Okay, so our joint project…
What's that phrase? I came up for air from my memories? Yeah, something like that. I'm not big on nostalgia, but sometimes it's nice to remember how the conquest of the digital world began.
Oh, look — people are starting to gather, forming a small crowd.
I quickly pulled out my phone, pretending to snap tourist photos of the ancient monument. In reality, I quietly hit record and started addressing my future followers:
— Alright, everything's almost ready. Tourists with their cameras, hats, shorts, and sunburned cheeks are in position. Our team's nearly set too, so soon you'll see it all. Time to blow this whole antique world to pieces.
After stopping the recording, I winked at Ada, who waved back — her gesture said it all: deal secured. And there was Odile, puffing his way toward us with his backpack, flashing me the "all good" sign with his fingers.
Alright, my people were in place. Where's the damn guide?
Didn't spot him at first — to be fair, the man blended perfectly with the crowd. He only revealed himself when he stepped slightly forward and waved his hand: a silent "Let's go."
Yeah, five stars for enthusiasm.
At least nature had given us perfect working conditions. As had the ancients. The moment we stepped under the temple's shade — beneath the columns and walls of Seti I — the heat eased off. Thank the gods.
The columns stood close together, almost pressed shoulder to shoulder, each one carved all over. I kept a little distance from Ada (you know, for cover), but still caught her awed whisper:
— It's like we're walking through a stone symphony.
No idea what the hell that meant. The guide, meanwhile, still hadn't said a word. He'd just bought a bag of chips off some tourist and was crunching them with this deadly-serious expression. No one complained.
And that famous ancient atmosphere finally hit me too. I actually started feeling it — that centuries-old awe. How the hell did these stones even survive till now? What were they made of? Definitely not mithril. Not kryptonite either, for that matter.
Apparently, I'd been thinking out loud, because Odile murmured from up front:
— Your comparative reasoning deserves better than pop-culture references. Let the magic of this archaic place guide you to something greater.
Honestly? I tried.
I really wanted to see a miracle born right here, right now — like I always did. But it just wouldn't happen. The columns stayed what they were — tall, stone cigars covered in hieroglyphs and carvings.
Pharaohs — obviously them! (Graffiti with their faces was probably their first royal decree.) Boats, strings of symbols, processions in those typical half-dancing poses of the time. Gotta admit, they walked funny.
And then I saw it. A frieze just above head level, part of a long inscription. Finally. Soon they'd have their first real party in thousands of years — and we'd join right in.
Feeling triumphant, I drifted into thoughts about whether we should release the Loch Ness video publicly or take the financial route. We could easily strike a deal with some fat-cat hotel owner near the lake — tell him about our "operation."
Everybody wins: tourists flood in, the Internet keeps buzzing (it already was, same as after the pterodactyl gig), and we get hush-money from the guy for keeping it all quiet. If he breaks the deal — we drop the footage, go viral, and his business tanks overnight.
Blackmail? Nah. Just… mutual benefit.
— What a plot! — Ada's voice broke my chain of profitable thoughts as she snapped a photo of some fancy carving. Girl, are you outta your mind? We're not here for postcards!
Our silent guide seemed to agree — finally speaking for the first time:
— The tour is over. I'll escort you back.
We three drifted away from the group, pretending to study some particularly weird hieroglyph. About five minutes later, the guide came running back to us, practically glowing with relief:
— Phew! Finally, my suffering ends! Thank you, young people. I've spent so many years in this job, I see sand and stone even in my dreams. Now I can finally quit and live like a human being!
How much had Ada paid him?! Good thing she and Odile came from money…
— Can we get to the point? — I cut in, irritated.
— Yes, yes, of course! — he nodded rapidly. — All tourists are gone. The guards are on lunch break; no one will disturb you. Also, one of them is extremely superstitious — once he sees this tonight, he'll spread the story immediately. So… what do you need me to do?
— You can stay and watch if you want, — Ada offered kindly, and I kept my best poker face.
Alright. Time to work.
Odile unpacked the camera and began adjusting settings. Ada and I dug into our bags, pulling out the photoluminescent emulsion and the ultraviolet lamp.
What's that stuff, you ask?
It's a temporary compound — a powder that reacts to UV light and the residual warmth of stone. Brush it onto a surface, and it glows when hit by ultraviolet. They use it in art installations and theater.
Our goal?
The infamous Abydos hieroglyphs.