"Y'know, I think I'd remember the Promised Land of Israel being a fucking desert," I note drily as I look out over the drifting sand dunes. All the Servants who could astralized fifteen minutes into our trek, leaving me with only Da Vinci and Galahad for company. "Da Vinci, are you sure the Rayshift dropped us in the right place?"
"Yes!" she snaps irritably, still checking her scanner. "And I'll thank you to stop questioning my work! And like I've been saying for the past hour, repeating the question every five minutes won't change the answer!"
"Well, not like there's much else to do, what with us having been left walking for hours over these lovely sand dunes in search of water that, in spite of your repeated assurances that it's in the direction we're walking, has
thus far failed to appear!"
"Genius takes time! And besides, maybe this desert's very existence is a result of the Singularity's abnormal nature! Ever think of that, smart guy?"
"I'm with Flynn on this one," Galahad chimes in, joining in what has swiftly became our favorite pastime over the last hour of hiking through the goddamn desert: Bitching at Da Vinci. "The Rayshift team probably just screwed up the Rayshift and dumped us into an endless desert to die. It's actually a forgivable mistake! After all, it's not like they had a genius on hand to spot any errors! Because she decided that technical support was beneath her and tagged along to the front line!"
"You two
really aren't letting that go, are you?" Da Vinci asks, her brow twitching irritably.
"Da Vinci, I have sand in my leotard, and every last piece of my armor is currently hot enough to fry an egg on. Flynn is as red as a lobster right now, and looks like he's about to flat-out
die of heatstroke. I believe I speak for the both of us when I say that we are taking this particular grudge to our
graves."
"Okay, seriously, is it really
that bad?" Da Vinci asks plaintively. "Haven't I been your wonderfully supportive and helpful Da Vinci-chan most of the time? Can't you find it in your hearts to forgive me this one mistake?"
"
One mistake?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "You
still haven't finished the piping because you got distracted halfway through and started building a submarine."
"I put in a request through Mash for you to find a way to make my armor cover my midriff
three months ago," Galahad says, glaring at our guide. "You refused point blank because, and I quote, 'Your outfit is way cuter that way!'"
"But it is!"
"I could be
eviscerated, Da Vinci!" Galahad snaps. "And beyond that, I don't
want to look cute! I'm a man! Bad enough having to operate in a teenaged girl's body, having to be dressed like a stripper while I do so is just adding insult to injury!"
"You just can't appreciate my genius," Da Vinci says with a pout.
"No," I correct. "We
do appreciate your genius. It's the only reason we put up with your
personality."
Her jaw drops, and she looks to be winding up for a counterargument, when Georgios de-astralizes between us. "Okay, that's enough! I didn't want to leave astral form, but you lot have left me absolutely no choice in the matter. Now, we are going to spend the next five minutes in
silence. Understood?"
"But-"
"SILENCE!"
"Yes, Saint Georgios," I mumble, feeling like a little kid.
We continue to walk on in silence.
Da Vinci is the first one to break it. "So, how'd you know about the submarine?"
"Hundred Face."
"I
knew it! I
told Roman you were using them as a spy network!"
"No- Well, yes, I actually am doing that, but that's not what I was talking about," I point at the band of skull-masked figures in black making their way over the dunes ahead of us.
"Oh!" Da Vinci smirks. "I
told you that we're in the right Singularity!"
"Don't count your horses just yet," I mutter, and we get into position, and wait for the black clad mob to reach us.
---
"Hassan-I-Sabbah of the Hundred Faces!" I call in greeting when they finally get into earshot. "May I ask what brings one of your rank and order into this desert?"
"Knowing my name will not leave me more well-inclined to you, toady of Ozymandias!" one of the personalities, the one carry a lumpy sack over one shoulder, shouts at me.
"I am no servant of Ozymandias," I assure her, already trying to parse out just
which pharaoh she's referring to, there. They
really enjoyed recycling that particular title. "I am the Master of Chaldea, and simply wish to know the lay of the land."
"A likely story," another of the personas sneers.
"I do have a character witness," I say mildly. '
Cursed Arm?'
He materializes beside me, leaving the various Hundred Faces reeling.
"Okay," the group's spokeswoman says after a brief deliberation. "I suppose it's possible that you're telling the truth."
"Thank you. Now, may I ask for an explanation as to this Singularity's condition?"
"Look, we can't talk right now!" the spokeswoman snaps. "We have to hurry, or-"
A flight of sphinxes catches up with them, and the Hundred Face collective chucks the sack at me and books it, leaving me to sort out this mess.
Once the monsters are dealt with, we turn our attention to the sack, whose contents turn out to be a woman.
"Flynn, we must aid her in returning to her home," Galahad says, dead serious.
"This feels slightly mission non-critical," I point out.
"Flynn, she is a
damsel in distress. I can't just turn my back on her, it'd be unchivalrous."
"I dunno, she looks pretty peaceful sleeping, maybe she's fine with this, and can take care of herself."
"She was in a
sack, Flynn, that is a very distressing circumstance to be in."
"Well, I mean, can you say from personal experience that being chucked in a sack and dragged off is unpleasant?" I ask, desperate not to delay the mission.
"Flynn." He gives me a look.
"Alright, stupid question. Are you sure she counts as a damsel?"
"Yes. Age and experience matter not. What does matter is that she is alone and helpless, and we can help her. What purpose does power serve, if not to help the helpless?"
"All right, fine, we can save her."
---
When Sack Girl comes to, she propped up against a rock, with Galahad kneeling before her.
"Uh-huh-wha?" she yelps, seeming to become a great deal more awake all of the sudden. "What's going on? This isn't my room!"
"My lady, are you unharmed?" Galahad asks, his face a perfect mask of polite concern, complete with a small, charming smile. "We rescued you from the varlets that had taken you. Do you know where you are? Do you require any assistance whatsoever in returning to your home?"
"Aren't we jumping to conclusions, here? Are we entirely sure that this wasn't a result of perfectly justifiable motives?" I ask from behind him. "I mean, who knows, maybe she drowns puppies for fun, or something."
"I most certainly do not!" she snaps, her face flush with anger as she hops to her feet. "Now who are you people and what are you doing here?"
"We're Chaldea's away team, here to save human history," I say, my face dispassionate. Unlike Galahad, I'm not exactly keen on trusting Sack Girl at the drop of a hat. "Is that an issue?"
"You-I-" she flushes again. "You stand in the presence of the pharaoh Nitocris, peasant! You are permitted to bow, and offer up your thanks that I have chosen to grace you with my existence."
Right. She wants flattery? I'll give her flattery. "Most radiant one, whose will charts the rise of the sun and the flooding of the Nile, your most humble servant is pleased beyond what words can hope to describe to have not only been graced with the privilege of your incomparable existence, but also that you have chosen to appear before him. Indeed, the tale of your unimaginable beneficence shall be passed down to his children, and his children's children, and their children after that, that generations to come might know of their god-queen's benevolence."
Everyone stares at me for a second after I finish that spiel. Nitocris in particular looks about as flushed as I do, although I at least have the excuse of sunburn.
"V-Very well, peasant. I suppose, in the face of such just and judicious praise, and your honesty in acknowledging my magnificence, I will take your claims of having aided me as the truth. Come! I shall guide you to the temple of my Pharaoh, that you may be rewarded for your deeds."
"This humble one requires no reward, Pharaoh. The gift of your existence is already more than he deserves."
"You deserve what your pharaoh says you deserve!" Nitocris snaps. "Now come along."
'
I had that,' Galahad grumbles over the mental link.
I start to follow Nitocris, but... why is everything spinning?
The last thought to cross my mind before I hit the sand is that Galahad might've had a point about the heatstroke.
