The Mummy Smugglers of Crumblin Castle

by Pamela Rushby

  The footsteps stopped at their compartment. Hattie had a sudden, violent urge to sneeze. She held her nose tightly. The train company must never sweep under the seats, she thought indignantly. Disgraceful, for a first-class carriage!

  “Empty,” said Edgar Raven.

  “Then the next carriage,” urged Edwina Raven. “Hurry, the train is leaving!”

  The footsteps died away down the corridor. But they would come back, Hattie knew. And, with the train now pulling out of the station, the Ravens would have the whole journey to search it thoroughly. She couldn’t stay here. But where else could she go? The only place they could all hide with safety, where they could lock themselves in, was – the lavatory.

  Hattie crawled out, got to her feet and peered cautiously down the corridor. No Ravens. Hurry! She must hurry! She tugged the mummy case out from under the seat and eased open the door of the compartment. With Sekhmet close behind her she rushed down the swaying corridor, located the lavatory, opened the door – thank heaven, no one was using it – and plunged in. She locked the door securely behind them. Safe. For the moment. But, she thought uneasily, wouldn’t the Ravens suspect a lavatory door that remained locked for the entire journey?

  Sekhmet nodded her head towards two small signs swinging on string loops from hooks on the wall. OCCUPIED, one said. And the other, OUT OF ORDER. Yes! Hattie seized the OUT OF ORDER sign, opened the door a crack, and hung the sign outside. Now they should remain undisturbed.

  Girl, mummy and cat remained in the lavatory for the rest of the journey. Hattie took Professor Helman’s card from her coat pocket and studied it carefully. The museum was in Malet Place. Where was that? Hattie did not know London well. But the rail company had considerately placed a framed map of London on the back of the lavatory door, perhaps to entertain passengers while they made use of the adjoining facilities. Studying it, Hattie found the street was in Malet Place, off Euston Road. And that King’s Cross Station, exactly where the Ely train pulled in, was the station for Euston Road. She heaved a sigh of relief. She could walk there. She certainly doubted she would ever have been lucky enough to find another party of schoolgirls going on the right transport to join onto.

  It seemed a long time before she heard the guard walking up and down the corridor, calling, “Next stop, King’s Cross! King’s Cross! All change here!” She was well aware that the Ravens would be watching the passengers alighting from the train very closely.

  “Ready?” she whispered to Sekhmet, as soon as she felt the train begin to slow. Sekhmet inclined her head. Hattie opened the lavatory door and glanced up and down the corridor. Passengers were beginning to stand up and collect their belongings. There was no sign of the Ravens.

  The train slowed again and hissed its way into the station. Well before it was safe to do so, Hattie wrenched the door open, clutched the mummy case securely, and leaped. She hit the platform at speed, running stumbling steps to prevent herself from falling. Sekhmet bounded along beside her. The guard, leaning out at the back of the train, uttered an outraged yell. Passengers’ faces appeared at windows, wondering what the fuss was.

  Hattie, as soon as she had regained her balance, sprinted for the exit, up a flight of stairs. There was the exit from the station, right in front of her. And – no! – there was a gate. And another ticket collector. Hattie knew she would be stopped. She glanced behind her. There was no other way out. Down at the platform, the train had come to a full halt. The carriage doors were swinging open. And, from one of them, the Ravens were staring up at her. Hattie knew she had to run – even faster. But the ticket collector, the gate –

  Sekhmet put on a burst of speed and sprinted ahead. As she reached the ticket collector, she leaped up onto the gate. The ticket collector shouted in surprise and reached out to grab Sekhmet, who jumped to the ground and twisted herself around his legs. The ticket collector shouted again, swayed, and fell. Hattie charged forward, pushed the gate open wide and dashed through it and out onto the street. There was shouting and running behind her, but she was out. But which way? Which way? Hattie looked up and down the unfamiliar street as Sekhmet came bounding out of the station and turned unerringly to the right. That was the way! Euston Road! Clutching the cloaked mummy case, Hattie fled down the street, following Sekhmet’s fast-moving figure.

  It was late in the day. Dusk was gathering around the buildings and a wispy yellow fog was creeping in. Hattie scattered its choking, evil-smelling tendrils as her feet pounded the footpath. Her hat blew off, her coat fell open, and she thanked heaven she was wearing her light Egyptian costume instead of her usual layers of petticoats. Passers-by stopped in their tracks and stared as an Egyptian princess, carrying a small person enveloped in a hooded cloak, sprinted past them and disappeared down the street.

  Sekhmet turned left, then right, and Hattie followed. Far behind, she could hear shouts of “Stop them!” and “Stop that girl!” The Ravens were on their trail.

  Now, the streets that Hattie and Sekhmet were running through were quieter. If the Ravens caught up with them, there would be no one to see, no one to help. Hattie’s breath was coming in ragged gasps. Her chest felt on fire. She needed to rest.

  Sekhmet glanced back at her and turned abruptly into a narrow underpass. It was dark and quiet in there. Hattie stopped, panting, heaving, her lungs burning. They listened. Silence. A drip of water. Had they managed to outrun the Ravens?

  Sekhmet slunk to the opening to the underpass, listened, and peered out. It appeared safe. She raised an elegant paw and beckoned to Hattie. Not far now, her nod seemed to say. Hattie looked out cautiously. Through the drifting fog, at the next corner, she saw a street sign. Malet Place.

  Hattie stepped out. “We’re nearly there,” she said in relief.

  And from around the corner, behind her, appeared the Ravens. “There!” “She’s there!” “Get her!”

  Hattie ran again. Down the street and around the corner, into Malet Place. But where was the museum? She swung around, looking for a sign, a door, anything. She stumbled on cobblestones. Finally she spotted MUSEUM, a sign on a door with light coming out from glass panes, the only light in the whole area. Hattie regained her balance and made for the door. She raised her hand to pound on it. She was too slow. The Ravens were upon her.

  “Got you!” The Ravens grabbed her by the arms and tore the mummy case from her grasp. “We’ve got you!” snarled Edgar Raven. “And you are going to be very, very sorry indeed about this. Meaning to put a stop to your great-aunt’s unwrapping parties, are you? Planning to tell Professor Helman all about your suspicions? You think we will let you ruin our plans? Plans we have worked on for years?”

  Hattie struggled, but the Ravens were strong. She opened her mouth to scream, and Edwina Raven clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. She glared at Hattie with intense dislike. “How far is the river?” Edwina Raven hissed to her brother.

  Hattie froze. The river? They couldn’t – they couldn’t mean –

  But it seemed they did. “That way,” snarled Edgar Raven. “Come on! Hurry!”

  They pulled Hattie along with them.

  “You can’t do this!” she gasped, struggling.

  “Can’t we? Get rid of a nasty, interfering little girl? It will be only too easy!”

  Surely they wouldn’t throw her in the river? But, Hattie thought, horrified, the Ravens were desperate now. They would not have hesitated to push Great-uncle Sisyphus into the Nile – throwing a Lambton into the Thames was probably something they would do with the greatest of pleasure. Hattie dragged her feet, but she could not halt their progress. Help! She tried to shout from behind Edwina’s gloved hand. It came out as a low gurgle.

  The Ravens laughed. There was no humour in their laughs. “There’s no help here,” snarled Edgar Raven.

  And then, there was.

  Sekhmet was beside Hattie, bristling, hissing, spitting, claws out. The Ravens laughed again. A cat! It’s just that cat! Edgar Raven lifted his boot. Sekhmet leaped at him,
claws raking, clinging to his leg. Edgar Raven swore and shook his leg violently, sending Sekhmet spinning through the air. Hattie struggled desperately. Sekhmet would hit the wall of the building! She would be badly hurt!

  But Sekhmet did not hit the wall. As her body spun through the air, something happened.

  Suddenly there was no longer a small, black cat spinning through the air. Instead, there was a giant of a cat, bigger than a panther, bigger than a lion: a cat, but not a cat, because it was the figure of a woman, taller than the lamp posts. A woman with the head of a lioness, with golden eyes blazing fire and a mouth that opened with a sky-shattering, window-glass rattling roar.

  The Ravens were transfixed, paralysed. They dropped Hattie’s arms and stared, eyes bulging and incredulous, as the lioness-headed woman moved towards them, slow and sinuous, golden eyes fixed on them, sharp-fanged mouth open in another roar. Then they backed off a few steps, turned, and ran – as they had never run before.

  Hattie had fallen to her knees. She stared after the Ravens, then turned slowly to gaze at the lioness-headed woman. But she was no longer there. Sekhmet, small, black, and undeniably a cat, stood there in her place.

  Hattie stayed on the ground for a moment, panting. Slowly, she stood up and picked up the cloaked mummy case.

  The door of the museum opened and there stood Professor Helman. He looked gravely at Hattie, Sekhmet and the mummy case. “Well,” he said. “Well. It’s not every evening I find an Egyptian princess, a mummy, and a cat on my doorstep.” There was a pause. “And could I, possibly, have heard a lion?”

  Professor Helman took them into the museum, past walls covered in glass cases displaying ancient jewellery: necklaces, collars, bracelets, brooches, pins. Some, Hattie noted, were not unlike the necklace she was wearing. But this was no time to inspect jewellery. Hattie followed Professor Helman into his small office. He made cocoa on the fire. It took some time, and several mugs of cocoa, for Hattie to tell him the whole story. He was not totally convinced about the Egyptians’ souls wandering in darkness, but he agreed that, if it was impossible for them to be left safely and securely in their tombs for all eternity, then mummies needed to be protected. In a museum, for instance.

  “But what if not in a museum?” said Hattie. “What if they didn’t really want to be in a museum?” Tayasetimu, she thought, might not have wanted to be in a glass case, to be looked at. “What if they were kept safely and securely in a place like – well – like Crumblin Castle?”

  Professor Helman considered this. “That could also perhaps be acceptable,” he conceded.

  Hattie thought about just how crumbling Crumblin Castle was. “But,” she despaired, “what about Crumblin Castle? What about the repairs it so badly needs? What about Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus? What about money to live on?”

  Professor Helman was looking intently at the beaded, golden hawk necklace that hung at Hattie’s throat. “That necklace,” he said slowly. “You did not bring it back from Egypt?”

  “Why no,” Hattie replied, confused. “All we brought back were the mummies. This was in one of the Cabinets of Curiosities in the castle. It had been there for years. Great-uncle Sisyphus said I might wear it. He said it was worth nothing.”

  Professor Helman smiled. “Your great-uncle,” he said, “is a very learned and knowledgeable man. But in this case, I believe he is wrong. Quite wrong.” He leaned forward, looking intently at the necklace. “I really believe that a girl wearing a necklace of such historic importance and immense value will never have to worry about money again.”

  Professor Helman took Hattie and Sekhmet back to his house, and handed them into the care of a plump, motherly housekeeper. Tayasetimu stayed safely in the museum. Professor Helman arranged to send a telegram to Crumblin Castle to advise Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus that Hattie and Sekhmet were both quite safe. In the morning, he said, they would all return to Crumblin Castle.

  The plump housekeeper provided Hattie with one of her own voluminous nightgowns and settled her in a cosy room for the night. But Hattie could not sleep. What would happen when they returned to Crumblin Castle? She had run away, stolen a mummy case and totally ruined Lady Strathcair’s unwrapping party. Surely Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus would be angry. Very angry. Would they send her away to school again? Hattie tossed and turned. Every time she opened her eyes, she saw Sekhmet, sitting at the window, serenely gazing out at London. She did not appear to be worried. But then, she never did.

  When the hired carriage rattled over the bridge and entered the courtyard at Crumblin Castle, Hattie was almost too afraid to look out. She climbed out of the carriage and stood, trembling, in the courtyard. Sekhmet walked regally past her and up to the massive front door, which opened before her.

  An avalanche of kittens tumbled out, rushed to Hattie and climbed all over her, purring and squeaking. Someone, at least, was pleased to see her, Hattie thought. Then Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus appeared, Great-aunt Iphigenia rushing towards her, Great-uncle Sisyphus following more slowly; tap, shuffle. Both of them had their arms out, reaching for her.

  “Oh Hattie, you’re safe!”

  “Hattie, Hattie, you’re home!”

  Home.

  Home.

  Hattie ran forward and fell into their arms.

  There was much to say, much to explain. The papers of the Ravens needed to be examined. Great-aunt Iphigenia was horrified. “How could they? I trusted them! I trusted them implicitly!”

  “I’d like to say a few words to them!” Great-uncle Sisyphus shook his walking stick threateningly.

  “We need policemen!” demanded Hattie. “We need detectives!”

  Great-uncle Sisyphus stopped shaking his walking stick. He and Great-aunt Iphigenia looked at each other. Suddenly, they seemed uncertain. Troubled.

  “We could,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia, “we could contact the police.”

  “Certainly they deserve it,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  Hattie nodded vigorously. Indeed the Ravens did. They had deceived. They had cheated. They had stolen, defrauded and swindled. They had threatened Great-uncle Sisyphus. They had threatened Hattie herself. They had tried to hurt Sekhmet. She wanted the full force of the law to descend upon them.

  “But –” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  “But –” said Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  “But?” said Hattie.

  “They are the children of our old friend,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  “Our dear old friend,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  “I could not feel happy if they were jailed,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  “Or perhaps . . .” said Great-uncle Sisyphus, “perhaps even transported. To Australia. A terrible fate!”

  Hattie felt that nothing could be too terrible a fate for the Ravens, but she could see that Great-aunt Iphigenia and Great-uncle Sisyphus did not feel comfortable about pursuing them.

  “Well,” she said at last. “Well. If you won’t, at least, surely they will never show their faces around here again.” And if they did, she determined, if she ever laid eyes on them again, she would deal with them herself. With a little assistance from Sekhmet, perhaps.

  Professor Helman was watching her. Hattie felt he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “I doubt,” said Professor Helman, “that you will ever see them again.”

  There was the question of why Hattie had taken Tayasetimu’s mummy case. Why she did not want any more unwrappings to take place. “I confess I have been uneasy about it myself,” admitted Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Ever since the pharaohs and queens were taken down the river to Cairo. But –” Her shoulders slumped. “Then how will we live? How will we keep the castle in repair?”

  Hattie fingered the beaded and golden hawk necklace she still wore around her throat. “I have something to tell you about that,” she said.

  But of all the explanations and recountings, Hattie left one
thing out. She did not describe how Sekhmet had transformed herself into a giant, eyes blazing, roaring, lioness-headed woman. Some things, she felt, should remain as secrets. She glanced at Sekhmet, and Sekhmet closed one golden eye in a conspiratorial wink.

  When they all sat around the fire that night, after an excellent dinner, Great-aunt Iphigenia was still a little wistful. She had accepted that the unwrapping parties were no longer necessary. But as a scientist, she sighed. “If we don’t unwrap mummies, we’ll never find out more about them.”

  Hattie took her hand. “Perhaps, one day, we’ll be able to find out about them without unwrapping them,” she said. And, she added to herself, without leaving their souls wandering in darkness.

  “Perhaps. One day,” Great-aunt Iphigenia agreed. She seemed a little comforted.

  “So,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “The necklace can be sold. And soon Crumblin Castle will be crumbling no more.”

  They toasted his words with tea.

  “And we will live here, all of us, Sisyphus, Hattie, Sekhmet and the kittens, and I, in comfort and peace,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Forever.”

  “Unless,” said Professor Helman.

  Everyone looked up. Unless?

  “Unless,” Professor Helman said with a smile, “you decide to go adventuring in Egypt again. A thousand miles up the Nile.”

  A thousand miles up the Nile . . .

  Everyone smiled.

  It seemed an excellent idea.

  It doesn’t matter how amazing a story might be – when you’re writing a historical novel (well, mostly historical, there’s a bit of fantasy in here too!), sometimes the dates don’t work out exactly the way you want them to. So I have manipulated history. Just a little.

  My story takes place in 1873, which was when Egypt began to prohibit the export of antiquities. That meant my characters had to go to Egypt to smuggle out the mummies they wanted.