Barnabas Tew and The Case Of The Missing Scarab

by Columbkill Noonan

  “That’s what I said,” said Barnabas. He waited for Babook to explain further, but Babook remained silent. “So,” said Barnabas slowly, “will you tell us what that council has to do with Anti and…well, everything else?”

  “It’s just that Khepre was part of the council,” said Babook. Seeing that Barnabas and Wilfred still didn’t understand, he sighed and wondered at the lack of historical knowledge possessed by these particular heroes. “And Anti and Montu were two of the gods set down.”

  “Anti was once a major god?” interjected Wilfred. “As in, Anti the boatman?”

  “One and the same,” said Babook, feeling important that he had been the deliverer of information that was clearly new to them and of increasingly apparent interest. “Anti was one of the great warrior gods from before. Montu too. But then the new gods come in and take over, and that was that for the likes of Anti and Montu and such. The old gods got pretty salty about it, too, from what I hear.”

  “So it is quite surprising indeed that either of them would hire servants who worked in the household of someone who was an integral part of their deposement,” observed Wilfred.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess,” said Babook, who was not at all sure what Wilfred had just said, but who also didn’t want to admit that.

  “Do you know which servants went to whom?” asked Barnabas.

  “Well, all that I don’t know. But I think that there was a maid who went to work for Anti not a day after Khepre disappeared. I thought it sort of ungrateful-like to just up and go without even waiting a couple days at least…”

  “Aha!” exclaimed Barnabas, cutting off Babook mid-thought. Wilfred and Babook looked at him expectantly, so that he flushed with embarrassment. “It’s just I did say, you know, that it is always the maid. So when Babook said that bit about the maid, I got a bit carried away, I suppose.”

  “Quite so,” said Wilfred. “And I must admit that it all does seem a bit extraordinary. But what, exactly, should we make of it?”

  Barnabas opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. His first instinct upon hearing about Khepre’s maid going to work for Anti (and in such a precipitous manner, too!) had been to feel vindicated in his original suspicion. However, upon further reflection, he was not quite sure at all what this information actually meant. He was certain that the information was important, but he didn’t know exactly how it was important or which part of it was important or what they ought to do about it.

  Wilfred was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. He sighed and admitted, “I suppose I don’t entirely know. We should think about it, and hopefully an answer will come to us soon.”

  “Shall we still go talk to Bes, then?” asked Wilfred.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Barnabas. “After all, we’ve come all this way and may as well see if he has anything to suggest.”

  “Well, you’uns are in luck, then,” said Babook. “’Cause if it’s Bes you’re wantin’ to see, that there is the road to his house, right up there. We’ll be there in less than five minutes, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Very good, very good,” said Barnabas distractedly. The problem of what to make of the information about Khepre’s maid and Anti and Montu jigged about uncomfortably in his mind, and he was still thinking about it (with no progress towards satisfaction whatsoever) a few minutes later when Babook’s cart pulled up in front of the large structure that served as Bes’ home.

  Barnabas’ thoughts were pulled from the problem by the spectacle of Bes’ house, which was built entirely within the boughs of the tree, its boards nailed haphazardly together this way and that like a tree house built by child. Only this structure was much too enormous to have been constructed by childish hands.

  Barnabas and Wilfred gazed up at it for a time. Wilfred found the place quirky and delightful in its eccentricity, but Barnabas was disturbed by the precarious way in which the great wooden boards, all of uneven size, leaned akimbo upon their neighbors so that none of the walls were entirely straight and none of the corners were even close to true.

  “Shall we knock upon the door?” suggested Wilfred at last.

  “If we can find the door,” replied Barnabas, frowning up at the towering, disheveled structure with distaste.

  Wilfred pointed to a crooked wooden ladder that led up through a small hole in the underside of the house. “I think it must be up there,” he said.

  “Hmm, well, yes,” said Barnabas, frowning even harder. “I thought you might say that.” He sighed, then laboriously (and, to both Wilfred’s and Babook’s eyes, a bit overdramatically) climbed out of Babook’s cart. Wilfred followed suit (with a bit more ease, although it must be said in Barnabas’ defense that Wilfred was Barnabas’ junior by nearly a decade and it had, after all, been a long and bumpy cart ride, which could make anyone’s joints stiffen up).

  Once both of his passengers were removed from his cart and safely deposited on Bes’ lawn (which was as overgrown with weeds and wildflowers as one might expect from someone who would live in a house such as this, thought Barnabas dourly), Babook nodded his head to them in farewell.

  “G’day to ya both, then,” he said. “I hope you’uns have very good luck.”

  “Luck is made by he who is prepared to make it, not bestowed upon those who merely await it,” said Barnabas sagely.

  Babook smiled politely back at him, thinking once more that he really did not know what to make of this funny little detective. “Well, then,” he said, “I hope that you got yourself a whole lotta luck prepared, then.” With that, he snapped the reins and was off.

  “Strange little fellow,” observed Barnabas as he watched Babook and his cart bounce off down the lane. “Don’t you think?”

  “Quite,” agreed Wilfred. He gestured towards the ladder that almost certainly led to the entrance to Bes’ home. “Shall we?”

  Barnabas sighed. He found the whole place far too rickety and unkempt for his taste, and he was far from certain it was structurally sound. Indeed, he feared that to step a foot upon that ladder might very well bring the entire building toppling down upon their heads. Still, he had no wish to appear a coward in front of Wilfred (or even to himself; if truth be told, he much enjoyed the feeling of thinking of himself as the Great Hero of the Battle of Bakhu). Therefore, he couldn’t very well balk at the prospect of climbing up a simple ladder, no matter how ill-constructed the thing might be. “Very well,” he said at last, unable to keep the reluctance from his voice. “I suppose there’s nothing for it.” He took a few steps towards the ladder, then paused at the bottom of it. “After you,” he said politely, gesturing for Wilfred to precede him.

  Harboring far less compunction about the ladder than his employer (Wilfred had been quite an outdoorsman as a child, and had built his fair share of lopsided tree houses, all doomed to collapse), Wilfred readily grasped the rungs and began to climb. Barnabas waited until Wilfred was nearly all the way up before following him, which he did with a great deal less enthusiasm and a great deal more effort.

  At last Wilfred reached the top and rapped his fist softly on the underside of the trap door that barred their path. After a moment’s wait, the door lifted and Bes’ wide, round face peered out. The god reached his great big hand down to help pull them up into his abode; first Wilfred, who stood beside him as they waited for his employer, and then Barnabas a few long moments later.

  “Come in, come in!” said Bes jovially. “Good to see you again, my fine fellows! Barnabas and Wilfred, is it not?” Soon enough, they had both been hoisted up to stand in the entrance room of the tree house. Wilfred looked about delightedly, taking it all in. Barnabas, on the other hand, found himself terribly distracted by a disturbingly large gap between the boards beneath his feet, through which he could see the ground some thirty feet below. He tried to look away and pay attention to the business at hand, but his eyes disobeyed him and repeatedly returned to that spot until he felt nearly ill from vertigo. He was much relieved, therefore, when Bes suggested th
at they sit and ushered them towards a very large, very puffy sofa.

  “Would you like something to drink? Tea, perhaps? Some ale?” asked their host.

  “Oh yes, please,” said Barnabas quickly. “Tea would be just the thing right now.” He hoped that it would settle his stomach, which was churning alarmingly from the height and precariousness of the house. Wilfred also accepted the offer of a beverage and thanked Bes for offering.

  Bes waddled off to fetch the tea, and Wilfred leaned in towards Barnabas. “How do you suppose he recognized us, what with these, you know, mouse heads and what not?” he whispered.

  “What? Oh, yes, I had wondered that myself,” said Barnabas, who had not wondered that at all until just now, when Wilfred brought it up. “I suppose that it’s because we are quite famous, perhaps? Probably word has got back to him of our exploits, as well as…” He gestured from his own furry head to Wilfred’s and back again. “Our travails.”

  “Huh,” said Wilfred. “If everyone knows everything around here, then how come no one knows anything whatsoever about the one thing that we are trying to figure out?”

  “A good question,” replied Barnabas. “It would seem to point to a conspiracy, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed,” said Wilfred. “And a right convoluted one, too.”

  “Quite so,” said Barnabas. He paused for a moment, then craned his head to peer around the corner as best he might to be certain that Bes wasn’t returning just yet to overhear what he wanted to say next. Satisfied that they were still alone, he dropped his voice even lower to whisper, “Did you see how his tongue just sort of, well, lolls out of his mouth?”

  “I did! It is most curious! I wonder that I didn’t notice it before. Did you notice it? Before today, I mean?”

  “Not at all,” said Barnabas. “And it is curious, because it is definitely the sort of thing that might grab one’s attention, what with the tongue just sticking out and flapping about in every direction. But I suppose it must have been that way before?”

  “I suppose, since people don’t usually just start sticking out their tongues all the time suddenly and for no reason. As I said, it’s a wonder that we didn’t notice it before.”

  “Well, I suppose that we were a bit distracted by all the flying monkeys and what not,” said Barnabas. He shut his lips together hurriedly as Bes returned carrying a large platter with overflowing teacups jiggling precariously atop it.

  Fearing that Bes may have overheard them speaking about his unusual tongue (which was still sticking out and waggling from side to side as the god walked into the room) in such a disparaging sort of way, Barnabas sought to cover their gaff. “So!” he said, a bit too loudly, “as I was saying, the moors really are exceedingly unpleasant this time of year, is what I always say.”

  Bes, who had not heard the two detectives discussing his tongue (and who would not have been offended in the slightest if he had; he was well aware already of the whereabouts of his tongue) gave Barnabas a quizzical look. “You often talk about the unpleasantness of moors?” asked Bes, with a confused frown.

  Barnabas saw the perplexed expression on Bes’ face and took it to be one of ill humor. A terrible idea dawned upon him then, that perhaps Bes had thought that the moors to which he referred were the Moors of the Arab variety who had inhabited the southern areas of Spain, rather than the hilly, heath-covered moors that were merely a landscape variety common in rural England. He tried to work out whether or not an Egyptian god would have anything to do with the Moors, or at least to feel enough fellowship with them to be offended on their behalf if someone were to insult them, which he, Barnabas, may just have accidentally done.

  He was unable to unravel the thread of logic that would have drawn him to a conclusion on the matter and therefore flew into a small panic. He flapped his arms about his face frantically.

  “Oh!” he cried, greatly upset. “Not Moors, but moors! I talk all the time about moors, don’t I, Wilfred? But of course not about Moors, because why on earth would I talk about Moors? Not that they aren’t worthy of speaking about. Oh dear me, no, I didn’t mean that. They must have been quite splendid with all the plumbing and the fancy architecture. I’m certain that I would have quite liked the Moors quite a bit more than the moors, which are ghastly hot in the summer and terrifically cold in the winter and so there is nothing much amenable about that sort of moor at all…”

  He trailed off, terribly upset. His whiskers twitched furiously as Bes simply stood there gaping at him, not knowing what to make of Barnabas’ strange little speech and oddly excitable manner. Bes now remembered that he had found the company of the two detectives quite trying the first time he met them, and that he had been very eager to be rid of them. He sighed, regretting, now, that he had offered them tea and would therefore be subjected to what promised to be no small amount of nonsensical ramblings.

  However, here he was with a platter of teacups (and a great lot of assorted snack foods besides), and hospitality demanded that he serve his guests, no matter how annoying they might prove to be, and speak politely with them whilst they consumed their repast.

  “Yes, the moors, of course,” said Bes, hoping to forestall any further exposition by Barnabas on the topic. “Very hot. And cold, too.”

  “Exactly!” said Barnabas, relieved that Bes had understood him. Bes sighed again and sat down on a giant wooden chair opposite his guests. He gestured that they might begin eating. Barnabas and Wilfred both thanked him as they accepted their cups of tea.

  “So,” he began, “you have mouse heads now.”

  “Hmm, well, yes. Obviously,” said Barnabas, a bit annoyed at having that fact pointed out. He selected a dried fig from the platter and nibbled on it. “A most unfortunate encounter with Apep. But he certainly got his comeuppance, did Apep! Didn’t he, Wilfred?”

  “Indeed he did,” said Wilfred, who was daintily nibbling on a sugared pastry. “I dare say he won’t be troubling any of our kind, that is to say, people who happen to also be mice, however temporarily, again.”

  “Yes, I’m certain that Bindi is now quite safe, thanks to us,” said Barnabas.

  “Bindi?” asked Bes politely as Wilfred shot Barnabas a knowing, amused glance.

  Barnabas reddened at the ears. “And Babak and Babook and everyone at the Grey Mouse,” he said hurriedly. “I was about to say all of them, of course, until I was interrupted…”

  “Of course,” said Wilfred, trying to soothe his employer’s discomfort. “Each of them, far too many to name, will be quite glad that Apep and his lizards are no longer about to harass them.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Bes impatiently. “I heard all about that, of course. But I must ask: why have you come to me? I don’t mean that rudely, of course. I am merely curious as to what your business is here.”

  Bes was trying, obviously, to prompt Barnabas and Wilfred to get down to the matter at hand (as in, the reason that they had come to trouble him, and at his home, no less!). He hoped they would be on their way all the more quickly if he gave them whatever information they had come for. To hurry the interview along even more, he stuffed a great fistful of candied dates into his mouth.

  “We are here to ask… That is… Well, we were wondering…,” said Barnabas, completely distracted by the spectacle of Bes’ tongue. It still stuck out in an alarming fashion, even though the god’s mouth was stuffed quite full of mushed-up dates. Barnabas couldn’t stop staring and found his train of thought entirely disrupted. “Wilfred?” he said helplessly.

  “We are here to ask for your assistance in finding Khepre,” began Wilfred.

  “I told you before,” said Bes. “I haven’t the slightest idea who took him.”

  “Yes, we know,” said Wilfred, “but we thought perhaps you might have some valuable ideas.”

  “Since you know a great deal about all of the evil-doers in this place,” offered Barnabas, collecting himself. “The obvious suspects have come to naught, but we thought that, perhaps, you might kno
w something about Khepre’s history, or who might have a grudge against him. For example, we found out that several of Khepre’s servants have gone to work for Anti and Montu.”

  “Really?” said Bes, interested in this information despite himself. “That is most curious, considering…”

  “That Khepre was part of the council that deposed both Anti and Montu,” interrupted Barnabas.

  Bes pressed his lips together and breathed deeply.

  “Right,” he said. “Still, I don’t think that in itself means much. Servants change employers all the time.”

  “Of course.” Barnabas sighed, disappointed.

  “Well,” said Wilfred helpfully, “can you think of any others who might hold a grudge against Khepre? Or perhaps someone who might simply enjoy causing trouble?”

  “My, but there are plenty of gods who greatly enjoy causing trouble,” said Bes. He thought for a moment. “Have you interviewed Hathor yet?” he asked.

  “Hathor?” asked Barnabas. He looked to Wilfred, who shrugged and shook his head indicating that he knew no more about Hathor than did Barnabas.

  “Yes, Hathor,” said Bes. “She is the goddess of sun and deserts, and so this constant noontime would be very much to her liking, you see.”

  “Is she quite villainous, then?” asked Barnabas nervously. Whilst he still felt quite brave after the battle at Bakhu, he had no wish to push their luck too far.

  “No, not at all,” said Bes. Barnabas let out his breath in relief. “Well,” continued Bes, causing Barnabas to catch his breath once more in alarm, “not usually. There was this one time, though…”

  “This one time what?” asked Barnabas, dreading the answer but nevertheless very anxious to find out the extent of the potential danger.

  “It was the time Ra asked her to punish humans for some transgression or another,” said Bes. “She went quite mad with it. She went about, well, over-punishing people I suppose you could say.” Barnabas hung his head and put his hands over his face. “Ra had to sneak ale into her water to get her to fall asleep and stop killing people,” continued Bes, either unaware or uncaring of his guest’s discomfort at his story. “So you could say that she has a bit of a nasty side.”