The Mummy Snatcher of Memphis (24 page)

“So?” I asked Ahmed.

He looked very grave: “I have some bad news, Kit.”

“Don't spare me.”

“I made inquiries and found a friendly bellboy. At least he became friendly after I paid him a few dinar. He told me there was a party of Europeans staying here. A couple of men, blond hair, very pale. They ate in their
bedroom. Did not appear in the dining room at all. With them was a party of a different type, not the usual customers at Shepheard's at all. The boy said they were rough. There was a beautiful woman with them. He went into raptures over her. Enormously fat, with the whitest skin and bluest eyes our bellboy had ever seen.”

I took a sip of lime water, choking a little as it went down to fast: “Velvet Nell.”

“Kit, that isn't the worst of it though—” Ahmed broke off, as if scared to continue.

“Rachel,” I said.

“They had something with them. They brought it up the back stairs in a covered cage. Something they kept in a separate room. Our bellboy thought it must be a rare animal. He thought they were animal smugglers. Anyway he sneaked into the room. It was a young girl. A lovely girl, with her dark curls spread out over the pillow. She was asleep on the bed, fully clothed in her traveling dress. He was so surprised when he saw her close up that he stumbled and one of the glasses of water he was carrying on a tray fell over. It splashed on her face, Kit, but—”

“She didn't wake up,” Isaac said in a low voice.

“I'll kill them,” I said, so angry I could barely speak.

“At least she's alive,” Isaac murmured, more as if he was trying to convince himself than to me.

“They've drugged Rachel. I wouldn't have thought even the Velvet Mob could have behaved with such cruelty.”

“Probably some sort of sleeping draft,” Isaac said. “My guess is that they gave it to her at the hotel to keep her quiet.”

Dark fears were gnawing at me. Rachel who wouldn't hurt anybody, the kindest, most truly good person I knew. How could anyone wish to harm her?

“Where are they?” I said.

“Wait, Kit.” Waldo put his hand on my arm. “This party, they left yesterday morning. They're way ahead of us.”

“Let's not sit around chatting about it. We've got to go after them!”

“Where?” Waldo asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We do not know where they have gone,” Ahmed interrupted gently. “They may have hired a dahabeeyah and gone down the Nile. They may have taken camels across the desert. We do not know where these people are headed.”

“They're probably going to Memphis. Isn't that where the scarab comes from?”

“It is not so simple, Kit,” Ahmed said patiently. “They may have gone to my home town and of course I have my
own reasons for going back fast but we do not know—”

“Your father!” I blurted overcome with a wave of remorse. My poor friend. Not only did he have Rachel to worry about, he must also be so worried about his dying father.

He ignored me: “The most sensible plan is for me to ask around and see if anybody knows where they are headed. Meanwhile, Kit, I think you should take your aunt and Champlon and stock up on provisions for our journey.”

I wonder if you have ever shopped for provisions for a long desert journey? If you have you will know it is a tiring business. I had been looking forward to my first visit to Cairo's famous Khan Al Khalil bazaar: narrow, winding streets densely packed with the stalls of turbaned merchants selling everything from amber to sweetmeats to bubbling water-pipes called shishes. Four long hours later, spent trooping around after my aunt and Champlon as she haggled over the price of everything from saddles to sugar, I'd have been happy never to see another bazaar. The din was constant, the chaos and variety of goods startling. I was forced to acknowledge that without Aunt Hilda I'd have been at a loss. Would you, for example, know that you must take a small pair of forceps on a desert trek? If you do not and your horse becomes lame you will be stuck indeed, because there
will be no way to remove the thorn. You could scorch to death.

After we had bought more provisions for our journey than I had thought possible we returned to the hotel, where Ahmed told us what he had learned. After we had dressed for dinner—even in the East, apparently, such tedious English customs are observed—we all gathered in the restaurant. Aunt Hilda was wearing an evening dress of emerald velvet with a lace trim. A string of pearls nestled in her bosom. I had never observed such finery on her before and part of me wondered if she was hoping to attract Monsieur Champlon's attentions. Being the soul of gallantry, the Frenchman was most generous with his compliments:

“Blooming amid ze desert sands, ze fair rose of Cairo!”

“Nonsense,” Hilda mumbled, blushing. “Order a bottle of claret if you please, monsieur. I'm absolutely parched.”

The restaurant at Shepheard's was a glorious sight; a cavern of a room held up with pillars, the walls richly ornamented with Arabic carvings. Through the vast space stretched many dozens of tables, topped by snowy linen and glittering crystal. The dresses of the women were no less brilliant. I have seldom seen such a profusion of diamonds, emeralds and rubies. I could fancy that the room was crowded with countesses and dukes;
the kings and queens of Europe could dine here. My steak and kidney pudding was excellent. A miracle that the hotel chefs could produce such fare from the bazaars of Cairo, though I suspected the steak was more horse than cow.

“Who are all these people?” I asked my aunt, looking around at the fashionable throng.

“Lightweights,” she snorted. “Mere tourists for the most part. Egypt is most fashionable in Europe nowadays, which I suppose is partly my fault for writing such exciting books. Though I blame that pest of a man Thomas Cook more. Ever since he started his tours down the Nile there have been streams of riff-raff coming here for their health. They infest the place. Get in the way of serious Egyptologists.”

“Such a nuisance for you.”

“They should be banned. Hello! Who's over there?” My aunt had half-risen and was peering at a solitary diner in the corner of the room. He was an Egyptian-looking fellow, dressed in a cream suit. His black hair was smoothed down with grease. When my aunt pointed him out Ahmed stiffened and grabbed my arm, his fingers gripping too hard.

“I do believe it's my old friend Ali,” Aunt Hilda exclaimed. “What a stroke of luck! Ali worked for me last time I was here. In fact he helped me find the
mummy of Ptah Hotep.” She signaled to a passing waiter who glided over. “Present the compliments of Hilda Salter to the gentleman in the corner. Ali whatsis-name. Ask him to join us for a brandy.”

“Stop her,” Ahmed hissed in my ear. “That's my cousin. He is a bad person.” The waiter had left and few minutes later the smooth young man stood by our table, a pleasant smile on his lips. He bowed to us all and then with an even broader grin, turned to Ahmed.

“My little cousin. Are you well, Ahmed?”

“Quite well,” my friend said, making it sound like a curse.

“It is indeed a pleasure to meet such good friends in these surroundings.”

Aunt Hilda was beaming. “This settles it. Tomorrow we ride early to Memphis. Would you accompany us as guide and interpreter?”

“I can interpret for you,” Ahmed put in but Ali had already accepted the job offer. They were very alike, the cousins, doe-eyed and strong boned. Whereas Ahmed could be stiff and awkward, Ali was all silk and honey.

I retired soon after dinner, determined to be fresh for our early start. In the corridors outside our rooms Ahmed stopped us.

“I don't like this,” he hissed. “Ali is rotten.”

“You're exaggerating,” Isaac said.

“Seems like a nice enough fellow,” said Waldo.

“'Nice! My cousin would not know ‘nice' if you served it to him for dinner!” snapped Ahmed. “He is bad. Please be careful. I think he is their spy.”

“Hold on, Ahmed,” Isaac said. “He doesn't even know the Baker Brothers or the Velvet Mob. I know he pulled a pretty mean trick on your family but that—”

“I think we should listen to Ahmed,” I interrupted him. “This is his homeland. He knows his cousin.”

“All I ask is be aware. Do not trust my filthy cousin. Do not tell him anything!”

I went to bed with Ahmed's words ringing in my ears. It was a chilly night, though that didn't stop the droning of mosquitoes. The little blood-suckers loved to feast on foreign flesh. Shepheard's Hotel, standing in the middle of large gardens, was particularly bad for the insects. I crawled under the mosquito net, extinguished my gas lamp and laid my head on the pillow.

One of my blessings is that I sleep extremely well. Tonight, however, I found it hard to drop off. It didn't help that there was a pack of wild dogs fighting somewhere under my window. I'm sure English mongrels do not make such a nuisance of themselves. When I did finally fall asleep, I was plagued by strange dreams. I was traveling down the Nile, light as a bird skimming over the twinkling waters. My arms were sails, hovering this
way and that. My feet touched the water but didn't get wet. Then slowly the river changed, and a low, tuneful melody started up. The Nile was no longer a thing of sparkling light and glory but an encircling net. It snaked around me in the darkness; oily, glistening, threatening to strangle me.

Panic bubbling inside me, I awoke with a start. That noise! With relief I realized it was only the muezzin, wailing from the top of his minaret, the call to prayer. This uncanny noise is a familiar sign here, a bit like the church bells ringing back home. God is great, the muezzin sang in his mournful heathen language. Everything was all right.

Or was it? As my eyes grew used to the gloom I saw something on top of my mosquito net. Bright eyes watched me. The thing glided down, making its way inexorably toward me. Dimly I saw glistening scales. A hood puffed up over its eyes, as it hissed. Someone had torn the net, leaving a hole for the snake to crawl through. I froze. Everything I'd ever heard about cobras flashed through my mind. If I was very careful, if I didn't provoke it, I would have a chance of getting away. Cobras only lashed out if they were scared, I tried to tell myself. All the time I was aware that if the cobra bit me, I could die.

Chapter Twenty-six

Mouth very dry, palms sweating, I slowly sat up in the bed. No sudden movements, I told myself. I inched back against the wall, keeping my eyes lowered. The snake was hissing to show how angry it was, a slow continuous noise, like escaping gas. I drew up my knees till they were under my chin. Most of me wanted to bolt, right then and there, but I knew that would be fatal. The snake would have struck, too quick and sure for me to have any chance. My only hope lay in keeping my head.

I levered my body out of the bed, as slow as I could manage. I was so close to the cobra I could have reached my hand out and stroked it. I'd read somewhere that if you touch the back of a cobra's neck, on the correct nerve, it goes limp and you can carry it like a length of rope. I was not so foolish as to believe I could manage this snake-charmer's trick.

I was out of the bed, away from the cobra's fangs. A clock chimed as I opened the door to my room. It was
unlocked, though of course I had locked it before I retired to bed. Safely outside I let all my fright come pouring out and I screamed and screamed, like I never have before in my life. Down the corridors doors opened. Guests in nightcaps and gowns tumbled out of their rooms, cross and groggy. Among them were my friends. Ahmed quickly understood my story and a bellboy, who had been asleep in the corridor, was dispatched to find the gardener. Minutes later he returned with the man and we all followed him into my bedroom.

The cobra had curled up and gone to sleep in the middle of my bed as peacefully as a kitten. It gleamed against the white sheets; hard to believe now that I had been so scared of it. We watched as the gardener picked it up with a forked stick, holding it away from his body. Now we could see the splendid snake in its true light. It writhed and hissed furiously, spitting venom in a poisonous spray. The gardener was cool as anything, he flicked it with his finger and suddenly it went all limp. The snake was unconscious.