by Lana Axe
“You didn’t see it, Cali,” he said.
“See what?”
“I didn’t hang around to inspect it,” Emmit said, “but there was movement inside that coffin after the lid was opened. I barely glimpsed it before I bolted for the door.”
The calico narrowed her eyes. “You mean something was alive in there?” Impossible, she thought. It’s been sealed far too long. No living thing would have survived the lack of air all the way from Egypt, not to mention the extreme heat inside that golden tomb.
“I don’t know,” Emmit said, placing his paws on either side of his head. “I’m not sure what I saw.”
“Maybe you imagined it,” she said. “I’m sure Porchester was panicked and screaming, and that must have frightened you.” She gave Emmit a friendly lick with her scratchy tongue. “Everything’s fine. You can see the coffin is empty, and there’s no one around.”
Emmit sighed. “I hope you’re right.” Porchester’s reaction had definitely given him a fright, and he hadn’t been thinking clearly. “Maybe it was my imagination after all.” With Cali at his side, he tiptoed toward the amulet’s display case.
“It happened as soon as I placed the amulet inside this case,” Porchester said. “The sarcophagus opened itself!” He pointed to the broken glass. “And as you can see, it’s empty.”
“What happened to the mummy?” Lionel asked.
“It must have escaped,” Porchester replied.
Grunting, Lionel said, “That’s a wild conclusion to jump to.” Shaking his head, he added, “You’re a man of science. Think rationally.”
“Well, perhaps it was stolen while I was away,” Porchester said, his cheeks flushing red.
“That’s possible, I guess,” Lionel said. “But only if someone had been watching and knew you left the door unlocked. Did you actually see a mummy in here?”
“No,” the Egyptologist admitted.
“Then maybe it was empty to begin with.” Lionel’s argument was sound. Despite what was written on the outside, there was no proof a pharaoh had ever been placed inside.
“But why would the ancients go to the trouble of crafting such an elaborate coffin only to leave it empty?” Porchester argued.
“Beats me,” Lionel replied. “You’re the expert on those people and their customs. I’m more interested in how this lid opened itself.” It was a fascinating bit of technology that any tinker would love to explore further.
“Then take another look at that amulet,” Porchester said. “That’s what triggered it to open.”
Lionel reached in and picked up the amulet. Adjusting his glasses, he turned it over in his hand. Placing it near his ear, he said, “Still ticking.”
“Can you make it stop?” Porchester asked.
Lionel didn’t answer. Instead, he plopped down, sitting cross-legged on the museum floor. Fishing through his tools, he selected a thin probe and set about deactivating the amulet. “Mmm-hmm,” Lionel said as the amulet’s inner workings gave a click.
Porchester gasped as the lid to the sarcophagus lifted itself from the floor, supported by a previously unseen set of jointed arms. In a slow, smooth motion, the lid was lifted and situated back in place.
Cali and Emmit stood stone silent as they watched the clockwork lid. A faint ticking sounded as it moved, suggesting that gears and levers were hidden somewhere inside. Cali wondered why the Egyptians would bother going to such lengths. Why would they want to open the sarcophagus again once it was closed? It wasn’t as if it could be reused. Nothing about this situation made sense to her.
Though the amulet had fallen silent, Lionel wasn’t done tinkering. He proceeded to prod the opening, sliding a tool along the nearly invisible edge.
“What are you doing?” Porchester asked. He held his breath for fear the amulet could be damaged. When Lionel popped the cover from the amulet, the Egyptologist stumbled backward. “You’ve broken it!”
Lionel shook his head and grinned at the Egyptologist. “Nope,” he said. “It’s in as good a shape as ever, only now I can see who made it.”
“What do you mean?” Porchester asked, leaning over the amulet.
“This mark here on the gear mechanism,” he said, pointing with his tool. “That’s a smithy I know. He’s old, but he’s neither ancient nor Egyptian.”
“I don’t understand.” He stared blankly at the tinker.
“You’ve been duped,” Lionel said. “This amulet isn’t ancient, which means neither is that sarcophagus.”
Porchester swayed on his feet and nearly fell over. “Please,” he pleaded, “tell no one of this discovery. I’d be ruined.” If word got out that he’d been so easily fooled by false artifacts, his reputation would be shattered, and he could lose his position at the museum. “I’ll take it off display at once.” He removed the black coffer from its display case and reached for the amulet.
Lionel snapped the cover back on top before handing the amulet to the Egyptologist. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he said.
“Thank you,” Porchester replied. Fishing in his pocket, he produced a paper bill. “For your help and your discretion.”
Lionel gladly accepted the payment. With a tip of his hat, he said, “Come on, Cali,” and headed for the exit.
Cali hesitated a moment. Something about this situation wasn’t sitting well with her. When Lionel clicked his tongue, she sighed and trotted along after him. Emmit scurried along at her side. As the trio climbed into the carriage, Cali couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in her gut. She didn’t think she’d seen the last of that amulet.
“Lionel? Are you in there?” Florence poked her head inside the door to her brother’s apartment. “Lionel?”
Roused from his peaceful slumber, Lionel squinted one eye at his alarm clock. The hands were stuck at the three o’clock position. He batted it once to turn it around. The windup mechanism on the clock’s back had failed again. Oh well, he thought with a sigh. He needed the extra rest this morning.
Cali stretched, first arching her back and then lengthening it until her entire body shuddered. It felt great on her rested muscles. Hearing Florence’s voice in the next room, she realized she’d slept through breakfast. Highly unusual for the calico, but like Lionel, she had found herself exhausted from the previous night’s events. Her dreams were filled with images of mummies, some of them rising on their own and walking away. She had chased them, grabbing at their wrappings, but every time she caught one, it burst into a million tiny bits. Yawning, she hopped off the bed and followed Lionel into the sitting room.
“Morning, Flo,” Lionel said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“You overslept,” she pointed out.
“I was out late,” he replied with a shrug. His eyes began to gleam when he noticed the paper bag in her hand. “Pastries?” His mouth was already watering in anticipation of a sugary breakfast.
Florence nodded. “Blackberry tartlets,” she said. She and her brother shared a love of sweets and frequently took breakfast together. Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she set out portions for herself and Lionel.
The tinker took a step toward the table but stumbled. Cali stood in his path and wouldn’t budge. She looked up at him with soulful eyes, the hunger plainly written on her face. Naturally, she would have to be fed before Lionel could partake. He made his way carefully toward the kitchen, with the feline weaving between his ankles. Retrieving a tin of tuna from the cabinet, he opened it and poured half the contents in a small metal dish. “Now don’t eat too fast,” he scolded, placing the dish on the ground.
Cali ignored his warning and dived into her breakfast. The scent was strong, the flavor divine. It was probably her favorite food of all, though she also enjoyed chicken. In fact, she had rarely met a flavor she didn’t like. Even fruits and vegetables were sometimes enjoyable, despite not being part of a normal feline diet.
Lionel rushed to his seat, attempting to make it before Cali finished her meal and began to beg again. She’d be expec
ting the other half of the tinned fish, but that was best saved for lunch. Otherwise she’d overeat and vomit on the rug. He made it to his seat just in time to see Cali cleaning her face after her meal.
Dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin, Florence, said, “I brought your newspaper as well.” She scooted it toward her brother.
Jamming the tart in his mouth, Lionel glanced down at the morning headline. Swallowing hard, he said, “Mummy escapes?”
Florence laughed. “Yes, it seems so.”
“What kind of nonsense…?”
“I only skimmed the article while I was in line at the bakery,” she admitted. “It seems someone has an overactive imagination.”
“I’ll say,” Lionel replied. He shook his head as he looked at the picture of Carter Porchester standing next to the golden sarcophagus. “What’s he playing at?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“He’s the reason I was out so late last night,” Lionel began. “He needed my help to open a fancy box, and then he was hollering about mummies escaping their coffins.”
Florence wrinkled her brow. “You mean this really happened? You’d better start at the beginning.”
“Well, he had this soapstone coffer that he said no one could open,” Lionel explained. “I managed to open it, and there was an amulet inside. Turns out, it wasn’t ancient at all. It was some sort of forgery.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“It was clockwork, and the gears were made by a friend of mine,” he said.
“So your friend is selling forgeries?”
Lionel laughed and shook his head. “No, no, someone else did that. The forger just bought the gears from the same smithy I use.”
“Go on,” she said, nodding.
“Well, Porchester swore me to secrecy,” Lionel said. “You’re the only one I’ve told, so don’t let it get around.”
“Of course not,” Florence replied.
“He took the box and amulet to the museum, and once it was close to that sarcophagus,” he pointed to the picture in the newspaper, “the lid opened, and Porchester ran out screaming.”
“But why?” she wondered. “What did he see?”
“That’s just it,” Lionel replied. “He didn’t see anything. He doesn’t even know if there was a mummy in there.”
Florence sat back in her chair. “Then this is all speculation.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Lionel said through a mouthful of blackberries.
Tapping her finger against her chin, she asked, “Why would he swear you to secrecy but talk to the newspapers himself?”
“Beats me,” Lionel said with a shrug. “That Porchester’s a strange man.”
“I suppose someone else might have told the newspapers, and they dragged the information from him.”
“There was no one else there but me and Cali, and she isn’t talking.” He laughed, amused by his own joke.
“Maybe it was one of the museum’s night watchmen,” she suggested.
“Maybe,” Lionel replied.
Florence pulled the paper closer to her and looked it over again. “So you didn’t see a mummy escape?”
“Of course not!” Lionel said. “How silly do you think I am?”
Laughing, she replied, “Well, stranger things have happened!”
“What could be stranger than a mummy getting up and strolling around?” Lionel asked.
Laughing, she said, “I suppose that would be the strangest thing that ever happened.” She scanned the article again. “I don’t see any mention of an amulet.”
“That’s because it’s not on display,” Lionel replied. “Porchester wouldn’t want to be discredited when others figured out it’s a fake.”
Nodding, Florence said, “I wonder how anyone was able to fool him. He seemed so knowledgeable.”
“Some people are eager to believe anything,” Lionel replied. Licking the sugar from his fingers, he pushed back his chair and stood up. After patting Cali on the head, he retrieved her dish and added a small bonus portion of tuna. She licked it up greedily.
“It’s a wonder this article made it to print at all,” Florence commented. “It’s all hearsay and speculation. There aren’t any witnesses mentioned.” She pointed to the end of the article. “Look here,” she said. “Porchester is quoted as saying, ‘There’s probably nothing to worry about.’ Probably?”
Grunting Lionel said, “He knows good and well there’s nothing to worry about.” He crossed his arms, his face flushing with anger. His opinion of the Egyptologist was falling by the second.
“He’s probably trying to build some hype for the exhibit, though I can’t imagine why,” she said. “It’s the talk of the town. People are traveling hundreds of miles to see it.”
“All that sort of talk will do is cause a panic,” Lionel said. “That’ll bring the wrong sort to town.” Being a man of science, Lionel didn’t like to hear talk of the supernatural. Gullible people, eager to believe in the existence of the living dead, would come from miles around to stalk a nonexistent mummy. That could lead to trouble, and Lionel didn’t want any part of it. “If that’s the sort of publicity Porchester wants, then he can take his exhibit and leave town!”
“People love a mystery,” Florence pointed out. “And the unexplainable is the best mystery of all.”
“Unexplainable nonsense,” he mumbled. “Everything can be explained, and I can explain all this. There was no mummy—just an empty sarcophagus and an overexcited Egyptologist.”
“Don’t judge him too harshly,” Florence said. “These reporters are always skulking about looking for a headline. It sounds to me like Porchester’s trying to smooth things over, not make them worse.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Lionel said. Hopefully this would be the last talk of walking mummies. When no such creature showed itself, things would settle back to normal. It probably wouldn’t take more than a day or two.
“I’d better get over to the factory,” Florence said, wiping her hands on her napkin. She gave her brother a kiss on the cheek before heading out the back exit.
Lionel watched her leave and then turned his attention back to the paper. “Mummies,” he grumbled, shaking his head. Pulling away the front page, he tossed it into the wastebasket. Heading over to his recliner, he thumbed through the rest of the day’s news.
Rising on her hind legs, Cali looked into the trash bin to see the article for herself. There was Porchester’s picture, his hands spread out in a questioning manner. He didn’t appear to know how the papers had found out about his strange night. Perhaps Florence was right about a night watchman witnessing the event. How disappointed everyone will be when there are no more reports of a mummy running around town, she thought. Sensational headlines sold papers and gave the citizens something to gossip about. But Cali knew this article was more fiction than fact. She almost felt sorry for Porchester, who was no doubt mortified that this story had made its way to the press.
Tucking the paper back down in the basket, she put the matter behind her. She padded over to her windowsill to enjoy a nap in the morning sunlight.
* * * * *
Long after Lionel had retreated to his workshop, Cali remained at her window. Though the tinker had skipped lunch, Cali had helped herself to the open tin of tuna on the counter. It was an easy jump for a cat, with or without enhanced hind legs. As the afternoon wore on, she curled her paws beneath her and observed the world from her perch.
This day seemed no different from any other until a blue-gray blur sprinted across the street, dodging the wheels of a passing carriage. Cali sprang to her feet. Zooming in on the object, she recognized it instantly. It was Emmit, his tongue lolling to the side, his chest heaving with effort.
Pushing open the window, Cali asked, “What’s happened?”
The little mouse dug in his heels to stop himself from crashing into the wall. Pulling himself up, he landed on the windowsill. “You won’t believe it,” he said between breaths.
>
“What? Tell me!”
He leaned to one side, still panting. “I went back over by the museum,” he said. “I ran all the way here when I heard the shouting.”
“What shouting?” She hadn’t heard anything. “What’s going on?”
“The mummy,” he said, his eyes focused on hers.
“Mummy? You mean the one that escaped?” Or rather, didn’t escape because it didn’t exist, she added silently.
“I can’t imagine there’s another one,” Emmit said. His manner was dead serious. “There’s pandemonium in the streets over there.”
“Did you see this mummy?” she asked, narrowing her green eye.
Emmit shook his head. “I didn’t wait around to look. The humans started shouting and running, and I ran too.”
Cali couldn’t believe her ears. Was Emmit really so irrational? “There can’t be a mummy,” she said dismissively. “The humans were mistaken.”
“How can you be so sure?” he asked. “There were thirty or forty people who claimed to see it.”
“Humans are easily excitable,” she replied. “They probably didn’t know what they saw. One shouted ‘Mummy!’ and all the others chimed in.”
“Maybe,” Emmit said. He still didn’t seem convinced. There was genuine fear written on his face.
“Can you show me where this sighting took place?” she asked.
Emmit shifted nervously. “I really don’t want to go back over there.” With two separate close calls, he didn’t want to risk a third. If there really was a mummy walking around, he didn’t want to meet it face to face.
“Come on, Emmit,” Cali said. “You’re a smart mouse. Think rationally. You saw some mummies with your own eyes inside the museum. Did any of them look capable of walking? They were wrapped tight, and all of them had their legs bound.”
She made a valid point. “True, but maybe this one was wrapped wrong?”
“Or maybe it’s someone playing a joke and trying to scare people,” she suggested. “It looks like it’s working.” She hung her head, feigning embarrassment on her friend’s behalf. “I thought you were courageous.”
