“Heavens, Barnabas, do you fancy Bindi?” gasped Wilfred, astonished. His suspicion was immediately confirmed when Barnabas’ ears began to redden once more.
“Of course not,” lied Barnabas quite obviously. “You know I’m not one for that sort of silly thing. “But if I were to be,” he added, “I suppose that one could do far worse than such as her. Just hypothetically, of course.”
“Of course,” said Wilfred, hiding his smile. “Excepting for the fact that she is a mouse and you are not. Well, I suppose that you are, in fact, a mouse at this very moment, but that is temporary, I am sure.”
“Well, yes, of course, which is exactly why it’s a hopeless fancy. I mean, assuming, hypothetically, that one were to have such a fancy, which I most certainly do not. Since, as I said, I don’t go in for that sort of thing, you know. Love and romance are not for one such as myself.”
“Of course not,” agreed Wilfred. “You are far too sensible.”
“I err on the side of sensibility so much as to nearly be insensible,” said Barnabas.
“Indeed,” said Wilfred.
“A true paragon of sensibility could hardly be more sensible than I,” said Barnabas.
“Hardly,” said Wilfred.
“Still,” said Barnabas, sighing a little once more as they rose and prepared to find their rooms and their beds for the night, “one could certainly do much worse than one such as Bindi, if one were to be of the romantic sort. Which I most certainly am not,” he added emphatically.
“Not in the slightest,” agreed Wilfred. And with that, they headed off to bed and slept the deep sleep that is only possible when one is utterly exhausted and completely stuffed full of wine and cheese.
They awoke early the next morning. Barnabas opened his eyes first and, seeing the sun high in the sky, presumed that they had slept till noon; forgetting, of course, that the sun was perpetually in the noon position, which was why they were there in the first place. He leapt up in a panic, also forgetting that they were no longer in London (indeed, they were no longer in the land of the living at all), and therefore no longer restrained by the rules of scheduling and time management that prevailed there.
“Wake up, Wilfred!” he yelped. He hopped about the room, clumsily trying to put his robes on whilst bouncing about in search of his socks. “Goodness, but we’ve slept past noon! Oh, do wake up!” He found his sock, balled it up, and threw it at the unresponsive Wilfred’s head.
“Huh? What? What’s happened?” cried Wilfred as he opened his eyes to see his employer running frantically about their shared room.
“It is noon, is what’s happened,” said Barnabas. “We’ve wasted the entire morning.”
Wilfred sat up and looked at the clock that hung on the wall.
“It’s quite all right,” he said, pointing towards the clock. “It’s only just half past seven.”
“What?” said Barnabas, looking in some confusion from the clock to the window through which the sun shone from high in the sky. “But the sun… Oh, right.” Realizing his error, he was silent for a moment. “But still,” he said at last. “We’ve got work to do. And seeing as we are both awake anyway, we may as well get on with it.”
Wilfred obligingly rose and dressed, and in no time at all the two were seated in the dining room downstairs to break their fast. The waitress on duty (who, whilst pleasant enough, was not Bindi, and therefore fell far short in her waitressing duties in Barnabas’ eyes; her manner was not as amiable, the service not as prompt, even the table itself was not nearly so good as the one that Bindi had brought them to the previous evening) quickly brought them another heaping board full of cheese and crackers. This too proved to be quite a bit less appetising than the night before. Great amounts of cheese taste much better when one is famished and not already stuffed to the brim with the same from the night before.
Barnabas looked about eagerly for Bindi, but she was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t think it seemly to ask about her whereabouts, and so he satisfied himself with stealing quick glances every time the door to the kitchen opened, disappointed each time because Bindi did not come out.
At last, Barnabas could no longer delay their departure by feigning interest in their unappreciated cheese platter. He pushed back his chair and sighed. “All right, then,” he said. “I suppose we’d best be off.”
“Certainly,” said Wilfred. “To see Bes?”
“I think that the most strategic course of action, don’t you?”
“Most definitely,” agreed Wilfred. He thought for a moment. “How shall we get there?”
“Well, we could, um… That is, hmmph,” said Barnabas. “I suppose I hadn’t thought that through. How does one get around in this place?”
“We could walk,” suggested Wilfred.
“We could,” agreed Barnabas. “So, we’d head…” He turned about in his chair. “That way,” he said, pointing towards the east at the exact moment Wilfred said the same and pointed towards the west.
“Huh, well,” said Barnabas. “It looks as though we’ve got somewhat turned around, what with all the adventures we’ve had.”
“Quite,” said Wilfred. “And we came some of the way by chariot, took a few detours to see Set, and then the uh, episode on Elephantine Island…” They both shuddered at the memory of the insane Khnum, the flooding, and the fearsome crocodiles.
“Dreadful thing that,” said Barnabas.
“And aside from that,” said Wilfred, changing the subject, “then we came all the way out here to see Apep, and then Thoth and Bastet, and then Apep’s mountain again…”
“So it’s really no wonder that we have no idea which way to go,” said Barnabas. “Indeed, I don’t suppose anyone could keep their bearings in this place.”
“’Scuse me, Lord Barnabas. Sir Wilfred,” interrupted Babak, who had come up behind them some time before and, not wanting to interrupt, was patiently waiting for a break in their conversation. “But if you’re looking to find Bes, my cousin Babook is heading that way right now and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking you along.”
“Oh!” said Barnabas, jumping with startlement. “Must you sneak up on one so?”
“No offence,” said Babak apologetically. “I only didn’t want to break into your conversation and all, but it’s just you seem to be having some difficulties getting to Bes. So I thought I could be of help. But if you don’t want to go with Babook…”
“No, no,” said Barnabas quickly, hoping that his hastily spoken words hadn’t offended the kind fellow. “I’m certain that we do. You just gave me a fright, is all. Sorry about that. A battle with giant lizard people makes one a bit jumpy, you know.”
“And I should have cleared my throat or something, so as you’d know I was there,” said Babak.
“Well, in any case, your help is much appreciated,” said Barnabas. “I’m sure we would love to travel with your cousin. Is he leaving soon?”
“In about five minutes,” said Babak. “I can carry your things out for you, if you’d like, and you can ride in his cart. Won’t be any trouble at all. He’ll be glad of the company, too, I’m sure.”
“Five minutes, you say? Splendid,” said Barnabas, although he couldn’t help but look about the room, as though searching for something. “How can we thank you?”
“Aww, well, it’s the least I could do, seeing as how you got rid of Apep and his minions for us.”
“Perhaps a bit of cheese?” said Barnabas, indicating the cheese platter that lay nearly untouched on the table. Since a mouse never refuses cheese, Babak gladly began to dig in. “And, of course, your cousin is welcome to have some as well.”
“He will be glad to,” said Babak, going outside to collect Babook. Barnabas and Wilfred watched as the two nibbled voraciously at the cheese, and Wilfred wondered why Barnabas seemed to have abandoned his hurry and seemed now to be delaying their moment of departure instead.
The reason for his prevarication became clear the very next moment, when Bindi at last appeared in t
he room. Barnabas stood up tall and smoothed the fur on top of his head.
Bindi smiled and made her way over to them. “I suppose you’ll be off now?” she asked.
“Yes,” stammered Barnabas, looking down at the floor.
“We are off to see Bes,” said Wilfred. “I don’t suppose we will be back this way for some time, if at all, but we’d like to thank you for your hospitality.”
“And thank you for your heroism,” she said, placing a small paw on Barnabas’ arm. “Apep’s lizards were a terrible scourge, and you saved us from them.”
“Er, yes, lizards. Well, a bad lot they are,” said Barnabas.
Wilfred looked at Barnabas in some consternation, wondering what was the matter with him. Barnabas simply continued to stare at the floor and his whiskers began to twitch furiously.
“Well, then, are we ready?” asked Babook, wiping the last of the cheese from his mouth.
“Quite so,” said Wilfred, turning to follow Babook out of the inn. “Barnabas?” he asked when he saw that his employer was still standing there, rooted to the same spot in front of Bindi.
“Yes, well, here I come. Good day then,” he said, nodding briskly towards Bindi. With visible effort, he spun on his heels and strode out the door. Wilfred, bemused, followed him.
Babook helped them into the back of his cart, climbed up onto the driver’s bench, and snapped the reins (which were attached to two sheep-like creatures that apparently served mouse people in the same way that horses did normal people). Barnabas remained pensively quiet for some time, and Wilfred knew better than to try to engage him whilst he was thus preoccupied with his thoughts. And so it was that they were off to see Bes, with Babook humming merrily in the front of the cart, Wilfred enjoying the scenery from the back, and Barnabas pondering the cruel twist of fate that had led him, an avowed bachelor who had no time for silly emotions, to fancy a mouse woman who lived in the farthest reaches of the Egyptian underworld.
Chapter Sixteen
Barnabas’ depressed, reflective mood passed after about an hour on the road. He was, after all, a naturally happy, if also somewhat nervous, sort of fellow; and he was also a very responsible man. He knew that, right now, he had a job to do, one of incredible importance, and it simply wouldn’t do for him to indulge himself in a sea of lovelorn melancholy.
Therefore, he decided to pick himself up by his bootstraps and mentally brush himself off, so to speak. “Sorry I’ve been so quiet, Wilfred my boy,” he said, trying to inject a bit of hearty joviality into his voice. “Just a bit tired out, I suppose.”
Wilfred, who understood very well that it was not tiredness at all that had so dampened his mood, nodded and smiled. “Yes,” he said, “we certainly have had an adventuresome few days. I’m quite knackered myself.”
“Understandably so,” said Barnabas, nodding. “Anyone would be after all we’ve been through.” He paused, thinking, as they bounced along the bumpy road, listening to the creak of the wheels and the quiet hum of Babook’s singing. “Do you suppose Bes will be able to help us out at all?” he asked at last.
“I’m sure,” said Wilfred. “Indeed, I wish we had asked him a bit more when we had the chance.”
“Yes, well, we were so very focused on going to Set…” said Barnabas.
“Which didn’t turn out to be very helpful in the end, I suppose,” said Wilfred.
“Not very helpful at all,” said Barnabas. “Really, it turned out quite horribly, not just for us but also for that poor village…” They both pulled faces of remorse and horror at the memory of the villagers and the flood and the crocodiles.
“Which,” resumed Barnabas after a moment of silence, “was really the fault of Khnum, whom we went to see on the advice of Set.”
“As Anubis had told us to do,” added Wilfred.
“Quite so!” said Barnabas. He scratched his chin and frowned. “And remember that Anubis told us to interview Apep as well.”
Wilfred caught his breath as Barnabas’ point struck him. “And that didn’t turn out very well, either, did it?”
“Not very well at all,” said Barnabas. “I think there’s a lesson to be learned there.”
Wilfred waited a moment for Barnabas to state the lesson that they were supposed to have just learned. When no explanation was forthcoming, he prompted, “That perhaps it is better not to follow Anubis’ advice?”
“Precisely!” said Barnabas, triumphantly raising a finger in the air. “I was just about to say precisely that!”
“Of course,” said Wilfred. “I could see where you were going with your line of thought.”
“And so,” continued Barnabas, “if we oughtn’t to listen to Anubis, well then…” He paused, thinking.
“We should follow our own intuition?” supplied Wilfred.
“Precisely!” said Barnabas again, once more proffering a single finger to the air. “After all, going to Thoth was an idea entirely our own.”
“It was indeed!” said Wilfred. “And of all the things that we have done thus far, that was the most productive by far.”
“By far,” agreed Barnabas. “And so I am certain that we are on the right track by going to interview Bes more thoroughly.”
“Surely he will know something. He will have heard a rumor of some sort or perhaps have a theory of his own to espouse,” said Wilfred.
“And perhaps he knows a bit more about Khepre’s servants. I did, after all, put the idea in his head when I asked about the maid. Or was it Anti that I asked about the maid? Oh dear, I’m sure that I can’t remember.”
“Yes, the maid, of course,” said Wilfred doubtfully.
“It’s always the maid,” said Barnabas sagely, shaking his head.
Engrossed in their conversation, neither noticed that Babook had stopped humming some time ago and was now clearing his throat noisily in an effort to get their attention. Frustrated in his vain attempts, the delivery man at last turned around entirely, leaving the two sheep-things that pulled the cart to steer for themselves.
“Sorry to interrupt…,” he began, looking from Barnabas to Wilfred and back again.
“Hmmm, what?” said Barnabas, startled. In truth, he had quite forgotten all about Babook, but he managed to mostly suppress the little jump of surprise that the cart driver’s interjection had given him.
“Well, I don’t like to interrupt and all, but it’s just I couldn’t help but hear what you’uns were sayin’ about Khepre’s servants and all.”
“Yes?” said Barnabas. “Do you have something to say on the matter?”
“Well,” said Babook modestly, “I’ll bet you already know lots more than what I could say, but, well, bein’ a delivery mouse and all, well, you see things sometimes.”
“Such as?” said Barnabas, drawing his words out with exaggerated slowness. Wilfred thought that the air of patient condescension that his employer was trying to effect was made implausible (ridiculous even) by the fact that he was still possessed of a mouse’s head. His little eyebrows drawn up in the middle of the furry forehead, his sardonically twitching whiskers and tiny nose wrinkled up: all conspired to make Barnabas look slightly adorable rather than intimidatingly intellectual (as he so clearly wished to be seen).
Wilfred giggled a bit at the sight of Barnabas attempting to appear stern with a mouse face. Barnabas shot him an annoyed glance, and Wilfred quickly hid his mirth behind a feigned sneeze.
“Pardon,” he said. “Something in the air.”
“Humph,” said Barnabas, looking at Wilfred suspiciously. “I’m sure.” He pursed his lips disapprovingly and turned back to question Babook further.
For his part, Babook didn’t know quite what to make of the two strange detectives riding in the back of his cart. His cousin Babak had said that they were great heroes of some kind, and Babook was sure that, if Babak said it, then it must be so, but still…he couldn’t quite picture these two behaving in an heroic sort of way. He sighed and put the matter from his mind. He didn’t know m
uch about heroes, had never met one before, and so, he thought, probably couldn’t tell the difference between a hero and any other sort of person. Perhaps heroes only seemed to act silly to people such as Babook only because people such as himself weren’t smart enough to understand what it was, exactly, that they were saying. Anyway, he thought, it didn’t matter: Babak had given him a job to do, and therefore he would take these two where they needed to go and tell them what they needed to know.
“So,” Barnabas was saying impatiently, “you know something about Khepre’s servants?”
“It probably ain’t much,” said Babook.
“I’m sure that it will be quite helpful,” said Barnabas whilst shooting Wilfred a glance that said that he was sure it would be anything but helpful.
“All right, well, it’s just that I heard that a bunch of folks who used to work for Khepre were taken in by Anti and Montu. You know, Anti, that falcon man who runs the ferry and Montu, the old warrior god that nobody thinks much on anymore.”
“Yes, yes,” said Barnabas impatiently. “I know who Anti is. So you say that Khepre’s servants went to work for Anti and, um, the other one…”
“Montu,” said Babook. “Which I wouldn’ta paid much attention to exceptin’ to think that it was mighty nice of those two to take ‘em in, considering.”
“Considering what?” asked Barnabas, his interest piqued now. He wasn’t sure how, but he felt certain that this was important information that might prove immensely helpful, if only they could puzzle out the meaning of it all. But to do that he must first extract every piece of knowledge that he could from Babook, who was proving to be a maddeningly slow storyteller.
“Well, considering the council and all,” said Babook.
“What council?” asked Barnabas, having a difficult time hiding his impatience.
“You know, the council where the old gods were put off and a bunch of new gods took their place.”
Barnabas sighed. “I’m really not sure what all of that has to do with Anti and Khepre and Mundo,” he said.
“Montu,” corrected Babook.
Barnabas Tew and The Case Of The Missing Scarab Page 16