by Max McCoy
Jadoo was behind Sokai, and the old magician surveyed the contents of the shop with a practiced eye. There were the usual pieces of ostraca, limestone flakes bearing hieroglyphic prayers, building notes, and graffiti which had been gathered at the Giza necropolis; poor copies of funerary statues, the originals of which were housed at the museum in downtown Cairo; and assorted pieces of imitation jewelry, including copies of the golden beetle scarabs that adorned the breastplates of pharaohs.
"Sir, everything in this shop is genuine," the merchant repeated. "I have dug most of these items from the sand myself."
"In that case, you must have dropped them on your dirty floor," Jadoo said. "None of these items have seen the interior of a royal tomb."
"You injure my pride," the shopkeeper said. "Tell me what it is you seek, and I will help you find it."
"Something a bit more exotic," Jadoo said.
"I can take you downstairs. There, we have things which we cannot offer for sale to the general public. Forbidden things. Things which one can mix a potion in to help heal wounds, restore virility, prolong life."
"Ah, now we are getting somewhere," Sokai said. He shook a Lucky Strike out of the pack, put it to his mouth, and allowed the shopkeeper to light it.
"We have the best four-thousand-year-old mummies," the shopkeeper continued. "Fresh from the tombs, ground up, and ready to be used. The very best medicinal mummy anywhere. Or, you can take a full mummy home as a conversation piece."
"What is your name?"
"Ahkmed, sir. And yours?"
"My name is unimportant," Sokai said. "What matters is that I am looking for a trio of mummies of rather more recent vintage."
"Of course," Ahkmed purred. "What dynasty?"
"What time is it?" Sokai asked.
Ahkmed looked shocked.
"Are you suggesting murder?" he asked.
"Come now," Sokai said. "Do not feign revulsion with me. I know that the mummies you have for sale downstairs were walking and talking just months ago, that you steal bodies from graves, wrap them up, and leave them out in the desert until they are dry enough."
Not knowing what else to do, Ahkmed smiled.
"We have made inquiries," Jadoo said, "and those in a position to know say that you are the man to approach if you want to get things done quickly and quietly."
"Ah, but it will not come cheaply," Ahkmed said.
"Of course not," Sokai said. He withdrew his wallet from his coat pocket, extracted five ten-pound notes, and placed them on the dirty counter. "We are not talking piastres here. There will be another one hundred pounds for you when the job is done."
Ahkmed looked to see if anyone was watching, then scooped up the notes and placed them in the pocket of his robe.
"Tell me about the three," he said.
"They are in Cairo," Sokai said, "but I am not sure where. An American archaeologist, a woman friend of his who is a magician, and the woman's daughter. I want the man most of all."
"What is this man's name?"
"Indiana Jones."
Ahkmed laughed.
"Do you know him?"
"Everyone in the Muski knows Dr. Jones," he said. "It will not be difficult to find him, but his death will not be a popular thing. He is well-liked by the diggers. I must ask three hundred pounds for his death."
"Jones is not worth that," Sokai said. "I will give two hundred."
"Agreed," Ahkmed said. "Tell me, what is Jones seeking in Cairo? It will help if I know a weakness, if I can make them come to me, where I can work at my leisure, instead of murdering them in their beds."
"The Sphinx," Jadoo said, then looked at Sokai. "They are here for the Sphinx. That is all we can tell you."
"And, I want everything that they are carrying," Sokai said. "Every scrap of paper, every object, no matter how insignificant it may seem. Bring it all to this address." Sokai handed him a business card containing the address of an export company. "Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," Ahkmed said. "And after?"
"Deliver them to me, of course," Sokai said. "As mummies."
Mystery shuffled the deck of cards while Sallah's children crowded around. She fanned the cards, face-out, and asked the youngest of the girls to pick one. Four-year-old Jasmine smiled, but was reluctant to take a card.
"Go ahead," her ten-year-old brother, Moshti, told her in Arabic. "It is all right. Choose a card."
Jasmine reached out and selected the three of clubs.
"Now, show it to your brothers and sisters," Mystery said. "I'm going to close my eyes so I don't see it. Don't anyone say the name, either."
Moshti translated, and Jasmine giggled as she waved the card around.
"Done?" Mystery asked, her eyes still tightly closed.
"Yes," Moshti said.
"All right, I want you to put the card back into the deck, anywhere at random," Mystery said, holding the closed deck in front of her. "Slip it in anywhere."
Moshti guided Jasmine's hand to the deck, where the card was inserted in approximately the middle.
"Done," Moshti said.
Mystery opened her eyes.
"Now, I'm going to try to find your card," she told Jasmine. "Be very quiet, because this takes a great deal of concentration."
"What's concentration?" Moshti asked.
"Thinking," Mystery said as she took the first five cards from the deck and held them in her hand. "No, I don't think any of these are it," she said and let the cards fall. Then she took ten more cards from the top, but none of these met with her approval, either.
"Are you sure it's in here?" Mystery asked.
Moshti translated, and the children nodded.
"Okay," Mystery said and went through another twenty cards. "None of these are it, either. I'm just not finding it," she said, then dropped the rest of the deck onto the floor and held her hands palms-up.
"It has to be in there," Moshti said, and he and the children searched through the cards on the floor, but to no avail.
"Oh, wait a minute," Mystery said and thumped herself on the forehead. "That was my special flying card deck. How silly of me. I know where that card is."
She reached over and pulled the three of clubs from the back of Jasmine's dress.
"It flew over there," Mystery said.
The children applauded in delight.
"That was very good," Sallah said from across the room.
"It was one of the first tricks my father taught me," Mystery said as she gathered up the cards and returned them to the deck. "It's really a simple sleight-of-hand trick, but it always has been a crowd pleaser."
"I'm sure your father is very proud of you," Sallah said.
"How could he be when he hasn't seen me in years?" she asked angrily. "My mother and I apparently don't mean very much to him."
"Sometimes," Sallah said slowly, "parents must leave their children for a time because of the demands of our stomachs or of our dreams. I have been away from this brood for months at a time, at one dig or another. It doesn't mean I love them any less."
"You always come back," Mystery said.
"When parents don't," Sallah said, "it is often because of circumstances beyond their control. Your father loved you very much to teach you these tricks, and I'm sure that he wouldn't be away from you for any length of time by choice."
"Sometimes I think he's dead," Mystery said. "And sometimes I wish he was. The not knowing is the hardest part. I mean, if only my mother and I had a card, or a letter, explaining that he loved us but couldn't come back yet. That would mean so much."
"Of course it would," Sallah said. "None of us are young enough to be orphans. When I lost my own father I thought the world would come to an end, but it didn't. And my father lives on in the shining faces of these children you see before you."
"I'm never having kids," Mystery said. "The world is too hard. It would be cruel to bring another life into it."
"I said that when I was your age as well," Sallah said. "I hated the idea
of children, of the responsibility of a family. But the world has an agenda of its own. And the peculiar thing about children, if they are loved and cared for and respected as human beings, is that they make the world a softer place."
Mystery made a face.
"You will see," Sallah predicted. "You will find the right young man and—"
"I've never had a boyfriend, you know," Mystery said. "My life has been so crazy. Tramping about the world, looking for my father, dressed half the time in men's clothing, hardly having finished a performance in one town before moving on to the next. Sometimes I wonder what it is like to have regular friends at all, much less a boyfriend."
"You have friends," Sallah said. "Indy is your friend. I am your friend, and your mother is certainly your friend."
"I want somebody who isn't old."
Sallah made a disapproving sound deep in his throat.
"You know what I mean," Mystery said.
"Yes," Sallah said, "and that is precisely what bothers me."
Mystery rolled her eyes.
"Perhaps a change of pace is needed," Sallah said. "Let me summon your mother and Indy. They will take you to the marketplace, where a new dress awaits."
"You mean a real dress?" Mystery asked. "With a skirt and everything?"
"Yes, with a skirt and everything," Sallah said.
"I can't believe I'm excited about this," Mystery said. "It's so..."
"Normal?" Sallah asked.
Mystery twirled in the middle of the street, and the white dress billowed out like a parachute around her, with the afternoon sun behind. An old Egyptian digging a trench at the curb paused long enough on the handle of his shovel to give a disapproving scowl, while a young man on a bicycle craned his neck and gave an appreciative whistle before colliding with the grille of a parked taxi.
"It's official," Indy said as the expected argument ensued between the taxi driver and the bicyclist. "She's stopped traffic."
"I hadn't realized how much she had grown up," Faye said. "I didn't have curves like that when I was seventeen. How can she?"
"Better nutrition, maybe," Indy said. "Besides, you're so used to seeing her in men's clothing that anything else is bound to be a shock."
Street merchants called to them from the curbs, anxious to attract the attention of the wealthy Americans. Most of them wanted to read the fortunes in their hands or in tea leaves in exchange for a few piastres, or to scribble some mystical numbers on a slip of paper that would then be burned and consequently bring good fortune. Others held near-worthless trinkets in their outstretched hands, beads and costume jewelry mostly, while still others called in less strident voices offering things that were illegal even in the Muski: stolen goods, hashish, a few moments of passion with a stranger.
Mystery paused in front of a snake charmer.
The man was sitting cross-legged, playing a flute, in front of a wicker basket. A king cobra stuck its head out of the basket, inflated its hood, and seemed to sway in time to the strangely dissonant music.
"That's a big one," Faye said. "It must measure eight feet, tip to tail."
"How would you like for that monster to sink its fangs into you?" Mystery asked.
"Let's go," Indy said.
"The snakes are deaf, you know," Faye said. "They can't hear the music. They're responding to the movement of the flute, not the music."
"You must have seen this a thousand times already," Indy said.
"Yes, but this is one of the biggest snakes I've seen," Mystery said as she knelt down beside the snake charmer and gazed in the cobra's eyes. "Snake charming is a very old profession. Fathers pass it to their sons, and sometimes it's the only thing that puts food on a family's table."
Indy walked ahead a few paces.
"Very good," Mystery said as she laid a few coins on the ground. The snake charmer stopped the music and grinned broadly.
"I show you famous rope trick," he offered.
"Some other time," Mystery said.
Then, before she could say no, he grasped her hand and looked intently at her palm.
"You will live a long and eventful life," he said. "You will marry young, have many beautiful children, and your joy will always be greater than your sorrow."
"Promise?" Mystery asked.
"Dr. Jones," Faye chided. "I would never have guessed you were afraid of snakes."
"What are you talking about?" Indy asked with a wry smile. "It's that damn music I don't like."
A dark man in a red turban, who had been sitting on his heels with his face resting on his arms, suddenly looked up. He struck his walking stick three times against the pavement, and when Indy looked his way he asked softly, "Who would know the secret of the Sphinx?"
Indy stopped.
"What did you say?" he asked.
The man was silent.
Indy walked over, knelt on one knee, and peered at the man. The man returned his stare, but the leathery face revealed no hint of emotion.
"Dare to know the mysteries of the Sphinx?" the man asked.
"Come on," Faye said, tugging at Indy's shirt.
"Wait," Indy said.
"He's just a fortune-teller," Faye said.
"But he said something about the Sphinx," Indy said. "What do you mean, do I dare to know? Why do you ask me?"
"Your shadow walks with you," the man said. "You seek the Sphinx, and what it contains. I can help you."
"How?" Indy asked. "How can you help me?"
"Let's go," Faye said. "I don't like this."
"There is a map," Ahkmed said. "Very old. It shows many great mysteries surrounding the monument, mysteries that have yet to be revealed."
"Let me see it," Indy said.
"I do not have it," Ahkmed said. "But I can show it to you."
Indy hesitated.
"It is not far," Ahkmed said.
Faye crossed her arms.
"How much?" she asked.
"Not much," Ahkmed said.
"Take me there," Indy said. "We'll discuss how much it is worth after I've seen it."
Ahkmed nodded. He stood and led the trio through the winding streets to an alley, then down the alley to the back door of his shop. He knocked on the door, and it was opened by an unseen hand. They entered and Ahkmed beckoned them to follow him down a flight of stairs.
"I don't like this," Faye said.
"What can it hurt?" Indy asked. "He's probably got some useless piece of trash that's been reprinted a hundred times before. But, then again, he may have something that we really need. We've got to find out."
Indy went first, followed by Mystery and then Faye. The stairs creaked ominously with their weight, and the basement was so dark they could hardly see their feet.
"What's that smell?" Mystery asked. "I've never smelled anything so bad."
"Do you mind?" Indy asked as he reached the bottom of the steps. "Could we have some light here?"
Ahkmed struck a match and touched it to the wick of a kerosene lantern hanging from the ceiling. When he turned back around to face them, he held a rusty .32-caliber revolver tightly in his left hand. They heard the scratch of a key as the door above them was locked.
"A robbery?" Indy asked.
"I know where that smell is coming from," Mystery said.
An arm and a leg floated in a large vat of greenish liquid along the opposite wall, while on a wooden table beside it was a salt-encrusted corpse. The organs had been removed and lay in metal pails on the floor. On the bench was a bloody pair of long needle-nose pliers, with bits of brain still clinging to the jaws, and a big roll of wide linen bandages.
"You're making your own mummies," Indy said.
"Best in Cairo," Ahkmed said.
"Oh, my God," Faye said. "What have you got us into this time, Jones? I told you this was nonsense."
"Can we argue about this later?" Indy asked. "I've got a situation on my hands."
"We're involved in this, too," Faye shot back. "Or don't you think—"
"S
ilence!" Ahkmed shouted.
He waved the barrel of the gun.
"Come here, slowly."
They walked to the middle of the basement, beneath the lantern. Ahkmed approached Indy cautiously, gun at the ready, and snatched his revolver from the holster.
Ahkmed looked at the larger and well-oiled Webley for a moment, then threw his own gun onto the wooden bench. It struck one of the small baskets stacked there, and from inside there came the familiar furtive sounds of a snake looking for a way out.
"Your gun is much better," Ahkmed said admiringly.
"That was bright," Faye said. "I'll bet it's loaded, too."
"Don't start on me," Indy warned.
Ahkmed called out for someone named Abdul, and then they heard the basement door unlock above them. A seven-foot-tall Arab with a shaved head and glistening muscles walked down the protesting stairs. He was carrying a large wicker basket, which he placed in front of them.
"Take off your clothes," Abdul said. "Put them in the basket. Also, shoes, belts, billfold, everything."
"You've got to be kidding," Mystery said.
"Not kidding," Ahkmed said and cocked the revolver. "Take off your clothes, or I will have Abdul take them off for you."
Mystery looked over at Abdul, who was smiling in anticipation.
"What's going to happen after we do?"
Ahkmed made a motion with the barrel of the gun, and Abdul reached for Mystery. Indy stepped between them and placed a hand on Abdul's sweaty chest. It felt like pressing against a canvas bag full of steel ball bearings.
"Why don't you shoot me?" Indy asked Ahkmed.
"I will," Ahkmed threatened.
"No you won't," Indy said. "Because you don't want to puncture my hide, do you? It's hard to explain a bullet hole in a four-thousand-year-old mummy."
"It is strange, is it not, Dr. Jones?" Ahkmed asked. "Don't look so surprised—you are better known here than you have thought. And you are to become the very thing which you have sought for so many years."
"Well, I've got news for you, buddy. We all become history, one way or another, but I'm not going to speed up the process by climbing into that vat."
"Oh, yes you are," Ahkmed said. "Even if my cousin Abdul has to throw you into it."
