The Mummy - or Ramses the Damned

by Anne Rice

  She almost laughed aloud; yet she did not move or say a word. It seemed the moment stretched into eternity. The young lord was talking, but she couldn't hear him. Was he saying that he must call his father, that his father must need him now?

  In a trance, she watched him move away from her. He had laid the paper down. The picture. She looked at him. He was picking up a strange instrument from the table. He was talking into it. Asking for Lord Rutherford.

  At once she was on her feet. Gently she took the thing away from him. She set it down.

  "Don't leave me now, young lord," she said. "Your father can wait for you. I need you now."

  Baffled, he looked at her; he made no move to stop her as she embraced him.

  "Don't bring the world to us just yet," she whispered in his ear, kissing him. "Let us have this time together."

  So completely he gave in. So quickly came the fire.

  "Don't be timid," she whispered. "Caress me; let your hands do what they will as they did last night."

  Once again he belonged to her, enslaving her with his kisses, stroking her breasts through the blue frock.

  "Have you come to me by magic?" he whispered. "Just when I thought . . . when I thought ..." And then he was kissing her again, and she led him towards the bed.

  She picked up the newspaper as they went into the bedroom. As they sank down on the sheets together, she showed it to him, just as he removed the robe.

  "Tell me," she said, pointing to the little group of figures standing by the camel in the sun. "Who is that woman beside him?"

  "Julie, Julie Stratford," he said.

  Then there were no words, only their frantic, hurried and delicious embraces; his hips grinding against her; his sex pumping into her again.

  When it was all over, and he lay still, she ran her fingers through his hair.

  "This woman; does he care for her?"

  "Yes," he said sleepily. "And she loves him. But that doesn't matter now.''

  "Why do you say this?"

  "Because I have you," he said,

  Ramsey was at his best, evincing that easy charm mat had subdued everyone on the voyage out; he sat back, spotless and carelessly fashionable in the white linen suit, his hair tousled, blue eyes sparkling with a near boyish vigor,

  "I tried to reason with him. When he broke the case and removed the mummy, I realized it was hopeless. I tried to get out on my own, but the guards, well, you know the story."

  "But they said they shot you, they-"

  "Sir, these men are not the soldiers of ancient Egypt. They're hirelings who barely know how to fire their guns. They would not have beaten the Hittites."

  Winthrop laughed in spite of himself. Even Gerald was charmed. Elliott glanced at Samir, who dared not crack the smallest smile.

  "Well, if only we could find Henry," Miles said.

  "No doubt his creditors are looking for him, too," Ramsey said quickly.

  "Well, let's get back to this question of the jail. It seems there was a doctor there when you-'' Gerald finally intervened:

  "Winthrop," he said, "you know very well that this man's innocent. It's Henry. It's been Henry all along. Everything points to it. He broke into the Cairo Museum, stole the mummy, sold it for profit, went on a drunken rampage with the money. You found the wrappings in the belly dancer's house. Henry's name was found in the loan shark's book in London." "But the whole story is so . . ." Elliott motioned for silence.

  "Ramsey has been subjected to enough, and so have we. He's already made the crucial statement that Henry confessed to the murder of his uncle. *'

  "He made this very plain to me," Ramsey said dryly. "I want our passports returned immediately," Elliott said. "But the British Museum . . ." "Young man," Gerald began.

  "Lawrence Stratford gave a fortune to the British Museum," Elliott declared. Finally he could take no more. He had reached his limit with this farce. "Listen, Miles," he said, leaning forward. "You clear this up, and now, unless you intend to become a social recluse. For I assure you that if my party, including Reginald Ramsey, is not on the noon train tomorrow for Port Said, you will never be received again by any family in Cairo or London which hopes to receive the seventeenth Earl of Rutherford. Do I make myself clear? "

  Silence in the office. The young man blanched. This was excruciating.

  "Yes, my lord," he answered under his breath. At once he opened the desk drawer and produced the passports one by one, laying them down on the blotter before him.

  Elliott managed to scoop them up with a neat quick gesture before Gerald could do it.

  "I find this as disagreeable as you do," he said. "I've never said such words before to any human being in my life, but I want my son released so he can go back to England. Then I'll stay in mis bloody place as long as you want me here. I'll answer any question you like."

  "Yes, my lord, if I can tell the governor that you will stay - - •"

  "I just told you that, didn't I? Do you want a blood oath?" Enough said. He felt Gerald's hand on his arm. He had what he wanted.

  Samir helped him to his feet. They led the party out of the anteroom, through the hallway and onto the front veranda.

  "Well done, Gerald," he said. "I'll call you if I need you. I appreciate your notifying Randolph about this. It's a little more than I can bear at the moment. But I'll write a long letter soon. ..."

  "I'll soften everything. No need at all for him to know the details. When Henry's arrested, it's going to be dreadful enough."

  "Let's worry about that when it happens."

  Ramsey was clearly impatient. He started down the steps towards the waiting car. Elliott shook Gerald's hand and then followed.

  "Are we quite finished with this little performance?" Ramsey said. "I am wasting valuable time here!"

  "Well, you have a lot of time, don't you?" Elliott said with a polite smile. He was a little light-headed suddenly. They had won. The children could get out. "It's imperative that you come back to the hotel now," he said, "that you be seen there."

  "Foolishness! And the idea of the opera tonight is positively ludicrous."

  "Expediency!" said Elliott, climbing into the backseat of the car first. "Get in," he said.

  Ramsey stood there, angry, dejected.

  "Sue, what can we do until we have some further evidence of where she might be?" Samir asked. "On our own, we cannot find her."

  This time the little room that moved did not scare her. She knew what it was, and that it was to serve the people of these times, as the railroad served them and the motor cars, and all the strange devices that had seemed to her earlier as instruments of horror, things exquisitely capable of bringing suffering and death.

  They didn't torture people by packing them into the little room and making them travel up and down. They didn't drive the big locomotives into advancing armies. How strange that she had interpreted things in terms of their most malicious uses.

  And he was explaining things to her now, freely and easily- hi fact, he had been talking for hours. It wasn't important to ask him specific questions, except occasionally; he liked telling her all about the mummy of Ramses the Damned, and how Julie Stratford was a modern woman; and how Britain ran its great empire, and so forth and so on. That he had loved Julie Stratford was obvious; Ramsey had "stolen" her, but again, it didn't matter. Not at all. What he'd thought was love wasn't love but something paler, more convenient, and altogether too easy. But did she really want to hear about his family? No, talk of history, then, and Cairo, and Egypt, and the world. . . .

  It had been a great chore to keep him from calling his father. He felt guilty. But she had used all her persuasion and all her wiles. He did not require fresh garments; his shirt and jacket looked every bit as fine as they had last night.

  And so off they were going now through the crowded lobby of Shepheard's, to drive in his Rolls-Royce, to see the Mamluke tombs and all the "history" mat she had asked about; and the tapestry was becoming fuller and fuller.

&n
bsp; But he'd remarked more than once on how changed she seemed from last night, when she had been almost playful. And that made her faintly afraid. How strong her affection was for him.

  "And do you like this?" she asked as they moved towards the front doors.

  He paused. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time. It was so simple to smile at him; he deserved one's tenderest smile. "You're the loveliest, most wonderful thing that's ever come into my life," he said. "I wish I could put into words the effect you have upon me. You are . . ."

  They stood amid the crowds of the lobby, lost in each other's gaze.

  "Like a ghost?" she suggested. "A visitant from another realm?"

  "No, you're much too . . . too real for that!" He laughed softly. "You're altogether vivid and warm!"

  They crossed the veranda together. His car was waiting, just as he'd said it would be. A long black saloon, he'd called it, with deep velvet seats and a roof. They would still feel the wind through the windows.

  "Wait, let me just leave word at the desk for my father, that we'll see him tonight."

  "I can do that for you, my lord," said the servant who held the door for them.

  "Oh, thank you, I do appreciate it," Alex said politely, that same generosity evinced for the lowest underling. As he gave the man a small gratuity, he looked him directly in the eye. "Tonight, I shall see him at the opera-if you please."

  She admired the subtle grace with which he did the smallest things. She took his arm as they went down the steps.

  "And tell me," she said as he helped her into the front seat, "about this Julie Stratford. What is a modem woman?"

  Ramsey was still arguing as the car pulled into the drive before Shepheard's.

  "We will do everything society expects of us," Elliott said. "You have the rest of eternity to search for your lost Queen."

  "But what puzzles me is this," Ramsey insisted. He opened the door carelessly, almost wrenching one of the hinges. ' 'If her cousin is wanted for high crimes, how can Julie dance at a ball as if this thing is not happening?''

  "Under English law, my friend, a man is innocent until proved guilty," Elliott explained, accepting Ramsey's helping hand. "And publicly we presume Henry is innocent; and we know nothing of these atrocities, so in private we have done our duty as citizens of the Crown."

  "Yes, you definitely should have been an adviser to a King," Ramsey said.

  "Good Lord, look at that."

  "What?"

  "Just my son driving off with a woman. At a time like this!"

  "Ah, but perhaps he is doing what society expects of him!" Ramsey said contemptuously, leading the way up the steps.

  "Lord Rutherford, excuse me-your son said to tell you that he would see you tonight, at the opera.''

  "Thank you," Elliott said, with a short ironic laugh.

  Elliott wanted only to sleep as he entered the sitting room of his suite. Some drunk he was going to be; he was already thoroughly bored with being inebriated. He wanted a clear head, though he understood the dangers.

  Ramsey helped him to a chair.

  He suddenly realized that they were alone. Samir had gone on to his own room; and Walter for the moment was nowhere about.

  Elliott sat there, trying to collect his strength.

  "And what do you do now, my lord?" Ramsey asked. He stood in the center of the room, studying Elliott. "You go back home to England after your precious opera ball, as if none of this ever happened?''

  "Your secret's safe. It always was. No one would believe what I've seen. And I wish only to forget it, though I never will."

  "And the lust for immortality has burnt itself out?"

  Elliott thought for a moment. Then he answered in unhurried fashion, rather relieved himself at the resignation in his voice.

  "Perhaps in death, I'll find what I seek, rather than what I deserve. There's always the chance of that." He smiled up at Ramsey, who appeared completely surprised by the response. "Now and then," Elliott continued, "I picture heaven as a vast library, with unlimited volumes to read. And paintings and statues to examine galore. I picture it as a great doorway to learning. Do you think the hereafter could be like that? Rather than one great dull answer to all our questions?''

  Ramsey gave him a sad wondering smile.

  "A heaven of man-made things. Like our ancient Egyptian heaven."

  "Yes, I suppose so. A great museum. And a failure of the imagination."

  "I think not."

  "Oh, there are so many things I wanted to discuss with you, so much I wanted to know."

  Ramsey didn't answer him. The man just stood there, looking at him; and Elliott had the weirdest sense of being listened to, studied. It made him aware of how inattentive most human beings were in general.

  "But it's too late for all that." Elliott sighed. "My son Alex is the only immortality that matters to me now."

  ' 'You're a wise man. I knew that when I first looked into your eyes. And by the way, you are bad at treachery. You told me where you were keeping Cleopatra when you told me she'd slain Henry and his mistress. It had to have been the belly dancer's house. I played out your game with you. I wanted to see how far you'd go with it. But you gave yourself away. You are not so good at such things."

  "Well, my brief career at them is over. Unless you want me to remain here when the children go home. But I don't see how a crippled, prematurely old man can help you. Do you?

  Ramsey seemed perplexed. "Why weren't you afraid of her when you saw her in the museum?" he asked.

  "I was afraid of her. I was horrified."

  "But you sheltered her. It couldn't have been merely for your own ends."

  "Ends? No. I don't think so. I found her irresistible; as I found you irresistible. It was the mystery. I wanted to s612* it-Move into it. Besides ..."

  "Yes."

  "She was ... a living thing. A being in pain."

  Ramsey thought about this for a moment.

  "You will persuade Julie to go back to London-until t*1*8 is over," Elliott asked.

  "Yes, I'll do that," Ramsey said.

  He went out quietly, closing the door behind him.

  They walked through the City of the Dead, "the place of the exalted ones," as they said in Arabic. Where the Maml1^6 Sultans had built their mausoleums; they had seen the fortes of Babylon; they had wandered the bazaars; now the he"l °f me afternoon wore on Alex, and her soul was chastened and shocked by the things she'd discovered, the long thread of history having connected the centuries for her from this radiant afternoon to the time she'd been alive.

  She wanted to see no more of the ancient ruins. She wanted only to be with him.

  "I like you, young lord," she said to him. "You comfort me-You make me forget my pain. And the scores I must settle."

  "But what do you mean, my darling?"

  She was overcome again by that sense of his fragU^' m*s mortal man. She laid her fingers on his neck. The memories rose, threatening inundation; all too similar to the black waves from which she'd risen, as if death were water.

  Was it different for each being? Had Antony gone down in black waves? Nothing separated her from that moment if she wanted to seize it, to see Ramses turn his back again and refuse to give Antony the elixir; to see herself on her knees, begging. "Don't let him die."

  "So fragile, all of you . . ." she whispered.

  "I don't understand, dearest."

  And so I 'm to be alone, am I? In this wilderness of those who can die! Oh, Ramses, I curse you! Yet when she saw the ancient bedchamber again, when she saw the man dying on the couch, and the other, immortal, turning his back on her, she saw something she had not seen in those tragic moments. She saw that both were human; she saw the grief in Ramses' eyes.

  Later, when she'd lain as if dead herself, refusing to move or speak, after they'd buried Antony, Ramses had said to her: "You were the finest of them all. You were the one. You had the courage of a man and the heart of a woman. You had the wits of a King and a Quee
n's cunning. You were the finest. I thought your lovers would be a school for you; not your ruin."

  What would she say now if she could revisit that chamber? I know. I understand? Yet the bitterness welled in her, the dark uncontrollable hatred when she looked at young Lord Summer-field walking beside her, this fair and fragile mortal boy-man.