The Mummy Smugglers of Crumblin Castle

by Pamela Rushby

  Hattie, Great-uncle Sisyphus and Great-aunt Iphigenia waited for more.

  “No. Mummies,” Edwina Raven hissed.

  “You mean, none at the moment?” questioned Great-aunt Iphigenia. “That’s unusual, there are always mummies, but I’m sure some will become available soon.”

  “No.” Edgar Raven was clearly finding it difficult to control himself. “That is not the case. There are no mummies. And there will be no more.”

  There was silence.

  “What has happened?” asked Great-aunt Iphigenia at last.

  “The Egyptian government has happened,” said Edgar Raven. “The Egyptian government has decided that the export of mummies is no longer to be allowed. It has become concerned about the amount of antiquities leaving Egypt. Strict regulations have been put in place.”

  “We went to every dealer,” said Edwina Raven. “Every dealer. Even the ones we’ve rarely used in the past. That’s why we needed the address of Peabody and Pruitt, they were our last hope. But not one of them – not one – had mummies. And they all said they do not expect to have any in the future.”

  “Then – then what shall we do?” faltered Great-aunt Iphigenia. “We must have mummies to continue the unwrappings.”

  The windows rattled as the wind pounded against them, moaning to be let in.

  Hattie thought of what the wind must be doing to Crumblin Castle. Wrenching off roof slates, sending soot cascading down neglected and unswept chimneys, shaking unstable turrets like terriers with rats. They needed money from the unwrapping parties to repair the castle. Not to mention to feed them all, and pay the Ravens’ salaries. Not that Hattie was too concerned about that, but the Ravens were necessary for the smooth running of the unwrapping parties.

  “What can be done?” asked Great-uncle Sisyphus. His voice shook a little. “If there are no more unwrapping parties, there will be very little income. Must we leave the castle? There have been Lambtons at Crumblin Castle for over eight hundred years.”

  “There is nothing that can be done,” said Edgar Raven. “Antiquities dealers in Egypt can no longer export mummies. Antiquities dealers in London can no longer buy them. Tourists and travellers can no longer come home from Egypt with a mummy as a souvenir. It is all illegal.”

  “No, there is nothing that can be done,” said Edwina Raven. She paused and looked at Great-aunt Iphigenia contemplatively, her head on one side, eyes as fixed and ruthless, Hattie thought, as a black bird about to pounce on a worm. “Unless . . .” added Edwina Raven.

  “Unless . . .” said Edgar Raven.

  “Unless?” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  “Unless,” said Edgar Raven, “we go to Egypt. And find a source of mummies ourselves.”

  The wind succeeded in forcing its way down the chimney and a large cloud of smoke billowed out from the fireplace. No one paid any attention to it.

  “Go to Egypt? Find a source of mummies for ourselves? But – wouldn’t that now be – um, illegal?” ventured Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  No one spoke. The Ravens simply stared at Great-aunt Iphigenia with glittering dark eyes.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus coughed. “Illegal? Well, yes, actually it would be,” he said. “Quite illegal. Dear me. Couldn’t be thought of. Of course it couldn’t. But – but –” His eyes suddenly glowed. “A journey to Egypt,” he whispered. “Egypt, again. A boat, a dahabiya, sailing up the Nile. A thousand miles up the Nile, seeking manuscripts, artefacts, mummies. An adventure. Oh, a wonderful adventure!”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia stared at him. “Oh, Sisyphus,” she breathed. “Think of it. Such an adventure!” She suddenly seemed to recall that she was a law-abiding citizen. Her back straightened. Her voice changed. “Illegal. Quite illegal. We could not consider such a course of action, not for a moment. No, indeed. But –” Her voice changed again. “Oh, but Egypt . . . the Nile . . .”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus stared at each other, eyebrows raised. They held each other’s gaze for a few long seconds. Then, as one, they turned to the Ravens.

  “We’ll do it!”

  “You’ll – go to Egypt?” said Hattie, amazed.

  “Yes. Yes. It’s quite wrong – of course it is. But we’ll go to Egypt. All of us!”

  The Ravens said nothing. They appeared thunderstruck.

  “All of us?” Hattie couldn’t believe it. She had always longed to see Egypt. The very name held a strange magic for her. Egypt! Where she had been born. Where her parents had so mysteriously and unaccountably disappeared. Egypt! “Me too?” she said hopefully.

  “Of course you too!” Great-aunt Iphigenia beamed at her.

  “And Sekhmet? And the kittens?” Hattie wanted to get it all quite straight.

  “Ah well, no, not Sekhmet and the kittens,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Sekhmet never leaves the castle, you see. Never.”

  “But the rest of us – yes!” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  The Ravens stood up. They appeared utterly confounded.

  “We meant – we meant –” stammered Edwina Raven.

  “We meant that we would go,” said Edgar Raven hurriedly. “Such a long journey. So arduous. So perilous. Surely too much for Sir Sisyphus. And no place for a child.”

  “Stuff and nonsense, my dear Edgar!” said Great-uncle Sisyphus sturdily. “I’ve spent years in Egypt. Hattie was born there. We’ll be fine. Absolutely fine.”

  “So considerate of you,” Great-aunt Iphigenia said to the Ravens. “But I couldn’t possibly place all the responsibility on your shoulders. We will certainly all go.” Her face went dreamy again. “Oh, Egypt. How wonderful it will be to see it again.”

  The Ravens scowled and seethed. Great-aunt Iphigenia beamed sunnily at them. “You’ll make the arrangements, of course? Always so efficient!” She turned back to Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Think of the places we’ll see again . . .”

  Hattie watched as the Ravens glared at each other. They were not pleased, definitely not pleased. But there was no doubt about it: they were, all of them, going to Egypt, to search for mummies and attempt to bring them back.

  Illegally.

  To England.

  The Ravens did their best, over the next few days, to discourage Great-uncle Sisyphus and Great-aunt Iphigenia from travelling to Egypt. Hattie heard a little of what they muttered to each other. It would be so much easier if they went alone! They could certainly have managed all the finances. They might even have made enough to leave the castle and the Lambtons altogether, to retire. Serve the Lambtons right! Hattie was not sure what it all meant, or what the Ravens had planned, but they were obviously most displeased that they would not be travelling to Egypt alone. They outlined, in great detail, the discomforts, the dangers, the total unsuitability of the plan.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus and Great-aunt Iphigenia were oblivious. They continued to talk excitedly, twittering like birds, about all the wonderful things they had seen and done in Egypt in years gone by, and how they couldn’t wait, just couldn’t wait, to see and do them all again.

  In the end, the Ravens simply had to accept that they were all going. With very bad grace, but their usual efficiency, they applied themselves to making the arrangements. Passages on boats and tickets on trains were requested and confirmed. Trunks, dusty with age and covered with faded labels, were dragged down from attics, and clothing suitable for Egypt retrieved from them. Sturdy boots, solar topees and hats fitted with fly netting. They were old-fashioned – Great-uncle Sisyphus and Great-aunt Iphigenia had worn them many years before – but they were still perfectly serviceable.

  “You will need suitable clothing for Egypt, Hattie,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “The blouses and skirts you wore for school are quite suitable for Crumblin Castle, but you will need divided skirts and linen jackets for exploring tombs and temples. Boots, too, sturdy boots. And of course some evening dresses.”

  “Evening dresses?” said Hattie. “Why would I need those for temples and tombs?”

  Gr
eat-aunt Iphigenia smiled. “Indeed you won’t. But we will be staying in some rather smart hotels at times, and you will of course dress for dinner. Yes, definitely some evening dresses.”

  So the dresses were ordered, and soon arrived. Soft muslins in pastel colours, frilled and beribboned, with layers of petticoats under them. Delighted, Hattie tried one on and ran to show Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  Hattie was surprised to find Great-uncle Sisyphus, wearing his solar topee, sitting in the drawing room with a bottle of oil beside him, cleaning two very deadly looking revolvers.

  “Guns?” she said. “Who do they belong to? Do we need guns?”

  “The large one is mine,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus, holding it out at arm’s length and peering down the length of the barrel. “The smaller one is your great-aunt’s. A ladies’ gun.”

  “But do we really need guns?” asked Hattie. “What for?”

  “You never know,” replied Great-uncle Sisyphus vaguely. “Crocodiles, you know. Robbers. There may be robbers.”

  Hattie looked at him uncertainly. But aren’t we the robbers? she thought.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus suddenly seemed to be struck with a notion. “Can you fire a revolver, Hattie?”

  “Well, no,” Hattie admitted. It certainly hadn’t been on the curriculum at Miss Fractious’ Boarding Establishment for Young Ladies.

  “A Lambton who can’t fire a revolver!” tutted Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Well, we’d better go up to the roof right now and put that right.”

  They spent an hour on the roof, firing at targets propped up on the battlements. By the end of it, Hattie, using Great-aunt Iphigenia’s small pearl-handled revolver, could get passably near the centre of the target at least half the time. “A little more practice and you’ll be doing well,” Great-uncle Sisyphus assured her.

  It was one thing to fire at a target, Hattie thought, but she was unsure how she’d cope with firing at a crocodile. Or a robber. Well, time enough to worry about that if she ever had to.

  The last parcels and bundles arrived from London, with boots and hats and solar topees for Hattie and the Ravens. Trunks were packed. Sekhmet sent up a last, splendid dinner, and a last, splendid breakfast. And on a day when the mist lay low and curled around their ankles, they set off. At the door, Hattie bent down and gathered up an armful of kittens. They purred and scrambled around her shoulders, around her neck, up and down her back. Hattie could hardly bear to leave them. Finally, Sekhmet signalled to her to put them down. The kittens tumbled into a group behind Sekhmet as the cart with all the luggage lurched away, and the carriage with Great-aunt Iphigenia, Great-uncle Sisyphus, Hattie and the Ravens followed it.

  Out of the courtyard, over the bridge, along the road to Ely they went, as crocodiles and hippopotamuses slid their heads out of the marshes to see them go by. Hattie looked back as the castle was swallowed up by the mist. She was sorry, very sorry, to be leaving Sekhmet and the kittens, but oh – the adventure they were setting out on!

  It was a long journey. Train to London and then to Dover. A ferry over the Channel to Calais. Train again to Paris, across France, and then into Italy. Turin. Bologna. Brindisi. A ship to Alexandria. And they were in Egypt!

  At Alexandria, their luggage was loaded onto a train again. They took their seats in a carriage with starched lace curtains, and Egyptian servants in crisp white uniforms offered tea and cold drinks. Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus were alight with excitement, pointing out villages with houses made of dried mud, hardly distinguishable from the colour of the desert they stood on. They passed low, sprawling black tents of Bedouins, surrounded by herds of scrawny goats and sheep. The train shrieked by marshes choked with tall, feathery papyrus plants, with long-necked white birds stalking along the edges. In the fields, men in long robes – “The fellahin,” Great-uncle Sisyphus said they were called – worked at ploughing, driving supercilious-looking camels before them. Other fellahin wielded long-handled hoes, and raised water from canals with buckets on the end of long poles. Far in the distance, triangular shapes came into view. The pyramids.

  “Do you remember any of this, Hattie?” Great-aunt Iphigenia asked. “You were very young when you left Egypt, of course. Perhaps you don’t.”

  But Hattie did remember, though very vaguely. She remembered the burning blue sky, the rustle of fronds of date palms, the no-colour of desert and villages, the sudden welcome glassy flash of water in marsh and river. The smell of dry, dry earth and sand, of water, of strangely familiar vegetation. Most of all, she had a feeling that she belonged here. She had so loved feeling at home in Crumblin Castle, after enduring school and Howling Hall, and here was that feeling again.

  “Yes,” she said. “I think I do remember a little. And – and I feel I belong here. It’s the way it all smells, I think. It smells so familiar, so real. Isn’t that strange?”

  “Not at all. Odours are one of the greatest memory triggers of all. And you’re a Lambton. Lambtons have always travelled in Egypt. Of course you remember, of course you belong here,” beamed Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  The Ravens sat, straight and stiff, studying papers they had brought with them in Edgar Raven’s attache case. Occasionally, they glanced indifferently out of the train windows. It was clear Egypt held no magic for them. They were here to do business, and the sooner they could do that business and leave, the better.

  “Perhaps we’ll be able to get what we want in Cairo,” Edwina Raven said. She brushed dust off her sleeve fastidiously. “There may be places in Cairo, dealers –”

  Edgar Raven frowned, and glanced pointedly at the white-uniformed servant bringing tea. “Hush. Remember.”

  Edwina Raven flushed and nodded. “I meant only that perhaps it won’t be necessary to travel far.”

  “Not travel far?” Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus looked horrified. “Well, that would be convenient, of course. If we can find what we need in Cairo. Although, now we’re here . . .” They obviously meant to travel as far, and see as much, as they could.

  Edwina Raven sighed and looked discontented.

  The railway station in Cairo was crowded and chaotic. People thronged the platform as the train drew in, searching for carriages, dragging luggage and bundles, trying to sell their wares. Edwina Raven’s eyes grew huge and round as a water-seller passed by, the water container slung over his back the skin of a goat with legs still attached, and a brass tap attached where the head used to be. They grew even rounder when she noticed a snake charmer sitting against the wall of the station, a cobra rising and swaying from the basket between his feet as he played a pipe. “It’s quite all right, my dear,” murmured Great-aunt Iphigenia. “The snakes have no fangs.”

  Almost as soon as they set foot on the platform, the party was met by a very efficient representative from the famous Shepheard’s Hotel. He brushed aside the water-seller, sent the hopeful sellers of sweets, bread and trinkets on their way, and took charge. He had a carriage waiting.

  They drove through narrow streets with two- and three-storeyed buildings on each side, with windows made of lattice-work looking like birdcages attached to the walls. Some of the streets were roofed with matting, which shaded the ground below, allowing just a few beams of dazzling sunlight to make their way to the cobblestones.

  Others were lined with little shops, just wide enough to allow the owner to sit cross-legged in front, goods in brilliant colours piled up behind him. People crowded and pushed by, dressed in a wide variety of costumes and colours. Hattie stared and stared. Great-uncle Sisyphus pointed out the different people, in their distinctive styles of dress. Syrians in baggy trousers and braided jackets; barefooted Egyptians in long robes; other Egyptians in smart western-style suits but with tasselled red hats on their heads; Greeks in white tunics; Bedouins in flowing black cloaks and checked head coverings; veiled women with only their flashing eyes visible. A babble of voices and languages arose all around.

  Abruptly, the carriage left the narrow streets and em
erged onto wide boulevards where Europeans rode in carriages and on horses, and strolled along wide promenades beside the river. “Not far now,” their escort said.

  Their hotel was busy. It was the height of the winter season. “Many, many people come to Egypt now,” their escort assured them. “The hotel is very full.”

  He was right. The lobby and lounge were crowded, people thronging around the reception desk, sitting and drinking tea, following trolleys loaded with luggage. English, German and French babble arose on all sides. Invalids with grey, lined faces sat in wicker bathchairs. Artists stood on the terrace, painting the scenes before them. Sportsmen strode by followed by porters bowed down under the weight of gun cases. Ladies compared the bargains they’d picked up in the bazaars. Sun-browned archaeologists stood in corners and spoke in low voices about temples and tombs. A uniformed Egyptian boy walked by, holding a long staff jingling with bells, calling out, “Message for Colonel Urquhart, message for Colonel Urquhart.”

  Through glass doors leading to a terrace, Hattie could see the river. The Nile. Small boats passed, dazzling white sails stretched taut against the breeze. Larger boats drifted by, wide and ungainly, with flat decks shaded by awnings where people in light, linen clothes and solar topees sat on cane chairs and languidly admired the scenery.

  “That’s a dahabiya, that flat-bottomed boat,” Great-uncle Sisyphus said, his eyes following it. “That’s the kind of boat we’d use to travel up the Nile.”

  Edwina Raven shot Great-uncle Sisyphus a glittering dark look. “If that trip should prove to be quite necessary, Sir Sisyphus,” she said.

  “Of course,” Great-uncle Sisyphus assured her. “If.” But he gave Hattie a broad wink.

  The Ravens wasted no time. The next morning, over breakfast, they showed Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus a list of the dealers they intended to visit. “We will begin today,” said Edgar Raven, tucking the list back into his attache case.