Barnabas Tew and The Case Of The Missing Scarab

by Columbkill Noonan

  The woman laughed, a sound that echoed the meowing voices of her multitude of companions (attendants? pets?) and waved her hand dismissively.

  “Just Bastet will do. We are not much for such formality here,” she said. “And what brings two Englishmen to my doorstep?” Her manner was teasing, almost flirtatious, as she looked sidelong at them through eyes that were mere slits and nearly purred as she spoke. “And however did you get such delicious, I mean, adorable heads?” She licked her lips suggestively and ran her fingers lightly up and down Barnabas’ arm.

  “I say!” exclaimed Barnabas, quite unsure how to respond to such coquettish behavior, having never really been the recipient of such. Indeed, her manner made him feel somewhat uncomfortable for he wondered if he and Wilfred were being toyed with. In any event, he did not much like being spoken to with such forwardness. “We are in no way adorable; in fact, we are detectives, important detectives sent by Anubis himself. And I would suggest, in light of our official status, that we conduct this interview with all due decorum.”

  Bastet laughed again at Barnabas’ affront, but she pulled her hand back from his sleeve. “Very well, then,” she said. “I am sorry if I have offended you, but we so rarely have visitors of any kind here, particularly of the handsome male variety. You must forgive me my little amusements.” Her words were conciliatory, but a mischievous glint remained in her eye that alarmed Barnabas.

  “Yes, yes, of course, Miss Bastet,” he said. “One simply must remember that there is a certain professionalism expected during the investigative process. Moreover, I am not a man who goes in for shenanigans of any kind, nor is my esteemed assistant.” He nodded towards Wilfred, who blushed furiously as Barnabas’ gesture drew the lady’s eye upon himself.

  “Well,” sighed Bastet, “I suppose we should get on with it, then.”

  “Yes, we should,” agreed Barnabas, relieved to be on familiar ground at last.

  Bastet raised her eyebrows expectantly, but neither Barnabas nor Wilfred spoke further. Both were looking nervously at the cats that had drawn perilously close. One was sniffing at Barnabas’ shoe, and yet another was rubbing itself against Wilfred’s leg, tangling his robes in a most alarming fashion.

  “Don’t mind my babies,” she said. “They are merely curious. They won’t hurt you.”

  “Of course,” said Barnabas, still looking doubtful as one of his unwanted feline admirers shifted her attention from sniffing his shoe to stretching her claws out to hook upon his robe. “It’s just, that, well, you know…” He pointed up to indicate his mousy features.

  “Oh, you mean because of your adorable heads?”

  “I say! Really!” huffed Barnabas, affronted.

  Bastet laughed. “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “Really, it won’t happen again.” Barnabas, of course, not being entirely naïve, did not believe her. In fact, he was entirely certain that this Bastet woman would take any opportunity to say and do things of the greatest impropriety. He heaved a beleaguered sigh and wondered if there was any end to the insults to be offered him in this Egyptian afterlife, and he wondered if he and Wilfred would ever be free of the place.

  “So,” continued Bastet, “pay no mind to my little friends. After all, you are certainly a great deal larger than they are. How about if you tell me who you are and what brings you here on such important business?”

  Barnabas ignored the gently mocking tone in her voice and replied, “I am Mr. Barnabas Tew, and this is my assistant, Mr. Wilfred Colby.”

  “How impressive sounding,” purred Bastet.

  Barnabas flushed but continued bravely on. “We have been retained, by none other than Anubis, to find Khepre, who, as you may already know, has been kidnapped. Or worse, I suppose.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Bastet, her tone turning peevish. “That is why the sun has been stuck in this interminable noontime. Cats hate that. We much prefer the nighttime.”

  Barnabas, who had no wish to find out why, exactly, cats preferred the nighttime, hurriedly resumed speaking. “During the course of our investigation, we interviewed Apep, who lives in the mountain Bakhu.”

  Bastet let out an annoyed hiss, which Barnabas ignored.

  “During this interview,” he said, speaking a bit louder to assert himself, “Apep took it upon himself to give us these unfortunate heads.”

  “And then he tried to eat us,” added Wilfred. “Don’t let’s forget about that.”

  “Indeed he did,” said Barnabas, shuddering. “He is an utterly appalling fellow, at that.”

  “I agree completely,” said Bastet. “I have no liking for him either. I suppose you know that I once marched right into Bakhu with my cats?”

  “And defeated him soundly,” finished Wilfred.

  “Exactly,” said Barnabas. “Which is, presumably, why Thoth suggested we apply for your assistance in this matter.”

  “And what, exactly, would you ask me to do?” asked Bastet.

  “March against Apep once more,” urged Barnabas. “Arrest him so that we might see if he holds Khepre prisoner in that foul mountain of his. Or at least find out if he knows anything about where Khepre might be.”

  “I should be happy to help you,” said Bastet, much to Barnabas’ and Wilfred’s delight. “I will relish a chance to humiliate Apep once more. If it helps us to have night back again, so much the better. And, besides, my kitties need to play once in a while, don’t you, my dears?” She bent down to pick up one of the many cats that surrounded them, petted it and crooned in its ear. “Would you like some lizards to play with?” she asked in a silly high-pitched voice. Barnabas and Wilfred shared an amused yet condescending look. “Would you like to pull some little legs off of some very naughty little lizards? Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?”

  “Ahem,” interrupted Barnabas, alarmed at the violent turn the conversation had suddenly taken. “No need for leg removal. Indeed, we should keep Apep intact so that we might question him.”

  “Oh, all right,” pouted Bastet. “I suppose that is fine.” She set the cat down, and it joined its fellows with a yowl. It seemed the cats could sense that something was afoot, and brimming with feline excitement, they now teemed about the chamber. They meowed and yowled and prowled about with agitation, even more so than before.

  “When can you be ready?” asked Barnabas, eager to be out of this room with the seemingly hundreds of extraordinarily tense cats. Despite Bastet’s assurances and the size advantage that he and Wilfred held, still he was exceedingly conscious of their rodent-like appearance.

  “No time like the present!” said Bastet. She gestured towards the door, and Barnabas and Wilfred began to walk towards it. As they did so, she sidled up to Wilfred, hoping to find a more amusing playmate in him than in Barnabas. She took his arm and said, “We cats are not known for our patience. When we want something, we want it now.”

  She laughed at the terrified expression on Wilfred’s face and at the sight of Barnabas’ lips pinched tight in disapproval. She pulled away from Wilfred and put up her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Sorry! I can see that you don’t like my games,” she said, smiling. Her smile faded and her lips pulled back in a fierce sneer. “Perhaps you will find my wrathful side more pleasing,” she said, then laughed again when Barnabas and Wilfred’s eyes went wide with fright. “Oh no!” she cried, clapping her hands in delight. “Not towards you, of course. Towards Apep.”

  “Yes, of course. I had assumed that was what you had meant,” said Barnabas, although, for a moment he had been quite certain that she had suddenly decided to eat them, or perhaps pull their legs off, after all.

  They passed through the doors and back into the bright light outside. Bastet danced ahead. “Come, my darlings!” she called, and cats emerged from trees, from behind bushes, through windows; really cats came from every imaginable place until there were thousands of them gathered. “Come, my dears!” sang Bastet. “We ride! We ride to conquer Apep! Let him suffer the wrath of Bastet once again!”

&n
bsp; “Is it me,” whispered Barnabas to Wilfred, “or is everyone here quite mad?”

  “Completely mental,” agreed Wilfred. “Even the nice ones are mad as hatters, it seems.”

  Barnabas sighed. “I do so miss Marylebone. Before the mummies came, that is.”

  As Bastet gathered her troops, so to speak, a number of human servants quietly appeared and readied a series of chariots. The cats piled into the chariots one after another until at last all were ready to go. Bastet turned to Barnabas and Wilfred as she stepped into the first and finest of the chariots. “You shall ride with me as guests of honor,” she said. “You will have your vengeance upon the snake who made you into mice.”

  Barnabas and Wilfred shared one last questioning glance. Seeing no other choice, they shrugged and joined her in the chariot. Immediately, they were off and headed back to Bakhu.

  They reached the ominous mountain all too soon for Barnabas and Wilfred, who looked up at the place with trepidation, but they were quickly comforted by Bastet. “You have nothing to fear,” she said kindly, although the predatory glint in her eyes said that someone, at least, had something to fear. “Apep cannot harm you whilst you are with me and my army.”

  Mustering their courage, Barnabas and Wilfred followed their hostess and her cats as they piled out of the chariots and gathered together in front of the doors to Bakhu. Bastet had just opened her mouth to call out a challenge to Apep when something suddenly nipped Barnabas on the ankle.

  “Ow!” he yelped, whirling around to see what had bitten him. He looked suspiciously at the yellow cat that stood nearby, but the cat looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Another nip at his other ankle drew his attention back to himself. “Oh, ouch!” he cried, jumping up in the air to get away from whatever it was that accosted him so.

  To his horror, he saw his malefactor scuttling away (or, perhaps more precisely, slithering away, since it was a snake that had bitten him).

  “Oh heavens!” he cried. “I have been bitten by a snake! Twice!”

  “Are you quite alright?” asked Wilfred, alarmed.

  “I most certainly am not alright!” exclaimed Barnabas as he danced from one foot to another in agitation. “Did you hear me? I was bitten by a snake, and not once but twice!”

  “Oh, how horrible,” said Wilfred. He looked down at Barnabas’ ankles where four little trails of blood issued from four tiny puncture marks, two on each ankle. “I say, I’m sure I could staunch the bleeding if perhaps you’d only stay still for a moment.”

  Barnabas suddenly stopped moving and stood entirely motionless. “Wasn’t Cleopatra bitten by a snake?” he demanded.

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “And didn’t she die from said snake bite?”

  “Well, I’m certain that is not the case here…” began Wilfred.

  “Didn’t she?” said Barnabas again.

  “Yes, but…”

  “Ahhh!” screeched Barnabas, now running about in a panic. With no particular destination in mind, his trajectory consisted of random circles around the field, scattering annoyed and yowling cats in his wake. “I’m bit just like Cleopatra! I’m Cleopatra!”

  “Barnabas, I’m sure that you are not at all Cleopatra,” said Wilfred.

  Meanwhile, Bastet had captured the offending snake and held it up, regarding it with sardonic amusement. “It’s just a garden snake,” she said. “And a small one at that.”

  “Oh the tragedy,” yelped Barnabas, ignoring them both. “To die like Cleopatra but no Marc Anthony in sight. Oh, the unfairness of it all!” He had gone quite pale by now, from his exertions and his upset, so that it appeared that he might actually faint at any moment.

  “Really,” said Bastet, trying not to laugh but failing. “There’s no poison at all in this little fellow. You’ll be quite alright.”

  Barnabas stopped running abruptly and dropped to the ground. “I feel so sick!” he said weakly. “How long till I die?”

  “Probably quite a while,” said Bastet.

  “Cleopatra died immediately, did she not?” asked Barnabas, his voice quavering a bit.

  “Yes, I do believe so,” said Wilfred. “But…”

  Barnabas cut him off. “So why haven’t I died yet?”

  “Because it was just a garden snake and not poisonous at all,” suggested Bastet reasonably.

  Wilfred, who knew his employer well, tried a different tack. “Probably because you are made of much tougher stuff than Cleopatra,” he said. “I’m sure it would take much more than just two snake bites to fell someone like yourself.”

  “Well,” said Barnabas, “I do feel a bit better already.” He patted himself all over as though to make certain of this, and then he sat up. “I may be a little dizzy, but you might be right. The poison must be fading away already.”

  “Your body must have fought it off with remarkable speed then,” said Wilfred. He offered Barnabas a hand so that he might have an easier time standing up. Once upright, Barnabas dusted himself off.

  “Well,” he said, “I guess I do seem to be quite alright after all.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Wilfred, “and your color is coming back nicely.”

  “Had I gone terribly pale, then?” asked Barnabas, putting his hands to his face and patting as if he might ascertain the blood flow in that way.

  “A bit,” said Wilfred. “But you look very well now.”

  “Well, I suppose I shall be fine then,” said Barnabas. “Really I am feeling almost as though nothing had happened at all. It is quite remarkable.”

  “Incredibly remarkable,” agreed Wilfred.

  “It’s like I always say, exercise and proper diet are the most important things. One must keep up one’s strength, you know. I suppose Cleopatra must not have eaten very well.”

  “Probably not,” said Wilfred.

  Bastet, who had been listening to this exchange with no small degree of disbelief and looking from one mouse-headed man to the other in amused astonishment, interjected at last. “So, might we begin our attack on Apep now?” she asked.

  “Quite so,” said Barnabas. “Do carry on.”

  Bastet shook her head, unsure what to make of the strange little duo, and closed her eyes in exasperation. “Alright then,” she said briskly, opening her eyes and raising a hand to rally her troops (which had scattered during the commotion and were now dashing about to and fro, chasing butterflies, bees, and each other).

  When at last the cats were called to order once more, Bastet reached for a horn that one of her human servants carried and sounded the attack. The cats prowled forward, a vast swarm of feline fury intent upon tearing down the door of Apep’s mountain. The attack on Bakhu had begun.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Barnabas and Wilfred watched from a safe distance as the cats used their claws, with terrible efficacy, to quickly tear the doors to Bakhu asunder. A terrible noise ensued as the reptilian folk within came out to defend their lord and their home against the onslaught of ferocious feline fury. Barnabas and Wilfred shuddered at the dreadful din.

  “Should we, uh, help, or something?” suggested Wilfred.

  “Hmmm,” said Barnabas. “It does feel a bit useless to just stand here and do nothing.” He glanced down and considered the two small pricks in his ankle where the little garden snake had bitten him. “Still, I don’t think that Thoth meant for us to actually engage in this sort of thing. I think we have done more than enough just getting it all started.”

  “Quite so,” said Wilfred, relieved. He had not much relished the idea of getting in the midst of the fray. “And I’m sure Anubis would be most displeased if we, the detectives that he went to so much trouble to bring here, were to be wounded by foolishly jumping into a battle of this sort.”

  “Indeed!” said Barnabas. “I am quite certain he would be most unhappy with us. We are far too valuable, and our safety is necessary for the success of this case. And there does seem to be a lot of teeth and claws and, well, violence going on in there.
Not at all the sort of thing for us, I’d say.”

  “No, it is not in the slightest the sort of thing for us. We are meant to work with our brains, not our brawn,” said Wilfred.

  “Exactly!” said Barnabas, pleased. “And so we shall stay here and trust that these cats take care of their business as well as we have acquitted ourselves with ours.”

  And so the two stayed back and waited. The sounds of the battle ebbed and flowed, getting softer at times as the fighting moved deeper into the mountain, or getting louder as it pushed back towards the entrance.

  Each time Barnabas and Wilfred heard a particularly loud noise (the angry hissing of an enraged cat; the screeches of a stricken lizard; the crash and tumble of things being knocked over in the kerfuffle) they jumped and took a few steps backwards; so that by the time Bastet at last emerged from the mountain, they were quite a distance away.

  Bastet stepped through the doorway and looked at the place where they had originally been standing. Not seeing them, she was puzzled and glanced about the plain. At last her sharp eyes found them several hundred yards from where they had begun. She shook her head and frowned, crooking a sharp claw at them in a beckoning gesture.

  Seeing her displeasure, Barnabas and Wilfred felt quite embarrassed and hurried over to her, faces red with shame.

  “We only just thought that perhaps we should stand quite out of the way so as not to interfere with your battle tactics,” said Barnabas.

  Bastet raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure,” she said sardonically. Gone was her flirtatious manner, and in its place was a certain brisk aggressiveness; and a bloodlust that was frightening in its intensity shone in her eyes.

  “I presume that you have won?” asked Barnabas, since it was she who had come out from the mountain rather than a group of marauding reptiles.

  “Of course we won!” snapped Bastet. She sniffed. “A few paltry lizards against my cats? It was too easy. My kitties are just rounding up the stragglers now and deciding what to do with the prisoners.”

  “Any sign of Khepre?” asked Barnabas eagerly, hoping that the poor scarab beetle god would be found and the case solved. Of course there was the matter of the beetle legs that Bes had shown them, but perhaps that was the only damage the kidnapped god incurred. Barnabas supposed that a beetle could live well enough with a few legs missing, since they had so many to start with, after all.