his mind and took a look around. Darkness fell at his feet and around his eyes, cloaking him. A
hand gripped his mouth. Simon let loose a muffled scream, and a voice came up behind him.
“Oh? Is that you Simon, old bean?” Klaus queried, incredulous. “Well, quite a pickle we seem
to be in, no?” Simon nodded rapidly before Klaus unwrapped his hand from his face. From the
filtered light, the two could make out the room that they were secluded in. Simon walked towards
a particular item of interest, something that was extremely dusty and metal. He blew on it.
“Is this…?” Simon turned, showing Klaus the artifact in his hand. Klaus produced a brush
from inside one of the many pockets on his shorts, and skimmed the surface of the object. They
were rewarded with a glint of yellow.
“Looks important,” Klaus sniffed, “And expensive.” Simon spun slowly, taking in his
surroundings. There were tables and shelves filled with priceless items, rolls of papyrus no doubt
containing records dating thousands of years back.
“It… It is! This is the Tomb of the Lost Pharaohs!” Simon exclaimed, and a whoop escaped his
lips along with a jig in his legs.
“I’d like to strangle the unimaginative bloke who named this tomb.” Klaus faced Simon. “And
you thought this place probably didn’t exist.”
“So I did.” Simon conceded, laughing. He turned to Klaus. “How’re we going to get out?”
Klaus shrugged.
“So will you let me go?” Simon tried.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
