Cade stared at the body beneath him, and his eyes slowly drifted up to the shadows behind the coffin. There, at the feet of the statue, was a large black box.

“Jackpot,” Cade whispered.

Behind him, he heard a yell. Then another, and the clash of metal upon metal.

“Grab that,” Cade ordered, pointing at the box. He was already moving before the Codex began its translation, racing back to Imhotep’s chamber.

He took in the scene at a glance.

Legionaries surrounded a hole in the stairwell’s rubble, their shields shoving against a tide of metal-clad men. Mailed hands and shoulders shoved to get in, pushing through a gap hardly large enough for a man to fit. Gladiuses clattered against the steel armor, and Cade saw one snap at the base, its rusted blade spinning away as the desperate legionary hammered down with the hilted stump.

“Get back!” Cade yelled, shoving a legionary aside. A helmeted head pushed through the rubble, and in the slit at its front Cade saw raging eyes.

He raised the gun, pressed it close … and fired.

The shot rang out like a thunderclap, knocking the man back with its force and near jarring the gun from Cade’s hands. The body hung limp in the entrance, blocking it, while legionaries spun away at the noise, covering their ears with their hands.

Cade’s own eardrums ached from the sound, and he could hardly hear himself as he screamed at the slavers a single word, over and over.

“Tractastis!” he cried. “Tractastis!”

Negotiate.

CHAPTER

52

The body withdrew slowly, pulled back inch by inch. Behind the rubble, men grunted and cursed, clearly packed into the stairwell like sardines. Soon enough though, it was gone, and as Cade peered through, he saw that the slavers had retreated halfway up the stairwell.

Cade’s wrist ached where the recoil had almost fractured it, and he sheathed his blade, taking it in two hands. He felt sick as he saw the pool of blood at his feet, congealing in the dust.

Another life he’d taken.

“Hello?” Cade called. “Are you there?”

More cursing followed, then a voice called from the other side.

“You wish to surrender?” a man asked.

His voice was fuzzy in Cade’s ears, and he shook his head, trying to focus. In the small, echoey chamber, the sound of the gun had almost made his ears bleed. The Codex’s translation was not helping matters, for it blasted it out at a near-deafening volume.

“No surrender,” Cade called. “A trade.”

Silence. Then:

“If you wish to trade, then your gun has not the bullets to kill all of us,” the voice said.

“It does,” Cade allowed. “But I’d rather not waste them on your worthless lives.”

“We’ll see,” the voice called back. “We’ve faced men with guns before, and won. Soldiers from your Great War commanded high prices in the slave market. Not as much as you will though—even with your tongue ripped out.”

Cade grimaced and turned his head.