Barnabas Tew and The Case Of The Missing Scarab

by Columbkill Noonan

  “Really,” grumbled Barnabas, “this is most absurd. I’m sure Sherlock Holmes never had to go about with a basket on his pate.”

  “Sherlock Holmes never had a mouse head either,” pointed out Wilfred reasonably.

  “Well I cannot argue with that,” said Barnabas, “and I admit that it is the only plan that made any sense at all, and so we may as well resign ourselves to it.” He looked back to be certain that the brothers were out of earshot. “And what is it with all of these falcon-headed people trying to bite our heads clean off? It is incredibly rude!”

  “The very height of rudeness,” agreed Wilfred.

  “I must say, I do not like these raptors whatsoever,” continued Barnabas. He thought for a moment. “Well, except for Anti. I suppose that Anti is alright.”

  “I suppose,” agreed Wilfred reluctantly. He was not at all certain that Anti was entirely above suspicion just yet.

  He had no time to voice his concerns, however, because just then they came in sight of the river and Barnabas began to hail the boat that was moored in the center of it. “Yoo-hoo! Anti! It’s Barnabas and Wilfred again,” he called. “We’d like another ride, if you have the time for it, that is.”

  It was a matter of only moments for Anti to raise anchor and paddle over to the landing. The boatman tossed them a rope, which Wilfred caught and used to tie up the boat. Then Anti offered each of them a wing to help them climb aboard. As they found their seats, Anti unhooked the rope. They were off, and Wilfred’s chance to discuss his concerns was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Where are you headed to now?” squawked Anti. His bored tone implied that he didn’t really care at all where they were going and, in fact, was a tad put out that he was the one who must take him there; but his bright eyes that darted quickly from Barnabas to Wilfred and back again suggested at least a little interest.

  Wilfred wondered why Anti might feel the need to conceal such a thing, then remembered that the fellow had behaved much the same way each time he had seen them. Perhaps this appearance of disingenuous boredom was merely a quirk of Anti’s personality. Perhaps it had contributed to his lack of popularity amongst the other gods in the realm, which had got him demoted from powerful god to mere boatman so long ago. Wilfred found himself feeling sorry for the prickly falcon man.

  “Hullo,” Barnabas was saying, somewhat aggrieved that Anti either failed to recognize them through their disguises or simply didn’t care who it was that sat in his boat. “It is Barnabas and Wilfred. Remember us? We’ve met before. On several occasions, actually.”

  “Yes, I know who you are,” said Anti peevishly. “That’s why I asked where you were going. I don’t take just anyone anywhere, now, do I?”

  “Hmmph,” said Barnabas. “But however did you know it was us, what with these baskets on our heads?”

  “I was moored just over there the whole time Horus’ sons put the things on you, wasn’t I?” said Anti. He grimaced as he said the words ‘Horus’ sons’ as if speaking of something unimaginably foul.

  “Oh,” said Barnabas, slightly mollified. “But we look different from the last time you saw us, what with our mouse heads and what not. How did you know it was us?”

  “Who else would it be, prancing in to Anubis’ place and being helped by those four idiots just as pretty-as-you-please?” snapped Anti, annoyed. Barnabas pressed his lips tightly together to keep from retorting and just sat there blinking. “So, if you don’t mind,” continued Anti, “you can tell me where you want to go. Or we can just sit right here all day. Up to you.”

  “Of course, that makes perfect sense,” said Wilfred placatingly. “We’d like to go to Montu’s please.”

  “Montu, eh?” said Anti, putting his oars in the water heavily so that Barnabas was doused by a great splash. “And what brings you there?”

  “Our business is most secret, thank you very much for your interest,” snipped Barnabas, affronted at the way Anti had spoken to him and very much put out by the fact that his basket was now dripping wet on one side.

  “Now, now,” said Anti, amused at Barnabas’ temper. “No need to get all testy. Just making polite conversation.”

  He swung the boat around and plied the oars until they were coasting along at a good clip down the river.

  “I suppose the detective work is going well?” asked Anti after they had gone on a bit.

  “Yes, very well, thank you,” said Wilfred. Barnabas sat stiffly, still a bit sullen (and sodden).

  “Finding out lots of good thing? Maybe you’re getting close to finding Khepre. It would be nice to have a break from this incessant noon. The hunting is terrible at this time of day…” He looked at Barnabas and Wilfred as he heard them both take in quick shocked gasps of air and realized that they wouldn’t much care for talk of rodent hunting. “But that’s neither here nor there,” he continued. “So, Khepre?”

  “Well,” said Wilfred, “we have some leads and we’ve found out quite a bit of information, but I’m sorry to say that we haven’t a definitive idea just yet as to where, exactly, Khepre might be.”

  “A shame, that,” said Anti.

  “Yes, well, we do have some ideas, and we are hoping to have some significant progress soon,” said Barnabas.

  “Great,” said Anti politely. “Well I do hope so. Seems like you are becoming quite the detectives, eh?”

  “Why, yes. I think so,” beamed Wilfred, delighted at the compliment. “That is, we’ve found out quite a bit and haven’t got anyone killed…”

  “Except for all those people in the village because of the flood and the crocodiles and what not,” interrupted Barnabas, stuck in his morose mood.

  “Well, yes, I suppose, if you count them I guess that’s so,” said Wilfred. “But that wasn’t really our fault, remember?”

  “Right,” said Barnabas. “The people just drowned and ate themselves.”

  “Well, no, of course not, but really it was Set and Khnum who were to blame.”

  “Hmmph,” said Barnabas.

  “So what do you want with Montu?” asked Anti. He looked disinterestedly around at the passing scenery as though the conversation was one of excruciating boredom for him. It was clear he found the two detectives more than a bit tiresome.

  “Just to ask him a few questions about Hathor,” said Barnabas.

  Wilfred wondered at Barnabas’ sudden caginess, but he said nothing. He knew that the mood would sort itself out in a few minutes, and so all three sat quietly for the rest of the trip. Anti didn’t seem to mind the silence; indeed, he seemed to prefer it. Anti hummed discordantly to himself whilst Wilfred and Barnabas sat engrossed in their own thoughts until, at last, they reached the pier that served as the landing for Montu’s waterside abode.

  Anti expertly maneuvered the boat so that Wilfred could grab hold of one of the wooden pilings, and he held the craft steady whilst the two detectives awkwardly disembarked. Barnabas adjusted his basket, which had come askew during the journey, looked about at the surroundings, and snorted derisively.

  The lawn, such as it was, was completely overgrown with unkempt palm trees and various other unruly types of tropical shrubbery. A rough sandy path snaked its way through this disheartening vegetation and ended in an even more disheartening door that led, apparently, into a giant gaping crevice in the rocky outcropping that dominated the landscape. Above the doorway stood a carelessly lettered sign indicating that this, indeed, was the dwelling of Montu.

  Even as Barnabas and Wilfred stared with sinking hearts at the door (through which they knew they must go if they wished to spy on Montu), it opened wide. They caught a glimpse of what was behind it and their fears were confirmed: Montu’s home was essentially a cave carved from the massive boulders that formed the outcrop.

  “By all the saints, does anyone live in a nice, decent house in this place?” grumbled Barnabas.

  “Well,” said Wilfred, “Hathor’s place was quite nice, and Thoth’s…”

  “Oh,
do hush!” said Barnabas. Then, seeing the stricken look on Wilfred’s face (who had only been trying to lift the mood, after all), he immediately repented his hasty words. “I’m just in a terrible state, it seems. And besides, look there!” He pointed down the path.

  A man with the head of a dog (if it could truly be considered a proper dog, thought Barnabas unkindly; the fellow seemed to have more the aspect of a Japanese Pug than anything else) had emerged from the now-open doorway and was even now headed down the path towards the pier.

  Barnabas and Wilfred looked quickly about for a place to hide; they were, after all, here to spy, and to be seen would be the ruination of their plan. Unfortunately, however, Anti saw the man and called out a loud greeting.

  “Hullo, Muatep!” he yelled out, waving a wing wildly to get the man’s attention. The man looked up and instantly called back, “Oh, hullo, Anti!” with a wave of his own.

  “I’ve brought two visitors for your master,” called Anti. Barnabas groaned and tried to surreptitiously hush Anti, but to no avail. “The two detectives that Anubis brought to find Khepre.”

  Barnabas raised his hands in the air in vexation, but the fellow Muatep was already upon them and therefore he had no chance to bemoan their sad luck to Wilfred. Indeed, they had no choice but to say hello and exchange polite pleasantries.

  After a few moments of discussing the weather, and where they were all from, and the sad state of things (what with the never-ending noontime sun that beat down upon them most uncomfortably), Muatep asked if basket-headed people were common in England.

  “Oh, no,” said Barnabas. “Not at all. Indeed, I daresay we must be the only two Englishman ever to have been afflicted so.”

  “Oh?” said Muatep. “If you don’t mind my asking, then, how did you come to have them yourselves?”

  “It was Apep,” said Barnabas. “He turned our heads into these… Well, you can see what he turned them into.”

  Realizing that Muatep most certainly could not see what their heads looked like, what with the baskets atop them, Barnabas reached up to remove his disguise. It was useless now, of course, since Anti had told the man who they were. Besides, the thing was terribly uncomfortable. It was, however, quite snugly affixed round his neck, and the strings and knots had become twisted so that it was impossible to loosen them enough to remove it. He struggled for a few moments, and then uttered a great “hmmph” of frustration.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “Apep turned our heads into mouse heads, you see, or at least you would see if I could get this damnable thing off of me, which, of course, I can’t just now it seems…”

  “Apep, eh?” asked Muatep, interrupting Barnabas’ ramblings.

  “Yes, yes, Apep, as I said. He did this to us. But we came back and defeated him most soundly in a great battle.” His voice was filled with pride as he remembered the heroic nature of that day.

  “So you’ve been to the Grey Mouse, I presume?” asked Muatep.

  “Yes, indeed,” said Barnabas. “A splendid place.”

  “With a most agreeable hostess, too,” said Muatep. “Bindi, I think her name is. Quite a little vixen, that one. I should visit there more often, really. I certainly would like to get to know her a bit better, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Well I never!” cried Barnabas. “How dare you!”

  Muatep put his hands up placatingly. “No harm meant, there, good fellow. I was just meaning that she’s quite the looker. Just a bit of fun between us boys, you know.”

  “She is far above your loathsome speculations! I will not have you speak of her in such a way. I simply will not tolerate it!” Barnabas huffed. He was furious, and a mere verbal reprimand simply didn’t seem enough in response to the great disrespect Muatep had just shown Bindi.

  So, Barnabas tugged at his hands, looking for his gloves. Not finding them there, he patted down his robes in search of them before remembering that he had lost all of his proper clothes in the flood.

  Still in the throes of an incredible temper, he stalked over to a nearby palm tree and ripped a long frond from it. Holding it in an outstretched hand, he marched over to Muatep. Then, to the stunned amazement of everyone, he swung his arm so that the frond slapped Muatep across the face.

  “I challenge you to a duel in defense of Bindi’s honor!” cried Barnabas.

  Wilfred gasped, aghast. He grasped at Barnabas’ arm and whispered harshly in his ear (or, more precisely, the area of the basket just over where one might expect an ear to be). “What are you about? You must take it back!” He glanced at Muatep, whose shocked expression was quickly turning to one of extreme annoyance. He had no doubt that, for all his silly appearance, Muatep could prove most deadly in a duel. “Immediately, I should think.”

  “I will not!” said Barnabas self-righteously. “He insulted Bindi, and I cannot allow that to stand.”

  “I’m sure that he didn’t mean it, exactly,” said Wilfred, attempting to defuse the situation. He turned to Muatep. “We have different strictures of behavior in England,” he said, hoping to mollify the insulted pug-man. “You must forgive us if we are slow to learn the customs here.”

  “I was merely joking,” said Muatep. “I had no idea that it would be taken so personally.”

  “Well, if you didn’t mean the insult, I suppose…,” said Barnabas grudgingly.

  “So that’s that,” said Anti, brushing his wingtips together as though wiping them clean of the matter. “Muatep wanted to defile Bindi, but now he won’t say things like that again. Even if he continues to think them.”

  “Anti!” cried Wilfred.

  “Aha!” yelled Barnabas. “So you do harbor uncouth thoughts? If so I simply must reiterate my challenge.”

  “No, no,” said Wilfred. “I’m certain that is not the case. It is merely a miscommunication. I’m sure that we can take Muatep at his word when he says he meant no harm.”

  “Really, I was just joking. This is all just a bit ridiculous,” sniffed Muatep.

  “Well, if you really think so,” said Barnabas to Wilfred. His anger was beginning to cool, and he was in truth beginning to feel a bit nervous at the thought of participating in an actual duel.

  “You have done all that is proper to defend Bindi’s honor. I think the situation is resolved most acceptably,” said Wilfred.

  “I suppose,” said Barnabas cautiously. “If he didn’t mean it the way I thought, I suppose there’s no need to take it any further.”

  “Exactly!” said Wilfred. Seeing Anti open his beak to speak again, he hurriedly added a bit too loudly, “It’s settled, then. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we really should be getting on with our business. Quite nice to meet you, Muatep; and thank you very much for the ride, Anti.” So saying, he grabbed Barnabas’ arm once more and hustled him forcibly down the path towards Montu’s cave.

  Instead of going up to the door, however, he led Barnabas off to the side of the entrance. Quickly checking to make sure that Anti and Muatep weren’t looking in their direction, he found a place where they could sit entirely hidden by the dense undergrowth yet still see and hear anything that might happen at the mouth of the cave.

  Once they were settled, he released Barnabas from his grip and looked at him sternly. “I think it is time we talked about the elephant in the room,” he said.

  “Oh, good God, man!” said Barnabas, looking around nervously. “Is there one of those here now too?”

  “No, well, not a literal elephant,” said Wilfred, sighing. “I mean that I think we must discuss Bindi. Or, more precisely, whatever, um, well, feeling of affinity you may harbor towards her.”

  “I have told you,” said Barnabas huffily, “I hold no special feeling towards her, or towards anyone else for that matter.”

  “Perhaps there is a bit of a feeling there that you may not have noticed?” prodded Wilfred. “I wouldn’t press so except for the fact it seems to be affecting your mood a bit lately.”

  “It is this co
nfounded heat that affects my mood,” said Barnabas. “And the terrible manners of these people. Why, it just affronts me so.”

  Wilfred pressed no further, and they spent a few minutes quietly watching the cave entrance for any activity that might indicate the presence of a kidnapped dung beetle inside.

  Soon enough Muatep returned up the path alone. He strode jauntily as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Barnabas sniffed loudly so that Wilfred gestured frantically for him to be silent so their position would not be betrayed. Luckily, the sound was muffled by the basket over Barnabas’ head, and so Muatep heard nothing and continued on his way.

  Muatep passed into the cave and returned just a moment later, rolling a great big ball of what looked like dung. He pushed it along a path that led to the other side of the cave and, judging from the great racket that suddenly came from that place, had a bit of trouble putting it into its final destination.

  Muatep repeated this process several times. “Piles of dung, do you see?” Barnabas asked Wilfred.

  “Indeed I do,” replied the assistant.

  “Such as what might be accumulated by a scarab beetle, perhaps?”

  “And a very large one at that,” added Wilfred.

  “At least this would tend to indicate that Khepre still lives,” said Barnabas. “But it seems as though we have our culprit. We must go back to Anubis and tell him immediately.”

  “Agreed,” said Wilfred. “As soon as Muatep goes back inside for good, we should make all haste for Anubis.”

  “Most definitely,” said Barnabas. He watched Muatep as he rolled yet another great pile of dung out of the cave. The fellow was being most careless with the things, so that he was quite covered in smears of dung himself. Barnabas curled his lip in disgust.

  “And to think that someone such as he would think to have a chance with Bindi,” he said. “It is most unconscionable.”

  Wilfred merely looked at Barnabas, trying to keep the sympathy for his employer’s lovelorn state from showing in his eyes. If Barnabas could even see his eyes through the small eye holes through which he peeped, that is.