by Mike Resnick
“Oh, damn!” she snapped, stamping her little foot in rage. “Not another one!”
“I do have a counteroffer to make, though,” I said.
“Forget it,” she said. “Why don't you go back to sweeping them off their feet in Peoria or Biloxi or some other backwater where paupers can—”
“Where'd you ever hear of them places?” I interrupted.
“Where do you suppose?” she said, ripping the veil from her face.
“Why, you're a white woman!” I exclaimed. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I'm an entertainer.”
“I can see that,” I said admiringly.
“I mean a nightclub entertainer.”
“Then how—?” I began.
“There are only two nightclubs in town,” she explained. “I played for a week in each. That made me about a tenth of what I need to get back home. And now,” she added, putting her veil back over her face, “if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to work.”
“You sure you wouldn't like me to take you away from all this?” I asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“I told you: I've got a little business proposition to make,” I said.
“Listen, mister,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “I may not be the most expensive girl in Cairo, but on the other hand you've already admitted that you don't have a penny to your name. What do you intend to pay me with?”
“One-third,” I said smiling.
“One-third of what?” she demanded.
“One-third of the stock, of course.”
“What stock are you talking about?” she said.
“The stock in our little company,” I replied. “Think it over. It's nice, safe, indoor work, and you can keep on your feet.”
“Just what kind of scam do you have going?” she asked suddenly, with just a trace of professional curiosity.
“That's a word I am unfamiliar with,” I said, “but I have the distinct impression that if I understood it I would be very sorry that I had opened my heart to you, Miss ... ah, I didn't quite catch your name?”
“Rosepetal,” she said. “Rosepetal Schultz. And no snickering.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” I replied. “And I am the Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones, pastor of the Tabernacle of Saint Luke.”
“Really?” she said dubiously. “You're not just some religious nut who's going to dress me up like a nun and then make vile suggestions?”
“Of course not!” I said. “This is strictly business. Let us proceed to our corporate headquarters on the Avenue of the Pharaohs, where I shall introduce you to our silent partner.”
“We have a silent partner?” asked Rosepetal.
“Not at the moment,” I admitted. “But by tonight he will be.”
We kept walking, talking about this and that and the next thing, and before too long we arrived at the store just as Friday was returning with his purchases.
“Well, hello!” he said, his face lighting up.
“Friday, this is Rosepetal, our new partner,” I told him.
“I don't know what Lucifer has in mind for you, but I'm all for it!” he enthused. Then he turned to me. “What do you want me to do with all this stuff I bought?”
“Start painting signs,” I said.
“What kind of signs?” he asked.
“Oh, signs that tell all and sundry that the mummy of ... Rosepetal, name a Pharaoh.”
“How about Tutankhamen?” she suggested.
“No. He's been used,” I said. “Try a different one.”
“Amenophis III is the only other one I know,” she said. “Although I suppose there must have been an Amenophis I and II.”
I turned back to Friday. “Have the signs say that the mummy of Amenophis III will be on display from six in the evening until midnight at, oh, three shillings per customer.”
“I'll have to get a paintbrush,” said Friday.
“Do that,” I said. “And buy yourself a big dinner. Charge it to the company. And Friday...”
He stopped in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I wouldn't drink too much coffee if I were you,” I said.
“Lucifer,” he said, “I hope you don't think that I'm going to let you wrap me up as a mummy!”
“Perish the thought,” I said reassuringly.
He stared long and hard at me again and then left.
“If he's not going to be the mummy, who is?” asked Rosepetal.
“Who says he's not going to be the mummy?”
“But you told him....” she began.
“I told him not to think about it,” I replied. “Good advice, too: It would only depress him. And now, if you'll excuse me for an hour or so, I have to do a little shopping. Why don't you make yourself at home and sort of tidy things up a bit?”
Within the next hour I had bought a dilapidated wooden coffin and a batch of gold foil paper and had them both sent right to the store. I picked up a couple of things for Rosepetal and then returned. Friday had finished painting the signs, and was already at work coating the coffin with the gold foil. I had Rosepetal help me hang the signs, and then we settled back to await late afternoon. There being nothing better to do to pass the time of day, I spent our remaining pound on three bottles of inexpensive but explosive vodka, and saw to it that most of the contents were poured down Friday's massive and eager gullet.
When he was properly mummylike in demeanor, which is to say stiff as a board, I carried him to the back room and wrapped him in the bandages, doing his arms and legs separately so he'd be more comfortable, and leaving just a trio of tiny holes for his nostrils and eyes. Then, since his condition hadn't changed appreciably, I had Rosepetal help me heft him over to the coffin, which was standing upright against a wall. We maneuvered him into it and then turned it away from the front window so passersby couldn't get any free looks.
“Thanks!” I panted. “I couldn't have done it without you.”
“That's the whole of it?” she said dubiously. “That's all I have to do for a third of the profits?”
“Almost all,” I said. “The rest should be a piece of cake.”
“The rest?” she said quickly. “What rest?”
“Here,” I said, withdrawing a small package I had kept in my pocket since returning. “Why don't you go into the back room and change into this?”
“What is it?” she asked.
“Your costume,” I said.
“What costume are you talking about?”
“Look,” I said calmly. “Friday's going to bring in all the mummy buffs in the city, but let's be honest: How the hell many of them can there be? Your job is to attract those customers who have absolutely no interest in mummies.”
She looked into the bag. “But there's nothing here!” she protested. “Just a necklace and a tiny little G-string!”
“What do you mean, nothing?” I said sharply. “I'll have you know that necklace alone cost me four shillings.”
“But Lucifer, I can't wear this! It's indecent!”
“A third of the profits,” I said.
“Never! I just couldn't!”
“Must be seven, eight thousand people pass here every night,” I said. “At three shillings a head.”
“Be quiet!”
“We'll each get a shilling apiece for every man, woman, and child who walks through the door.”
She grabbed the bag and stalked off to the back room. “But I think you're a low, despicable con man!” she yelled back over her shoulder.
I looked out the window, checked the sun, and reckoned that it was about a quarter to six, so I set up a table with a little cardboard cash box right by the doorway, pulled a chair over to it, and got ready to unlock the door.
“Is anyone out there with you?” called Rosepetal.
“I'm all alone,” I said.
“You're sure?”
“Positive.”
She walked out hesitantly, an absolutely gor
geous vision of a full-breasted, narrow-waisted, hot-blooded Egyptian princess. She had her hands crossed modestly in front of her, and kept peeking around to make sure I hadn't lied to her about being alone.
“I feel not unlike a fool in this getup,” she said.
“Nonsense!” I said enthusiastically. “You'll outdraw Friday fifty to one.”
“You bought the G-string in sort of a hurry, didn't you?” said Rosepetal.
“I didn't spend long hours agonizing over which one to purchase, if that's what you mean,” I replied, staring in rapt attention as she inhaled and kind of fluttered all at the same time.
“That's what I mean,” she said. “You know, Lucifer, even if the queens and princesses of ancient Egypt walked around in G-strings, which I for one am inclined to doubt, I nonetheless think it very unlikely that their G-strings possessed emblems of Buster Brown and his dog Tyge!”
She spread her hands, revealing the problem.
“So we'll say it's young King Tut and his pet dog,” I said quickly. “Who'll know the difference?”
“It's bad enough that I'm out here being a bare-breasted and bare-assed and bare-whatevered shill for you!” she snapped. “I don't intend to be an object of ridicule as well!”
“You just keep on breathing and making muscles like that and I guarantee there ain't nobody going to be laughing at you,” I said devoutly. “Now get in the window and start attracting attention. It's time to open for business.”
“Couldn't you at least have gotten one with Teddy Roosevelt?” she said, taking her place and starting to gyrate for the pedestrians. “And what about a headdress? Egyptian queens wore headdresses.”
“They also didn't chew gum,” I said, gesturing for her to empty her mouth. “Now let's just concentrate on business.”
So we did, and business concentrated right back on Rosepetal and Friday—mostly Rosepetal—and by seven o'clock we had taken in almost five hundred shillings, and Rosepetal was so tired from shimmying that she forgot all about being embarrassed. Her body glistened with sweat, but I decided not to give her a towel, since it looked for all the world like she had anointed herself with various kinds of ancient Egyptian oils and love potions and stuff like that, and I even added that fact to my spiel.
We kept up our little show for hours, Rosepetal wiggling and wriggling, me telling the customers what remarkable curiosities they were looking at, and Friday mummying it up like he'd been doing it all his life. In fact, I was giving serious thought to franchising the operation when a small, skinny little Englishman with a daintily manicured mustache walked up to me, hat in hand, and cleared his throat.
I stopped my complicated explanation of the Dance of Sublime Surrender, which Rosepetal was right in the middle of, and turned to him.
“Yes, brother,” I said, putting on my best Sunday smile. “What can I do for you?”
“I don't mean to interrupt your show,” he said apologetically, “or to intrude in matters that are none of my business, but...”
“Just spit it right out, brother,” I told him. “Don't mind interrupting Queen Cleopatra here; she'll just put everything into a holding pattern until we can get back to her.”
“Well, I was looking at the mummy of Amenophis here,” said the Englishman, “when the strangest thing happened.”
“Oh?” I said. “And what was that?”
“It winked at me.”
A woman in the audience screamed.
“I thought it distinctly odd myself,” agreed the Englishman, turning to her.
“It must be your imagination,” I said smoothly. “Mummies don't wink. And even if they did, a vigorous, manly mummy like this one would wink at her “—I gestured toward Rosepetal—"long before he'd think of winking at you.”
Suddenly Friday grunted, and three women fainted.
“My God, he's coming to life!” cried an Egyptian.
Friday shook his head, trying to get the tape off his mouth, and stared at me blearily.
"Frmmx fblimm!" he said through the bandage.
“He's speaking in the ancient tongue!” cried a woman.
The Egyptians in the crowd started muttering quick little prayers to Amen-Ra, just to be on the safe side. Then Friday gingerly moved a hand to his head, and a couple of pistols appeared.
“Don't waste your bullets, men!” I cried hastily. “He's already dead!”
With that, two-thirds of our customers raced for the door. The rest just lay quiet and peaceful on the floor where they had fallen.
Friday must have been nursing a pretty large hangover, because he just stood there in his coffin moaning and gently rubbing his eyes. Finally he saw me, took a step out of the wooden box, and tripped over a couple of bodies, falling smack-dab on his head with a thud so loud it sounded like unto a gunshot. Rosepetal ran over to him, knelt down on the floor beside him, and cradled his head in her lap, stroking it gently. I got a knife and cut a little tape away from his mouth so he could breathe a mite easier, without cutting so much that he couldn't go back to work once we got him back into his box.
It took him about ten minutes to open his eyes. Then he stared straight up at Rosepetal's breasts for another five minutes before he turned his head to me, blinked a couple of times, and struggled to his feet.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, offering him a cup of vodka. “Ready to go back into your tomb?”
He slapped the cup out of my hand and glowered at me—as much as a mummy can glower, anyway.
“Who are you that dares address Amenophis?” he rumbled. “I have lain in my crypt for centuries. I will not return to it!”
“If you think acting like this is going to get you out of playing the mummy, Friday, you got another think coming!” I snapped. “Now get on back into the coffin before some of these people littering the floor start waking up!”
I grabbed his arm to lead him back, but he threw me against the wall with no apparent effort.
“Rash mortal!” he bellowed. “The person of Amenophis is sacrosanct!” He reached a bandaged hand out for Rosepetal. “Come, my princess.”
“Lucifer, do something!” she whispered as he approached her.
“I'll do something, all right!” I snapped, getting up and dusting myself off. “I'll fire the son of a bitch!”
“Look at his head!” she said, backing away from him. “It's all bloody. Maybe he really does think he's Amenophis!”
Friday caught her and hoisted her over his shoulder.
"Lucifer!" she screamed.
I noticed that she wasn't so all-fired terror-stricken that she didn't think to grab the money and stuff it into her G-string as Friday carried her through the doorway and off into the night, so I had no choice but to follow them, though at a respectful distance. We made an interesting sight, what with Friday wandering aimlessly with his half-naked princess slung over his shoulder, Rosepetal frightening everyone away with her screaming, and me tagging along in their wake, trying to figure out how to stop him, if not permanently then at least long enough to get the money back.
He made a couple of quick turns and I momentarily lost sight of him, so I increased my pace. As I rounded the second corner I ran headfirst into a policeman.
“Excuse me, officer,” I said.
“Quite all right,” he replied.
“Beautiful night, isn't it?” I said.
“Could be a tad cooler, though,” he responded thoughtfully.
“By the way, I know it may sound a little peculiar,” I said, “but did a half-crazed mummy carrying a naked girl happen to pass by here recently?”
“As a matter of fact, he did,” said the officer. “It was most amusing.”
“Well, it might have been a lot of things,” I said, “but somehow I never thought of amusing as one of them. Didn't you hear her calling for help?”
“Indeed,” he said, smiling. “And most convincing it was, too.”
“Then why didn't you help her?”
“I just assumed they were advert
ising a new restaurant or nightclub or something,” said the policeman.
“I'm afraid not,” I said.
“A new movie, then?”
“No.”
“You will tell me when I'm getting warm, won't you?” he asked.
“I know it sounds a bit odd,” I said, “but they were exactly what they seemed to be.”
“You P.R. types have a marvelous sense of humor!” he guffawed. “Tell the truth now: Was it a new Turkish bathhouse?”
I told him he was right, bade him goodnight, and continued my search alone. I must have walked four miles up and down Cairo's winding streets and back alleys when I finally saw this bandaged figure sitting morosely on the sidewalk, his head buried in his hands. I approached him kind of cautiously, inasmuch as he hadn't been all that friendly since falling on his head.
He looked up when I got within a few yards of him, but made no attempt to rise to his feet.
“Well?” I said.
“What do you want, mortal?” he said glumly.
“Where is she?” I demanded.
“Gone,” he moaned.
“What the hell do you mean, gone?” I exploded. “She's got all our money.”
“Money?” he said dazedly. “What is money?”
“Money is what's ours that she's run off with!” I yelled. “Now where the hell is she?”
“She's all alone, her lithe, youthful body exposed to the elements.”
“Her lithe, youthful body can damned well take care of itself just fine!” I snapped. “What direction did it run off in?”
He belched. “You wouldn't know where I could get a fatted calf or something like that, would you?” he asked apologetically. “Ordinarily I would not ask favors of a mere mortal, but I haven't eaten in more than three thousand years, and I'm hungry.”
“First the girl, then the food,” I said.
“She started pounding on my head,” he said, “and when I set her down for a moment she ran into the alleyway.” He pointed to a narrow channel between two buildings.
“Then I'd better get after her right quick,” I said, starting off.
“Wait!” he cried. “You're not going to leave me here, are you? I mean, everything's changed so much in three thousand years. I have dim, distant memories of sitting around a campfire eating antelope and gallivanting with Nubian maidens. I'm having serious problems adjusting to present-day Egypt.”
