Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

“At least I have first aid training . . . ” began McKenna, anxiety flaring his temper.

Lamont restrained him. “Leave her, Mac. She’s kind of famous for gathering up the pieces of her husband, sewing them together and bringing him back to life.”

Isis paused in her recital of magical formulae. Already the blood was no longer spurting, but trickling. “Cushite, you say it is famous? But . . . I haven’t done that yet . . . have I?”

Thoth stopped his chanting. “To be precise, you have only begun to do so,” he said pedantically. “I, Thoth, the sacred scribe of Osiris, will record the deed.” He paused. “I have. It is in the Book of the Pyramids.”

“Fix the leg,” commanded Anubis. “We don’t want to be here if monstrous Set returns.”

Isis bent to her sewing and chanting, stitching Cruz’s leg back together. Anesthetic was no part of the chanting magic. Cruz held Medea’s hand. His teeth were set, but when Medea gave a low moan he realized he was nearly crushing her hand.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize I was squeezing so hard,” he said.

“You are very strong. You are also very stupid. How dare you nearly get yourself killed by that water dragon? You knew the water here was infested with them.” Her voice cracked slightly. And she sniffed, swallowed and continued to chew him out. “And you can be lucky that I am not sewing you up! I would hurt you much more. Much. Idiot American!”

Mac turned to Lamont. “I think he was better off with the croc.”

Lamont smiled slightly, but made no reply. The look on Medea’s face reminded him of the time Marie had spent sitting by his hospital bed after he’d been in a car accident. The memory was a fond one. And heartbreaking.

God, I miss her. And my kids.

* * *

Isis was a fast worker. After she finished, Anubis began to wrap the leg in a linen strip. McKenna began to mutter something about unsterilized bandages, but the glares of his companions shut him up.

Cruz moved his toes experimentally. “I don’t believe this. I thought I’d lost that leg.”

McKenna grinned widely enough to endanger his ears. “I thought you were going to die on me.”

“Indeed, this leg has passed through death,” said Isis calmly.

“To be precise, the Sa had departed the leg.” Thoth was nothing if not a pedant. “It was necessary to allow the Sa from Isis into the limb.”

“What does all that mean, Jerry?” Cruz flexed the leg experimentally.

“Sa is vital fluid. Life-force, for want of a better term. Um. I think you may have an immortal leg.”

Thoth nodded his long beak in agreement. “Now that the leg has passed beyond death it cannot be killed again.”

“The stuff of Leg-ends,” whispered Lamont.

Jerry laughed so much he nearly fell into the water and got himself eaten by the next crocodile.

* * *

Their stolen vessel made a good funerary barge. But they didn’t row across to the other world. Instead they poled it along winding channels between the tall papyrus, deeper and deeper into the marshes of Buto.

“It is to be hoped we do not . . . how do you say, ‘piss these people off,’ ” said Henri, looking at the endless reeds. “I have no idea in the least where we are.”

“Egypt,” said Mac, yawning. The stress of dealing with Cruz’s injury, and the sudden realization that if the sergeant bought it . . . he’d be left as the only military defense of this bunch, had taken it out of him. For the first time in his twenty-one years, he was realizing a few things about responsibility and mortality.

Henri eyed him in a jaundiced fashion. “It is to be hoped that you can cure yourself of this gaucherie. But considering your American origins, that hope is in vain.”

Mac yawned again. “Oh, give it a rest. I don’t want to toss you overboard. I’d give some poor croc heartburn and cholesterol problems.”

Henri moved off, muttering.

“That’s the way to deal with him, y’know,” said Lamont quietly. “The more you rise to his bait, the more he throws.”