The Mummy Smugglers of Crumblin Castle

by Pamela Rushby

  “My dears, won’t you take a day or two off to recover from the journey?” urged Great-aunt Iphigenia. “You could simply rest, or visit the pyramids. There is much to see in Cairo. You shouldn’t miss it.”

  “But we are here to work, to find a source of –” began Edwina Raven.

  Heads turned from tables around them, and eyes fixed sharply with immediate interest, even before Edgar Raven uttered an urgent, “Shhh!”

  Edwina Raven bit her lip. “I do beg your pardon,” she said.

  “I think we cannot be too careful,” Great-uncle Sisyphus said gravely. “I listened closely to the talk in the lounge last night. There are many rumours and whispers about tombs and treasures, hints of government officials who might be open to, um, offers, and others who definitely would not. One of the dahabiyas that returned from Luxor yesterday is reputed to have a mummy on board. We are, I fear, not the only ones on our particular search. And the government officials are said to be particularly vigilant.”

  There was silence around the table.

  “Nevertheless,” said Edgar Raven at last, “we must, I think, try to discover what we can in Cairo. We will be cautious in our enquiries.”

  “Very well,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “If I cannot persuade you to have a day’s rest, then perhaps you will report back to us at dinner? In the meantime, I think Hattie should certainly see the pyramids. For the sake of her education, of course.”

  The Ravens set off in a carriage pulled by a skinny horse, with a driver who assured them that he most certainly, sir, knew all the addresses on their list.

  Hattie, Great-uncle Sisyphus and Great-aunt Iphigenia set off in another carriage, with a driver who assured them that he most certainly, sir, knew the way to the pyramids and that his horse was the fastest and best in Cairo.

  They passed slowly through teeming streets, the traffic holding them back, but as they drove further from the centre of the city the driver encouraged the horse to speed up. Hattie had seen the pyramids from afar, from the train, and their small, shadowy outlines were familiar to her. Now, as they passed out of the city and reached the edge of the desert, the horse began a long pull up a slope of sand that led to the Giza plateau. The pyramids grew larger and larger. They loomed over the landscape; they shut out the sky. Hattie’s head tilted back and back until she had to clutch at her solar topee to keep it from toppling off, and the Great Pyramid of Cheops filled the whole horizon.

  “Ohhh,” said Hattie.

  When she finally lowered her gaze to look around, she counted nine small pyramids, set in a landscape of sand and rock, pocked with holes that were, Great-aunt Iphigenia told her, open graves.

  “Those other two large pyramids are the pyramids of Chephren and Mycerinus,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “The smaller ones are those of queens and nobles.”

  “They look like – like staircases,” said Hattie. “I thought the sides were smooth.”

  “They do indeed look like staircases. That’s because their outer, smooth covering stones were carried away many years ago,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Apart from, as you see –” he pointed upwards, “a little at the top of the pyramid of Chephren.”

  “Over there,” pointed out Great-aunt Iphigenia, “is the Sphinx. In that hollow. It’s not been fully excavated.”

  “Can we get out? Can we look at the pyramids?” urged Hattie.

  “Of course. Come along.”

  They trudged across the plateau, Great-uncle Sisyphus having some difficulty with his walking stick sinking into the soft sand. The pyramids seemed to grow larger with every step they took. When they finally reached the pyramid of Cheops and gratefully stood in its shade, the lowest blocks were enormous – well over Hattie’s head.

  Egyptians in long robes clustered around them. “You climb the pyramid? I am the best guide!”

  “You buy water?”

  “You wish to see the tombs? Come with me!”

  “You can climb the pyramid?” said Hattie. She gazed up at its huge bulk.

  “Yes, indeed you can. Look up there. You’ll see people doing it,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  “Can we climb it?”

  “You might be able to,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “I fear it’s too much for me now.”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia looked up and smiled. “But we did it when we were younger.”

  “Indeed we did. A magnificent view from the top, I recall.”

  “Can I?” Hattie couldn’t wait. “Can I? Please?”

  Great-uncle Sisyphus pondered a moment. He beckoned to one of the hopeful guides. They spoke in Arabic.

  “What’s he saying?” Hattie asked Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  “He’s telling the guide that the little miss wishes to climb the pyramid. He’s telling him to take great care of you. He’s paying some money. And he’s saying there will be more when you’re safely down,” Great-aunt Iphigenia translated.

  Hattie stared at her. “You speak Arabic too?”

  “But of course. I’m sure Sisyphus will teach you some now we’re here. For now, you just need to say Hello, that’s salam alekum, it means peace upon you, and when you come down, shukran, that’s thank you.”

  “Salam alekum. Shukran,” Hattie repeated.

  The guide beckoned to her. Hattie smiled at him and carefully said, “Salam alekum.”

  “Wa alekum es salam.” The guide bowed.

  Hattie looked at Great-aunt Iphigenia. “He said and peace upon you,” she translated.

  The guide bent, held out his clasped hands for Hattie to step onto, and threw her lightly up onto the first row of stones.

  It was a long climb. Many of the stones were taller than Hattie and at times she despaired of being able to clamber up onto the next level. The guide, however, knew his business and always showed her a place where she could easily put her feet. Hattie was pleased she was wearing her new linen jacket, divided skirt and long boots. Petticoats would have been greatly in the way. By the time they reached the top level, and Hattie looked up and realised there was only blue sky and white clouds above her, she was sweating, dirty and her knees felt like jelly.

  The guide, already at the top, stretched a hand down to help her. He said something, Hattie had no idea what, but his tone sounded approving. He clapped his hands, grinned widely, and indicated a place where she could sit down.

  Hattie sat, caught her breath, and looked around. She could see . . . forever. The domes and minarets of Cairo were far in the distance. All around stretched vast desert, marked with the dark holes of open tombs and graves. There was no sound but the wind, whining and chill, until a hawk swept over their heads and shrieked a piercing cry. Far away the Nile shone, a ribbon of silver. Hattie stared and stared. She thought she could see, on the distant river, a row of boats moored at the bank, flat-bottomed boats like the one Great-uncle Sisyphus had called a dahabiya.

  The shadow of the pyramid spread itself on the desert below, moving, stretching, sliding over the sand, swallowing up the smaller pyramids as the sun slowly moved across the sky.

  Hattie sighed. “Beautiful,” she said. “Beautiful.”

  The guide had little English, but he seemed to understand. He nodded and smiled. Then he stood up and offered his hand. It was time to go down.

  They reached the base of the pyramid where Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus were waiting. Hattie offered her hand to the guide. “Shukran,” she said. Great-uncle Sisyphus passed him more coins, and he departed happily. Hattie climbed into the carriage and sat down thankfully.

  “We’ll go to the rest house for lemonade, I think, before we make our way back,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “You may like to wash your hands and face, Hattie.”

  The nearby rest house had a shaded verandah set with tables and chairs and a staff used to catering to visitors who had been climbing the pyramids. Hattie was whisked away to a ladies’ room and supplied with warm water, soap and towels. When she returned, Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Si
syphus had a jug of iced lemonade waiting on the table.

  “So how was it?” asked Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  “Amazing. Just amazing.” Hattie described the desert, the hawk, the creeping shadows of the pyramids. “And I think I saw dahabiyas,” she finished. “A lot of dahabiyas, moored on the bank of the river.”

  “Ah. That would be Boulak.” Great-uncle Sisyphus looked at Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Yes. That’s where dahabiyas for hire are tied up. Do you know – I rather think we might take a little drive by Boulak. On the way back. Just to see what might be available. Just in case, you know, we do have to travel up the Nile.”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia smiled. “Just in case. Yes, I think that would be wise. Just in case.”

  Hattie gazed at them over her glass of lemonade. They were itching, she knew, positively itching to have a look at those dahabiyas. Just in case, of course.

  Their driver had no objection to a little detour to Boulak, past the dahabiyas for hire. In fact, he said enthusiastically, he knew many of the owners and captains, and if the sir could describe just what he was looking for, he would be delighted to recommend the perfect craft.

  “No, no, that won’t be necessary,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “We are looking out of curiosity only. We have no need of a dahabiya.”

  The driver eyed Great-uncle Sisyphus and smiled to himself.

  They drove slowly along the row of dahabiyas tied up at the bank at Boulak.

  “So many!” Hattie said. “There must be a hundred boats here! And they’re all alike, apart from the size.” They were. Broad, flat-bottomed, with two furled sails, one at the front and one at the back, and a high deck with cane chairs and an awning above. They looked, Hattie thought, rather like the Noah’s Ark she had found in the attics at Crumblin Castle.

  Sailors came to lean on the railings of the decks as they passed, staring at them, gesturing to them to come aboard.

  Their driver pulled the carriage up beside the largest, most splendid dahabiya of them all. “The best dahabiya on the Nile!” he said proudly. “Spacious. Clean. So clean! The captain, the rais, has many certificates from travellers describing the excellencies of his dahabiya.”

  “What’s the difference between them?” Hattie was confused.

  “Well,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus, “some have hulls made of iron, some of wood. Some can pass up the cataracts, the places with rocks in the river, and some can’t. Some have kitchens, some don’t. The smaller ones may be too light, dangerous in high winds. Some larger ones have as many as eight or ten cabins, far too big for us –”

  “The sir wants a smaller dahabiya?” cried the driver. “That is easy! Come, we will find one!”

  “No, no, not today,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow.”

  The driver did not appear to be at all put out. “Yes, sir, indeed tomorrow. We will find you the perfect dahabiya tomorrow.”

  Not if the Ravens have anything to do with it, Hattie thought. They seemed totally opposed to a long, leisurely journey up the Nile. She wondered if their search for mummies among the dealers in Cairo had been successful.

  “Not one in the whole of Cairo,” said Edgar Raven. He slumped back in his chair.

  There was a short silence. Then, “My, that’s very disappointing,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  Edwina Raven’s dark eyes slid sideways to him. “It is indeed,” she said shortly. She knew he meant nothing of the kind.

  “We tried everywhere,” said Edgar Raven. “Every dealer. They all say the same thing. They are no longer permitted to sell –” He glanced around and coughed. “Ahem. Permitted to sell what we want. For export.”

  “Oh dear. And you’ve had such a long day,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “All those dealers. All those shops. And all for nothing.”

  Edgar Raven paused. It seemed a significant pause. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “But perhaps,” he said, “perhaps not entirely for nothing.”

  Hattie, Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus leaned forward, instantly alert.

  “You mean –?”

  Edgar and Edwina Raven leaned forward as well. Five heads – two white, one brown and two glossy black – almost met over the dining table.

  “As we left the last dealer,” Edgar Raven murmured, “a man followed us out and suggested it would be worth our while to speak to him privately. He hinted that we may well find what we want if we would consider travelling up the Nile. We would need, he said, a good dragoman, a fixer, to assist us. If we should be interested, he suggested we might care to meet him tomorrow. Here is his card.” He produced a small white card from his attache case and handed it to Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus peered at it through his spectacles. “Omar Shaydi,” he said. “Mmm. Shaydi. Shaydi, eh?” He turned the card in his hands. “This address, if I’m not mistaken, is deep in the bazaar.”

  He peered over his glasses at the Ravens. “What do you think?”

  Edgar Raven shrugged in resignation. “It appears that our only course of action, if we are to achieve our aim, is to travel up the Nile. I’m not fully conversant with the ways of doing that, as you are, Sir Sisyphus. The question is, could we achieve our aim if we travel on our own? Or does this, mmm, gentleman, really have access to what we want? And ways of moving it out of the country?”

  “It seems to me that we should at least arrange an appointment with him,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus slowly. “See what he has to say. Do you agree, Iphigenia?”

  “Most certainly,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  When Great-uncle Sisyphus had said “deep in the bazaar”, he had certainly known what he was talking about, Hattie thought, gingerly stepping over a pile of rubbish. They had hired a carriage for the first part of their journey to keep the appointment with Omar Shaydi, but were soon forced to abandon it. The alleys simply became too narrow for the carriage to pass through. The driver had pulled his horse up, shaken his head, and indicated they should all get out. He beckoned to a man lounging against a wall and spoke quickly to him. The man hesitated, then nodded.

  “This man will guide you to where you want to go,” the driver told Great-uncle Sisyphus. “For a few piastres.”

  “Very well.” Great-uncle Sisyphus gave the man an assessing stare and clutched his walking stick firmly. “Lead on then, my good fellow.”

  Their guide led them into even narrower alleys, where no beam of sunlight reached the ground. Tall houses crowded around them, their wooden balconies leaning towards each other until they almost seemed to meet overhead. Shadows moved behind wooden screens on the balconies, and Hattie could feel eyes looking down on them.

  Hattie could have touched the walls of the alley on both sides, just by stretching out her hands. She did not attempt this. The walls of the houses appeared far from clean, and mud and rubbish squelched juicily under her feet. Edwina Raven’s expression grew more and more disapproving with every step. “Where is he taking us?” she muttered.

  “To the Alley of the Well of Bats,” Great-uncle Sisyphus said over his shoulder.

  “You know this area?” Edgar Raven sounded incredulous.

  “Oh yes,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus comfortably. “I know it.”

  “Surely there is no dealer in antiquities in such a place!” exclaimed Edwina Raven.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus thought about it. “Well, not an entirely legitimate dealer in antiquities, certainly,” he said cheerfully.

  They turned a corner and entered an alley that soon opened out to a small square space between the houses. In the middle stood a low stone wall. A well. Water trickled from above it, making a soft, splashing sound. Several women, all in long black robes and holding large earthenware jars, were clustered around it. The women looked up, startled, as the guide and Great-uncle Sisyphus approached them, then seized their jars and disappeared silently, in a flurry of black robes, into doorways and down the alley.

  Hattie looked closely at the well. The
water trickling from the mouth of a stone creature seemed to be clear and fresh. The creature itself was carved into the shape of a bat, with wide spread wings and a malevolent grin on its face. The Alley of the Well of Bats, Hattie thought. She wondered if, perhaps, many of the creatures lived in the depths of the well, then stepped back quickly in case they did, and decided to fly out.

  The man leading them stopped in front of a battered wooden door set into a wall of the alley, and held out his hand for his piastres. Great-uncle Sisyphus handed him a few coins, and the man checked them quickly, then knocked sharply on the wooden door. “The house of Shaydi,” he said, as it swung open.

  The alley outside had been dirty, smelly and distinctly unpleasant. But inside the door was a courtyard with blue-and-white tiles on the walls. There was a garden. A fountain. Birds fluttering in a large, wicker cage. And a man in a long, sparkling white gallabiya, waiting to greet them.

  “Mr Omar Shaydi,” Edgar Raven informed them.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus stepped forward and bowed his head. “Sisyphus Lambton,” he said. “How do you do?”

  Omar Shaydi bowed deeply. “Your name is well known in Cairo,” he said. “Welcome back, Sir Sisyphus.”

  “May I introduce my sister, the Honourable Iphigenia Lambton, and our great-niece, Miss Hatshepsut Lambton,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “And my sister’s valued assistants, Mr Edgar and Miss Edwina Raven.”

  “Yes,” Omar Shaydi said. “I have met Mister and Miss Raven. We have had brief discussions.”

  He gestured to a wooden staircase that clung to the side of the building, leading to a covered verandah overlooking the courtyard. “Please. Come, sit down. I will call for tea. We have much to discuss.”

  The discussion went on for hours. Hattie tried to follow it all, but she was distracted by the house. It was an unusual house, a beautiful house, from what she could see. She stretched her neck, trying to get a glimpse of the rooms beyond the verandah. And what, she wondered, could be up the stairs that continued past the verandah? She would so like to explore! Perhaps they led to a flat roof, that would look out over the alleys of the bazaar? Were there mummies stored in some of those rooms that she could distantly see? No, she decided, there could be no mummies in this house. If there were mummies here, surely Omar Shaydi would simply sell them to Great-aunt Iphigenia?