The Deadly Curse

by Tony Evans

  ‘And what of Peretti’s own horrible fate?’ Mina asked.

  Delland smiled. ‘It has all the signs of a vendetta. Clearly, some associate of Flinzer has carried out a revenge attack. And I’m sure that we’ll find that Dr Mikhail Limonov is yet another member of the criminal fraternity engaged in this deadly rivalry. The man’s a foreigner after all!’

  Van Helsing coughed gently. ‘He was Russian by birth, Inspector.’

  Delland stood up. ‘Russian – Sicilian – be that as it may, there’s some connection, believe me. Of course the gold snake bracelet had been left with his body as a warning. I daresay the murderers brought a real venomous snake into the house in a box, released it on to the sleeping doctor, then took it away with them. However, I’m confident that I’ll track them down. I intend to make a thorough investigation of all Limonov’s associates. One of them will lead me to the murderers, I’m sure. And gentlemen, Mrs Harker: be sure to let me know what else Miss Wilton discovers about the canopic jars.’

  *

  Shortly afterwards Mina, Van Helsing and I had completed the short journey back to Van Helsing’s house, and were enjoying a welcome cup of tea. By tacit agreement we had said little on the journey regarding the death of Dr Limonov, each of us keeping our thoughts to ourselves. I had managed to persuade Inspector Delland to allow me to take away the golden armlet, on the pretext that I wished to give it to Sarah Wilton for examination. That in itself was true, but my primary motive was to ensure that it was placed as soon as possible in the strongroom in Mrs Flinzer’s house, where I planned to return it the next day.

  Mina was the first to speak. ‘Well, Jonathan, our visit to London has turned out to be surprisingly stimulating. How unfortunate that I will not be able to include the events of the last few days in my next novel: my readers would complain that it was far too fantastical. Tell me, Professor, what did you make of Detective Inspector Delland’s theory regarding the case?’

  Van Helsing shook his head. ‘The Inspector is clearly a shrewd and experienced officer, and no doubt excellent at arresting safe crackers, cat burglars, forgers and the other varieties of London criminal. However, I think this case is a little too exotic for his imagination. As for his explanation, it appears to me that there is really no evidence of the involvement of feuding villains, Sicilian or otherwise. It may be true that Signor Peretti has had a dubious past, but that is hardly a sound edifice for the rest of Delland’s deductions.’

  ‘I agree,’ I said. ‘Although it will be hard to convince him otherwise. Let us hope that Miss Wilton’s analysis of the writing in the canopic jars will shed some light on this intractable mystery. I recall that she arrives at six o’clock. Perhaps you will allow me to explore your library until that hour, Professor?’

  *

  When Sarah Wilton arrived she brought the remains of the jars with her in two cardboard boxes, which she deposited in a corner of the drawing room. We lost no time in telling her about the appalling fate of Dr Limonov; when I gave her the snake armlet that we had found next to the body she examined it with great interest.

  ‘This is certainly of the same period as the other objects from the tomb of Karnos,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’m sure that I recollect seeing it when the Wilton Collection was briefly displayed to the public. Perhaps my translation of the inscription inside the canopic jars may help to explain why the armlet was found by the body.’

  Sarah took a handwritten paper from her valise. ‘The first part of the inscription is in one jar, then it is continued in the other,’ she said. ‘The hieroglyphs are Eighteenth Dynasty, and that alone would suggest that the vessels came from the tomb of Karnos II – that is, that they were part of the Wilton Collection and had been taken from the strongroom in the Flinzer’s house. However, the content of the inscription makes their provenance certain. Let me read it to you, as I have only written out one copy. I must warn you that my translation is only approximate: the nature of this ancient writing is such that finding an exact equivalent in English is impossible.’

  Sarah cleared her throat somewhat theatrically and commenced the narrative that follows.

  The last confession of Nebet, High Priest of all Egypt

  Know, reader, that a great deception has been practiced upon the peoples of Egypt. It has come about thus. For many years the wise and beautiful Queen Merhote held the highest place in the affections of Pharaoh Karnos II, and was preferred to all other of his queens and concubines. She served the god-king faithfully, and yet although she could give him her loyalty, she could not give him her love, since that belonged only to me. We both knew that our secret could be revealed at any time and that to be discovered would be fatal, yet still we risked everything for each other.

  The death of Karnos II did not bring us security. Far from it. We have long suspected that the new pharaoh – the brother of Karnos II – knows of our love for each other: in which case our deaths would follow his accession as surely as the sun god Ra reappears each dawn after his journey through the night.

  Queen Merhote therefore elected to die and be buried with her husband, as is her right. Yet we could not tolerate the dreadful prospect of eternal separation. So with the help of Grand Vizier Actaroth, who owes me a great debt for a service I rendered him many years ago, we contrived that I would take the place of Karnos II in the burial chamber and lie with my beloved Merhote for all eternity. As for Karnos, his body will be secretly removed and buried in an unmarked grave on the hillside.

  There remains one more task for me to do before I take the poison and depart from this world into the next alongside Merhote. The gods of Egypt are not easily deceived, and a powerful conjuration will be needed to ensure that our deception remains undiscovered when we enter the realm of the hereafter. I have summoned the spirits of Sekmet and Amum and imbued their power into the most important of the tomb goods to be buried with us. As long as all the holy objects remain together and close to Merhote and me, we will be safe from harm. I will instruct the faithful Vizier to place a tablet in the burial chamber, warning any interlopers of the perils of trying to separate the objects placed within the circle of quartz.

  A final word: if any read this confession, either my plan has failed, or the discovery of the burial chamber has placed it in great danger. My purpose in writing is twofold. Firstly: to warn the discoverer of this inscription – if it is not already too late – to reunite the contents of this tomb. If disunited, death will surely strike, although in what way – and to whom – cannot be predicted. I have invoked this terrible power, but do not pretend to control it.

  Secondly: I wish it to be known that the responsibility for the scheme I have described is all mine. Queen Merhote knows of the subterfuge, but has played no part in its inception. If there are consequences, they are mine alone to suffer.

  After Sarah had completed her reading there was a long silence. Mina was the first to speak.

  ‘I wonder why Nebet concealed his confession in such an obscure manner? He must have realised it might never have been discovered.’

  I shrugged. ‘I suppose it was rather like putting a message in a bottle and hurling it out to sea. He must have felt uneasy at the thought that no one would ever learn the truth, however unlikely the discovery of his message.’

  ‘I agree,’ Van Helsing said. ‘And he may have felt some guilt at denying Karnos II his rightful place in the afterlife. However, the confession has done us one service. It explains the apparently inconsistent workings of the curse.’

  My expression of puzzlement must have been obvious, for Van Helsing continued.

  ‘Let us consider what has taken place. When Theodore Flinzer sent the khopesh to Edinburgh, it did not prove fatal to the recipient – on the contrary, it appeared to return to its place of origin of its own volition, and to decapitate the person who had sent it. And then, instead of relocating itself in the strongroom alongside the other artefacts, it – or the power instilled in it – sent Flinzer’s head instead. As Nebet has state
d, the power he invoked is dangerously unpredictable.’

  Mina interrupted. ‘And don’t forget that Nebet’s curse – or spell – is now over three thousand years old. It may have become even more volatile over such a long period, though no less fatal.’

  ‘Very possibly,’ Van Helsing said. ‘Now, let us consider the second and third instances – the deaths of Signor Fosco Peretti and Dr Limonov. In both these cases it was the person receiving the goods that suffered a horrible fate.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said, raising my hand. ‘The snake armlet was almost certainly sent to Dr Limonov by Flinzer: remember that on the day before he died Flinzer received a cheque from Limonov for eighty pounds,, and the armlet must have been posted to Limonov that day, as he received it the following morning. So, by the time the armlet was received, Flinzer had already died as a result of his earlier disposal of the khopesh.’

  ‘And it would be somewhat redundant to inject deadly venom into a man who has already been decapitated for some hours,’ Mina added. ‘But that still leaves the mystery of the young man who delivered the canopic jars to Peretti. For all we know, he too could have suffered some deadly fate.’

  ‘Deadly indeed,’ Van Helsing said. ‘The more we learn about the High Priest’s conjuration, the more malevolent it appears. Have you observed the cruel irony of the methods used to kill these three unfortunates? Flinzer removed a weapon of war, and suffered an appropriately horrific injury. Peretti was complicit in the separation of the internal organs from the mummified bodies – and was rewarded by the removal of his heart, lungs, stomach and other necessary adjuncts to a healthy life. As for Limonov, his desire to possess the snake armlet led to a closer encounter with the reptile than he would have anticipated. The question is: what do we do now?’

  I paused for a moment before answering. ‘I really feel that we have no choice. We shall have to place Miss Wilton’s translation before Detective Inspector Delland tomorrow, and to ask him to do his utmost to obtain the inventory of the tomb goods from Flinzer’s widow. Then at least we can see if any more items have been removed from the strongroom. At the same time I will return the snake armlet to the collection. I do not want it to remain in this house for a moment longer than necessary.’

  ‘And should we not make a further appeal to the Director of the Clarendon Institute of Archaeology?’ Mina asked.

  Van Helsing shook his head. ‘The man is an obdurate fool – I cannot imagine him even agreeing to an interview.’

  *

  As it happened Van Helsing’s words were to be proved wrong. Sarah Wilton had stayed for dinner, and we were just about to summon a hansom to take her home to Endsleigh Street when a muffled knocking at the front door penetrated to the drawing room.

  I glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘Why, it’s almost midnight. I’d not realised we’d kept you this late, Miss Wilton. Who can be calling upon us at this hour?’

  Mina refilled her glass. ‘If it is Inspector Delland, with news of yet another outrage perpetrated upon a London antiquarian, I believe I shall plead a headache.’

  My wife’s fears were ungrounded. Van Helsing and I immediately recognised the flustered man who was ushered into the drawing room by the butler: it was Dr Franklin Harris, Director of the Clarendon Institute. He presented a very different figure from the image of detached urbanity that he had sought to convey at our last meeting. He was hatless and his uncombed hair stood up in greasy spikes.

  ‘Professor Van Helsing – Mr Harker,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I apologise for the lateness of the hour. If you could return with me to the Clarendon Institute I would be greatly in your debt. When we last met I was sceptical about your warning regarding the coffin of Karnos. I now realise that I was badly mistaken.’

  Chapter 8

  Mina and Sarah Wilton insisted on accompanying Van Helsing and I to the Clarendon Institute, and the five of us commenced the short journey from St John’s Wood to Bloomsbury. Even at midnight the streets of the great metropolis were far from empty, although the character of the pedestrians had changed: the throng of businessmen, shoppers, clerks and loafers was now replaced by fashionable pleasure seekers enjoying their evening, whey-faced workers returning from their late hours in hotels, restaurants and counting houses and gaudily dressed women of the demi-monde.

  ‘Doctor, are you able to tell us more about what has occurred?’ I asked. ‘Forewarned is forearmed, if you’ll forgive the cliché.’

  Harris seemed to hesitate, then turned to answer me. ‘I have been in the habit of checking the contents of our storeroom each day, to ensure that all is well. The room is used to house newly acquired artefacts that have not yet been allocated a place in the display halls, including the inner coffin of Karnos II that holds the Pharaoh’s mummified remains.’

  As the Director spoke I glanced at my friends. It seemed that, like me, they were unsure whether to tell the Director the truth about the coffin viz. that it contained the bodily remnant not of Karnos, but of his High Priest, Nebet.

  Harris continued before I had made up my mind to speak. ‘Three days ago I noticed that the coffin had been moved from the far side of the storeroom to the centre. I mentioned this to our chief curator, who said that the move had not been authorised. We put it down to an excess of zeal on behalf of one of the cleaners, and I thought no more of it. Then just after eight o’clock this evening – I was by then the only person on the premises apart from Johnson the night porter – I was in my office next to the storeroom, completing some paperwork, when I heard a muffled noise from the store, almost as if someone – or something – was walking with heavy steps across the floor. I entered, and noticed nothing amiss. Then some three hours later I heard the noise again, much louder this time. On this second occasion I again entered the room, upon which the sound ceased. On impulse I made my way to the coffin; it rests on two wooden trestles, and the lid has been unsealed so that it can readily be removed. I lifted it, only to discover that the mummified remains had entirely vanished! Naturally I suspected theft, and had almost left the storeroom to fetch the constabulary when something made me turn round once more. At that instance the coffin moved almost imperceptibly, as if something within had shifted or turned. With a huge effort I forced myself to open the lid once more – and this time the remains of Karnos were back in the coffin! Now, I am a teetotaller, and not given to fancies. I had no wish to go to the police with such a farfetched story, and certainly not to the trustees of the Clarendon: it could put my position here in jeopardy. So I felt it best to call upon you – Mr Harker and the Professor, that is – as you evidently know of some peculiarity concerning the relic.’

  ‘And I am glad you did, Dr Harris,’ I said. ‘I see our journey is almost completed. I suggest you lead us to the coffin so that we can observe its latest incarnation, empty or otherwise.’

  Harris did not take us to the imposing main entrance of the building, but accompanied us to a small side door and took out a long brass key.

  ‘Johnson, the night porter, is on duty,’ he said in hushed tones. ‘He occupies a desk in the foyer and is unlikely to visit the part of the building to which I am taking you. His duties are supposed to include a regular inspection of all the main areas, but I’m afraid that he is less than conscientious.’

  The Director ushered us into an electric lift of the most modern construction. As the cables whirred and we rose to the upper levels, I speculated on the possible dangers that we faced. Flinzer had been responsible for moving the remains of the High Priest in defiance of the instructions left by Nebet, but Flinzer was already dead. Would the spirit of Nebet be seeking another victim? Or had the High Priest now succeeded in rejoining the rest of the tomb contents in Flinzer’s strongroom? I briefly considered asking Mina to return home, but knew her too well to expect her to agree with my request.

  When the lift came to a halt we passed through the folding mesh gates and followed Harris the short distance to the storeroom. He opened the door and switched on the e
lectric light: a convenience that had evidently been installed throughout the building.

  A large array of objects was harshly illuminated by the fierce light of the two incandescent bulbs that hung from the high ceiling, but prominent amongst them was the highly decorated inner coffin depicting Karnos II, though now containing the earthly remains of Nebet.

  A moment later the two lights above our head were suddenly extinguished. The storeroom door was fortunately ajar behind us, and the light in the corridor still shone, dispelling some of the darkness. There was evidently no general failure in the supply of electricity.

  I felt Mina’s hand suddenly clutch my wrist, and her head bent forward as if staring intently at the coffin. I, too, observed it closely, yet could see nothing. Then Van Helsing drew in his breath and pointed towards it. At that moment I, too, could see what had attracted the attention of my wife and the Professor. Indistinctly at first, but then ever more clearly, a blue-white haze began to form around the outline of the coffin, like a thin mist reflecting the beam of a powerful light.

  The Director let out a strangulated cry and took a step backwards towards the door of the storeroom.

  I laid my hand on his upper arm. ‘Please be still, Dr Harris,’ I said. ‘I think it best that we face whatever is to occur.’

  To his credit Harris made no further movement, and we all watched – part horrified, part entranced – as the unearthly light grew stronger. A moment later, although the coffin lid remained in place, a tall figure emerged from within it and stepped noiselessly to the ground. This was no swathed mummy, desiccated and preserved for millennia: it was the healthy body of a strongly-built, dark-skinned man in the prime of his life, wearing a long patterned tunic, with his dark hair cut shoulder-length. A broad collar of gold and silver spanned his neck. There was nothing spectral about his appearance, which appeared as substantial as that of Professor Van Helsing standing next to me.