Chapter Text
Prologue:
The Lucky Box
Cairo , 1924
Libby O’Connell stared intently at the cards she’d been dealt, running a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair. A ten of clubs and a six of diamonds- sixteen total, it could go either way. Her toe tapped nervously under the table, just strong enough that her opponents could see the shake of the table. Let them think she was nervous. From her left, Davey gave her two quick nods, indicating that the cocky young American’s flipped card was a six. That gave him fifteen.
It was close, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
“Don’t let that little girl get the best of you Henderson!” another American with glasses joked, slapping her opponent on the shoulder. The three men laughed raucously, tossing back their drinks with lighthearted ease.
Lighting a cigarette, Libby feigned concern over her cards. Eyebrows knitted, fingers twisting in her hair- the little actions she’d learned over her years were a clear sign that the hand was bad and the game was over.
It always fooled the best of them. Blackjack was her game. Well- not exactly. Cheating money out of foreign adventurers in cheap bars with dubious reputations was her game, with pick-pocketing small, valuable artifacts being a helpful side venture. With her partner Davey, a runaway of Italian descent and her best friend, dealing an ever-so-slightly rigged deck of cards, the gamblers of the world were clay in her hands. Small for her age at seventeen, and with features just plain enough not to stand out in a crowd, Libby got by easily in the Cairo underworld.
“What can I do ya for, buddy?” Davey drawled. “Hit or stay?”
Biting her lip, she stared down Henderson. Come on you idiot. Hit. Hit, hit, hit.
The American smirked. He’d already lost fifty pounds, and judging by the look on his face, he was under the assumption he was about to win half that sum back. “Double down, little girl.”
Well. She hadn’t expected that.
She looked at Davey, her face in shock. How far down in the deck had he arranged the cards? He shrugged nonchalantly, just enough to let her know that he had her covered. She held in her sigh of relief. Davey placed a card in front of each player, giving her a wink as he slipped an ace out of his sleeve.
“God damn!” she heard Henderson mutter, revealing his hand to be twenty-four.
“I believe I win then?” she asked sweetly, flipping her cards over. He reluctantly handed her another fifty pounds. Relief flooded her. For a moment she thought a whole night’s profit was about to be lost.
“Up for another round?” Libby asked.
“Hell little girl, you think I’m an idiot? I’m leavin’ while I have enough to get me back to the states!” Despite his annoyance, he tipped his cowboy hat respectfully, grabbed his drink, and led the trio away from the table.
“Aww Jake,” the third man in the party laughed as they walked away. “You could have kept playin’! With what we got, we’re goin’ back to the U-S-of-A rich men!”
“Yeah, yeah, say that when you’re getting your ass kicked by a little girl!” Paying their tab, the Americans exited the bar, likely heading back to their hotel.
OOO
As the bar door closed, Libby let out a whoop of excitement. “You did well, kiddo,” Davey complimented her, leaning against the bar and accepting a bottle of local beer. It was true- their earnings were almost double what they normally brought in, enough for a couple of meals and a little to spare.
“You too, Davey. Lord knows I couldn’t do this if you weren’t feeding me the numbers. And we have luck on our side!”
From the pocket of her frayed navy skirt, she pulled a small box. With intricate Egyptian designs lining the sides, the colored paint long faded away, and what looked like a sun carved into the top, the box had withstood thousands of years with no damage. It was made of a golden-colored metal and appeared to be hollow. Libby had tried since childhood to open it up, to no avail.
Davey’s eyes were instantly on the box, though Libby did not notice. “Why do you hold on to that old thing anyways, Libs?” he asked disinterestedly as she tossed the box in the air, caught it, and placed it back into her pocket.
“For my idiot brother,” she replied simply.
“I never understood that. He just up and left the orphanage? Left you just with the box? What’s so special about it?”
“Dunno. Never knew where he got it from either. But it’s the only thing that’s been with me through everything, and I’m still alive. So it must be lucky!” She smiled politely as the bartender handed her a brandy.
“Care of the British gent at the end,” the grizzled, bearded man stated in Arabic, nodding across the bar.
She thanked him with a smile, glancing at the man he’d pointed out. Smirking, the man winked flirtatiously, beckoning her to come over. “That little box may just make this our lucky night, Davey,” she muttered under her breath, passing the drink to her partner. Covertly pointing in the direction of the man, she said, “We got another sucker.”
Carefully pushing through the crowds of men, taking care to avoid wandering hands and eyes, Libby made her way to the man. With a quick look over her shoulder, she took comfort in seeing that Davey was watching her carefully, should anything go awry.
“You play a good game of cards, love,” the man slurred as she approached him. “Showed those blasted Americans a thing or two, didn’t you?”
Libby raised an eyebrow at the young Englishman. Looking to be in his late twenties or early thirties, he was taller than her, with a medium build. His hair was dark brown and swept to the side, his eyes were blue. The smell of stale alcohol overwhelmed her, suggesting he’d been at the bar for some time.
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. You up for a round or two?”
“The way you played those chaps? I’m not risking my hard-earned liquor money on a hand of cards with you!” He ruffled her hair, almost affectionately. Quickly, she dodged out from under his hand.
Richie used to do that… Libby thought, missing her brother more than she had in some time. Richie hadn’t come up in her thought- at least, in a positive light- for several years. She was pulled quickly from her reverie by the drunken Englishman stumbling into her.
Couldn’t have planned this better myself! Helping the man stand back up, she slipped her hand quickly into his back pocket, grabbing his wallet. In a flash, she stowed it away in her own pocket.
“Sorry ‘bout that love. Maybe a bit too much to drink tonight…” he slurred, his hand brushing against her breast as he used her to pull himself up.
“It’s alright. We all have our nights… pervert,” she mumbled under her breath for good measure. She’d had enough experiences with the so-called “gentlemen” that toured Cairo’s seedier night life to know that no glancing touch was accidental.
“I owe you a round of cards… next time…” The drunken Englishman rambled on, seemingly unaware of his surroundings as he swayed towards the door. Apparently his binge had caught up with him.
“I’ll hold you to that!” Libby shouted after him, as he was lost to the dark, humid night.
“What the hell was that?” Davey asked, shoving through the crowds to join her. “He hurt you?”
Libby retrieved the wallet from her pocket, waving it in Davey’s eyes. She started searching the exterior compartments of the wallet as a grin spread across her friend’s face. “No idea. Either he was genuinely impressed by my black jack prowess,” she commented, placing the wallet back into her pocket, “Or he wanted to feel me- the BASTARD!”
Libby’s hand was immediately removed from her pocket, and she slammed her shoulder hard into the bar door as she ran outside. “Come back with my lucky box you Limey bastard!” she screamed into the night, as she started searching side streets for the clever pick-pocket.
OOO
Sitting in a pile of garbage behind the bar, a stray dog at his feet trying to grab at someone’s rancid, half-eaten meal, the man smiled devilishly. He gently turned the box over in his hands, admiring his night’s work.
“And those Americans think they have their fortune in the bag!” he said to himself victoriously.
The stray dog subsequently realized that his leg would make a better meal than the garbage, and bit down on his foot. Letting out a quiet yelp, Jonathan Carnahan shoved the mutt away. Standing he began making his way back to the couch his younger sister allowed him to sleep on, in the apartment she rented near the Cairo museum.
OOO
“Jonathan, you told me you got the box on a dig in Thebes!” Evelyn Carnahan shrieked at her older brother in annoyance. The little white lies sprang from his mouth at every turn, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever grow up and become more than the drunken, man-child she’d become responsible for the day their parents died.
“Only, dearest sister, if ‘dig in Thebes’ has become code for ‘bar full of lowlifes,’” he responded with a chuckle, rolling his eyes.
Nearly a month had passed since he’d “obtained” the puzzle box from the card player. Once Evy had gotten the box open and realized that the map lead to Hamunaptra, he began to search Cairo desperately for anyone who would be willing to lead them to the long-forgotten city. After all, it would be morally wrong to let all those potential profits lay there in the desert unclaimed.
And of course it would be a significant archaeological find…
Oh who was he kidding? He wanted to gold.
“And furthermore, why exactly are we at a prison? I thought you said you found us a guide!” As they walked arm-in-arm past the sandstone walls, he realized that as much as he loved his sister, her incessant need to have control drove him mad.
“Evy, I promise you, this man can get us to Hamunaptra! We just need to find a way to get him out of here…”
“A convict, Jonathan? Our guide is a convict?” Now Evy was squealing, her tanned face turning bright red, and not from standing in the sun. “What do you know about him? Jonathan, he could be a thief, or a murderer, or a…”
“I know that he knows where the city is,” Jon replied, ignoring the look of incredulity passing over her face. “Could you just trust me this once?”
Four hours and one near-death experience later, Rick O’Connell stood free outside the gates of Cairo prison, the Carnahan siblings at his side.
“Now what makes you two so interested in Hamunaptra?” the rugged man asked, still rubbing his neck where the noose had nearly killed him. With a pointed look at Jonathan, he quickly added, “Besides the gold.”
“Well, you see my brother obtained this puzzle box. It’s nearly four thousand years old, if I’ve dated it correctly. I managed to open it, and inside was a map. It indicates the precise location of the city… well, indicated. It was burned badly.”
Evelyn handed the box over to the American, nervous that it would be the last time she ever saw it. Rick’s brown eyes, she noticed, went wide. Examining the box with almost a tenderness in his eye, he turned it onto the side, the back, over and over- much as Jonathan had the night he obtained it.
“If we could find the lost city,” Evelyn continued quietly “just think of the impact it would have on…”
“Where did you get this,” he asked seriously and quietly, cutting Evelyn off. “And don’t bullshit me.” He was clearly starting at Jonathan as he said this, looking positively deadly.
“From… from an American girl… at a bar. In Cairo. She was hustling blackjack with a boy maybe a year or so older. Slipped it out of her pocket,” Jonathan replied with a gulp, his stomach churning. He was starting to wonder if saving this convict had been the right idea.
“About sixteen, seventeen? Dark brown hair?”
“That’s right, old boy. Couldn’t have been much older than—“ Jonathan didn’t even see the first come flying at the side of his face, causing him to sprawl onto the dusty ground.
“Bloody hell!” he shouted, cradling his cheek in his hand. “What was that for?”
“The last time I saw this box, it was in the hands of my baby sister. She turned seventeen a month ago.”
Evelyn turned on her heals to face her brother on the ground. “You… are… an… IDIOT!”