The Magic and the Mummy (4 page)
They did the same with the liver, kidneys, lungs and guts. When Thekel was finished, the priests began to jeer at him.
Thekel grinned and said, “Thanks, lads. But can we cut it short? We’re in a hurry today.”
“Oh, all right,” they agreed and went back to their jobs.
Thekel turned to Neria. “Right mistress, I need to give you a quick lesson in making a mummy.”
“But why did they call you all those names?” she asked. “Didn’t you mind?”
“Nah!” he chuckled. “It’s an unclean job. I do it and they have to drive me out of the House of Death because I am an unclean man. Just a sort of game really. Now I’ll just wash the blood off my hands and I’ll show you round.”
By the end of the morning Neria knew most of the things that went on in the House of Death. The bodies that had been emptied, like old Nesumontu’s, were washed with palm wine – inside and out – then they were ready to be dried out.
“We cover the body in this salty stuff – Natron,” Thekel explained. “We leave it for forty days until it’s dry as a desert beetle’s back, then we wrap it in bandages to make a mummy.”
Neria nodded towards a boy who was writing on parchment pieces. “What’s he doing?”
“Writing the Book of the Dead – prayers that are wrapped in the bandages. They help the dead person in the next life. The gods must be clever enough to read them. I never learned to read or write.”
“Neither did I,” Neria said.
“Never mind,” Thekel shrugged. “You won’t have to. Here is your table. All you have to do is turn Bastet into a mummy.”
Neria was just about to ask, “Who’s Bastet?” when she heard a loud noise and it was getting louder. “What’s that sound?”
“Trumpets,” Thekel said. “The Pharaoh is coming. Here we go! Stand by your tables, lads!”
Soldiers marched into the tent carrying the Pharaoh in a cloth cradle slung between two poles.
Neria’s father met the men and led them to an empty table. The girl saw that a cat was marching with the soldiers, tail held high and proud as if it was the Pharaoh himself.
Suddenly Thekel swooped and picked up the startled cat. He carried it carefully over to Neria’s table. “Here you are, Mistress. This is Bastet. It is your job to turn him into a mummy.”
“The cat? The Pharaoh named his cat after the god? And you want me to turn it into a mummy?”
“Of course. The Pharaoh had his holy cat when he was alive. He has to have it with him in his tomb. They will go to the Afterlife together.”
Neria blinked. “I know animal mummies go in tombs with their masters – but this one is still alive. I can’t turn a live cat into a mummy.”
Thekel grinned his wide and happy grin. “I know.”
“So, what do I do?” Neria frowned.
“Kill it!”
The cat was the colour of warm sand and its eyes were as pure as gold. It stood on her table and looked up at her. It stretched its neck and rubbed its head against her chin. It looked just like Katkins.
“Here’s my knife,” Thekel said.
Neria took the cold, black blade. The cat purred. Tears began to prickle her eyes. “I – I can’t!”
Thekel shrugged. “You have to. Your father will be very upset if the Pharaoh’s cat doesn’t go into the tomb with him.”
“I can’t,” Neria said stupidly. “What am I going to do?”
The big man with the small head looked at her tenderly. “You know the story of Osiris? The first mummy?”
