Jane sat back on the bench, her hand
gliding over the paper. She brought the charcoal over to the right of
the paper, pressing hard on the page as she colored in the swastika.
She glanced up at the German zeppelin and down at her page.
Satisfied, she finished coloring in the swastika on the tail fin and
wrote in the zeppelin's name on the front of the dirigible.
Jane took her attention off the Germans
and flipped her sketchbook back one page. Patty's nude body stretched
out on the bed of the cabin. She was sleeping peacefully, one knee
slightly cocked. A sheet covered her crotch, but her breasts were
exposed. Jane had spread the sleeping woman's luxurious red hair out
on the pillow, fanning it out around her head. She quickly sketched
her friend and now lover, wishing she had a set of colored pencils
with her to capture the red of Patricia's hair and the pink of her
nipples.
Jane was putting the sketchbook away
when Patty woke. The Irish Catholic would have been scandalized by
the nude sketch of her, but as it turned out, the young woman was
even more horrified by the events of the previous night. They had
committed a mortal sin together. “Many cultures throughout history
have allowed and even promoted homosexual behavior,” she told
Patty. “Not my culture and not my god,” said Patty, her fingers
fumbling with the rosary around her neck. Jane told her friend to
lock the door behind her and left the cabin to allow Patty the time
to pray for guidance. She took her sketchbook and decided to stroll
around Budapest for awhile.
The Graf Siegfried had arrived an hour
earlier, descending and mooring beside the Orient Express. The train
crew moved and attached a luxury car with Nazi swastika flags hanging
under each of the windows. Two men left the airship and headed toward
the luxury car once it had been attached. The distance was too far
for details, but there was something familiar about the baring of the
taller man. The second man wore a black uniform with a Nazi flag
armband. He was shorter and more portly then the bigger man.
The two entered the train car followed
by several uniformed crew members of the zeppelin carrying their
luggage. The crew members quickly returned to the Graf Siegfried
whose engines roared to life even as the train whistled that the
Orient Express was preparing to leave for Vienna. Jane gathered her
things and walked to the train as the giant airship once again took
to the sky.
The room had been turned down for the
day, the beds pushed back and the room converted into a sitting room
with a couch and table. Patty was kneeling on the floor, leaning over
the table still praying when Jane returned to the room. She looked up
when she heard the door slam. “Did god answer you?” asked Jane.
“Yes, I've come to accept that I was
under the control of some heathen artifact and my actions weren't my
own. God will forgive, but I must confess as soon as possible.”
Patty stood. “How are you handling it?”
Jane shrugged. “I found the whole
experience quite enjoyable. I've always felt close to you, but now I
feel even closer.”
Patty gasped, “But it's a sin!”
Jane shrugged again. “I don't see how
anything so pleasurable and mutually consensual could be wrong. I was
hoping you'd share my bed again, even move into my room when we reach
London.”
Patty's face grew flushed even as her
nipples visibly turned hard underneath her dress. “I'm not some
saphist poofter, Lady Stalwart.”
Jane looked sad as she gazed at her
friend. “I'm afraid you might be just that Miss O'Toole. I fear the
COCK's effects may be permanent. I still like men, but at the same
time I want to take you in my arms and kiss you again. Judging by
your body's reactions, you feel it also.”
“I do, but I will pray for the
strength to fight this desire.”
“Very well,” said Jane. “Perhaps
I'm wrong and the effects will diminish over time. The legend did say
it took three baptisms to turn Isis into a wanton whore.” Patty's
belly growled loudly. “Hungry? The dining car should be serving
supper.” Patty nodded and the two women walked down to the dining
car. Jane took a seat with her back to a window while Patty sat
across from her. Patty ordered the grilled turbot with white wine and
butter sauce. Lady Jane had ordered a pogacsa from a street vendor in
Budapest and wasn't quite hungry yet. She requested that the waiter
bring her a couple slices of bread and a whole cucumber so that she
could make cucumber sandwiches later in their room. She ordered a
glass of Merlot and casually sipped it. Patty always deferred to her
taste in wine and she seemed to relish her drink.
Jane wanted to stare into Patty's green
eyes, but someone had attempted to kill them last night and she
needed to be alert. Her eyes scanned the diners finding nothing out
of the ordinary. That is until the black man arrived while she was
sipping her wine. He attracted the attention of all the other diners,
most openly gawking at him. He was dressed in a white robe with gold
trim that formed a V down his bare chest displaying his musculature.
He was big, hulking was a better word. He had a long pointy ancient
Egyptian style beard and wore dark eyeliner. The man was also shaved
bald including his eyebrows. Most of the crowd had never seen anyone
so exotic and continued to rudely stare at the black giant. Most of
the crowd had never dined with a negro before either. He took a seat
alone, ordered something from the waiter, and turned his head to
stare directly at Jane. His lips curled up, exposing white teeth as
he smiled at her.
“O, villain, villain, smiling, damned
villain!” she muttered.
“What?” asked Patty.
“Hamlet,” said Jane. “I believe
our foe has arrived Patricia.”
“Can I look?”
“Be my guest, he's making his
presence known.”
Patty glanced over her shoulder and
gasped at the sight of the strange black man. He nodded at her and
continued to smile. “Jesus wept,” muttered the red head.
“I think it's time I met our foe,”
said Jane. Jane stood, grabbed the bag and left. Patty watched Jane
leave the dining car. The black man's
gaze followed Jane's. Patty didn't like being left alone and prayed
the black man wouldn't come over to her. She was distracted by the
arrival of their food.
Jane raced through several sleeper cars
until she arrived at her cabin. The cabin had been reconverted for
sleeping. She quickly pulled the hieroglyphic box out and opened it.
The scorpion snapped up at her. She'd put the surviving deathstalker
in the box as a trap for anyone trying to steal it. Jane snapped her
fingers to distract it and easily lifted it by the tail with her
other hand. She placed the scorpion in a drinking glass and closed
the box back up. She retrieved her Enfield revolver and opened the
cylinder, checking on the bullets. She set the revolver by the box,
ready in case she needed it and then she left to meet her foe after
securing the cabin door.
The first thing she noticed when she
returned to the dining car was that Patty was gone. She'd cleaned her
plate. Jane's food was sitting in her spot, untouched. A man in a
dark black uniform was seated at the table beside hers. A Nazi
armband around his bicep. One of the Germans she'd seen arrive
earlier that day. “Fraulein,” he said, nodding at her, noticing
her attention.
“Sturmbannfuhrer,” she replied,
reading his rank insignia. He was an ugly man, pale and bloated. His
eyes were deep set and beady, peering at her from behind rounded gold
wire glasses. He was heavy set with a large jowl and mostly bald with
a few clumps of hair clinging in patches on his head. An out of shape
political officer and not a military man.
“Perhaps you'd like to join me,” he
said, his voice heavily accented. “One can always enjoy the company
of a beautiful woman.”
“Perhaps some other time,” she
replied. “I was seated here. Did you happen to see where my
companion went?”
“Yes, the Rotkopf! She left just
before you arrived, Fraulein.”
“Danke,” replied Jane. Perhaps
Patty had just left to use the toilet and Jane had passed her in the
hall.
“May I at least refresh your drink,
Fraulein?”
Jane looked down at the glass in her
hand and it's contents. “No thank you, Major.” She smiled and
nodded before turning around.
“I am Odilo Blobel,” he said,
persistently. If you change your mind about dinner or that drink. I
am in the luxury coach at the end of the line.”
“Jane Stalwart,” she told him. She
wondered about the odd placing of the Nazi car. Typically, the last
car was a baggage car. But that didn't matter now, the black priest
was still waiting for her.
Jane walked over to the hulking black
man and he watched her approach. He continued smiling at her.
“Aket, I presume,” she said,
pulling a chair out and joining him. There was some muttering from
the crowd at seeing a young white woman joining a black man at his
table.
“I am Aket, High Priest and humble
servant of Set.” He raised his hand to stop her from introducing
herself. “You are Jane Stalwart, explorer, archaeologist, and
adventurer, daughter of Sir John Stalwart, a British rapist of my
county's antiquities.”
Jane reached out and turned over the
contents of the glass into Aket's drink. “I believe this is yours.”
His eyes gazed down at the scorpion thrashing as it drowned in his
drink. “O most pernicious woman! That's a thirty year scotch.”
Hamlet! Jane stared back at the man in
surprise and noticed his eyes. They weren't quite right. The pupils
weren't rounded, but were narrower like a vipers. They narrowed even
more as she stared into them. “You read lips?” she asked.
Aket just smiled and reached into the
drink for the dead scorpion. He lifted it out and dropped it into his
mouth. It's carapace crunched as he chewed, before swallowing and
licking his lips. “Delicious,” he stated, draining the rest of
his scotch as a chaser. He put the drink down and stared at her,
surprised by her lack of a reaction.
“I've eaten a few bugs in my day,”
she calmly replied, shrugging. “Now lets get down to business,
Aket. You want the COCK and you can't have it.”
“That is where you are wrong, Miss
Stalwart. I will have the COCK OF OSIRIS, it is the will of his
brother SET that I shall possess it. He reached out and grabbed her
wrist, crushing it in his tight grasp.
“I shall take the COCK and the world
will be plunged into chaos!
Jane jerked under his grasp as the
insight came to her. Jane sat on her throne beside her husband's. She
wore a white Egyptian robe with gold trim that circled under her
breasts leaving them exposed. A pharaoh's headdress adorned her head
and her eyes were highlighted with kohl. Aket's hand clutched hers
and tightened affectionately as they surveyed the intertwined naked
bodies writhing in ecstasy on the floor before their thrones. Aket
glanced to his right and an Egyptian with a folding camera around his
neck ran out from behind a curtain. He aimed the camera at the
British Consul General's wife. Her fat body rippled as she was plowed
from behind by the black skinned Masai warrior recruited by Aket for
his immense cock size. Each thrust of the Masai's cock into the fat
white woman shoved the equally large cock of the Hutu warrior she was
sucking down her throat. The consul general watched his wife, both in
horror and lust, his pants around his ankles and his small spent
penis in his hand. The flash of the camera caught the scene on film.
Aket raised the COCK in his hand and pointed it at a woman entwined
in the orgy of flesh. He then pointed the cock at another man in a
British Admiral's uniform. The nude woman stood and Jane saw that it
was Patty. Gone was her beautiful red hair, now dyed black and cut
shoulder length like Cleopatra's. Gone was the rosary around her
neck, replaced by an ankh. Another ankh dangled from a piercing
through her navel. Her left areola was darkened with kohl, the areola
forming the eye of a tattooed wedjet or Eye of Horus around her
nipple symbolizing the moon while her right breast was similarly
tattooed with an Eye of Ra symbolizing the sun. When Patty stood, it
looked like her torso was staring at the Pharaoh Aket and his wife,
Jane. Patty turned and Jane's eyes scanned the hieroglyphic tattoos
that ran down Patty's spine as she sauntered over towards the
admiral. He stared at her with lust even as Patty knelt down before
him, her hand fishing out his prick. Aket pointed the COCK at his
photographer, then at the admiral and the Egyptian turned his camera
on the admiral moaning as his dick was sucked by a true professional.
The admiral was a British lord and married to the second cousin of
the first lord of the admiralty, Winston Churchill. Through the power
of the COCK and blackmail, Pharaoh Aket, high priest of Set, would
come to rule Egypt and destroy the British Empire, spreading chaos
throughout the world.
Jane yanked her wrist from Aket's
grasp. Her insights came to her infrequently and this one had been
stronger then most. An old Romany woman had once told Jane, that she
possessed the gift, but Jane refused to call them visions, preferring
insights. Jane had seen enough to know that she'd just glimpsed one
possible future. “Over my dead body,” she told Aket, standing up.
He stroked his beard. “To be, or not
to be, that is the question.” he answered.
Jane turned and hurried from the dining
car. Blobel stood as if to speak, but she ignored him, scooping up
the bread and cucumber from her table as she passed. She hoped Patty
was in her room. They'd need to hunker down, defend the COCK. Maybe
even get off the train in the next stop. Aket was more dangerous then
she'd thought. Jane resolved to keep her Enfield close at hand from
this point on.
She entered the first baggage car,
turning sideways to let an elderly couple pass. She heard the old
lady gasp and glanced over her shoulder. Aket had appeared in the
doorway. His hulking form took up most of the corridor and the old
couple had to squeeze tightly against a cabin's door for him to
squeeze past. Jane left the coach, the Austrian countryside sped past
the fast moving train as she entered the next sleeping car. Aket
close behind.
The next corridor was empty and Jane
raced to her cabin. She reached her door and turned to look at Aket
as he came in from outside the train. “I have a gun inside,” she
yelled, resting her hand on the door. It pushed right open. Someone
had forced her door!
Jane fell into her cabin, dropping her
dinner, and found herself looking at dirty sandal clad feet. She
looked up the khaki pants, loose white shirt, and at the man's ugly
face underneath a red fez.
“This gun,” hissed Hassan, through
his rotted teeth as he pointed it at her head.
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