To Go Forth Into the Light

Caution ▼

Be careful what you wish for. You may get it.

Written for "Short Shots: Official WDC Contest" 

About 1030 words

Guillaume d'Auteur winced at the price demanded by the London bookseller.

"Two thousand pounds?" He coughed as discreetly as he could into his handkerchief and folded it to conceal the blood. "Absurd, Mr. Lane. It is, how you say, preposterous." He drew himself to his full six feet, preened his mustaches, and glared down at the diminutive bookseller. He adjusted the tattered lace at his sleeves and took a pinch of snuff in feigned disinterest. His objection was strictly for show. He would have the manuscript even though it drained the last of his diminished funds. He would have it at any cost, would murder Lane and steal it if necessary.

"Not preposterous at all, Monsiur d'Auteur. " Lane was not impressed by the Frenchman's display of hauteur. "It is in fact a most reasonable price for the hand-written German translation of the Book of the Dead, by Karl Richard Leps himself. A priceless piece of archaeological history."

"So you claim. But the provenance is unclear. I have my doubts about its authenticity."

The discussion went back and forth and despite d'Auteur's efforts the price was settled at £1800. That would leave him near to penniless, but a gentleman does not bargain like a fishmonger. For a split second he debated walking away, forsaking his life's work, but then, what was poverty to a dying man?

"Merci, Mr. Lane." He grabbed for the manuscript that the bookseller had slipped into a beautiful leather-bound case. He had to force himself not to rip it from the man's hands.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Monsieur," said Lane stiffly.

D'Auteur almost chortled with glee. It was all he could do, as he walked out of the shop, to keep from leaping in the air and clicking his heels. Assuming he could, with his game leg. His exuberance overcame the constriction of his consumptive lungs as he shouldered men and women aside and ignored their gasps and curses. At last, the final piece of the puzzle was his!

# # #

Back in his rooms in Mayfair, d'Auteur wheezed over to the escritoire where he stored the most important papers of his quest. Merde, living in London had destroyed his health. He reverently set the Leps manuscript on the desk. While he struggled to recover his breath, he gazed at the pages in wonder.

"Ah, magnifique," he whispered.

It was not the manuscript itself that he prized, though that was surely worth owning as an archaeological curiosity. No, not the manuscript....

Although few knew it, d'Auteur was an expert Egyptologist; he had other translations of various versions of the Book of the Dead in both English and French; he even had careful sketches of the original Papyrus of Ani--one of the major works of the genre--that he had made himself during long hours of study in the British Museum.

No, the manuscript was not important. The prize was a sliver of papyrus that had somehow been wedged into the pages, unnoticed by the normally shrewd and perceptive William Lane. A sliver of paper made from beaten reeds over two thousand years old, on which was written a single line of hieratic script that d'Auteur had recognized as the answer to a problem that had plagued him for years. At last he had in his hands the missing piece of the last page of the Ani papyrus. It was the final part of the most powerful but hitherto incomplete spell for eternal life.

It was Leps who had coined the term 'Book of the Dead' as a rough translation of the purpose of the Ani papyrus. d'Auteur preferred 'Book of Emerging Forth into the Light' as a more accurate title. Even 'book' was not accurate; there was actually a collection of texts of various ages and origins, all listing the magic spells needed to guide the soul of the dead on its journey into the underworld. Once there, the soul would bypass the jackal-headed god Anubis, who would weigh the dead heart for its value, and avoid the terrible judgement of Osiris, god of death and rebirth. Magic would guarantee a straight road into the afterlife.

With this last tiny papyrus, d'Auteur had achieved a monumental goal. After a lifetime of study, research, and pursuit, after countless failed attempts, the dying Frenchman had distilled those spells into a cohesive method that would--with this final key to open the lock--bring not a dead soul into life hereafter, but a living soul into life eternal.

Instead of an early death at forty-one, d'Auteur had found the path to immortality.

# # #

Over the years, he had acquired the hard-to-find ingredients for the procedure. Over years of failure, he had reviewed each and every spell for accuracy, for alternate interpretations, for possible mistranslations.

Now on the verge of possible success, he felt a tickle of nervousness nibble at the back of his throat and fear gnaw at his belly. He was relying on the work of magicians and necromancers over two millennia dead. He was depending on scholars who had translated a dead language, no longer known or spoken. Earlier attempts with incomplete information had soured his stomach, weakened his kidneys, damaged his muscles. Failure and the London smog had ruined his lungs. This might be his last chance.

He began the spells. One by one, as he worked them, he felt his body twinge and stiffen. These were, after all, spells of the enbalmer's arts, for the preservation of the physical body, meant to be used after the blood of life had been replaced with deadly fluids. His belly grew cold. His breath dragged. His heart slowed, and faltered....

Doubt streaked through him like a flash of lightning.

"Courage, mon ami," he told himself. "Soyez certain." Yes, have courage. Be sure.

He seized the Leps manuscript and turned to the scrap of papyrus on which was written the final spell. With the last of his breath he whispered it.

The instant he finished, the pages of the manuscript burst into flames that charred his eyes to blind cinders.

"Foolish man," a mighty voice thundered. "It will be as you wish."

d'Auteur shrieked in agony as Anubis tore the heart from his living body and placed it in the scales to be weighed.