Dis gon b gud

[moonshadows]

It took a great deal of effort to keep the phonograph from hissing as Adwin Kosan stepped into the office and said, “So, I’ve been told that the artifact Mrs. Frederic activated to help around the Warehouse was instrumental in preventing a serious breech of security from being fruitful for the intruder.”

Luckily, Artie was the only one there and he had been able to provide warning that Adwin Kosan, head of the Regents, was about to arrive. “Yes,” he said calmly. “It happened to be in the office at the time of the breech and was able to alert Claudia to the intruder using an artifact to make her think he was Agent Jinks. Honestly, Mr. Kosan, I’m less concerned about the physical security breech and more concerned that the intruder and his accomplices were able to engineer a social attack that facilitated the physical security breech.”

“I agree,” Adwin Kosan said coolly. “But that is not why I’m here. I would like to see the artifact.”

Several artifacts whispered gleefully about stealth and guile. Artie was already screaming with silent relief and worry that the phonograph wasn’t hissing or growling. He picked up the microphone and said, “Oh, of course. Let me just – return to the Warehouse office.”

The shabti was moved to the bottom of the stairs leading up to the office and made to climb them, walk to the door, and push it open. Artie’s relieved gratitude was a reward sparking the realization that he had gotten used to the constant quiet sounds from the phonograph, and felt unexpectedly lost without that auditory indication of mood. As soon as this visit was over, he would be praised.

“Ah, Mr. Kosan…the shabti of Queen Nefertari. Shabti, this is Mr. Kosan.”

The shabti knew several gestures of reverence, to be used when addressing gods. Now it made an obeisance worthy of the greatest of those entities.

“It, uh, doesn’t speak much,” Artie explained. “Even taking into account the reticence inherent in the purpose it was created for…it has to translate from ancient Egyptian to modern English.”

“I see.” Adwin Kosan didn’t entirely approve of the shabti; its activation was something he hadn’t planned and couldn’t control, and complete authority over the Warehouse and all its artifacts – both people and simple – was something he felt entitled to. “What exactly has it been doing since its activation?”

“It has a few tasks,” Artie replied evasively. “Being an artifact itself, it’s immune to the effects of handling other artifacts so it’s ideal for fetching them from the shelves, or replacing them, or helping to find a place for them. When the Golden Spike got stuck in one of the expansion joints, it was able to point out where the issue was so we could resolve it before things got, uh…bad.”

Grudging approval. “And when you do not have tasks for it?”

“It was created to do menial labor. All the things that need doing but we don’t have the hands or man-hours for, it can do. The traps section has been a tangled mess since that incident back in ’76, but the shabti set it to rights. Some of the less-used sectors have been dusted for the first time in years or even decades. The new expansion occurred specifically to house the artifacts from Warehouse Two, and the shabti has been building shelves and placing artifacts on them, complete with their original papyrus labels. If I can teach it how to write in English, or get some sort of tablet with a hieroglyphic input system, it can actually translate those labels into something we can use without me staring at my translation book for hours on end. Uh, nearest we can tell, it’s been replicating the arrangement the artifacts were in before they were packed up. There haven’t been any unfortunate placement accidents so far.”

Adwin Kosan was impressed. Very reluctantly impressed. “Very well, I’ll allow the continued use of this artifact. If you figure out what the intruder was after, I expect you to keep me informed.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Kosan.”

The shabti remained in its subservient pose until the door hissed shut behind Adwin Kosan, and then it stood while the phonograph growled and hissed.

Artie let dry amusement bubble up. “I’m not very fond of him, either.”

He got hugged. “Good Artie.” Confusion; he didn’t know what he’d done to be rewarded this way. “Like listen.”

Indignation as he hugged the figure back. “I’ve devoted more than half my life to you and only now are you able to let me know what you’re thinking. Of course I like listening to you.”

“No try control,” clarified the phonograph.

Artie grasped the meaning immediately. “He’s head of the Regents, being in control is his job.”

Memories from Egypt, from Rome, from Byzantium and Cambodia, Mongolia and three empires, all swarmed up. Stealth and guile; move quietly until a coup can be performed. The phonograph uttered a single word with such finality that Artie dropped the subject with a small frisson of obedient fear.

“No.”