The Mummy's Revenge

by Andrew Beasley

  Good things come to those who wait. Wasn’t that what people said?

  The Sandman chuckled; an angry snort, brimming with bitterness. And bad things come to those who oppose me!

  “You were meant to scare away those meddling investigators at the station!” he snarled.

  Sobek the crocodile sank his massive head, admitting his failure. “I was disturbed.”

  The Sandman glowered. “I will not accept failure a second time.”

  Sobek said nothing.

  On the floor in front of the golden throne there was a circle of fine sand. Using the tip of a curved bone, the Sandman drew a series of hieroglyphs, powerful symbols that together made a magical incantation. Pleased with his work, the Sandman watched and the sand began to stir…

  First one lonely grain began a slow circuit, impossibly bouncing round and round. Then another grain started to move, then another, and another. Spinning faster and faster until the entire circle was whirling in a blur and rising into the air like a tornado of sand.

  And something was materializing inside it.

  “He returns!” the Sandman declared triumphantly as the mummy appeared inside the magical sandstorm.

  “UuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH,” it growled, like an animal in pain. Suddenly the sand dropped to the ground, the magick done, and the mummy stood there, arms outstretched.

  The Sandman held his breath as the mummy stumbled towards him. Although it was under his control it had lost none of its power to terrify him. Beneath the filthy grave wrappings was the body and skeleton of a man. The embalming wax – the mūm, which gave all mummies their name – had done its job well. Chunks of leathery flesh had been preserved and still hung on the frame of bones.

  The stench was even worse than before. Mixed with the reek of decay was the sweet tang of cooked meat and the harsh sooty smell that lingers after a fire.

  “What have they done to you, my beauty?” said the Sandman, shocked to see that one of the mummy’s arms had lost almost all of its bandages and been burned down to gristle and bone.

  “I have more wax,” the Sandman said in a comforting tone, like a mother to a child, “and more bandages. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  The mummy nodded, another gurgle spilling from its leathery lips.

  “I need you fighting fit,” said the Sandman. “We’ve only just begun… Vengeance shall be mine!” He threw back his head and laughed and laughed. The sound echoed through the Temple of the Seven Stars.

  The gods of Egypt trembled.

  A ghostly sun rose in the bone-white Edinburgh sky. The streets were just beginning to stir as a zebra-drawn carriage clattered over the cobbles, drawing to a halt outside the blackened wreckage of the hotel.

  “Jings!” Doogie McCrimmon declared, his mouth as wide as a saucer. “And I thought I had news.”

  “The mummy attacked us,” said Billy, sitting on his suitcase, which he’d rescued from the flames. “Oh, and the hotel burned down.” Billy smiled, but the dark lines under his eyes showed how long the night had been.

  “Not much sleep then,” said Doogie.

  “We’ll survive,” said Billy.

  Doogie climbed down from the carriage and stood in front of the smouldering remains, the zebras snorting and stamping as they breathed in the smoky air. Spotting Charley, Doogie whipped off his cap. “Are ye all right, Miss Steel?”

  “It takes more than an assassination attempt and a raging inferno to upset me. Now,” she said with a smile, “you said something about ‘news’?”

  “There’s been another burglary,” said Doogie, “and the mummy was there.”

  Charley clapped gleefully. “Oh, that is good news.”

  “Really?” said Doogie. “When is a burglary good news?”

  “When you’re a detective, my dear Doogie,” said Charley, patting his arm. “A new burglary gives me and my partner a fresh crime scene to investigate.”

  “Do ye not want to visit Sir Gordon’s house now, miss?” said Doogie, looking at their bedraggled clothes and soot-smeared faces. “Maybes freshen up a bit first?”

  “Certainly not,” said Charley. “We mustn’t let the trail go cold!”

  Inside the carriage, their luggage safely stowed on the roof, Charley took a small mirror from her bag. She examined her reflection, then wiped her face clean with a fresh handkerchief and ran a brush through her luxurious red hair until it shone like polished bronze.

  “How do I look?” she asked.

  “Fit for the palace, same as always,” said Billy. He licked the palm of his hand, rubbed it roughly over his face, then licked it again and tried to smooth down a spike of hair that was sticking up from his head like a horn. As an afterthought he lifted his arm and gave a sniff. He grimaced. “How about me?”

  “Fit for the workhouse,” Charley answered with a smile.

  “I’m improving then,” said Billy. “The last time you said I was only fit for the gutter.”

  “I was being kind,” said Charley.

  “Where to?” called the driver.

  “Let the dog see the rabbit,” said Billy.

  The carriage didn’t move.

  “He means, ‘Please take us to the next crime scene, my good man,’” Charley explained. “And be quick about it.”

  The zebras whinnied and they were off, rattling through the streets until they came to a halt outside an impressive three-storey house built from Edinburgh’s famous red granite. Billy whistled softly between his teeth. “Nice gaff,” he said admiringly as he and Doogie helped Charley out of the carriage and into her wheelchair. “Who lives here?”

  “Lady Lavinia Fitzpatrick,” said Doogie. “A friend of Sir Gordon.”

  Billy nodded. “Makes sense. And was she at the mummy unwrapping party?”

  “Aye,” said Doogie.

  “Can you tell us anything about Lady Fitzpatrick?” said Charley, her eyes glistening at the thrill of the chase.

  Doogie scratched his head and then his face lit up. “Och yes,” he said. “She’s got a bahookie as big as a horse.” He bent over slightly and slapped his own backside, just for emphasis.

  “Yes,” said Charley. “Thank you.” Then quickly added, “Why don’t you wait in the carriage?” Doogie’s face dropped. Charley felt as if she had just kicked a particularly cute puppy.

  “Sorry,” said Billy, patting Doogie on the arm to show no hard feelings. “This is police business.”

  Billy and Charley approached the front door just as a constable was leaving. Charley gave the bobby her brightest smile. Billy flicked him a salute. The constable did not seem pleased to see them. Even his moustache looked annoyed.

  “Move along,” said the policeman curtly, making a sweeping movement with his gloved hand. “Nothing to see here.”

  “On the contrary,” said Charley, “there’s a great deal to see.” She flicked open her warrant card with a flourish. “So be a good chap and show us in, will you?”

  The constable looked at Billy and Charley and the silly smiles on their faces. He examined their badges. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “Only if you find the living dead amusing,” said Billy.

  “What are you talking about?” he blustered.

  “We’re experts from London,” said Charley. “We know more than you can begin to imagine.”

  “Have it your way,” said the constable, with a scowl. “If the Metropolitan Police Force wants to use children to do a man’s job, that’s up to them.” He stood aside to let them pass. “It’s a madhouse in there.” He bent low and whispered angrily, “You’re on your own.”

  “That’s just the way we like it,” said Charley.

  The constable was right about one thing. The grand house was in a state of hysteria. Sobbing could be heard coming from behind the closed door of the drawing room. A young maid sat at the foot of the sweeping staircase, her head in her hands. The poor girl was crying too, mumbling to herself between her tears. “Risen from the grave,” she m
uttered. “The stench! The power of those dead arms! And an awful mess in the study…I’ll be all day clearing that.” She started to cry again.

  A man in a butler’s uniform spotted Billy and Charley hovering in the hallway. “Out!” he shouted. “Her Ladyship will not be seeing any visitors today!”

  “She’ll see us, mate,” said Billy, flashing his police badge. “Billy Flint and Charlotte Steel, S.C.R.E.A.M. squad.”

  Even though he was wearing white gloves, the butler took Billy’s open wallet with his forefinger and thumb, as if it was something that the cat had dragged in. He studied it carefully, his head swaying slightly as his glance went from Billy to Charley and back again. It was almost hypnotic, Charley thought; the butler reminded her of a snake or a lizard. There was definitely something cold-blooded about this man.

  “And you are?” said Charley.

  “I am Harris,” the butler replied. He handed Billy’s wallet back, then paused to wipe his gloved hands on his trouser leg. “The official police have just left,” he said. “We’ve already told Inspector Diggins everything we know. Why do you insist on distressing Her Ladyship even further?”

  “We’ve not come to upset anyone,” said Billy. “But you know as well as we do that this ain’t no ordinary case.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Harris.

  Billy raised his arms in front of him and lumbered around the hall going, ”Uuuurrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh… Does that ring any bells, mate?”

  “Inspector Diggins is convinced that the bandages are some sort of disguise.”

  “Daft sort of disguise if you ask me. Is he very bright, this Inspector Diggins?”

  “What my colleague is trying to say is that Detective Constable Flint and myself are London experts in…how shall we put it? Peculiar crimes. No one on the force is better placed to help Her Ladyship than us.”

  Harris hesitated. “Forgive me,” he said. “This has been a trying time for all of us… My first thought, as always, is for Her Ladyship’s wellbeing.”

  “Haaaa-rris!” A loud voice rang out and Harris hurried away obediently.

  The butler returned a minute later. “Her Ladyship has generously agreed that she will meet with you in private, Miss Steel.” Harris turned and looked daggers at Billy. “You can wait downstairs in the servants’ quarters.”

  “Suits me,” said Billy. “I know my place.” He made a show of wiping his nose on his sleeve. Harris pulled a disapproving face. “Plus,” Billy continued with a grin, “I’ve got some questions of my own that need answering. Like where was everyone at the time of the crime, and when can I get a bacon sandwich? I’m starving.”

  Charley smiled privately as she watched Harris lead Billy away. She knew full well that Billy’s cheeky urchin routine was just that – an act, intended to keep his suspects off guard.

  Charley found the lady of the house pacing backwards and forwards in her drawing room. The woman was every bit as fat as Doogie had described but, unlike Sir Gordon, there was strength in every line of her face. Even so, it looked to Charley as if Lady Fitzpatrick had seen the most terrible thing in the world. She could almost taste the woman’s fear.

  “I’m Detective Constable Charlotte Steel, S.C.R.E.A.M. squad, Metropolitan Police,” Charley introduced herself. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Fitzpatrick.”

  Lady Fitzpatrick turned to face her. “Charlotte Steel… Not related to Sir Simon Steel, by any chance?”

  “He’s my father.”

  “Oh,” said Lady Fitzpatrick, confused and embarrassed. “But Sir Simon told me that his daughter was at a finishing school in Switzerland.” The old woman tried to look anywhere except at Charley’s wheelchair.

  “It was a sanatorium actually,” said Charley, “for my health. But it was so very dull that I couldn’t stand it. So now I’m back in Britain solving supernatural crimes for a living.”

  “Oh,” said Lady Fitzpatrick again, lost for words.

  “Polio, if you were wondering.” Charley leaned forwards, as if to share a secret. “Just between you and me,” she said, “I don’t know which annoys my father more – that I’m stuck in this wretched chair, or that, rather than sitting around waiting for someone to marry me, I’ve got myself a job instead.” She smiled. “On that note, I’d very much like to see the crime scene.”

  “Let me show you now,” said Lady Fitzpatrick. “And then I think I will never set foot in that room again. Except in my nightmares.”

  “I was sitting there,” Lady Fitzpatrick explained, pointing to an armchair beside the fire. “I’m a bit of a night owl so I’m often reading late into the night. It was Daddy’s favourite room too.” She sighed. “He was a lovely man…such a beautiful moustache.”

  Charley felt at home with the oak-panelled walls, impressive bookcase and the delightful watercolour paintings of Highland scenes. But right now she wasn’t interested in any of those things; she was a detective, and she was looking for clues. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

  “I heard a scream and then some china breaking,” said Lady Fitzpatrick. “My first thought was that it was my new maid. She’s got a good heart but butterfingers. Costing me a fortune in teacups… Anyway, the disturbance grew louder and I realized that it had to be something more.”

  “Why?”

  “The screaming didn’t stop, for one thing. And then there were the footsteps.” Lady Fitzpatrick shuddered. “The whole floor shook… To my shame I was frozen to the spot – I couldn’t do anything except grip the arms of my chair as the footsteps came closer and closer.”

  “And what about Harris, your butler? Didn’t he come to see what the disturbance was?”

  “It was his night off unfortunately,” Lady Fitzpatrick went on. “And anyway, I don’t think that anyone would have been able to stop that…thing. Before I could even call for help, the creature burst in through the door. I know that I won’t forget that moment until my dying day…”

  Charley placed her hand gently on Lady Fitzpatrick’s arm. “I know it’s difficult, but whatever you can tell me might help to stop this from happening to someone else.”

  Lady Fitzpatrick took a deep breath. “The smell hit me first…the rotting sweetness of meat that has been left in the sun.” She shuddered at the memory. “Then I saw it… The grinning teeth and yellowed bones showing through the filthy grave clothes. One hand was charred, as if it had been burned –” she paused, questioning her own recollection of what she had seen – “but the bandages were white, not black. Strange. But who said that nightmares have to make sense? It was all so…terrible.

  “I thought that it had come for me and I backed away against the wall. I even grabbed a poker from the fire to defend myself with.”

  Charley gave an approving smile.

  “Fortunately, it ignored me completely, thank the Lord,” Lady Fitzpatrick continued. “Instead it went straight over to my safe, hidden behind the portrait of my father…”

  Charley saw the painting propped against the wall; the man really did have a glorious moustache.

  Coolly and calmly, Charley pulled out her magnifying glass and began her examination. There were traces of sand on the carpet and she collected a few grains, storing them in a test tube. Then she focused her attention on the safe. The door had been ripped from its hinges… She turned to Lady Fitzpatrick. “How did it do this?”

  “With its bare hands,” said Lady Fitzpatrick.

  Charley tried to take it in, her brain racing as she calculated how much physical strength it would take to do that sort of damage. The safe door had been torn clean off, the metal hinges shorn in two by the mummy’s bare hands. She gasped – she couldn’t help it. Those same hands had grabbed Billy…it could have been him in two pieces.

  “So tell me what happened,” said Billy, sitting opposite the maid. “From the beginning.”

  The girl had dried her tears now, but she was very young and it wouldn’t take much to set her off again. “I
don’t know what went on upstairs. I’m only allowed in Her Ladyship’s rooms if I’m cleaning them, but I can show you where the monster got in,” she said. “The scullery.”

  “You’ve got a room to keep skulls in?”

  “Don’t be daft,” she said, “the scullery is where we do all the laundry and washing-up. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Billy followed silently. He knew full well what a scullery was; he was just playing the fool to help put the frightened maid at ease.

  “Why do you think the creature came from here?” he asked as they came around the corner. Then he saw the trail of sandy footprints, leading back to a circle of sand on the scullery floor. Billy dropped to his knees to investigate. First there was that swirling vortex of sand at the railway station, and now this. What could it mean? There were pictures in the sand too, although some of them had clearly been swept away, either by accident or on purpose. Billy took out his notebook and pencil and began to make a sketch of the remaining images. A man; some strange fat animal’s head; what might be a staff or magick wand.

  “And what about the doors?” Billy asked.

  “All locked from the inside.”

  “And the windows? Any broken glass? Any sign that they might have been forced from the outside.”

  The maid shook her head. “The windows were all shut, Her Ladyship is most particular about it.”

  Billy picked up some of the sand and let it fall through his fingers. “I wonder,” he said. “I wonder.”

  “So what was stolen?” asked Doogie as they rode away together in the zebra-drawn carriage, leaving Lady Fitzpatrick and her troubled household behind.

  “All of Her Ladyship’s most treasured possessions,” said Charley, reading a long and detailed list. “One sapphire and diamond ring; three cameo brooches; a pearl necklace; diamond earrings; a blue carbuncle pendant; pearl earrings; a rare bird’s-claw kilt pin in eighteen-carat gold.” She turned the page. “It goes on and on.”