Cynthia Bailey Pratt

by Splendid You

  “Act?” Julia asked.

  “The theater was my former home. But poor old Adolf didn’t realize what he had. Turn it over.”

  A word was burned into the bottom of the wood. The characters were deeply ornate, Gothic in their twists and incomprehensibility. Julia puzzled it out. “Englespracht?”

  “Englespracht! The name of a famous astrologer who spoke, they say, with the angels.” Dr. Mystery fairly danced with excitement. “As soon as I saw that, I knew I had to possess it! It is the key to speaking with the unseen spirits who wait for our invocation.”

  “What are these wires?” Julia asked, moving her finger over them.

  “Ah ...” He stood still and looked directly into her eyes without blinking. “The spirits are not always as cooperative as one could wish while bill collectors are always punctual. Therefore, it became necessary for me to ... shall we say ‘improve’ the box. I place it on the proper spot on the table, give a few turns to an unseen crank, and lo! Static electricity makes the indicator jump.”

  “Fraud,” Simon said in a tone of deep disgust.

  Dr. Mystery did not seem to hear. “Miss Hanson, I tell you in all truth. The box works without my interference. It worked that night when you came in search of dear Simon.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Don’t you see? Can’t you imagine what we can do together?”

  Simon surged forward. Instantly Dr. Mystery turned to cover him. “Back. I won’t be interfered with!”

  Desperate to get that pistol to point at herself, Julia said, “Yes! I see.” She walked toward him. “You know so much more than I do about these kinds of things. I want you to teach me.”

  “Julia,” Simon said from deep in his chest.

  Dr. Mystery said, “Yes! That’s what I want. All you need is training. Learn to put your mind under my control. I will help you rule your talents. If you can bring back this one creature, who else could you bring back? Cesare Borgia?”

  “Marie Antoinette?”

  “Robespierre?”

  “Not at the same time, though,” Julia said.

  “No, that would be disastrous. But think of all you could learn, Miss Hanson. Sit at the feet of Cleopatra and hear how she won both Caesar and Antony. Listen to the librarian at Alexandria describe the scrolls that were burned.”

  “Now you tempt me,” she said, and no one there could have doubted the sincerity in her voice. “Let the others go. You are right, I do have the power.”

  “Julia, no,” Simon said.

  She rounded on him. “Enough! This is what I want. You with your foolish digging in the earth like a hungry dog after a bone! What can you learn of history? Only the rubbish they’ve left behind. I... I will know them as they know themselves.”

  She glanced toward Dr. Mystery as one who has discovered the bright lodestar of existence. “He’s the only one who can help me.”

  Hardly listening to Simon’s protests, she walked up to Lucy. Julia steadied the girl’s head and lifted one eyelid with the edge of her thumb. No one heard the faint chimes, as of many tiny bells shaken in a desert wind. Cutting across Simon’s voice, Julia said, “She’ll be asleep for a while yet. One of you will have to carry her out.”

  Robert Winslow looked like a sleepwalker himself. But he stood and picked Lucy up into his arms. “May we have leave to go?”

  Julia looked at Dr. Mystery. He was holding the pistol very negligently. He waved it at Robert Winslow, giving him permission. “You won’t inform the authorities. Miss Hanson is staying with me of her own free will and no one will believe you if you say I kidnaped Miss Archer. Why would I kidnap a woman I don’t want?”

  Robert carried Lucy out. Julia hoped he’d have sense enough to take his beloved to a place of safety before returning. She had no doubt he’d be returning, and with reinforcements. She simply had to keep Dr. Mystery busy until then. She knew only one way to do that.

  He firmed up his grip and pointed the pistol at Simon. “You can go, too. There’s nothing for you to stay for now. Miss Hanson has me.”

  And I also, said a voice inside Julia’s head.

  “I’m staying,” Simon said. “You’d have to shoot me to get me to leave, and I don’t think you want that.”

  “My servants and staff are gone. I could shoot you and no one would find your body until Julia and I are long since out of the country. But I won’t shoot you unless you make it impossible for me not to. I don’t want Julia’s vibrations obstructed. Violence is very bad for vibrations.”

  Julia herself was too overwhelmed to pay attention to the men. A thousand thousand images were flooding her mind—golden sand brilliant under a blazing sun, cool ponds filled with lotus and fish that nibbled toes in ornate sandals, a house built of mud brick that yet achieved elegance, sounds of harp and bells, a warm cone of perfumed fat that melted into one’s hair, the laughter of friends and family, the eyes of a beloved husband, and the face of a son. Suddenly, Julia understood why An-ket had come and what she must do.

  “Enough!” she said, and Julia admired the snap of command in her own voice. Only it wasn’t her voice, because she wasn’t using it. She drew back the chair where Lucy had been sitting, and Julia saw that her body was straight and moved with a regal grace. Only she had never moved like that in all her life.

  “Let us be seated.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Simon said. “Julia ...”

  “Hush, you fool. This is not Julia.” The magician came closer, committing the impudence of waving some block of wood under her nose. “My God ...,” he said. “Look at it! It’s ...”

  An-ket raised her head and stared the magician out of countenance. He stepped away, fear whitening his face, and tripped over a chair. The block of wood flew from his hand and smashed on the floor.

  “No!” he cried out and fell on his knees to gather up the pieces and nurse them to his chest.

  Paying no more attention to him, An-ket placed her hands flat on the table. Nothing was as it should be. There were no pyramids of fruit or bowls of red-dyed beer to offer the goddess. No music or incense sweetened the air. Instead of chanting priests, their leopard skins sweeping over chest and back, there were only these two men who seemed to know nothing about religion. Yet An-ket had been a faithful worshiper even before she’d been made a priestess, making many sacrifices in the great temple, and the Lady of Love would not forget her.

  In a low voice, she began, “The children of Ra’s tears disobeyed his law and plotted his destruction. Ra, grown old, was angered by his children. He sent forth darkness to cover the face of the earth which he had made.”

  Suddenly, the gas jets above their heads blew out. Simon looked instantly at Dr. Mystery. He could only see his shadow against the slightly brighter windows where a streetlamp sent out an uncertain glow. Through Simon knew the only answer to the extinguishing of the lights was a trick of Mystery’s, he had to admire the skill with which the other man had acted, Simon hadn’t seen him move so much as a finger.

  The voice that was Julia’s yet not Julia’s went on. He hadn’t realized she was such a good actress. “Ra summoned the Ennead, the nine first gods, to ask what he should do. On their advice he sent his daughter, the lovely one, the divine mother, to punish them. She who is the Eye of the Sun took the form of a lioness....”

  Out in the room, something moved in the darkness. At first, Simon thought it might be Robert come back. But Robert did not pant hot breaths that stank of raw meat. Nor did he snarl on an interrogative note.

  “In the White Land, the sand turned red as the Eye of Ra stalked the earth. In the Red Land, the sea and the earth were the same, turned to blood by Hathor’s passing. The treachery of man was rewarded as befitted the deeds he had done.”

  Simon heard a great thud. The table beneath his hands began to shake with the tremors of impact. Something huge was walking on the table. From across the way, he heard Dr. Mystery whimper.

  From very close, something sni
ffed at Simon. He felt the stinking breath ruffle his hair. He tried not to move, even as he told himself that this was not happening. There could not be a large and hungry lioness—avatar of a goddess—standing on a table in a house in the heart of London.

  Then the hot breath turned away from him. He heard not more than two padding steps. Then Dr. Mystery screamed.

  Simon jumped to his feet. “Enough! Julia ...”

  But the voice was still the voice of the other, telling the story, making it real. “And Ra saw what his Eye had done and grieved for the children of his tears. He called on his ibis-headed scribe, Keeper of Wisdom, and the hawk-headed one who sees the horizon, husband of the Eye, to bring the Lady back to herself. They gave her beer to drink, colored with ochre, red as blood. Drunken, she slept, and Ra forgave the children of his tears and shone his divine light once more upon them.”

  Slowly, slowly, light came into the room, pale and yet clear. Dr. Mystery sat still in his chair, his eyes dazed. Then they widened, as realization came back into them. He rose to his feet as though drawn upwards on wires.

  “No!” He said it firmly, as though lo be completely clear. “Go away! No.” He pointed, his hand trembling wildly, past Simon’s shoulder. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the floor like a puppet whose strings are cut.

  Simon felt a great reluctance to learn what was behind him. But even greater than that was his need to understand. It was this need that had lead him to An-ket’s tomb, as well as to Julia’s bedroom tonight.

  Simon turned. He saw a tomb painting come to life.

  Both men and the woman had ideal bodies, firm of flesh, gleaming of limb. The men wore pleated linen kilts, bright with stripes. Many-rowed collars of gold and gems encircled their necks, but above that...

  It was easy to look at a painting on a wall and see the fancies of days gone by. If the ancient Egyptians chose to portray their gods as monsters with the bodies of men and the heads of the creatures they saw around them, then it was simply one of the things that made them unique from other cultures, where most gods were portrayed as wearing human form.

  Simon had never wondered whether the images on the walls and coffins represented literal truth. The heads of living saints do not bear halos; the gods of ancient Egypt with their blended forms had not been real. Believing anything else marked one as a crackpot. And yet...

  Horus, the warrior who had defeated his evil uncle, Seth, to avenge his father’s murder, carried his hawk head in silhouette just as in the representations, the black markings on the white feathers the clear inspiration for the sacred eye. He wore a striped headdress in the same colors as his collar, surmounted by the double crown of Egypt. Simon could not see, and did not want to see, the place where hawk’s head joined man’s body.

  Then Horus turned his head, staring at Simon with the clear, unblinking yellow-rimmed eyes of the hawk. The pure white feathers ruffled under his throat. The black beak opened. A hawk cannot smile, yet Simon felt that he saw approbation in the eyes that only seemed to be those of a beast.

  Between the grotesque gods stood a beautiful woman. She, at least, was human in appearance, though faultless in a way that no mortal woman could match. Dusky of skin with eyes as black and liquid as ink in a crystal jar, she was surrounded by a gentle glow like moonlight. On her head she balanced a great silver circle bounded by two curving gold horns. Too amazed to feel more astonished, Simon noticed that the only light in the room came from this headdress. She nodded her head graciously and Simon felt as though the moon had bowed to him.

  Then the third figure stepped forward, right foot first.

  He saw the thin, long beak of the ibis open and close, the supple neck curving as though oiled. It wore a black wig coming well down over the strong shoulders, the ends tipped in gold. Its eyes were deeper and kinder than either of the others. Since Thoth was known as the inventor of writing and numbers, as well as the keeper of wisdom and magic, Simon had always had a secret preference for him.

  Thoth raised his hand. In it, held by the loop, was a golden ankh, the symbol of life. Simon hesitated, then unwilling to make Thoth wait, took the object in his hand.

  As though that were the signal, the three gods faded away as shadows do when the sun rises.

  Simon blinked as though he woke from a dazzling dream. He heard an odd buzzing sound and turned, expecting to see anything from the Devourer of Souls to a cobra. Instead he saw Dr. Mystery, arms thrown back, sleeping and snoring in his chair.

  Julia sat in the same place, her hands flat on the table in front of her. She met Simon’s gaze, her eyes filled with a strange tenderness that told him more clearly than words that Julia had not yet returned to her body. Julia fought with him, laughed with him, made love with him, and would marry him. When she looked at him, she saw a lover, a colleague, and a friend. She did not look at him with the sadness of loss mingled with everlasting, undying maternal pride.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Once I was your mother. Once you were my son. You were murdered.”

  Simon did not know why he glanced at Dr. Mystery. The woman who wore Julia’s body nodded. “Yes. Our lives make patterns like the weaving of cloth. A thread may pull or snag, a length unravel, but the pattern goes on.”

  “Why are you here now?”

  There were tears in Julia’s eyes. “I had vowed before all the gods that if you were not in the West when I came to die, I would not stay there. I would wait for thee by the Doorposts of Eternity. But thou came not. Again and again through the centuries I would hear thy spirit hungering for the woman thou had loved and lost to treachery. Then at last I felt thee near me and called to thee. And this has been the result.”

  She stood up and reached out to wrap him in a motherly embrace. An-ket cradled the head of her son against herself rocking him as women have rocked their children since the beginning of time.

  “Thou art taller than I remember,” she whispered and laughed through her tears as all mothers must when they let their children go. She wiped a tear from his face. “Take thy woman unto thyself and be happy, oh my son. And when at last you pass into the West, seek for me. I shall still be waiting by the doorpost.”

  Simon suddenly knew that another god had stepped out of the mists of time: Anubis the Jackal, who guides and guards the spirit on its journey. He saw Julia’s body waver and sway but that could have been from the tears in his eyes.

  The gas jets spluttered and flared, bathing the room with light. Julia had her hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right? You look ...”

  He sank down onto his knees. Opening his hand, he found that the ankh Thorn had given him had dwindled into a small golden ring, no bigger around than the circumferance of a lady’s finger. He gazed up into Julia’s eyes. They were the same; they were utterly changed. The light of unending joy sparkled there and he knew the secret of her vitality. With her by his side, she might teach him how to find bliss in every passing moment.

  “Julia, will you marry me? I’ll ask you in Greek, Coptic, hieratic, or in mime if that’s what it takes.”

  She gazed around the room, confused. She laughed at the sight of the sleeping spiritualist. “This isn’t exactly the place I’d have chosen. Or the witness.” Then she smiled down into his eyes. “But wherever you ask me and in whatever language, the answer is still yes.”

  Before Simon could even slide the ring on Julia’s finger, the door crashed open. As though propelled by a powerful shove, Robert Winslow stumbled into the room, followed by a short, extremely burly man with bowlegs. Sharp, hard eyes took in the scene, including Simon just rising off his knees.

  “Proposal, eh? Damn well better be. C’mere, girl.”

  “Now, just a moment...” Simon barked, having had quite enough sudden appearances for one evening.

  “It’s all right, Simon. That’s my father.”

  For some reason, Simon looked at Robert. The soldier brushed off his coat. “I met him on the street as I took Lucy h
ome. He seemed to feel that if he came with me, the police would be superfluous.”

  Mr. Hanson gave his daughter a shake. “What the devil do you mean by it, eh? Runnin’ off in that hole-and-corner fashion? Scared poor Ruth into fits, thinking you’d been abducted or murdered or some other damn-fool thing.”

  “But, Father, didn’t you get my note?”

  “ ‘Course I did. Din’t need it, either. I knew where you’d gone, sure as a gun! But Ruth would have it that I come after you. Hell! I told her that if I started chasing after you at my time of life, I’d soon find myself run off my legs! An’ I ain’t got enough of them to start with.”

  Simon recovered enough of his wits to shake hands. The mill owner’s hard eyes appraised him rather as though Simon were a horse Mr. Hanson considered buying. He half expected to have his arms and chest felt over. “Hmphf. Marrying her for my money, are you?” he demanded suddenly.

  “That’s right, sir.”

  Mr. Hanson looked grim for half a heartbeat. Then the gruff face lightened and, for an instant, a resemblance to the little god Bes flashed across the brutish face. He chuckled, a sound like lava flowing down a mountain. “You’ll earn it if you do, by God!”

  Epilogue

  For Julia, Cairo was a toyshop of delights. Nothing dismayed her, not noise, not smells, not beggars. Her instant affection for the city seemed to be requited. She traveled into places where no other European woman would go and came out not only unhurt but untarnished, even honored. Simon had not yet grown used to seeing the most knavish fellahin treating his wife like a cherished daughter.

  The word flew around the bazaars and coffeehouses that the Sitt of Archer-effendi spoke Arabic like a native, though always with the phrasing of a princess. For, as she had predicted the first day they’d met, her Arabic had improved astoundingly fast once it was in her ears every day and every night.

  “Oh, thou art a cedar among reeds! Let me drink again from thy lips!” She bent down to give him the kisses she had demanded—panting, broken kisses, but sweet nonetheless.