“No,” said Bastet, crushing his hopes. “It was not Apep who kidnapped Khepre. Or, if he did have anything to do with it, he most definitely did not keep Khepre here. We have searched the place. There is no sign of Khepre whatsoever.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Barnabas in frustration. He turned to Wilfred. “Every clue we have turns to naught! Where shall we look now? We are out of leads,” he concluded sadly.
Wilfred shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “But I’m sure we’ll think of something…”
“Yes, yes.” sighed Barnabas, who was hoping Wilfred would have some sort of idea and therefore found his answer most disappointingly unhelpful. “I hope we will, at that. I suppose we may as well start by interviewing Apep to see what he knows.” He turned again to Bastet. “So, is Apep, well, is he quite, um, secure? I mean, is it safe for us to go to him now?”
“Apep? Hmmm? What?” asked Bastet, suddenly studying her claws with focused intensity. The ferociousness of her manner had dropped away as quickly as it had come, and now she looked like nothing more than a naughty kitten who had just knocked over a teapot. Barnabas and Wilfred, perplexed, exchanged a glance.
“Yes, Apep. Where is he? I must speak with him.”
“Um, yes, well, I don’t know. I’m sure someone saw him somewhere, or something…” said Bastet vaguely. She began to nibble at a chip in her claw, refusing to meet Barnabas’ eye.
“I say!” cried Barnabas impatiently. “Where is the fellow? I absolutely must see him this instant. And it is quite obvious that you are hiding something from us!”
“Me? No, of course not,” said Bastet, at last looking up at the two detectives. Her eyes were wide, giving her face an expression of adorable innocence. “It’s just that, well, you won’t really be able to talk to Apep right now.”
“And why ever not?” demanded Barnabas. “And just when might I speak with him, then?”
“Well, you see, it might be a while,” said Bastet in a high, sweet voice.
“How long?” said Barnabas. “Speak! What is the reason for this?”
“Well, probably never, is the thing. I don’t think he will be able to answer your questions very well, you see.”
“What!” sputtered Barnabas. “Why not? What is the matter with him that he can’t speak to me?”
“It’s just that I ate him, you see,” said Bastet, blinking her long lashes at Barnabas.
“You ate him?” exclaimed Barnabas.
“Yes,” said Bastet.
“As in, you ate him…entirely? He is, um, no more?”
“Yes,” said Bastet. “Should I not have done that?”
“Should you not have done that?” yelled Barnabas. “Of course you should not have done that! How on earth are we to find out what he knows if you have eaten him?”
“Huh,” said Bastet, a grumpy tone entering her voice. “Really there’s no need to shout so. I stormed the mountain for you, after all. And now you say that I didn’t deserve a little treat for my efforts.” She put on a pouty face. “Most ungrateful you are. And I do find snake meat so very delicious, too.” She licked her lips as though to savor whatever might be left of Apep upon them.
“Ugh,” said Barnabas, turning away in disgust. He exhaled heavily. “Very well then,” he said to Bastet, his voice stiff with politeness. “I thank you for your help in the matter, and I suppose we’ll just be on our way now. Good day.”
He turned on his heel and strode off in a huff. Wilfred flushed and sketched the lady a quick bow. Her eyes twinkled with their habitual mischievousness as she waggled her claws in farewell and turned to rejoin her army in Bakhu, her tail describing an undulating S as she sauntered jauntily back to the doors of the mountain.
Wilfred shook his head, amazed at the capriciousness of the goddess of cats, then hurried to catch up to his employer.
“Quite a puzzle, that one,” he observed. “Her moods change faster than a politician’s viewpoints, don’t they?”
“Insufferable!” said Barnabas, still highly annoyed. “She ate the only suspect we have, Wilfred. Ate him!”
“It was most…unexpected,” said Wilfred.
“Indeed! It is incredibly absurd. What on earth, or wherever we are now, I suppose, are we to do? Go back to Anubis and say, ‘Oh, we had a lead, but then our witness, sadly, got eaten?’ He will be furious.”
“Well,” said Wilfred, “I’m sure he will understand.”
“He will most certainly not understand,” said Barnabas morosely. “Especially since we haven’t made any progress at all in solving the case. Perhaps if we had something to go on, some new bit of evidence to bring him, or a decent plan, or what not. But we have nothing. Nothing, I say.”
Wilfred sighed, wracking his brain to come up with something, anything that might help. Then an idea struck him. “Hullo!” he cried. “What if this whole thing is not about chaos at all? What if it’s simply part of some sort of, I don’t know, political maneuvering of some sort and Khepre is just a pawn in the matter?”
“My goodness, Wilfred, you are a genius!” said Barnabas. “That is a splendid idea! It might just be the thing!”
“Oh, well, thank you,” said Wilfred, pleased and embarrassed at the praise. “It just came to me. It might not be right, even.”
“Nonsense!” said Barnabas. Now that he had an idea to work with, his manner was entirely changed. Where he had been despondent, now he was quite happy; and Wilfred was very pleased to see the improvement in his mood. “But what sort of political thing might this be?” continued Barnabas. “A play for power? Vengeance? And if so, upon whom?”
“It could be anything,” said Wilfred. “There are so many possibilities…”
“Then is it nearly impossible to know where to start,” concluded Barnabas. He thought for a moment. “I have it!” he exclaimed at last. “We could go see Bes again to see what he has to say. Since he scares away all of the evil spirits, then it follows that he would know quite a good deal about them, too.”
“And he would know who held a grudge against whom,” finished Wilfred.
“Exactly,” said Barnabas.
“So, off to Bes!” said Wilfred.
“Onward!” said Barnabas, raising his arm like a general signaling the charge.
Pleased with their keen insights into the matter, Barnabas and Wilfred walked with lighter hearts and a bounce in their steps as they headed in the direction they thought they remembered having seen Bes previously. Still, it was quite a good distance away, and having had yet another long day, they began to grow tired quickly.
“I suppose we’d best just go back to that inn and get some rest first,” said Barnabas.
“Great idea,” agreed Wilfred. “Perhaps we can hire a cab in the morning as well.”
“Indeed, we most definitely should. And I suppose we will fit in quite well at the inn now, considering,” said Barnabas as he gestured at their heads.
“Oh!” said Wilfred. “I’m sure. And maybe we will be able to understand what they say, now that we are, well, a bit more like them.”
“In all likelihood, I’m certain that we shall. So, it’s decided: off to the Grey Mouse!” said Barnabas. “To bed!”
“And a nice, hot meal,” said Wilfred. “All of this excitement has put me in the mood for that delightful cheese platter they serve.”
“Oh yes, with those fabulous crackers with the little seeds on them. That would certainly hit the spot right about now. Fighting a battle is hungry work, is what I always say,” said Barnabas.
Wilfred diplomatically didn’t mention the fact that since Barnabas had never actually been in a battle before (and, if one were being entirely accurate, he had not actually participated in one today, either), it was highly unlikely that he had ever said such a thing. And so after a bit of discussion as to which was the proper way to go, they headed off in a new direction, making their way, once more, to the Grey Mouse.
Chapter Fifteen
Because neither was entirely certa
in of which way to go, it took them quite some time to actually find the place. However, they eventually crossed paths with a mouse dressed in a tunic and loose fitting pants and pushing a wheelbarrow full to the brim with large wheels of cheese. They hailed him and asked if he might show them the way. Since they could now differentiate among the series of squeaks and peeps that made up the mice’s language (being partially mice themselves now), things went a great deal more easily than they had the last time they tried to communicate with a mouse person.
They discovered that his name was Babak, the cheese delivery man (mouse?) for the Grey Mouse Inn. Indeed, that was where he was headed now.
“Oh, happy coincidence!” said Barnabas. “Would you mind terribly if we joined you? We are exceedingly famished and have been wandering around for hours.”
“Of course,” said Babak, amiably enough. He looked in the direction from which they had come, and from where one could just see the tip of Bakhu rising up from the horizon. “I don’t suppose you got caught up in all the terribleness over by that mountain over there? I reckon that would put you right out of your way, it would.”
“Caught up in?” exclaimed Barnabas. “My heavens, we were the primary players in the terribleness!”
“For real?” said Babak, impressed. “You were in the battle? The one that saved us all from Apep and his awful lizards?”
“Indeed, we were,” said Barnabas proudly. “We had gone to interview Apep, you see, for Anubis…”
“Anubis himself sent you? My goodness, but you must be important folk,” said Babak.
“Yes, yes, well, I don’t like to brag but Anubis did collect us specifically all the way from London to make use of our expertise,” said Barnabas, puffing out his chest a bit under all of this unprecedented admiration.
“I never did hear of London. I reckon it must be a good ways away,” said Babak.
“Terribly far,” said Barnabas.
“In every way,” said Wilfred wryly. Barnabas shot him a glance, a bit irritated at being interrupted whilst he was enjoying Babak’s attention so much.
“Yes, well, that’s beside the point,” he said quickly. “Anyway, we interviewed Apep…”
“You never did!” exclaimed Babak. “Nobody goes into Bakhu on purpose. Probably because nobody gets out of Bakhu without, well, without…” He gestured towards his own mousiness, and then towards that of Barnabas and Wilfred.
“We had a job to do, and valor is the better part of discretion, my boy,” said Barnabas.
Babak squinched his face up quizzically as he tried to work this out. “Are you sure that’s the way it goes? Seems to me it might be a bit backwards-like, or something…”
“Anyway, in we went, right into the very heart of the mountain,” continued Barnabas, “and talked directly to Apep. A most unpleasant fellow, to be sure. We didn’t like his answers…”
“He was terribly unhelpful,” supplied Wilfred helpfully.
Barnabas glared at Wilfred, who quickly closed his mouth. “So,” said Barnabas, “we went straightaway to Bastet…”
“Well, first Apep turned us into mice,” interrupted Wilfred.
“Yes, yes, of course, but then off we went…”
“To Thoth first, remember?” interrupted Wilfred helpfully. “And then he told us to try Bastet.”
“The point is,” said Barnabas pointedly (as Babak, trying to follow the rapid-fire story, swiveled his head comically from one to the other), “we went to Bastet and enlisted her army of cats in order to defeat Apep.”
“So you were in the battle?” asked Babak, his eyes wide with awe.
“Yes indeed,” said Barnabas.
“Well, sort of off to the side,” said Wilfred at the same time.
“So,” said Babak, confused, “you were in a battle that was off to the side?”
“Something like that,” said Barnabas with a testy glance at Wilfred. “But, as I was saying, the point is, the battle wouldn’t have happened without us and now Apep is quite entirely gone.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Babak. “And you have no idea how happy everyone is. Just wait until we get to the Grey Mouse. Folks will be most excited to see you, I know it. Why, you’ll be famous in these parts!”
“Oh, well, I’m sure we only did what anyone would do,” said Barnabas, reddening a bit and affecting an air of faux modesty.
“Now don’t be silly,” said Babak. “You did a right good thing there for us all. Folks weren’t safe, not with all those lizards being about and us being mice and all, but now we can just go about our business with hardly a care in the world.”
Barnabas, of course, immediately took in the small size of their new friend and thought about Anti and all the other birds of prey that seemed to inhabit this place. He was certain that falcons and hawks and eagles, and possibly even ravens, would find Babak a tasty little morsel. Of course, he didn’t say anything about this, but merely pursed his lips tightly to keep quiet. A glance at Wilfred confirmed that his assistant’s thoughts ran much along the same lines as his own.
“So,” he began, to break the awkward silence. “Shall we?”
“Of course, of course, where are my manners, just standing here like this!” said Babak. “You must be famished! You just follow me and we’ll be at the Grey Mouse in no time. And dinner’s on me!”
They did as Babak suggested and soon found themselves pushing through the doors of the Grey Mouse. The day was quite spent (although, thought Barnabas, one would never know it from the infernally hot blaze of the interminably noontime sun), so that the inn was very crowded with those enjoying a nice cool drink or two after dinner.
As soon as they entered the place, Babak called out for everyone’s attention.
“Look who we have here!” he said. “It’s none other than…” He paused and looked at Barnabas and Wilfred. “What are your names again?” he whispered loudly. Wilfred quickly told him. “Lord Barnabas and Sir Wilfred!” announced Babak dramatically.
“Well,” corrected Wilfred, “we aren’t really lords of the realm or anything, just detectives…”
“Who are the great heroes of the Battle of Bakhu!” continued Babak, ignoring him.
It seemed that the story of the battle had preceded them, and they were given a hero’s welcome. “Hurrah!” shouted the mouse people, raising their glasses to them and applauding with their tiny mouse hands.
Barnabas stood tall and proud and looked as though he might be entirely overcome with emotion, and even Wilfred felt himself beaming under the praise.
The same hostess as before hurried over to them, shushing the crowd as she moved across the room. “Hush now,” she scolded amiably. “Let them have their peace. They must be famished after their adventure, and much too tired to deal with the silliness of all you people to boot.”
The patrons obediently quieted immediately (although as soon as her back was turned a few raised their paws in a celebratory fashion and mouthed things like: 'well done, brilliant, and Osiris bless you, at them). Still, the general din was much reduced as she ushered them to their table, and they were left to enjoy their heaping cheese platter (on the house, of course, rather than paid for by the gracious Babak) in relative quiet.
The hostess (whose name was Bindi, as they found out after Barnabas shyly asked her) was very attentive, and made sure they had all they needed in order to feel comfortable. Wilfred noted with some surprise, however, that Barnabas seemed to become more and more flustered each time she appeared with a refreshment of their crackers or a new bottle of wine. Indeed, as the evening wore on, Barnabas’ face was flushed so deeply (as was evidenced really only by the inside of his ears, where the fur was sparse) and stammered over his words so badly that Wilfred began to wonder if perhaps his employer was quite drunk.
Bindi came to their table once more and asked if all was well.
“Very much, no. Cheese, quite a lot of it, too!’ said Barnabas somewhat nonsensically, patting his belly.
“So, you w
ant more cheese?” asked Bindi, confused.
“Heavens no,” said Barnabas, flushing even more. “Good cheese is all I meant. No more though. Wilfred?” He looked to his assistant as though pleading for help.
“We are very well, thank you very much,” said Wilfred smoothly. “We are quite full and very happy, is what Barnabas here means to say.”
Bindi, as though she understood entirely, smiled and nodded politely. “Very good then,” she said. “Your room is ready whenever you are. You can collect the key from the boy over there.” She indicated a young boy who stood near the stairs, listlessly pushing a mop to and fro across the floor. “He’ll show you to your room. Sleep well!”
She walked away, and Barnabas watched her as she went. Wilfred stared at him in some consternation. “Is all well with you?” he asked at last. “Are you feeling all right?”
“What?” asked Barnabas, startled out of his reverie. He sighed. “She’s quite a nice lady, don’t you think?” he asked after a moment’s pause. To Wilfred’s relief he now seemed able to enunciate perfectly well, and the flush seemed to be receding from his ears.
“Who? The hostess?” asked Wilfred.
“Yes, Bindi,” replied Barnabas. “Don’t you find her to be very pleasant and personable?”
“I suppose so, yes,” said Wilfred. “I think she puts me in mind a bit of Mrs. Crowder. Seems very motherly in her approach to people. Oh how I do miss dear Mrs. Crowder!”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Barnabas. “A fine woman, most definitely.”
“Mrs. Crowder, you mean?” asked Wilfred.
“No, Bindi,” replied Barnabas. “Not that Mrs. Crowder is not a fine lady as well,” he corrected himself hurriedly. “Only I just meant to say that I think that Bindi is also quite a nice lady, too.”
Barnabas Tew and The Case Of The Missing Scarab Page 15