Stolen Souls

by Sackett, Jeffrey

  "We should be in Greenfield in a few minutes, Your Lordship," she said.

  "Jolly good," he muttered morosely.

  "You know," Suzanne said almost tentatively, "it's really been quite a thrill for me to be able to get to know you so well in such a short time. I'd been dying to meet you ever since we spoke on the phone last month."

  A distracted "Hm" was his only response.

  "I've spent a good deal of time in England, but I've never had a chance to meet any of the peerage. It's really quite a thrill," she repeated.

  Roderick shot her a bored, perfunctory smile and reached into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a silver cigarette case and took out a custom-rolled cigarette. Allowing the hand holding the case to drift languidly in her general direction he said, without looking at her, "May I offer you a cigarette?"

  "No, thank you," she gushed.

  Foster glanced over at him as he lighted the tip of the cigarette. "Gonna kill yourself with those things," he muttered.

  Roderick sighed. "Beg pardon?"

  Foster laughed. "On second thought, never mind. Go right ahead."

  Their conversation, such as it was, continued in this desultory fashion until Foster moved the truck to the right and pulled off the thruway at the Greenfield exit. "We're here, Your Lordship," Suzanne said cheerfully.

  "Splendid," he muttered.

  They drove down Route 15 in silence, Foster irritated, Roderick bored, Suzanne trying to think of something to say. The drive down the main street of Greenfield occupied but a few minutes, and they soon found themselves passing the statue of Montgomery Winthrop at the entrance to the college. As Foster pulled the truck up as close as possible to the door of the museum, he waved in the general direction of Gus Rudd, who was leaning casually against a tree near the entrance. After putting on the hand brake and turning off the ignition, Foster alighted from the truck and walked over to the deputy chief.

  "Mornin', Gus," he said. "Where is everybody?"

  "Dunno. Jasper went looking for them. I guess I better go look for him now"

  "Okay. I'll start getting things moving."

  Gus frowned. "I think you better wait 'til Dr. Langly's here. I kinda think she wants to check stuff out. That's why me'n Jasper are here, to help supervise and check stuff out."

  Foster grinned. "Yeah? Well, you better be here to give me a hand movin' these goddamn crates."

  "Yeah, yeah, sure, Will. No problem." Gus knew that he only had the job he held as deputy because his brother was chief, and he always went out of his way to be accommodating to the locals. "Look, why don't you just relax for a few minutes while I go and round everybody up. Okay?"

  "Okay. I gotta go get a forklift out of the grounds building anyway." As Gus departed to search for his brother, Foster returned to the truck. He hopped up onto the mounting step and leaned in the window on the driver's side. "Listen," he said to Suzanne and Roderick, "I'm goin' over there"—he pointed at the grounds building—"and get myself a forklift to move this stuff with. You two hang out here for a while." He jumped down and began to walk quickly away.

  "'Hang out'?" Roderick asked.

  "It means wait around," Suzanne explained. "He has to get some equipment to unload the truck with."

  "Oh, I see." Roderick sighed. "Well, we might as well stretch our legs. Damned long drive!"

  "Yes, it certainly was," she agreed readily. "We've both—."

  Her comment was cut off by the fact that Roderick had opened the door and was climbing ungracefully out of the truck.

  He stretched and yawned and then looked around him distastefully. So this was what they called a college in this country! It compared very poorly, both in size and beauty, to the schools he had attended in England, all of which he had been asked to leave. But inasmuch as he had no use for a university degree, his frequent expulsions upset no one but his late uncle. It certainly never upset Roderick.

  "It's kind of pretty, isn't it?" Suzanne asked, gesturing around at the wood and brick buildings.

  "Quaint," he replied, smiling thinly. He looked over to where Will Foster was approaching them, the forklift he was driving emitting a load, rusty roar. As Foster pulled up and climbed down from the seat, Roderick asked, "What on earth is this contraption?"

  "It's a forklift, pal," Foster said impatiently.

  "Oh, I see," he replied, not seeing at all. "What's it for?"

  Foster glanced at him impatiently as he walked around to the back of the truck and, withdrawing a key from his pocket, unlocked the padlock which had held the rolling door shut during the long drive. "It's for unloading the crates. What did you think?"

  Roderick shrugged. "No idea, actually."

  "Suzie!" He heard a voice cry from behind him. He turned to see five people approaching, one of them, a woman, practically running toward them. The woman embraced Suzanne Melendez and said, "Thank God you're here! I've been going crazy!"

  Suzanne returned her embrace. "Why? We're not late, are we?"

  "No, but—well, you know."

  She laughed. "Yeah, I know. Patty Paranoia. Well, here we are safe and sound."

  "No problems?"

  "Not really. Well, the back door of the truck opened up while we were driving here and we left a couple of mummies scattered on the Thruway, but other than that—"

  Harriet Langly grimaced. "That's not funny, Suzie!"

  She laughed again. "Take it easy, Harriet. Everything's fine." She turned to Roderick and said, "Your Lordship, may I present my dear friend, Harriet Langly." Then, to Harriet, "The Earl of Selwyn."

  Harriet extended her hand to him and he took it without shaking it, barely touching his fingertips to hers. "How do you do?" she said. "I must say that this acquisition is quite exciting for me."

  "The—oh, the mummies. Yes, of course." It was clear that he did not share her interest in them.

  The other four people approached at paces considerably less rapid than Harriet's had been. She took Sawhill's arm and said, "May I introduce to you to my finance, Dr. Thomas Sawhill. Tommy, this is the Earl of Selwyn."

  "My pleasure," Sawhill said, holding his hand out. Roderick shook it, somewhat more firmly than he had taken Harriet's hand a moment before.

  Harriet continued her introductions. "Dr. Samuel Goldhaber, president of WinthropCollege. The Earl of Selwyn."

  "Hello. Welcome to the United States."

  "How do you do."

  "Jasper Rudd, our chief of police."

  A nod. "Earl."

  "How do you do."

  "And I believe you've met Gus, Jasper's brother?"

  "Hiya," Gus said, grabbing Roderick's hand and pumping it enthusiastically. "It's real nice to meet you."

  "How do you do."

  "Well," Harriet said, obviously very pleased to have gotten that over with, "let's get to work. Your Lordship, you can discuss the details of the transfer with Dr. Goldhaber while we see to the unloading."

  "Details? Oh, my solicitor, Horace Pearson, handles all such matters. I'm just eager to get done with this and get to Florida."

  "But there are papers to be signed, aren't there?"

  Roderick shrugged. "I have no idea, actually."

  "But—"

  Suzanne cut her off by saying, "I have all the necessary documents. Mr. Pearson and I arranged the whole thing back in London. Once you've made an initial examination of the shipment we can effect a transferral of ownership. How long will that take, by the way?"

  "I plan to make a superficial examination today. Authentication won't take more than a day or two."

  "Good." She turned to Roderick. "You see, Your Lordship? We'll be able to wrap this up in plenty of time for us to get you back to Kennedy to catch your plane to Orlando."

  "Yes, wonderful. Fine." Roderick was making a tired effort to be pleasant.

  "You want me to get started, Dr. Langly?" Will Foster asked.

  "Yes, Will, please. I'd like you to remove the crates one by one and bring them into the museum. There are seven
glass cases in there. If you could lay one crate beside each glass case?" As Will nodded and walked back toward the truck, she turned to Roderick. "You see, we plan to display the mummies and their coffins separately. Once we've put the crates next to the display cases, we'll open them one by one and eventually remove the mummies from the coffins. I don't plan on doing that today, though."

  "Oh," Roderick said, not caring one whit.

  "Hey, Gus. Come on up here and give me a hand," Will called. He had driven the forklift over to the rear of the truck and had positioned it with the fork inserted into the storage compartment a few inches above the floor.

  "Sure thing, Will," Gus said. He climbed up into the rear of the truck. "How you wanna do this?"

  "You take one end of this crate and I'll take the other. When I get it over to the door, help me carry it in."

  "Okeydokey." They moved one of the crates over toward the fork and carefully lifted it up. After placing it on the flat extended prongs, Will leapt out of the truck. He turned to Harriet.

  "According to the instructions Miss Melendez brought with her, six of the crates were stacked by twos and this one was by itself. I don't know if that means anything, but she said to try to keep 'em in the same order." He shrugged. "Dunno why."

  "No need, I'm sure," she said. "But we might as well start with this one. Be careful, now."

  "You bet." Will returned to the forklift and slowly raised the fork. He backed away from the truck. Harriet suppressed a gesture of warning as the crate seemed to sway slightly, balanced as it was upon the two narrow prongs. There was, of course, no need for concern, she reminded herself. Will knew what he was doing.

  Foster turned the forklift around and slowly drove the short distance from the truck to the museum. When he reached the door, he stopped the machine and lowered the fork to the ground. Harriet had already opened the door, and she stood there eagerly, biting her lower lip as Will and Gus carefully lifted the crate and moved it inside, their feet shuffling under the weight of the old, heavy wood. They placed the crate beside the farthest glass case. Will turned to Harriet and asked, "You want me to open it up?"

  "Yeah, but listen carefully. I want the crate dismantled, not just opened."

  "Huh?"

  "I don't want to risk damage to the coffins by lifting them out of the crates. What we have to do is remove the nails and sort of peel the wood away from the contents. Then we can open the coffin and relocate it without risking damage."

  Foster shrugged, slightly annoyed at the added work which he regarded as unnecessary. "You're the boss," he muttered. "I gotta go get a crow bar and a hammer. Hold on." He walked out, shaking his head disgruntledly.

  Sawhill and Goldhaber had walked in, followed by Suzanne and Roderick. Jasper and Gus remained outside, keeping casual watch over the truck. "Well, what's the procedure?" Goldhaber asked.

  "After we dismantle the crate, I'll make a transcription of whatever is inscribed on the coffin lid—Sam, did you bring the camera I asked you to bring?" He nodded, pointing to the brochure table where he had deposited his camera earlier. "Good," she continued. "Then we'll open the coffin and I can make a cursory examination of the mummy. After we're done with all seven crates, you and the Earl can sign whatever needs to be signed, and from then on I just have my own research to do with the exhibits. I can authenticate them in a few days, but I'm hoping that they'll provide me with enough work to occupy my time for quite a while."

  "Aren't you going to put them in the display cases right away?" Sawhill asked.

  Harriet shook her head. "Not just yet. We can keep them in the coffins for the time being. If they've survived a damp English attic for a century or so, they can survive a day here." She looked nervously at the crate which rested on the floor beside her. "God, I hope they're in good shape."

  "Well, gee, honey," Sawhill said, "they were made to last, weren't they?"

  "Sure. But the climate in Egypt, especially Upper Egypt, is considerably different from that of England. Egypt is hot and dry. England is cold and damp." She smiled at Roderick. "Meaning no offense, Your Lordship."

  "Oh, no, you're quite correct, actually," Roderick said. "Absolutely beastly weather. I much prefer the south of France."

  "Yes, so do I," Suzanne chimed in. "If only it weren't so frightfully expensive!"

  "Oh, is it expensive?" he asked innocently.

  "I just hope that the bodies are intact," Harriet said, distracted.

  Will Foster strode in, his arms burdened with a variety of tools. As he entered he called back over his shoulder, "Hey, Gus, gimme a hand in here, will you?"

  "I'm guarding the truck," Gus's voice replied.

  "I think Jasper can handle it by himself," Will observed sarcastically. "Come on, gimme a hand. The quicker we get this done, the sooner we can all go home."

  "Okeydokey," Gus said reluctantly. He walked over to the museum, leaving his brother yawning beside the truck.

  As the two young men positioned themselves on either side of the crate, Harriet told them, "Now look, be real careful. I don't want the tools to go through the crate and into the contents. Just kind of slide it in between the planks and—"

  "Dr. Langly," Will interrupted her with gentle amusement, "I know how to use a crowbar."

  Harriet blushed at the grins Will and Gus were exchanging. "I'm sorry, fellas. Go on, do your jobs. I'll shut up."

  "No need for that, ma'am," Gus said. "Just don't worry. We'll be careful." He and Will began to pry open the lid (which Roderick had once opened, and Pearson had made certain to have nailed shut.) Will pulled out the nails on his side, and with a mighty shove he and Gus tore the lid, and the connecting nails, away from the crate. Moving to the front and rear of the crate respectively, Will and Gus began very carefully to separate the planks which formed the body of the encasement. Once Gus allowed his hand to slip, sending the crowbar careening across the floor of the museum and sending a chill up Harriet's spine, but he just grinned and said, "Sorry. No harm done." She returned his smile without conviction.

  Once the nails were removed from the front and rear, leaving the crate dismantled but for the sides, Will and Gus began to pull down on the two remaining sides which connected to the bottom of the crate. After a few moments and some piercing squeaks as the slips of metal were ripped free of their century-old housing, the sides of the crate came down, leaving the ancient sarcophagus resting in plain view.

  They all stood in silence for a moment, each of them in some way affected by the solemnity of the moment—each save the bored and blank-faced Earl of Selwyn, that is. Will pushed the side panel away with his foot, and Harriet slowly approached the coffin. She knelt down beside it and gently stroked the smooth surface. "Thousands of years," she murmured. "Millennia."

  "What did you say, honey?" Sawhill asked.

  She glanced over at him. "Come here, Tom. I want to share something with you." He dropped to his knees beside her and she took his hand and placed it upon the sarcophagus, moving it slowly across the rounded contours of the lid. "A human being carved this stone. Maybe he was a slave, maybe he was an artisan; there's no way to know. We'll never know his name, but he was a living, breathing human being, and he lived thousands of years ago. Here, feel this." She ran his fingers over the rows of hieroglyphs upon the coffin lid. "Look at it, the graceful carving." She gazed at the ancient writing and then looked up at Sawhill. "Someone made this, Tom. Someone who died thousands of years ago created this, and left it after him." She shook her head. "I'm not saying this very well. I can't explain how it makes me feel, to be in the presence of something like this. It's as if the past never really passes away, and we all leave something of ourselves, some thing of our lives, in the things we touch." She flushed slightly at the smiling people who were listening to her. "I probably sound silly."

  Sawhill resisted the urge to embrace her and merely said, "You don't sound silly at all." He turned to Goldhaber. "Does she say things like this to her students?"

  "Sure," th
e college president smiled. "That's why we give her morning assignments. She's the only teacher we have who can keep them awake."

  The ripple of friendly laughter restored Harriet's businesslike manner, and smiling, she said, "Well, enough of this. Let's get to work. Sam, if you'd be so kind as to photograph the sarcophagus from all angles? Tom, I'm going to make transcriptions of the hieroglyphs on the lid. Would you hold the pages when I'm done with each of them, keep them in the proper order?"

  "Gee, okay, if you think I can handle it!" he said with amusement.

  The room was suddenly a bustle of activity. Sam Goldhaber was walking around snapping photographs as Will and Gus brought in the second and then the third of the crates. Harriet placed a sheet of plain white paper in a clipboard and leaned over the one exposed sarcophagus. She squinted her eyes in an attempt to read the worn hieroglyphs, and her brow furrowed. "Tom, get me the whisk broom over there on that display case, will you?"

  Sawhill fetched the whisk broom and extended it to her handle first, but she did not take it from him. She continued to frown and muttered something unintelligible, and then began to run her fingers along the inside of one of the indentations in the coffin lid created by the carving of the pictographic figures. "That's odd," she muttered.

  "What's odd?" Sawhill asked.

  "I don't think this is made of stone. It seems to be some sort of lacquered wood, but for the life of me I can't identify the lacquer." She ran her hand over the surface of the lid. "It sure as hell feels like stone. It doesn't have the smoothness or the grain that wood should have."

  "Well," Sawhill paused, trying to think of an explanation. "You can lacquer a wood to hide the grain, can't you?"

  She shook her head. "The Egyptians couldn't, or at least they never seemed to want to. They might paint wood or overlay it with gold, but this is some sort of lacquer." She stared at the sarcophagus, frowning.

  "Does it make a difference?" he asked.

  "No, probably not. It's just odd, that's all." She turned to him and took the whisk broom. "Thanks, hon." Harriet swept the broom across the hieroglyphs with quick, strong, yet somehow delicate movements, and then leaned forward over them once again. Sawhill stood back and watched her with interest, contrasting the motions of the attractive young woman with the austere dignity of the grayish-brown coffin over which she was so intently bending. He had always assumed that Egyptian sarcophagi bore carved representations of the deceased on the lid, almost as if the entire body of the inhabitant were reproduced as the lid itself, but this was not the case here. The coffin did have the characteristic shape of the mummy sarcophagi he had seen in museums—six sides, with the bottom two sides drawing away from the feet at an ever increasing distance from each other, joining the shorter upper two sides two thirds of the way up the box, where the upper two sides swept inward to attach to their respective ends of the head of the coffin—but it lacked the ornateness which he had assumed was customary. Perhaps these people were not wealthy enough to get a funeral with all the trimmings. Perhaps this was the ancient Egyptian equivalent of the plain pine box of the pauper's graveyard. I just hope Harriet isn't disappointed, he thought.