OZYMANDIAS

It was hot, so hot that the sweat ran down his back, soaking his shirt. It dripped out of his hair into his eyes, making them sting. The sun blazing in the hard blue cloudless sky turned the stretching sands dazzling white.

‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look upon my works ye mighty, and despair.’

Eric had known the poem since he was at school. And here he was in Mesopotamia, working on the very area the poem described. The only surviving remnant of a great and extravagant statue was its feet. And the sands stretched away into infinity. But the poet had not known that below those sands were the remains of a great city.

He'd brought H.P. Lovecraft’s horror stories for bedtime reading. Gloria thought he was nuts. ‘That’s the stuff of nightmares,’ she’d said. But he’d been enjoying it. The stories might be macabre, but they expanded his mental horizons. He was reading The Case of Charles Dexter Ward. Reanimation of people long dead from their ashes. Ridiculous, of course, but what a fascinating idea!

Of course they weren’t in charge of the dig. Professor Perkins had been working in the Middle East for decades and spoke several ancient Mesopotamian languages fluently. So did Gloria, but he made sure she was very much in his shadow. They had been digging for a year and had unearthed a large stretch of the enormous city, surrounded by high defensive walls.

Gloria and Eric were digging in an already-excavated building, which Professor Perkins had decided was no longer worth his attention. As Juila scraped away she realised there was a square recess in the floor, filled with sand. And inside a sealed clay pot, glazed and intricately decorated. She gently picked it up and rested it on the floor. She looked up at Eric – ‘Look at this!’ she said. He came over to look. ‘That’s really interesting. I wonder what’s inside. Perkins will be a bit pissed off that he missed it. He’d rather have the credit for it himself.’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she replied sourly. ‘He’ll get it anyway. You know him – anything that gets him publicity is fair in his eyes.’

Perkins was thrilled by the discovery. ‘You haven’t opened it, have you?’ he asked.

‘No, of course not. We wouldn’t do that.’

‘Good. We’ll take it to the main tent and have a good look at it.’ The main tent. Perkins’ headquarters. With all the other artefacts that he’d claimed credit for.

‘Did you see the inscription on the side?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ he replied – a little too quickly. He held the pot up before his eyes. ‘It’s unreadable. Looks like an unknown script. Not related to any other form. Quite a discovery! But of course we won’t be able to read it without a Rosetta Stone. You do know what the Rosetta Stone is, don’t you?’

Gloria bristled. ‘Of course. We learnt that in our first semester. A bi-lingual – a text in two or more scripts, one of which can already be understood. The original Rosetta Stone was found in Egypt with a proclamation in Babylonian cuneiform and Egyptian hieroglyphs. Don’t treat me like an imbecile, Professor.’

Perkins went on, oblivious to the insult. ‘We’ll look at it of course, but it’ll take years of study to even start deciphering this. I’ll take charge of it – the information is potentially very valuable to understanding this civilisation. We don’t even know where it fits in our historical framework. This could be a vital clue.’

Gloria looked meaningly at Eric, as if to say ‘You see?’

‘Once this pot’s cleaned we should try to find out what’s inside. Probably nothing of importance, but you never know.’

As they walked away Gloria said ‘He’s taken control of it now, and we won’t get a look at it without going through him. And you know how unwilling he is to let anyone else look at anything.’

Eric sighed. ‘You’re right. As usual. I was hoping he’d act honourably for once.’

‘Hah!’ she replied.

Next day they were summoned to the main tent. The pot had been cleaned and Perkins was making its opening a major event. They noticed the cameras were there as he inserted a slim knife-blade under the lid to cut the seal. Slowly sliding the blade around the circumference, then gently easing the lid off. He looked inside. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘It looks like ashes. Perhaps a funeral urn.’ He turned to the cameras. ‘But until we can decipher the inscription, we won’t know if this is someone important, or just some nobody.’

‘Typical,’ muttered Eric. ‘If it’s not an emperor at least, it’s beneath his notice. Old fashioned attitude, belongs back in the Dark Ages. We can learn more about a society from the people at the bottom than the ones at the top.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she murmured. ‘He’s a dinosaur. About time he retired.’

‘Well, at least we can try decrypting the thing when he’s finished with it. In the meantime, let’s go back and see if there’s anything else in that recess.’

‘Grrr. Well, I’ll try but I’m not promising anything. There’s probably nothing else there, but digging sand will work off some energy, anyway.’

The hole was still partly full of sand. ‘That’s strange,’ said Eric. ‘There seems to be something else down here. A slab of some sort, but it’s in several pieces.’

‘Of course!’ cried Gloria. ‘The lid of the hole broke and fell inside! Lucky it didn’t break the pot!’

‘That’s what it must be.’

They lay the fragments carefully on the ground beside the hole. There were three of them, covered in writing. ‘Let’s try to fit them together,’ said Gloria.

‘Yep, almost complete. Only a few small bits missing.’

‘Look! Cuneiform!’

‘You’re right! But that’s not all! Another text, in the same script as on the pot.’ He laughed. ‘Perkins says the inscription’s useless without a Rosetta Stone and we find one the next day! Won’t he be pissed when he finds out!’

She looked at him. ‘Does he have to find out? Do we have to tell him? After what he did?’

‘Oh, come on. He’s still the leader of the dig.’

‘Not to me he isn’t. Taking credit for our discovery. Treating us like stupid kids. We don’t owe him anything.’

‘No, we’ve got a responsibility, even if we don’t like Perkins. What would happen to our careers if it came out that we’d gone behind his back? Nobody would ever trust us again.’

‘I suppose you’re right. But I don’t have to like it.’

‘Neither do I. But it’s the right thing to do. We don’t have to sink to his level.’

As they expected, Perkins took the credit for the discovery, leaving Eric and Gloria in the background while he hogged the cameras. But he was happy to unload on them the work of decrypting the bilingual. It took a while to get the feel of the text. The stone bore the text of a treaty between Babylon and the still-unknown civilisation to which the new script belonged. The cuneiform named it as Terginoph, and so their first report to Perkins was to tell him the name. He was pleased. He read cuneiform fluently, but he preferred administration, and spent much of his time supervising the local people doing the bulk of the work, shifting sand with shovels and buckets, as their ancestors must have done when constructing this city. Again, to give him credit, he spent considerable time with the workers - as well as ancient tongues, Perkins was fluent in their own language - discussing the progress of their work, showing them the finds at the end of each day, explaining the importance of each, and stressing their honourable heritage, as descendants of those who had constructed this mighty city.

‘We don’t know that Terginoph is the name of this city,’ said Eric. ‘It’s possible – likely, even - but we can’t prove it.’

‘Good work,’ replied Perkins absently. ‘Now that know what it says, you’ll be able to work on the unknown script.’

‘Of course,’ thought Gloria. ‘What else did you think we were going to do?’

Perkins called in the cameras and announced the name of the city as Terginoph – despite Eric’s warning. But if Perkins wanted to put his reputation on the line, that was his own affair. They began the hard slog of trying to find meanings. It took weeks. Perkins came in occasionally to check on their progress, but he spent most of his time supervising the dig itself. Eric and Gloria began calling it Terginophian.

Finally, they felt ready to try their new understanding of the language on the pot they had discovered.

‘Well, it’s a funeral urn alright,’ said Gloria.

‘Yes, looks like it,’ replied Eric. ‘But what I find really surprising is the name on it – the person whose ashes are inside. OCHIMADNAS.’

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ she said.

‘OZYMANDIAS! Oh, my God. I thought Shelley had made the name up! That’s too weird!’

‘Didn’t his wife write Frankenstein?’

‘Yes, Mary Shelley. Her novel became way more famous than her husband’s poems. Rather ironic, really. He was celebrated in his lifetime, but she’s the one we remember.’

‘So those legs out there in the sand might be him, just like in the poem!’

‘Perkins is going to love it! What publicity this’ll get him! He’s bound to put it out there as a fact, not a theory.’

‘Oh, yes. I’m sure you’re right.’

‘Ozymandias Found!’ screamed the banner headlines of the newspapers at home. ‘Perkins Explains Importance of New Discoveries.’

‘He really is a media slut, isn’t he?’ said Gloria.

‘Yes. But I think the power is as important to him as the publicity. How he treats all of us as inferiors, almost as slaves? The only ones who like him are the locals. But I think he’s in love with these ancient civilisations. He wishes he was back there. In a place of power, naturally.’

That night Eric did the stupid thing that changed everything. He’d been reading H. P. Lovecraft again, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward. Magical incantations to raise the dead really appealed to him. And here was a pot containing the ashes of one of the most powerful of the ancients. In a fit of whimsy, he began chanting the raising incantation - the words seemed to gain extra power and resonance as they left his lips, as though they were echoing in a great stone chamber.

And from the pot a thin stream of smoke arose – becoming fuller and thicker until it filled the entire tent, setting him coughing. He retreated until the smoke subsided. When he returned, a figure stood there, tall, strong, arrogant power and cruelty on his hawk-nosed face. He saw Eric and spoke unintelligibly, though his meaning was clear enough. Eric kneeled, just as Gloria arrived outside the tent.

‘What’s going on?’ she cried. ‘What have you done?’

‘I’ve just summoned Ozymandias,’ Eric replied, overawed.

‘What?’

‘You know the book I’ve been reading?’

‘That ghastly horry?’

‘Remember I told you about the man chanting the incantation to bring back the dead from their ashes? Meet Ozymandias.’

‘You idiot! Now what do we do?’

‘I don’t know.’ Then his face lit up. ‘But what an opportunity! Think what we could learn from him!’

‘I can’t believe you’re saying this!’

‘Ah, but we can’t talk to him, can we? Just a moment. How about Babylonian? Maybe he speaks that!’

‘You’re nuts!’

‘Just let me try. I know how to say Lord.’ He looked up and spoke the word. Ozymandias, who had been watching this exchange, smiled. And spoke.

They both spoke Babylonian, but neither was expert. But they realised he could probably be understood by someone more fluent with the language.

‘Perkins!’ cried Eric. ‘Of course! Go get him – I’ll keep Ozymandias interested.’

‘Why don’t you get him?’

‘Because you’re a woman. Judging by the status of women had back then, leaving you here to deal with him could look like an insult.’

‘You bastard,’ she said. But she rolled her eyes and said. ‘Dammit, I suppose you’re right. But it’ll take me a long time to forgive you for this. Just you wait!’

She went off, and Eric made basic conversation, sprinkling it with the word Lord as often as he could. Ozymandias interrupted him, stressing another word. Of course! King! All right, king he would be.

Perkins was querulous, half asleep, his hair mussed.

‘What is this amazing discovery, Jefferies? It’d better be good to get me out of bed at this time of night.’

‘Professor Perkins, meet King Ozymandias!’ said Eric with a flourish.

‘What are you talking about? Is this some kind of a fancy-dress hoax?’

‘No hoax. This is Ozymandias. He speaks Babylonian. Try him. But address him as King - he doesn’t like being called Lord.’

Ozymandias spoke. Perkins’ head snapped up. ‘That’s Babylonian!’ he said.

‘I told you. Ask him a question. But be sure to be respectful. He is a king, after all. Pretty arrogant, these guys, I hear.’

Perkins scowled at Eric. He turned to the man they now thought of as Ozymandias and asked him a question. The man smiled and answered. But there was steel in his tone. Perkins looked shocked. But he knelt, and after Ozymandias spoke again, sharply, prostrated himself completely.

“He wants both of you to leave,’ he whispered from the side of his mouth. ‘Especially the woman.’ Gloria looked daggers at him. ‘He doesn’t know what to make of you. You shouldn’t be out doors at all. Women in his time were kept inside and modestly dressed. He thinks you’re a prostitute.’

Gloria turned and stormed off, followed closely by Eric.

Next day they found Perkins more excited than they’d ever seen him. ‘The man’s amazing! I’ve never met a man with such personal power and magnetism. And he’s already realised what’s happened – and he wants to restore this part of the world to its original glory. It has an amazing history, amazing tradition – it was civilised before anywhere else in the world! Tomorrow I’m going to take him to talk to the workmen. I’ll have to translate for him, but he already feels they are his own people. They used to own the world!’

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, Professor?’ asked Gloria. ‘Yes,’ said Eric. ‘Maybe you should think about it first.’

‘Nonsense!’ cried Perkins. ‘You want to think about it? This man can make this part of the world great again. And he says he’ll reward us magnificently when he regains his rightful place in the world!’

‘Won’t other people object?’ asked Eric. ‘This area’s got a long history of wars and conflict. We don’t want to start anything like that.’

‘You can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs. There may be some conflict, but that’s unimportant compared with the overall goal.’

Gloria and Eric walked off. ‘This is very bad,’ said Gloria. ‘You’re not kidding,’ replied Eric. ‘The way he’s talking, he’s going to start a war. People will be killed – lots of them. All these workers will be the first, good people, people who deserve better. We have to stop him.’

‘But how? He’s off on his own wild crusade – he’ll be Ozymandias’s right-hand man, at least until he decides he can do without him. And then – look out Professor!’

‘This is my fault. I brought the man back. I need to get rid of him again. Oh.’

‘What?’

‘Surely it couldn’t be that simple. But if the raising incantation worked . . . we need to go back to the tent.’

‘I hope this works. It could be dangerous. You don’t need to come with me.’

‘Are you kidding? I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but you’re not going to keep me out of whatever it is.’

‘All right. And anyway, I might need you to take over.’ He held up the book. ‘You see these lines? I’m going to read out these lines. If it works, Ozymandias will return to the ashes he came from.’

‘You’re crazy, you know that?’

‘Yep. But I have to do it. I’m just worried Perkins will try to stop me. He could get violent.’

‘Leave him to me. I know just where to kick him to keep him out of action for a long time. And you can be sure I’ll kick hard.’

Perkins and Ozymandias were inside the tent. Eric began to chant. Ozymandias froze. ‘What are you doing?’ Perkins cried. ‘Stop that!’ He sprang to his feet, murder in his eyes. But Gloria’s knee stopped him cold. He folded up and fell to the ground, groaning in agony. Eric continued the incantation. Ozymandias’s body became translucent. His form slowly dissolved, drifting into dust dispersing in the breeze.

They scooped up all that remained of the once-great leader into a bucket. And took one of the jeeps and drove off into the desert. They emptied the dust over the edge of a huge rock outcrop. A strong wind took it - nothing remained except a faint cloud that dissolved into the air and was gone.

‘Well,’ said Eric. ‘I’ve made up for my mistake. There’s only one thing that worries me.’

‘What’s that? Perkins can’t do anything now.’

‘No, I’m not worried about that. It’s that book. If that part of it’s correct, what about the rest? About the Old Gods waiting in another dimension, trying to get into our own. Evil gods, far more evil than we can possibly imagine. If the book’s to be believed, they’re trying to come back and rule Earth. To them, humanity’s no more than a pest, to be enslaved or exterminated. What if that’s true as well?’

And in another dimension a great tentacled god slept, waiting to be awakened, and the Old Gods gathered around Earth, waiting . . .