by Joseph Gatch
“Clearly, sir.”
“Now, first things first.” Phineas looked around and spotted an outside café. “I need coffee.”
After being seated and ordering, Phineas looked at his subject.
“Now, who are you and what do you know about Steamhotep?”
“I am…Ishaq,” the foreigner stated via Sweepio. “I came from Luxor, after I saw that the one called Cavanaugh had unearthed Steamhotep’s tomb. There is a legend among my people about a great builder. He created machines for the pharaohs to erect monuments and palaces for them…and it is said that he dreamed of everlasting life.”
“What happened to him?”
“No one knows. It is said that he became obsessed with immortality…others say he wished to rule the kingdom. It all depends on who you ask. But, one thing is for sure…that the warning on the sarcophagus was to be heeded at all costs.”
“How could he still live?” asked Phineas. “I examined him myself. He has no organs, he’s decaying as we speak…there is just no scientific proof to back up this ‘curse’.”
“Where science fails, the gods prevail. It is said that the power of Anubis himself flows through Steamhotep. I watched you yesterday. You saw the heart of Steamhotep.”
“Yes…like nothing I have ever seen before.”
“He created everything within him with science…and magic.”
“Bah…no such thing.” Phineas took a sip of his coffee. “Do you know who killed Cavanaugh and Burke?”
“Only that there is a cult…”
“Now there’s a cult?” muttered William.
“…that wishes to bring back the glory of the old empire. Steamhotep could bring about that glory with his genius. I, Ishaq, have been entrusted by my people to see that this does not happen. Please, you must help me.”
“If we do not stop this cult…what then?” asked Phineas.
“I do not know. Only that despair will follow,” finished Ishaq.
“So, do you have some sort of holy army at your disposal?” asked Phineas.
“No.”
“A mystic weapon that can slay the undead? A magic lamp?”
“No. Where do you come up with these ideas? Do you think that because we have old gods, we are all a bunch of magicians? I am insulted by these stereotypes that you throw around. Do I come here and ask you where your six-shooter is, cowboy? Do you even have a gun?”
“He has a rifle that makes monsters vomit,” said William.
“And this works?” asked Ishaq.
“Not really, no,” answered Phineas. “Look, we need some way to stop him if this is as bad as you say. Don’t you have any ideas?”
“I am making this up as I go,” Ishaq humbly replied.
“Great. Let me guess…when you say that you were entrusted by your people, what you really meant was that no one else wanted to do it, and you drew the short straw.”
“Yes. I did.”
A shadow passed over the café, and Phineas looked up. High above, an Imperial Airship hovered over them, its engines silent. An antennae array was lowered from the cabin.
“I think…that we are not the only ones intent on finding our wayward mummy.” Phineas stood up and looked at the Zeppelin. Whether he was addressing his companions or challenging those listening above, he wasn’t sure himself. “The race is on, gentlemen.”
EPISODE
8
The city of New York…its citizens going about their collective lives and completely ignorant of what transpires within its midst. Somewhere among the burrows, buried within the factories, warehouses, and bistros, in the shelter of an obscure basement, a key is inserted and turned. Once, twice, and then a last fateful click that signals a new beginning. A circle of hooded figures begin chanting…an ancient ritual passed down through the millennia.
On a day where visibility was unusually clear, free from haze and smog, a disturbance was reported. A single focal point of clouds began to form and swirl. Darkness suddenly fell across a section of the city, blocking out the sun. The wind picked up, churning around a Brownstone, blowing papers, hats, and signs in a vortex that increased speed until a visible tornadic funnel spun, held in place by unseen forces. Lightning spat sporadically, reaching out to metallic receptors around the building. People ran for cover in the vicinity, while those outside the affected area watched in awe as the spectacle unfolded.
Phineas, William, and Ishaq—with the automaton’s head still secure around his neck—witnessed the phenomenon from the rooftop of a building adjacent to the café that they had vacated to view the occurrence. To their rear, the Imperial zeppelin beat a hasty retreat from the storm, much to Phineas’ delight.
“All right,” said William, “who was that and what is that?”
Phineas raised an arm towards the airship. “State Security and…something really bad,” he finished by raising the other arm towards the storm.
“Oh, that clears everything up,” William said sarcastically. “Why would I.S.S. be interested in us?”
“Probably because we know about the mummy and there is something that has caught their attention about him.” Phineas looked to Ishaq. “Is this what you expected to happen if the key was turned?”
“No…this is much worse,” came Ishaq’s translated reply from the automaton.
“Well, that is comforting,” William quipped. “Where to now?”
Phineas, with his eye on the disturbance, replied, “There. We need to find the mummy.”
“I was afraid that you would say that,” sighed William.
Heading towards the stationary tornado was much more difficult than they had imagined. First of all, no cabbies, live or mechanical, would take them in the direction of the vortex, and the trio had to run the entire distance. Then, as they drew closer to the epicenter, they were faced by an onrushing mob, determined to flee the area.
When they were approximately half-way there, the winds subsided, and slowly, the mob began to stop panicking and it was easier to cut through the throng of people.
When they reached their destination, clearly discernible by the amount of debris and damage in the area, Phineas did a quick scan of the sky, looking for the zeppelin. When nothing presented itself above or in their vicinity, Phineas decided that it was safe to proceed.
As they started up the steps of the Brownstone, William put his hand on Phineas’ shoulder. “Wait. Why do you think this is the right place?”
Phineas looked around. “See all of these buildings? What makes this one different from all the rest?”
“They all look the same to me. All the windows are smashed, and it looks like they were beaten with flying debris.”
“Except this one,” Phineas explained. “This one has the windows smashed out and, whereas the others are battered and brickwork pushed inward, this one’s walls distinctly bow outwards. The force of the storm originated here; and it is here where we will find our mummy.”
“But, do we really want to find it? You heard our friend here. This is a lot worse than he expected.”
“If we don’t find him, someone else will. If you think this is bad on its own, what do you think would happen if Grant or Victoria got their hands on him?”
“At least he would be safe from harming the public in the government’s hands.”
“Those fops could make a simple can-opener lethal. They…” Phineas stopped both verbally and physically as they entered the building.
As one, their heads looked up at the hole in the building stretching from the basement up through the roof. The entire interior was gutted. Floors, walls, doors, and all furnishings were pulverized and embedded into the outer walls, creating a bizarre mosaic that spiraled downwards. Their gaze returned to the basement where, in the center of the floor, lay a solitary figure…wearing a red fez.
“Help me down,” said Phineas as he turned to grab hold of the edge.
William took his hand and lowered him into the basement.
Once down, Phineas
approached the body and turned it over. “Well, I’m pretty sure that this is the fellow who conked me.”
“Is he alive?” William asked. “Can he tell you where the mummy is?”
“Doubtful. He’s dead…his throat is crushed.”
“Our murderer, again?”
“No,” replied Phineas grimly. “I have a feeling that he is the one who killed Cavanaugh and his assistant. Look here.” He pulled a wrench from the man’s belt and held it up toward the hole above him for William and Ishaq to see. “This is the same size as the one used in the murders. It looks as if he received a taste of his own medicine.” Phineas knelt down and ran his finger over the man’s throat. Unlike Cavanaugh and Burke’s injuries, the marks on this man’s throat were flat and without the toothed edge of the man’s wrench. As he stood, Phineas looked up at the walls. “There were others here, too,” he said, pointing at long red smears circling the room. “They became part of the décor when the tornado came down.”
Pushed off to the side of the room, a lone table was knocked on its side. Phineas walked over to it and turned it over. There was a charred outline of a body on the top of it and pieces of melted wax and cloth stuck to it.
“Our mummy was definitely in this basement.”
“From up here, it looks like your sidewalk,” stated William.
Phineas growled something and shook his head. He looked around the floor and then quickly moved to the back of the room where he found stone steps leading outside. A few moments later, he returned.
“There is a trail of scrap and paraffin going out the back way.” Phineas dusted off his hands and then ran them through his hair. Looking up, he tried to keep a straight face. “I never thought that I would say this, but…it seems that we have a mummy on the loose on the streets of New York.”
EPISODE
9
After sending a message to Inspector Manifold with the location of his killer, Phineas, William, and Ishaq checked the area for any signs of their wayward mummy.
“If you were a three-thousand-year-old mummy wandering around the streets of nineteenth-century New York, where would you go?” asked Phineas.
“The museum?” answered William questioningly.
“He wouldn’t know what a museum was. Ishaq? Any ideas from you?”
“Nothing. I am still shaking in fear that he is alive.”
“Well, you two are of no use. We must think logically. Obviously, he did not go the way that we came, or we would have heard screams of panic…well, more than we heard, anyway.” Phineas began pacing behind the remains of the Brownstone. “A man out of time,” he muttered. “He comes up these stairs…he is faced with a new environment…he’s an architect. If he wants to find out where he is, he goes…”
A clock chimed in the not too far distance.
Phineas smiled and whirled around, pointing to a tower rising above the rooftops. “There! How long have we been here?”
William checked his watch, which seemed redundant to Phineas since the tower was within plain sight. “About twenty minutes, I would guess.”
“And he would have been coming out of the cellar at approximately four o’clock. If you were an ancient mummy engineer, wouldn’t you be interested in something that goes ‘bong’?”
“I know that you would,” replied William.
“Precisely! And that is where we will find him. Come along, you two. It seems that time is on our side after all.”
The thrum of the airship’s engines made its presence known. Three sets of eyes looked up, trying to see how far away it was.
“It looks to me as if time has run out,” mentioned William as the nose of the airship appeared over the building.
“We need to run. Keep under as much cover as you can and don’t make a sound,” said Phineas.
Above, several lines dropped from the deck of the airship, and helmeted figures clad in black uniforms began sliding down the ropes towards the gutted Brownstone. Meanwhile, the trio made their way towards the clock tower, keeping quiet and frequently checking over their shoulders for any sign of pursuit.
“Do you think they saw us?” asked William once they were at the door of what turned out to be a huge clockworks factory.
“It doesn’t seem so,” said Phineas. “However, keep your guard up.”
“Could he really be here?” asked Ishaq nervously.
Phineas’ eyes were drawn to the door’s handle where a scrap of resin-coated cloth hung from it. “I would say that I was right…as usual. We must be careful not to scare him.” Phineas opened the door and went inside.
“Scare him? What about scaring us?” asked William.
“I am not liking this,” stated the Egyptian as he followed them in. It was becoming so customary for the automaton around Ishaq’s neck to translate for him, that it was almost easy to forget they weren’t always a package deal. “We will surely find despair inside.”
“Will you please stop with the despair, already?” hissed William. “You’re making me…despair.”
“See,” replied Ishaq, “it is starting already.”
“We are all doomed!” Sweepio’s head added in a haunting tone, mocking both men. There was a muffled ‘clunk’ as William smacked the interpreter, sending it swinging into the doorframe.
The interior was deserted since it was the weekend. The large room that served as the entrance was also the base of the tower. It was littered with gears and shelving that housed crates filled with all manner of parts used in the construction of clocks.
Phineas was in a state of elation being in such proximity to the trade of his father. He could name every piece he saw, and explain what each was used for and what the exact placement of every part should be.
“Do you see him?” asked William.
“No,” Phineas answered as he was shaken from his past. “He wouldn’t be down here.” He looked upwards, through the stairwell, straining his eyes to see the top of the tower. “Up there…that’s where I would go to get a better look at the mechanism and the city.” He led the way up the stairwell, trying to be quiet; however, the dry timbers creaked and groaned with each step they took.
William was panting by the time they reached the top. “That’s it. No more pastries for me,” he said to himself.
The room was filled with the noise of the clockwork’s gears while the setting sun’s light streamed through the stained glass of the clock-face, illuminating the dust that was stirred up from the breeze flowing through the tower. A shadow darted across one of the beams of light, stopping the trio in their tracks.
“Hello?” called out Phineas.
“What are you doing?” whispered William.
Phineas waved him off. “Hello?” he called again.
There was a shuffling in the corner and a clang as something was knocked over. Then, a clicking sound came from behind them, and Phineas realized that it was the sound of Ishaq’s teeth chattering. Phineas turned his attention back to the corner. Slowly, from behind some crates, a figure emerged. Strips of cloth hung from its arms as they stretched out towards the men. A raspy voice, like dry pieces of paper being rubbed together, said something incomprehensible, and an ancient wrench came up, pointing at Phineas.
A scream of terror went up from the stairwell, followed by a thud and the sound of footsteps charging down the stairs. Ishaq had thrown down his translator and fled in terror.
“Poor boy has lost his head,” said Phineas. “Retrieve that for me, will you, William?” he asked, indicating Sweepio. He kept his eye on their dehydrated disciple of Ra while William cautiously retrieved the head.
The mummy again said something, but made no attempt to throttle either of them.
“What’s he saying?” asked William as he returned to Phineas’ side.
“Again? Have I learned Egyptian in the last few hours? I think not,” Phineas scolded. “Besides, our friend has fled. No chance of knowing now.”
“Excuse me, sir,” interjected Sweepio’s head, “but
I may be able to translate. It is, after all, a dialect that can be extrapolated from combining several currently used languages native to that region—”
“All right, just shut up and tell me what he’s saying,” snapped Phineas.
“He is saying: ‘Help me. Please, end my curse’.”
EPISODE
10
Steamhotep, a man from the past, in defiance of all that was logical, scientific, and of common sense, was standing before Phineas Frakture asking for help. Phineas, though dumbfounded as to why this was the case, refused to submit to doubt, denial, or fear as so many would do if they were in the same position.
“He wishes your help, sir,” repeated Sweepio’s head.
“I heard you the first time.” Phineas took the head from William and held it out to Steamhotep. “Translate. Do you understand me?”
After a few misinterpretations on Sweepio’s part and discovering that the cattle will be ferried down the Nile in the springtime, communication was finally established.
Steamhotep took the head and turned it over in his hand. Deftly, he opened the back panel and inserted his fingers.
“Oh, my,” was the only thing Sweepio said before his voice became chillingly unfamiliar.
Steamhotep manipulated the keys inside the head, making Sweepio an extension of himself. Phineas was amazed at how quickly and how easily the mummy adapted to the technology. The voice from the head, speaking with a thick accent, began its tale.
“My name is Steamhotep…”
The bright morning sun’s rays streamed through the open window, bathing a scale model of what would become the grand city of Thebes. Steamhotep, architect to the Pharaoh and Gods, strolled around the model, admiring his vision. This city would be the greatest in all the land. It would also be his final project. After this, he would retire from Pharaoh’s service, and he would take his beloved Amisi and live a life of luxury, looking out upon the jewel he had created. Nothing could be more perfect.
