I could be absolved of clumsiness. You too would fall if some idiot had their legs stretched out in your path.

“Good lady! …Arline, was it? have you come to ask more questions of me?”

There are times I really hate game consistency. Qalaa had merely been bypassed, not eradicated, therefore he was still out here irritating innocent passers-by…who, yes, intend to break a sacred covenant… And possibly steal sacred artefacts. But let’s not argue semantics. I wondered if I went all I-am-Kong on his ass whether he’d reanimate the next day. Probably. Though I’d be too busy rotting in the local version of a jail to find out. Egypt, like most AoD societies, tended to frown upon murderers.

“Actually, I do have one. Do you know what’s behind that door over there?”

His face brightened. “An excellent question! And one I’ve been pondering since I first got here. Only priestesses have I seen opening that door, all wearing their best garments with hair pulled back—like this.” He pulled his own hair into a ponytail and yanked it so tight that his eyes and mouth straightened. “And always at the same times every day. Though the High Priestess usually comes a little earlier than the others.”

So no easy answers. Could be a some kind of ceremony or ritual—or even a social club. Memshavit could very well be arriving early to organise the snacks and party decorations.

“Anything else?”

“The lesser priestesses often carry in food and wine.” He gave a sly smile that made me a little uncomfortable. “Only the finest. Now, I couldn’t possibly say what they’re up to in there, but I wouldn’t mind inviting myself to the festivities.”

“Thank you for the information. But time—“

“Waits for no woman. I remember. I always remember what people say.”

“Right.” I stepped over his feet. “‘Kay. Bye and thanks again.”

“Wait! I’ll go with you!”

“Oh…”—no, for the love of god—“That’s really not necessary.”

“A young lady wandering alone in the dark…surrounded by all sorts of danger…. The temple isn’t as safe as you would think, you know. Plenty of deviant foreigners with no respect for the sanctity of this precinct stay here. Did you know I once had to stop a man from urinating in this very fountain? And he had the effrontery to attack me—me!—for stopping him.” He shook his head in disbelief. “No. I simply cannot allow you to walk about unescorted. Besides,” his eyes lit, “I can answer any questions you might have while I’m with you. Why, you would have an entire library of knowledge at your disposal.”

Kill me now.

I tried to stop him, I really did, but he didn’t get the name ‘The Citadel’ for his docile and obliging disposition, and my lvl 1 Diplomacy skill wasn’t strong enough to cut through his desire to secure a captive audience.

A minute later I was leading him away from the fountain, crossing my fingers that a digital leash would hold him there. But no luck. He followed with a stride that looked lazy, but easily carried him one step behind me.

“When did your interest change from pumpkins to marrows? Is it a mobile snack? I know of a woman that gets faint if she doesn’t eat at least once an hour. Unless she sneezes, of course. Then she collapses regardless. Do you have that problem?”

“No.”

There was a brief pause before he continued, undeterred by my monosyllabic answer. “I hate to say it, but your marrow may be overripe. There’s some kind of insect resting on it. I can kill it if you want.”

“No!” I said hastily. Bad enough that I could practically feel Gerdy’s resentment through my back; if he laid hands on her he was going to get a sharp surprise.

“Very well, if you say so.” He paused again for another of his micro-moments, then continued. “I see we’re heading in the direction of the forbidden door. Do you know, I suspected as much. Part of the reason I wanted to join you, actually. I’ve always wanted to see what was behind there, and I think you may be the very person to succeed in breaking it open. People are always asking, you see, and it’s the one thing I don’t know.”

“Well, if you want me to succeed, you’ll have to keep quiet,” I hissed at him. “There is a guard posted around the corner. Unless you have some way of getting rid of him, I need you to be as silent as your namesake.”

Silence, finally, from the Great Gob of the Temple of Mut. Either a miracle from the goddess herself, or the NPC had been programmed not to directly impede a primary mission.

The guard in question was looking menacing and remarkably alert, considering the example of his colleagues at the gate. I had been hoping he would display the same air of relaxed indifference. But this time, I suppose, there was something important to protect. The difference between apprehending a pickpocket who preys on civilians, and minding valuable artefacts owned by a state-funded institution. Fail job number one and you’ll get a slap on the wrist. Fail number two, and at the very least, you’ll never work in the industry again. So, all in all, a question of motivation.

He was lvl 9. Easy enough to subdue for a lvl 22 bard, but it wasn’t altogether about over-powering him. I had to do it quickly and quietly. A shout could alert the next series of guards, then the next, and so on. I would lose any chance of figuring out the lock before I even clapped eyes on it.

Also, singing is inherently noisy. By the time I finished my first note he could take action. Toward me or his support—either direction would spell disaster.

Yet using an actual weapon would be an even worse mistake. The guards had been positioned in such a way that they could keep an eye—albeit distant—on each other. Even if I managed to knock him unconscious, the sight and sound of his fall could give the game away.

The third option—getting Bert to reanimate Gunga and sending her in (another of my most common attacks)—would be even worse. Not only was she not exactly light on her feet, but as an ostrich she was considerably smaller than her Elephant Bird incarnation. I could well be in the market for a new Companion if I summoned her.

And the idea of ambushing a priestess for her key seemed…wrong, somehow. There were few enough safe places in the AoD world to sacrifice one of them for a petty mugging. Besides, if caught I would be banished from the Temple. It would take an army to get me back through the gates.

No, using my bardic skills remained my best bet. And it suddenly occurred to me that not all of them would initiate a hostile response. Especially if the singer was both visible and non-threatening. Being a female in a male-dominated world had to work in my favour some times.

If there had been a seating area I would have just casually sat down and started singing. With none of that, I had to improvise. After mouthing stay here to Qalaa—with emphatic hand movements so he couldn’t claim he didn’t understand—I adjusted my robes to display a little flesh, hummed a B note to initiate the harp’s play function, and idled my way down the corridor like a woman with no particular destination in mind. I eased my voice into the song soon afterward. It had to seem as if I was just idly bopping to my own beat, oblivious to any potential audience.

“—Daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…”

It felt a little odd to be singing a lullaby while walking, but it did the trick. By the time I’d passed the guard, he was taking a nap on the floor, all menace gone. Luckily, the noise of his fall was less than I expected. The thick inner walls of the temple muffled sound superbly. It was probably intended to ensure peace and quiet within the inner sanctum.

“You did it!” Qalaa exclaimed as he emerged from the shadows I’d left him in; still following me like a stray dog convinced I was storing meat in my pockets. “I knew you would, of course. I can sense a person’s innermost capabilities. An instinct honed by a lifetime of social interaction.”

“And in your vast life experience have you gained any knowledge of locks?”

He beamed. “Not at all. They are sadly rare. But I would be delighted to examine such a device.”

“Just let me—“

He jostled me aside and peered through the keyhole. “Hmm. I can see metal, but that’s all. Fetch me a lamp?”

My eyes narrowed. “…. Sure,” your Majesty. Anything for you. But despite my less than friendly thoughts, I did fetch one of the lamps from a stand across the corridor. It was a simple wick-in-bowl design, with a small spout to keep the string from falling into the oil.

It only farther illuminated the fact that we had no idea what we were doing. But it didn’t stop me from trying my best to get the door open when Qalaa finally stepped aside to let me have a go. He muttered something about breaking into the Temple library which I pretended not to hear.

Right. Let’s see…

My initial foray of poking a finger inside proved unsuccessful. Unsurprisingly. It only confirmed what we knew. A wooden barrier, and some kind of metal rod to the right of the hole. Presumably by shifting it the mechanism would release whatever it was holding on to, but no amount of awkward prodding could move it.

Further methods included prying at it with the Dagger of Amurlese (attendant moths kept blocking my view and it was too wide and straight to reach); attaching duct tape to a stick (not strong enough, and I had to clear out the splinters afterward); using the staff from a figurine of a long-dead Pharaoh (broke that one—don’t tell Menshavit); and finally ...kicking it with all my might.

That last was more in frustrated anger than any expectation my superior strength had any chance of breaking the lock. A cave troll couldn’t have budged that door—as my throbbing toes would attest.

All through my efforts, Qalaa kept babbling on.

“Are you considering a sideline in robbery? I tried that after I left the military. Hunger, I’m afraid. It makes you do things you otherwise wouldn’t. Food, mainly, though I did take the occasional shat. I didn’t stop because I got caught, though. Stopped when I discovered that temples don’t exactly keep a close eye on their offerings. On a good day I can collect enough food to last me over a week.”

I leaned back against the door, grimacing and waiting for the pain in my foot to subside. “Isn’t that still stealing? I mean, it’s not as if they’re giving it away.”

“Mut is the mother of us all; feeding one of her children is practically her job. Besides, I perform a valuable function for the Temple. The least they can do is provide me with a few scraps.”

“Oh, for the love of little green gnomes!” Gerty whispered furiously. She had shimmied up my neck while I had been leaning against the door. "Does that man ever shut up?”

For once, I agreed with her. Qalaa might occasionally be helpful, but the constant chatter was beyond annoying.

Hey, look at us, bonding over our mutual hatred. Maybe that magazine article was right, and building relationships wasn’t about finding common likes, but common dislikes.

“Keep still,” he said, and I redirected my attention to him, only to see his hand rising to swat at Gerty. By twisting I managed to catch the slap on my left shoulder. It was solid enough that I jolted forward a step.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologised. “I was aiming for that fly. It seems to have taken a real shine to you. I myself am a regular bather, so am not attractive to insects.”

Good grief. It might take diplomacy to get past him, but he certainly didn’t demonstrate it himself. Though it had been a while since Thebes, and god knows it was a hot environment. I probably did smell in a theoretical sort of way. Maybe there was an algorithm for detectable odour emissions in this game. Something like, days + heat - bathing = neutral—>foul.

At least my foot had recovered. Contrary to normal practice, bruises tend to heal before the pain can dissipate. That it hadn’t was proof that either my twitch suit had developed a fault, or something had gone wrong with the game’s pain settings. During setup I’d chosen the lowest, in the firm belief that only a masochist would want any. You might advance faster and get a boost to your Courage stats, but you paid for the privilege. I mean, can you imagine being eaten alive and feeling all the pain associated with that? No, thank you.

“So what’s next?” Qalaa seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, curious to see what I would do now. Like a naturalist keenly observing the strange behaviour of his subject.

I looked around for inspiration.

“What about that?” Gerdy’s arm appeared in my periphery and pointed in the direction of the Horus bust.

I examined it doubtfully. It looked a bit small to make for a good ram. Still…it was worth a try.

Lifting the statue at least had the benefit of silencing Qalaa. The words “You can’t…” were all he managed before sputtering into insensibility. It seemed that manhandling the representation of one of his deities was something even he had never attempted.

Unfortunately, the statue shattered on impact—hardly surprising since it proved to be made from a light sandstone. After a few seconds, the rock debris disappeared, leaving two pieces of silver in its place. A drop reward for any players who regarded pillage and destruction as the finest form of tourism.

I raised one eyebrow at Gerdy, who was laughing her ass off on my shoulder.

“I didn’t say it would work, did I? And it sure was fun to watch.”

“Oh, Goddess,” Qalaa muttered, looking uncomfortable for the first time since I’d known him. “I hope He who is above is equally He who is distant. Otherwise your afterlife will prove a lot more interesting than anything I have ever experienced.”

“What about Mut? Don’t you think she’ll be offended? It is, after all, her temple.” In this world one couldn’t be sure gods didn’t exist. Kinich Ahau had taught me that much.

“In that you’re probably safe. Horus and Mut aren’t directly associated with each other—distant cousins at best. They’re also polar opposites in their interests. Horus is concerned with the sky and stars, while Mut focuses on the land below and all its inhabitants.”

“So Memshavit told me.”

“Indeed. I taught her much of what she knows.”

“Enough!” Gerdy shouted in my ear and fluttered down to the keyhole. “Let’s move this along. If I have to listen to him spout one more ridiculous claim I shall scream!”

Qalaa frowned. “Do you hear that buzzing noise? It sounds more like a bee than a fly. Though what would a bee be doing around here at this time of night?”

A brief burst of light emitted from the keyhole as Gerdy squeezed her way inside and used her magic. I could still hear her muttering, but not what she was saying. Probably just as well.

Within seconds the latch clicked and Gerdy emerged from the hole.

Qalaa was impressed. By the wrong person of course. “How did you do that?” he asked me. “Are you possessed of elementals? My cousin had that once. It took a priest of Heka and two deben to cure him, and even then he had to be kept away from anything flammable. His wife imports woollen garments just to keep him respectable—though he prefers to go without, generally speaking.”

Gerdy let out a high pitched sound, like an old-fashioned tea kettle close to boiling point.

Afraid of collateral burns, I grabbed the man by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Qalaa, we don’t know what we’re going to find in there, but we know we’re not welcome. So I’m going to need you to keep very, very quiet. Do you understand? Not. One. Word.”

He smiled beatifically. “You can count on me.”

Good. With a bit of luck, that might keep Gerdy from using you as a pincushion.

I was actually a little surprised that Bert hadn’t tried to calm her down. He’d been silent since we left the residence. You okay in there, Bert? I asked silently.

Perfectly fine. I simply do not wish to influence your path any more than I already have. But don’t worry. If I feel you are in any danger, I will make my presence known—even help, if it proves expedient.

Okay. I eyed the man who was even now pushing open the door to peer inside. Any chance you’ve got anything in your box of tricks that would get rid of our newfound friend?

I’m afraid not.

That’s what I thought, I concluded resignedly.