Stolen Souls

by Sackett, Jeffrey

  "Yeah, right," she replied. "I have to say that there are some disturbing things about these exhibits. But I'm convinced that they are genuine Egyptian relics, so I guess that's all that matters for now, anyway."

  "Good," Suzanne said. "Your Lordship, if you'll do the honors?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "If you will break the seal? Open the box?"

  "Oh, yes, yes, indeed." Roderick did not quite know how a seal was supposed to be broken, but the wax crumbled as soon as he grasped it, so that he was saved from any embarrassment. "Well, that's easy enough," he said, grinning. He began to tug on the twisted wire, which resolutely refused to come loose.

  "Allow me, sir," Suzanne said, deftly unwrapping the wire and pulling it free from the lock. Reaching into her purse she removed a key and fitted it into the keyhole. "Mr. Pearson gave me this in London," she explained.

  "Had he looked through the papers in the box?" Harriet asked.

  "No. I don't believe anyone has. You haven't, have you, Your Lordship?"

  "No, not I. As I said, Uncle mentioned it to me, but with all the excitement of his death and the trip to America and so forth—well, I rather forgot about it." He paused thoughtfully. "He seemed rather insistent that I read the materials in the box, actually. Of course, he was on the brink of death at the time."

  Harriet failed to see what that had to do with anything, but she did not say so. "Let's see what we have here." She pushed up the small lid of the teakwood box and reached inside. Harriet drew forth a yellowed envelope and a small rolled papyrus scroll. She tossed the envelope back into the box and with an eagerness born of an unexpected bounty, she unrolled the scroll.

  Suzanne looked at the scroll which, even upside down as she viewed it, was obviously not written in the English language. "What is it?"

  "I'm not sure," Harriet replied.

  "Egyptian, possibly?" Roderick asked.

  "No, absolutely not," she said firmly. "It isn't hieroglyphic, hieratic, demotic, or Coptic. There are no other forms of Egyptian writing prior to the language's displacement by Arabic. And it doesn't look to me like Arabic." She turned to Sam Goldhaber. "Sam, you want to take a look at this?"

  Sam Goldhaber took the scroll gently in his hands and examined it carefully. After a few minutes he said, "I'm not certain, but I think it's Proto-Sinaitic. Possibly Old Phoenician or Punic."

  Suzanne stared at him blankly. "How could you possibly know that?"

  Harriet laughed. "Sam wasn't always a college administrator, you know. He used to be a professor of Semitic languages at UCLA."

  "Briefly, just briefly," Sam said with typical self-deprecation.

  "Don't be so modest," Harriet said. She turned to Suzanne. "Whenever he says things like 'If I remember my Hebrew' or 'When I was a child back in Hebrew school' and stuff like that, you can be sure he's about to talk about something he's studied for years."

  "No shit!" Suzanne was surprised to learn of Sam's erudition. Accustomed as she was to the world of business, she had assumed that his administrative post had been achieved without relation to any scholarly ability. "So what did you say it was? What language?"

  "I'm really not certain," he repeated. "It looks like Proto-Sinaitic, the language spoken and written by the nomads from the fringes of the Nile Delta north and east to the Jordan valley about four thousand years ago. Or it could be Phoenician or Punic from a later date. I can't tell without reference to my books. The scripts are very similar." He looked up. "But you're right, Harriet. This isn't Egyptian, not unless the Egyptians wrote and spoke a form of primitive Hebrew."

  "You mean to say that this is a form of Hebrew?" Suzanne asked.

  "Not exactly. Proto-Sinaitic is related to Hebrew in much the same way as Latin is related to French or Rumanian."

  "Can you translate it?" Harriet asked hopefully. "If it's in here with any other documents relating to the exhibits, it may shed some light on the problems I have with them."

  "It may do more than that," he said. "There aren't too many Proto-Sinaitic texts. This may be priceless." He looked up at Roderick. "This isn't technically part of this purchase. If you don't mind, I'd like to take this to my office and work on it for a while. If it's as valuable as I think it may be, I'd like to negotiate its purchase from you."

  "Oh, yes, certainly," Roderick replied, pounds and pence dancing once again before his eyes. "By all means."

  "Good," Sam said. "Harriet, I'll be in my office if you need me." He wandered off distractedly, studying the fragile papyrus.

  "Well, that's a surprise, isn't it?" Suzanne said. "You're going to end up with quite a little museum here, my dear."

  "Looks that way," she grinned. "What else is in the box? What about the envelope?"

  "Let's see." Suzanne took the envelope out once again and opened it carefully. "There's a letter in here, a rather long one, from the looks of it." She unfolded the sheets of yellowed paper and began to read it. Then she looked at Roderick. "Your Lordship, I think this is addressed to you."

  "To me! Whomever from?"

  "Well, it's apparently a letter from one of your ancestors, addressed to his heirs and descendants." She handed it to him. "I think you should read it, not me."

  "Oh, there's no need for that," he said, refusing to take the pages from her. "Just read it aloud. I don't mind a bit."

  She shrugged. "As you wish." She cleared her throat and began to read:

  To my heirs and descendants, from Arthur Fowles, ninth Earl of Selwyn, written in the year of our Lord 1836, in the sixth year of the reign of our dread sovereign William IV.

  I am writing this for you, my dear son Henry, with the hopes that you will pass the information contained herein on to your heirs after you. There is a grave danger to me, and to you and our entire family. I bear the responsibility for visiting this misfortune upon our heads, and I do not desire to evade it. But it is a matter of vital importance that you know the whole truth, and not judge me too harshly.

  To begin at the beginning: after Bonaparte's Egyptian campaign of the end of the last century, it became evident to His Majesty's ministers that the security of the trade route to India depended in no small measure upon the establishment of a British influence in Egypt. I was sent to that unhappy land with a contingent of His Majesty's soldiers in November of 1827, shortly after the Egyptian and Turkish fleets were destroyed in the Battle of Navarino, during the Greek revolt against the Ottomans. Given the fact that their military strength was negligible and their government in disarray, the Egyptians were in no position to refuse the establishment of a permanent British consulate in Cairo. I had the honor to be appointed charge d'affaires to His Majesty's Consul, Sir Leopold Ramsey.

  Allow me to review for you the recent history of that region. The empire of the Ottoman Turks, encompassing as it does the major part of the Mohammedan world, entered into a period of corrupt decline during the century just past. The several local rulers of the provinces of the empire have been increasingly behaving as if they were sovereign rulers rather than governors dependent upon the sultan's wishes. Thus it is that Mehemet Ali Pasha, a scurrilous and totally un-trustworthy Albanian adventurer, has been able both to establish his control over the disgracefully Byzantine bureaucracy in Cairo and to behave as if the foreign policy of Egypt were independent of the foreign policy of his master in Constantinople.

  I have had the unpleasant experience of having to deal with Mehemet Ali on a number of occasions, and I must say that no more extreme example of oriental duplicity exists. I shall not burden you with examples of his immoral mentality, my son; but I mention this because Mehemet Ali is responsible for the difficulties with which I am currently beset and which, I blush to say, I must soon pass on to you.

  Suzanne looked up from the page. "Have you heard of this guy?" she asked Harriet.

  "Oh, yes, certainly," she replied. "Mehemet Ali was something of a fly in the nineteenth century diplomatic ointment. He founded the ruling dynasty which ended when Nasser and the
other soldiers overthrew King Farouk in 1952. From all accounts, Mehemet Ali was an unscrupulous Machiavellian. Of course, the racist tone of the letter reflects the prejudices of the day." She laughed. "Oriental duplicity! This from a man whose nation produced Oliver Cromwell and Lord Palmerston!"

  "And they were?"

  "Never mind. It isn't important." Harriet turned to Roderick. "I meant no offense, Your Lordship."

  "Oh, none taken, none taken," he replied genially. Who the hell was Lord Palmerston? he wondered. He had heard of Cromwell, but he could not quite place the name.

  "Go on, Suzie," Harriet urged. "This is interesting." Suzanne resumed reading aloud.

  In 1831 Mehemet Ali and his mercenary army rose in open revolt against the sultan, and he sent his son Ibrahim with a portion of his army north to attack and occupy Palestine and Syria. This led the sultan to conclude a treaty of alliance with the Russian tsar, which led His Majesty's government reluctantly to support the Egyptians. This war, which was unwanted by all the powers, was resolved by diplomatic activities in which we and the tsar were joined by the Austrian and Prussian representatives. The result, as you may know, was a reaffirmation of the Ottoman government and the withdrawal of Mehemet's Ali's troops from Palestine and Syria.

  The significance of these facts for my difficulty rests in the antiquities which Ibrahim brought back to Egypt with him from Palestine. Ibrahim is cut from a different cloth than his father had been. While equally ambitious and violent, he has an interest in the past which is beyond his father's limited ken. Ibrahim returned to Egypt at the conclusion of the war against the sultan, carrying with him the contents of a subterranean vault his troops stumbled upon (or should I say, stumbled into when its roof collapsed under their weight) in Shechem, some twenty miles north of Jerusalem. In addition to numerous pieces of armor and vessels, he brought with him seven mummies.

  "Wait a minute," Harriet said testily. "Are we supposed to believe that these relics originated in Palestine? That's ridiculous! I know there are quite a few unanswered questions here, but I know an Egyptian mummy when I see one!"

  "Is it possible that other peoples of the period used the same methods?" Suzanne asked.

  Harriet shook her head. "Absolutely not. In later years mummification was practiced according to the Egyptian method in Nubia and Cush, but they were to the south of Egypt, not the northeast."

  "Are you saying this letter is a fabrication?" Roderick asked.

  "No, I'm not saying anything of the sort. But there must be an error here somewhere. These are definitely not Syrian funerary relics."

  "I thought Palestine—" Suzanne began.

  "In ancient times Palestine was regarded as part of Syria. There are quite a few contemporary Syrians who still feel that way." She laughed grimly.

  "I don't understand—" Suzanne began.

  "Wait, wait," Harriet interrupted her. "Read the rest of the letter before we start arguing about anything."

  Suzanne seemed miffed. "I wasn't arguing. You were arguing."

  "Sorry, Suzie, sorry. Please go on, okay?"

  Suzanne continued reading:

  Ibrahim was aware of my interest in the antiquities of the region, and I spent many pleasant hours in his company discussing with him our mutual interests in the study of the distant past. I made the mistake of expressing to him my good-natured envy at his acquisition. He apparently mentioned this to his father, who proceeded to appeal to my worst instincts to his own advantage.

  In 1833 a group of Saint-Simonians arrived in Egypt. Their expressed purpose was to westernize and modernize the country, an important element. of which would be the construction of a canal connecting the Mediterranean with the Gulf of Suez. Such a canal would be both a great advantage to British trade as well as a potential hostage to hostile foreign powers. We Britons in Egypt and His Majesty's ministers in London de bated the merits and dangers of the proposed canal, and we decided secretly to work to the frustration of the Saint-Simonian design.

  Mehemet Ali and Ibrahim were unaware of this decision, however, and they took steps to suborn the British representatives in Cairo. Mehemet Ali feared that the construction of the canal would in the end make Egypt the site of a major European conflict. He also feared that any attempt to alter the traditional lives of his people would result in internal strife. He incorrectly assumed that His Majesty's ministers would wholeheartedly support the project. Thus, Mehemet Ali's attempts to bring financial inducements into our considerations, to turn our minds against the project, provided my colleagues and myself with the opportunity to enrich ourselves by presenting to the pasha a decision which had already been made.

  "So much for honor," Roderick muttered. "Uncle used to speak of the family honor endlessly. Good Lord!"

  "Don't be too harsh in your judgment, Your Lordship," Harriet said. "The niceties of ethical behavior did not extend to dealings with non-Europeans in those days."

  "Oh, I'm not judging the ninth Earl harshly at all,"

  Roderick explained. "It just annoys me that Uncle was always criticizing me for my behavior when I'm descended—no, when we're descended from a diplomat who took bribes."

  "It can't technically be considered a bribe if it had nothing to do with the decision about the canal," Suzanne pointed out. "Only a fool would refuse to accept money in exchange for doing nothing!"

  "But it wasn't money," Harriet said. "Don't you see? This is how the Selwyns ended up with the mummies. They were the bribe!"

  "Wait a minute—wait a minute," Suzanne said. "They did build the Suez Canal. This must be wrong."

  "No it isn't. The Suez Canal was built in 1869, with very deep British involvement. This document is talking about an abortive non-British plan in the 1830s. Everything we've heard so far is consistent with historical fact."

  "Let's hear the rest," Roderick said. "It's nice to find out that I'm not the only black sheep in the family tree."

  Rather than comment on the rather bizarre image Roderick had just conjured up, Suzanne cleared her throat and went back to the letter.

  Some of my colleagues accepted gold and women, but I wanted nothing less than the artifacts which Ibrahim had brought back with him from Palestine. This was a matter of no moment to Mehemet Ali, though it angered Ibrahim greatly. I arranged to have the artifacts shipped to my home at Chudley, an arrangement done in secret for a number of reasons. It would have been unwise to allow my connection with the pasha to be come known to my superiors in London, and I was uncertain as to the projected length of Mehemet Ali's reign in Egypt. He was both unstable and hated by the sultan. I was certain that the moment his father was dead Ibrahim would take steps to repossess his discovery. Thus it was that last year I had the antiquities returned to England. There was a general cry of complaint which rose from the Egyptian upper classes about the supposed theft of their antiquities, but I was able to keep my name from entering into the outcry by judiciously distributed gold.

  "Taking bribes and now paying bribes," Roderick said. "Shush!" Harriet ordered. Suzanne continued:

  In addition to the mummies and the other artifacts, the assortment contained a papyrus scroll, which I shall place in the teak box along with a translation and this letter. I shudder to think that only a few years more would have prevented me from taking the accursed coffins out of Egypt. Had MacDougal been able to complete his studies earlier, I might have had the scroll translated while in Egypt, thus saving myself from the problem which I now face.

  I cannot bring myself to outline for you the horror I have brought back to England, my son. Read the translation of the scroll and you will understand. Heed my words, and heed my warning, and be certain that your heirs heed them, and your heirs' heirs. Do not touch the mummies on any part of their bodies, especially not the skull. Do not allow them to leave your guardian ship, lest they fall into the hands of the foul cult spoken of in the scroll. Do not burn them, lest a curse fall upon you. If for any reason you can no longer keep them secreted away in the attic at Chu
dley, then bury them privately, with no fanfare. And speak of their existence to no one, not to your dearest friend, not to the wife of your bosom.

  And forgive me for bringing them to England. I knew not what I had done.

  "It's just signed 'Selwyn,'" Suzanne said.

  "Whatever can he be talking about?" Roderick wondered. "You know, Uncle said almost the exact same words to me shortly before he died."

  "But then why did you sell the mummies?" Harriet asked. "Not that I'm complaining, you understand—"

  "You must try to appreciate the fact that my uncle and I saw eye to eye on absolutely nothing," Roderick explained. "I never paid any attention to his advice before, and I saw no reason to begin to do so. I'm sure that you, as a scholar, have an interest in these things, but they are of no interest to me apart from their value in the marketplace."

  "Well, I suppose that makes sense," Harriet muttered, masking her inability to comprehend how anyone could not be interested in the past.

  "Harriet?" Suzanne was peering down into the opened teakwood box. "Look. There's no translation of anything in here. In fact, there are no other papers at all in here."

  "Perhaps he forgot to put the translation in there with the letter and the scroll?" Roderick volunteered.

  "Not likely," Harriet said. "It seemed too important to him. Perhaps one of your ancestors opened the box and removed it. It's been a long time since this letter was written, well over a century and a half. Any number of things could have happened to a translation of the scroll."

  "Shit!" Suzanne spat. "I'm dying to know what it says that upset the old fellow so much."

  "Let's go up to Sam's office and see if he's made any headway with it. He never discusses it, but he's quite an expert with the Semitic languages." Harriet glanced around the room. "Will you two help me get the lids back on the sarcophagi before we leave? I don't want to risk any damage to the bodies before we get them into their glass cases."