The thin, nervously handsome man is sweating through his dapper white suit. "I only want it clear that this is not my fault."

"Indeed," the Merlin says, dryly. "Master Carnahan, I believe I told you the last time you raised Imhotep that the cursed were meant to stay cursed."

"Oh, he's still cursed," the thin man volunteers, hopefully. "I think. I didn't raise him."

"You think," the Merlin repeats, and sighs.

"He did fall into a pit of hellfire." Never has there been a more reasonable voice.

The Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose. Really, the Carnahans cause more trouble than the Germans.

When no reprimand is forthcoming, Jonathan Carnahan cheers up a bit. "You know," he says, bright and helpful, "why don't you get Evy up here, she knows much more about it than I do, and why don't I go and get us all a dash of port while we wait…"

With an air of extreme patience, the Warden on guard grabs Carnahan's collar as the man makes a run for the door, turns him around, and sets him gently on his feet back in front of the Merlin.

This is going to be a long night.