Chapter Text
An unforgiving sun blazed high overhead as Sly finally came to. The heat bore down on him like a weight, his dark fur sweltering under the fire in the sky. His consciousness swam back to him slowly, like he was picking his way through a dense fog in order to come back to himself. His entire body ached, but as he became vaguely aware of the pains in his body, it was proof positive that he’d survived.
His head felt heavy and his limbs like lead as he tried to lift himself. Every little movement made a splitting headache complain loudly, blood pounding in his ears as he rolled over onto his side, then onto his hands and knees, groping for his cane, which had landed some feet away in the tumult that had landed him here. His fingers closed around the staff, and even though he was still sore, disoriented, and lost, the sense of relief that overtook him was palpable. The cane was a family heirloom, and an extension of himself. Having it made everything right with the world, even if he was in the wrongest situation yet.
He remembered coming back to a world ruled by Le Paradox; a last-ditch effort to put everything right again, and then… he’d gotten his hands on Carmelita. The skunk had threatened to throw them back in time on an endless ricochets through the time stream, but then there was Tennessee and the guys… after that, he wasn’t really sure.
Snippets of Le Paradox’s voice swam through his mind. He remembered adjusting his footing. Some kind of perilous dance that kept him on his toes, as they fought. But it was only bits and pieces, and it was hard to think straight as his vision swam back into place.
Oh.
Yeah.
The blimp. It’s parts and pieces were scattered about him like a wreckage – because that’s exactly what it was. He had crash landed here, the failed airship torn apart in the time stream while he’d been thrown around like a ragdoll. No wonder everything hurt.
The heat wasn’t helping.
With a sharp, shallow breath and something in his ribs protesting, Sly dragged himself up to a shaky stand. It was impossible to tell where he was, let alone when. The world was a vast expanse of sand and heat shimmering just above the surface. It was bright enough to hurt his eyes as he shielded them, trying to get a good read of his surroundings. It was a desolate, lifeless world that he’d been dropped into. There was nothing for miles in one direction, and even less in the other.
Sly managed to turn, staggering slightly against the unstable dune as his senses still struggle to right themselves. If nothing else, at least he had his answer.
Off in the distance was a pyramid; Sly’s profession had taken him around the world, robbing city after city blind as he chased the biggest scores from the nastiest of master criminals. Cairo had been on that list, once. He’d seen the pyramids of Egypt first hand all those years ago, before his life with Carmelita, before he’d settled down in Paris and threw himself into the work of Constable Cooper, however much of a farce it had been.
Using the ferrule of his cane almost as a walking stick to support his shaky gait, Sly took his first steps towards the monument. The cluster of pyramids stool tall and regal against the ocean of sand that stretched into infinity before him, marking Sly’s goal on the far horizon. It would be miles before he reached the temple that stood before him, but it was the only thing in sight. He just had to hope that someone was there.
The cane was all he had to rely on, now. The pieces of the blimp were wrecked, and even if Sly could somehow repair the airship, he had no idea how to work Le Paradox’s time machine. It would be about as useful in one piece as it was now, scattered across the dunes.
So he trudged on, watching the blazing sun in the sky loom over him like an omen. He had no idea when he was – with four thousand years of Egyptian culture to cover, pinning down the time period was going to be tough.
Sending out an SOS was going to be even tougher.
But none of that would even matter if he couldn’t find some kind of civilization. He’d come this far – after everything he’d been through, after everything he’d survived in his life, he wasn’t going to be done in by some sand. Sure, he was sweating through his boots and the hook of his cane was too hot to touch without giving himself a second-degree burn, but he’d been through worse.
He'd survived the surface of an active volcano, before. This heat was nothing.
Except it wasn’t nothing; he had miles to walk to the temple on the horizon in the hopes that there was someone there, and breathing was already difficult in this heat, with the sand sliding out from underneath his boots with every step. The world felt like a furnace, and there was no where to take shelter until evening. The sun would go down in a few hours and make his journey easier, but right now his options were to either keep moving or to lay down and fry like a pork sausage.
The rolling expanse of sand was unforgiving; there wasn’t a single tree or rock or colorful beach umbrella as far as the eye could see, and the blazing sun beat down on the sand like it was trying to superheat the desert into one big pane of glass.
Which is why, when the sun was finally blotted out for that miraculous split second, Sly’s entire body froze. A shadow had passed over him, something large and steady that had soared hundreds of feet over his head.
He squinted up against the vast expanse of blinding blue, trying to see what had just soared over him; the thing is a speck against the sky, high above him, but it’s there. He’s not imagining it. The shadow circles back, closer now.
Sly’s heart stalls in his chest.
He knows that shadow. That’s the shadow that had haunted the Coopers through millennia, a bird of prey more deadly than any other. If you saw the wings silhouetted against the night sky, it was already too late for you. Especially if your name was Cooper.
It was no exaggeration; and here, now, with nowhere to run and no cover, there was nothing Sly Cooper could do but watch as the monster in the sky drew closer, his descent swift and unforgiving as he closed in on the last living vestiges of the family he’d tried so hard to wipe from history.
Sly had no choice but to stand his ground; there was nowhere to run, no one to help him, no friends or rivals-turned-love-interests-with-jetpacks to rely on. It was here and now. His grip tightened on the cane that his father had left him, chest tight in the heat as he watched the great bird touch down in the sand across from him.
“You there! Strange little rat thing!”
The landing was uneven and awkward, the bird hopping slightly to stop his momentum as Sly lowered his cane, the breath leaving him in a huff of relief. The heat and the blinding light were playing tricks on his mind, playing on his expectations. There was no hum of electricity here, just the sizzle of the sun against the shifting sands and the ruffle of feathers. The monster who had hunted his family through centuries probably didn’t even exist yet. Keep it together, Cooper.
“What are you doing out here in Ra’s blazing sun?” The bird ruffled himself, shaking out his wings; he was a soft cream speckled with brown that might have had him blending in with the sands themselves if he weren’t quite so huge. He was bigger than Murray, easy. “You’re look like you’re moments away from melting into a furry little puddle out here.”
Sly meant to answer. He tried to; but the moment he opened his mouth to speak, he realized just how dry he was, and managed little more but a miserable wheeze. The owl hooted low in his chest, and tutted. “You traveler types never know what you’re doing out here. Come on, then. I can bring you back to the temple, just there on the horizon.”
He extended a wing, and the raccoon’s addled mind took a moment to realize he expected Sly to climb aboard, like some bizarre air taxi. Both hands tightened around the staff of his cane. He said nothing.
The bird looked at him with no small amount of confusion; this wasn’t the first time he’d come across strangers in the sands, but this one was peculiar. He lowered his wing just a bit more, hoping to jolt the strange little furry thing into some kind of action. “Come on, then! We don’t have much time. Inundation is going to reach us any minute now, and you don’t want to be out here when that happens! Otherwise, you’d best be a good swimmer and enjoy wrestling with the crocodiles, my friend!”
Inundation?
Sly took a half step closer to the stranger; he really did not want to be on this bird’s back, God only knows how high in the air - but he cast a short, strategic glance around him; there was still absolutely nothing for miles. If he could hitch a ride with this guy, why not?
Sly weighed less than nothing to the bird; takeoff was a simple hop into the air as those great wings of his beat against the currents, and then they were off.
The great desert owl soared low to the ground, seeming keen on not scaring his passenger half to death before they got to the temple on the horizon; that was where he’d take Sly, his voice called over the gale winds as they flew. He would be able to recuperate there, avoid the sun until after Inundation, and work out some sort of a plan on where he was headed next – instead of just aimlessly wandering the desert.
“Will we be able to get inside the temple?” Sly called, his voice a bit hoarser than he’d meant for it to come out. It was like he'd swallowed sand in the crash. Who knows? Maybe he had. He kept himself low, head ducked against the bird’s back as he clung to feathers for all he was worth. His muscles still ached and protested against the tension that he held in every inch of his body, but he’d rather be a little sore than lose his grip and go tumbling into the dunes.
“Oh, I certainly hope so! It’s my job to look after it during Inundation! Someone has to keep house for the Gods, don’t they?”
Something prickled down Sly’s spine. It was one thing to visit the pyramids and see all the temples of Egypt from afar, as tourists. It was another to know they were active places of worship for these people. He was a thief by trade, unwelcomed in most places where things weren’t bolted to the floor.
Maybe it was best to keep that bit to himself, for now.
As they approached the speck of a building that Sly had been ambling towards before, he realized something: the temple itself was enormous – larger than Sly had initially thought, seeing it on the horizon. The jackal God Anubis was carved into the top of the temple, which sat upon an impressive set of stairs. His ride was gracious enough to land them at the top of the great stone staircase, in front of the cavernous door that led into the temple.
“There we are,” he said, as Sly slid down the owl’s wing, boots hitting the stone below. “Now – I must warn you, this temple isn’t exactly meant for guests. But seeing as how Inundation has put people out of house and home, I’ve made… a bit of an exception.” His voice was short, nervous, and that put Sly on edge. He seemed to contemplate some great unknown for a moment, before bringing his gaze back to the little rodent and extending a wing. “I am Dedumose. I’m this temple’s caretaker.”
His guest met the gesture in kind, grabbing a fistful of feathers and giving him a firm handshake. “Sly. Sly Cooper. Thanks for the help.”
The owl looked him over again. What a strange little man. Even his clothes were strange - that color blue was remarkably expensive, and the gold in his walking stick spoke of wealth just as much as his garments did.
Which begged the question, who was he? And what had he been doing out in the sands?
Brushing over the thought, Dedumose hooted happily, ushering his guest into the temple. “Nothing of it! You’d be surprised how many people find themselves stranded out there during Inundation.”
“You bring a lot of people to the temples?”
“Oh, hardly any at all! I’m technically not supposed to allow anyone in. The Pharaoh’s subjects are supposed to pay a fee to flee to higher ground when Inundation comes,” he said, and as they entered the temple, Sly’s gaze fell upon another. Silent and withdrawn, a great African Buffalo sat on a stool in the corner of the front room, at a little stone table entirely too low for her size. She didn’t meet Sly’s gaze as he entered; she didn’t even look up to acknowledge him.
Dedumose kept his wing about the boy’s shoulders, ushering him in towards the table as well. “Sly, this is Tausret. She’s from a settlement or two over, where Inundation has already begun. Tausret, this is Sly.”
Tausret, incidentally, did not seem interested in the raccoon by a country mile; strangely enough, Sly preferred that. It made him feel a little more at ease, to be disregarded, to blend into the background of this woman’s awareness.
“You’re both welcome to say in the temple until it’s safe out there. Inundation is no joke – Tausret can tell you that.”
Sly was not so overheated as to miss the way the Buffalo’s hooves tightened around the clay cup she drank from. Dedumose did not seem to notice, and within moments a similar clay cup was placed in front of him. The water tasted strange to Sly, but neither of the others seemed to have any reservations about drinking it – and with how hot the desert sands had been, neither did he, gulping it down eagerly.
"Do you have anyone in Memphis who might be able to come and collect you? Who might be able to explain what you were doing out in the desert like that?" Dedumose watched him, bright orange eyes curious. “Those... things, scattered in the sand where I found you, they were very strange. At risk of sounding rude: Who are you?"
Sly froze with the cup halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he placed it back down, and stared into the dark reflection of the remaining water. His own features stared back at him; older, weathered, and cautious.
“I… no. I’m not really from around here. I’m sort of a… traveler,” he answered, slowly. Dedumose hooted. Well, that much was obvious!
“Well, your travels will have to wait until the desert is safe again. The temple of Anubis certainly isn’t the Great House of the Pharaoh, but it will keep us dry. You’re both welcome to stay, as long as you keep out of the innermost chambers. I’m afraid those are off limits to all but the Pharaoh and his priests,” Dedumose explained.
“And you’re one of them? A priest?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes – it’s sort of the family business, you see. My father, and his father before him. You get raised into knowing how to prepare the dead, you know.”
He said it with such nonchalance, as though it weren't a grim and unnerving profession. Though, perhaps for someone in this time, it really wasn't. It was a great honor, to be one of the Pharaoh's High Priests, to be trusted to ensure the departed their eternal life.
“And what about you? What do you do, traveler?”
“I’m a flooring inspector.”
“And you ended up in the middle of the desert?”
“I’m a traveling flooring inspector.”
“Well… at the very least, it sounds safe. Except for the wandering the desert part. Best to keep yourself in one piece, anyway. You don’t want your Ka getting lost in the afterlife, after all. That will make for one restless eternity.”
The owl busied himself while he talked to this traveler. It wasn't necessarily that he mistrusted the man, no - but it was his duty to keep the temple in order, to make sure the house of the Gods was safe and respected, especially when travelers showed up half-baked to death on your doorstep.
He looked up suddenly, the world around them both utterly silent; Sly heard it a moment later, the dull tapping of rain hitting the dusty stone temple they took shelter in.
"Ah. There it is. Won't be long now, you'll see."