Barnabas Tew and The Case Of The Missing Scarab

by Columbkill Noonan

  “I wonder which group is which,” whispered Wilfred to Barnabas.

  “Ugh,” said Barnabas. “Dreadful. I hate to even think of it.” He shook his head. “But Mrs. Crowder,” he continued, “you do realize that this means that you, too, are, well…”

  “Dead?” she said, smiling kindly. “Yes, I know. A scorpion crawled into my bed last night just as pretty as you please. And here I am.” She spoke as though she were discussing morning tea or the state of a neighbor’s garden.

  Barnabas, however, was horrified at her words.

  “A scorpion!” he exclaimed. “How very dreadful!” The implication of her words sunk in and he turned to Anubis. “You agreed that you wouldn’t kill anyone else!” he said accusingly.

  “No, I agreed not to kill anyone else with mummies. Which I didn’t,” said Anubis reasonably.

  “I clearly remember that a condition of my continued employment with you was that you would refrain from killing anyone else in the future,” protested Barnabas.

  “I’m sorry but your memory is a bit faulty,” said Anubis. “You said you wouldn’t work for me if I persisted in killing people with mummies. And I have not killed anyone else with a mummy. Not even one.” Anubis seemed proud of this, as though he were announcing that he had broken off of a bad habit.

  “It’s quite all right,” said Mrs. Crowder. “There was no mummy involved, you see. Although that scorpion did give me quite a fright, and the stinger was a bit unpleasant…” Her voice trailed off. “But all that’s neither here nor there,” she continued, working as she spoke, sending the next person in line to the second, larger group. “I’m here now, and I am quite busy, as you can see.”

  “But I still think that this is not quite in the spirit of our agreement,” insisted Barnabas.

  “Nevertheless, there was no mummy, and so it’s all on the up-and-up,” said Anubis.

  “He’s right, you know,” added Mrs. Crowder, looking up from processing an extremely bedraggled woman who had what appeared to be a baby crocodile gnawing on her arm. The comment earned her a scowl from Barnabas, though Mrs. Crowder was, of course, far too busy to notice it. The woman pulled distractedly at the hungry little reptile as she followed Mrs. Crowder’s pointing finger and waddled over to join the rest of the people waiting in the smaller group.

  Barnabas watched the woman and her new crocodilian appendage with distaste, then turned back to Anubis.

  “I still think you oughtn’t to have killed Mrs. Crowder,” he said petulantly.

  “Well, what’s done is done,” said Anubis briskly. “And look what a good job she’s doing! I really don’t know how I ever managed without her.”

  Mrs. Crowder beamed happily under the praise as she continued to sort through the newly dead. Barnabas shook his head in befuddled bemusement at the spectacle.

  “It’s just, well, unconscionable,” he said in a low tone.

  “What?” said Anubis. “Oh well, never mind.” He brushed his hands together briskly, signaling an end to the debate about the morality of murdering Mrs. Crowder with a scorpion. Clearly the god of the dead was now weary of placating the sensibilities of his easily offended little detective.

  Wilfred, seeing that further protest would not only prove fruitless but might also serve to anger their client, decided to distract everyone with a far more productive line of conversation.

  “Well, it is good to see you, Mrs. Crowder,” he began. “I’m sure that we’ll have time for some tea once this business is concluded.” She nodded and smiled her agreement. “Good,” continued Wilfred. “And we do have some good news. Don’t we, Barnabas?”

  “Good news?” asked Barnabas, looking skeptically down the seemingly endless line of dead people waiting to be sorted by Mrs. Crowder.

  “You know, about the investigation.” When Barnabas still looked blank, Wilfred added, “Anti? Ma’at?”

  “Ah, yes!” exclaimed Barnabas. “How could I forget? That’s why we are here in the first place. I was about to say it, only I was thrown off by the presence of Mrs. Crowder, you know.”

  “Say what?” asked Anubis, his patience wearing thin. “Have you found something out about Ma’at?”

  “I do believe that we have,” said Barnabas. His annoyance at finding Mrs. Crowder here in the Land of the Dead quickly faded as the pleasure of presenting the fruits of his clever deductions asserted itself.

  “So, where is she then?” asked Anubis.

  “We are sure that Anti is the villain behind all of this,” said Barnabas.

  “Anti?” asked Anubis skeptically. “The raggedy ferryman?”

  “One and the same!” proclaimed Barnabas.

  “I seriously doubt that,” said Anubis. “Anti couldn’t form a plot to save his life.”

  “I assure you the evidence is incontrovertible,” insisted Barnabas. His pleasure was quickly withering in the face of Anubis’ disbelief.

  “But to what end?” asked Anubis. “What could he possibly hope to gain?”

  “He wants to take Ma’at’s place,” said Barnabas. “He wants his feather to be used to judge the hearts of the dead instead of Ma’at’s.”

  “Pshaw!” said Anubis. “That is ridiculous. He must know that would never happen. Why, I’d get lice from handling the dirty thing.”

  “Lice?” said Barnabas. He and Wilfred shared a glance and then both surreptitiously scratched at their heads and arms, suddenly itchy. Barnabas shook his head. “Still, ridiculous or not, I assure you this is the truth of the matter.”

  “I think perhaps you’ve been in the sun too long,” said Anubis. “Now I suggest you get back out there and find Ma’at. Mrs. Crowder is delightful, but we still need Ma’at’s feather to get this lot of people properly into the afterlife, don’t we?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose, but oughtn’t you to go after Anti?” said Barnabas.

  “It’s you who should be going after people, not me,” said Anubis sternly. “That is what I hired you for. Now off with you!” He made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Go find Ma’at and bring her back.”

  Barnabas rolled his eyes but muttered his acquiescence. He and Wilfred grudgingly took their leave of Mrs. Crowder. As they slunk away, feeling a bit defeated by Anubis’ censure, the god of the dead called after them, “I suggest focusing your energies on Montu. Forget this nonsense about Anti!”

  “Of all the un-amiable, ignorant jackal-heads in this place, I do swear that he is the worst!” exclaimed Barnabas once he and Wilfred were out of earshot. “He wouldn’t know sense if it smacked him across his face.”

  “Quite so,” agreed Wilfred. “He didn’t even take a moment to entertain our theory!”

  “Not one!” said Barnabas. “It is most dreadful to work for someone with such a lack of insight and such an egregious degree of moral turpitude.”

  “Most dreadful,” said Wilfred, nodding. “So, do we go now to Montu’s as he suggested?”

  “As he dictated, more like,” grumbled Barnabas. “But I think we shall ignore his commands for now. We shall hire a chariot, and then it is off to Anti’s house!”

  “Defy Anubis?” asked Wilfred excitedly.

  “Yes indeed we shall!” said Barnabas bravely.

  “Won’t we be in terrible trouble if we’re caught out?” asked Wilfred.

  “Huh,” said Barnabas. “Well, yes, I suppose.” His brave front faltered for a moment, but then he marshaled his courage and stood up as straight as he could, even standing on his tippy toes a bit. “But valor is the better part of discretion, as they say!”

  “Isn’t it the other way around?” asked Wilfred.

  “Of course not,” said Barnabas, miffed at being questioned. “That would make no sense whatsoever, would it?”

  “I think it might make more sense…”

  “Poppycock!” said Barnabas. “Valor is better than discretion and that’s that. Besides, there’s nothing for it. We were told to get Ma’at and we know that Anti has her. So, to Anti’s!”


  He raised his arm to signal the charge, so to speak. Conveniently, this was also the signal used in these parts to hail a chariot, and since one happened to be passing by just at that moment, it stopped beside them.

  “Where to?” asked the driver.

  Barnabas ducked his head a bit in embarrassment, but nonetheless managed a small show of bravado, swaggering a bit like a sheriff of the American West as he and Wilfred climbed into the back of the chariot. “To Anti’s house, please,” he said politely to the driver. “And, if you don’t mind, take the back way if there’s one.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They arrived at the back entrance to Anti’s property within the hour. Looking about, they were astounded at the ramshackle quality of the place. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the house itself seemed in a sad state of disrepair. Any paint that may have previously clung to the wooden boards had peeled almost entirely off, and many of the boards themselves seemed determined to follow that paint, as was evidenced by the great gaps in the walls and the slovenly piles of rotting wood that lay on the ground around the foundation.

  Reminded of Anubis’ comment about lice, Wilfred and Barnabas felt inexplicably itchy again as they climbed out of the chariot, paid the driver, and contemplated the run-down place.

  “Well,” remarked Barnabas. “One can tell that he’s not the most kempt person, necessarily, but this… It is certainly eye-opening, to say the least.” He made a broad gesture that encompassed the whole of the property.

  “The place is most distasteful,” agreed Wilfred, wrinkling his nose. “And the smell! What in good heavens is causing this horrendous stench?”

  “Oh!” sniffed Barnabas. “I just caught a whiff myself.” He gagged dramatically. “Oh dear, it is unbearable!” He began to scurry about in circles as though he might thusly outrun the smell.

  He was just working himself up into a proper tizzy when Wilfred suddenly leapt through the air without a word and tackled him to the ground.

  “I say!” cried Barnabas (although, in truth, it came out sounding quite muffled since Wilfred’s hand was placed firmly over his snout). “What are you about?” Barnabas wriggled in a vain attempt to escape his assistant’s grasp, but Wilfred proved most tenacious and refused to relinquish his hold.

  “Shhh!” hissed Wilfred.

  “I will not shhh,” mumbled Barnabas around the fingers that held his lips shut. “You shhh.”

  “Anti and Montu are here!” whispered Wilfred urgently. “If I let you go, will you please be still?”

  Barnabas’ eyes widened in surprise, and though he was still quite a bit put out by Wilfred’s impromptu initiation of a wrestling match, he quickly saw the sense of what his assistant said and nodded his assent.

  Wilfred released his hold and rolled off of his employer. Barnabas huffed to catch his breath (which had been quite knocked out of him by the impact of Wilfred’s flying body onto his own), then looked side-eyed at Wilfred.

  “Was that entirely necessary?” he asked with no small degree of irritation in his voice.

  “Quite sorry,” said Wilfred. “I saw Anti and Montu coming up the walkway over there, and I also saw that you were in danger of being spied by them. I couldn’t think what else to do, so…” His voice trailed off, a hint of apology in his tone.

  “I think you broke my rib,” said Barnabas, casting Wilfred a petulant glance whilst dramatically clutching his abdomen. Unfortunately, the place he happened to grab did not happen to be the location of any ribs whatsoever, whether in mouse or in man, and so Wilfred knew he was play-acting.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” snipped Barnabas. “You did land on me quite hard, and you certainly could have broken my rib. Just because it didn’t break doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have, now, does it?”

  “Well, I’m sorry that I could have broken your rib, even though I didn’t,” said Wilfred.

  Barnabas blinked at the unprecedented sarcasm in his assistant’s voice. “No need to get so defensive about it, I’d say,” he said.

  “It’s just that I was trying to save you, and in fact did save you, and yet you chastise me nonetheless. Who knows what Anti and Montu might have done had they seen you.” Wilfred, patient though he was, still sometimes felt a bit undervalued and put upon by his moody employer.

  “I was just taken a bit aback, is all,” said Barnabas, sorry to have offended his loyal assistant. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Wilfred sighed. “I know,” he said. “I can see why you’d be surprised.”

  Barnabas laughed gently. “You really might consider a career in rugby football, with a tackle like that,” he teased.

  A chuckle escaped from Wilfred’s lips at the thought. Barnabas, encouraged, laughed a little harder, until Wilfred, finding Barnabas’ mirth contagious, followed suit. Though Barnabas could be prickly at times, it was not in Wilfred’s nature to shun an olive branch no matter how subtle. Nor could he remain upset with anyone for long.

  “So,” said Barnabas, when they had stopped laughing. “You saw Anti and Montu, you say?”

  “Oh!” said Wilfred. “Yes. Yes I did. Just over there.” He pointed towards the far end of the weed-choked mess of brambles that passed for Anti’s lawn. The place was completely empty. No one was visible at all and, save for the sounds of small animals scurrying about in the undergrowth, Barnabas and Wilfred seemed entirely alone.

  “I don’t see anyone,” pointed out Barnabas.

  “They were there,” insisted Wilfred, “walking together just as thick as thieves. I’ll bet they went into the house.”

  “Or snuck up behind us during all the commotion,” said Barnabas, looking over his shoulder fearfully. “So as to whack us about the head, or some such.”

  “I’m sure we would have heard them,” soothed Wilfred.

  “One never knows,” said Barnabas. “Criminals can be quite stealthy. And they both have big, nasty beaks…”

  “Yes, but I’m sure they didn’t see us,” said Wilfred. “Which was why I tackled you in the first place.”

  “Oh, that,” said Barnabas. “Well, if they aren’t over there…” He pointed across the lawn. “And they’re not behind us, then where are they?”

  “Probably in the house,” said Wilfred again.

  “Wouldn’t you think we’d hear them if they were inside that rickety place?” said Barnabas doubtfully. “Or see them, with all those holes in the wall and… Oh look! There they are!”

  Barnabas pointed and, sure enough, there were Anti and Montu emerging from the house. “They’re coming out of the house just now,” added Barnabas needlessly.

  Wilfred pursed his lips but nodded pleasantly enough. “What is it they’ve got there?” he asked. Two large objects preceded Anti and Montu down the path, one in front of each of the falcons. The objects were round and dark and appeared to roll lightly as the villains pushed at them with their wingtips.

  “Is is me or has the smell got worse?” said Barnabas.

  Wilfred lifted his nose to the air and inhaled deeply, then stifled a gag. “Ew!” he whispered. “It has indeed!” He put a hand over his face to cover his nostrils. “Where is it coming from? Can you tell?”

  “It must be whatever it is that Anti and Montu are rolling in front of them since the smell got worse the moment they appeared,” said Barnabas. He squinted at Anti and Montu as they strolled down the path, talking and laughing as though they didn’t have two enormous balls of stench before them.

  Suddenly Barnabas clutched at Wilfred’s sleeve with excitement. “Oh!” he exclaimed loudly, earning himself an admonition to lower his voice from Wilfred. They both ducked, trying to hide in case Barnabas’ cry of excitement had been heard, but a quick peek through the weeds told them that Anti and Montu continued on their way, oblivious to the observers who lurked behind the detritus of Anti’s lawn.

  Wilfred heaved a sigh of relief, and Barnabas continued, albeit in a much lower tone of voice. “The balls!” he
whispered. “They are great big dung beetle balls!”

  Wilfred’s eyes opened wide. “Truly?” he asked. “If that’s so, then we really have found Khepre!”

  “And that’s not all,” added Barnabas, waggling his eyebrows as he savored the feeling of having juicy news to impart. “Stuck all about within the balls of dung are feathers.” Seeing that Wilfred remained confused, he said, “Feathers, Wilfred! Think, man!”

  Suddenly the import of what Barnabas was saying struck Wilfred. “Ostrich feathers?” he gasped.

  “Most definitely!” said Barnabas with great satisfaction. “Brown and white and very, very large. What other bird could it be?”

  “Why, we have our proof then!” said Wilfred.

  “That we do,” said Barnabas smugly. “We were right all along, weren’t we?”

  “Uh,” said Wilfred noncommittally.

  Together they watched as Anti and Montu pushed the dung balls over to the edge of a steep hill. One at a time they pushed the balls over the edge so that they were lost from sight, then returned up the path to the house.

  Seeing the two villains strolling along as though they hadn’t a care in the world infuriated Barnabas. He huffed indignantly. “They behave as if they haven’t got a dung beetle and an ostrich lady falsely imprisoned in that…that hovel! Oh, what rapscallions are they!” he hissed.

  “They are conscienceless, I’m sure,” agreed Wilfred.

  “Oh, but it is unbearable!” said Barnabas. “The way they lied to us! The way Anti pretended to be our friend! And playing us for fools all the while.”

  “Unforgivable,” said Wilfred. “They will certainly pay the price for their crimes, I’m sure. Once we tell Anubis what we’ve seen…” He broke off as Barnabas suddenly made to rise, pointing an accusatory finger towards the two villainous falcons.

  “J’a…” Barnabas began to yell, but he was cut short as Wilfred’s hand slapped over his snout, pinching his lips shut. “Mmmm-mmm,” mumbled Barnabas in irritation.

  “Shhh!” hissed Wilfred. “They’ll hear you!”

  Barnabas squinched up his face in a temper, but Wilfred’s hand over his mouth was implacable, and at last he gave up struggling to speak.