The Mummy Smugglers of Crumblin Castle

by Pamela Rushby

  “That’s arithmetic?” Hattie was sceptical.

  “It’s accounting, but we need arithmetic to do it,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  “How does it work?” Hattie was prepared to be convinced. This did, at least, sound as if it could be faintly interesting.

  “Well, we’d need to keep a record of what it actually costs to perform an unwrapping. You need to consider the cost of the mummy, for a start. Then there are costs like the instruments your great-aunt uses, and the travel costs to London. You’d add all those up, and also think of Edgar and Edwina’s salaries. That’s another cost. So you would have to charge the client, the person wanting to hold a party, enough to cover all those costs and more, because we – that is your great-aunt, yourself, Sekhmet and the kittens and I – have to live off it too. And there also needs to be enough to cover the ongoing repairs to the castle.”

  Hattie thought about that. “I see,” she said. “It’s all very complicated, isn’t it? How much is a client charged for an unwrapping party, then?”

  “Oh, I have absolutely no idea,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus cheerfully. “That’s all up to your great-aunt and the Ravens, they take care of that. But obviously they know how to do it successfully, because, if you recall, we were able to have the roof of the south-west turret repaired last week.”

  “I see,” said Hattie again. She wondered if Great-aunt Iphigenia really did have much to do with the accounting. From what Hattie had observed, Great-aunt Iphigenia seemed to leave most of that, as well as the bookings for the unwrapping parties, to the Ravens. Well, Hattie conceded, rather grudgingly, the Ravens did appear to be doing their work well. Certainly Great-uncle Sisyphus was right, the south-west turret roof had been repaired.

  “So, are you prepared to grapple with long division this morning?” asked Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  “If I could perhaps learn some more hieroglyphs this afternoon?” bargained Hattie.

  “I think that could be arranged.”

  After lunch, Great-uncle Sisyphus and Hattie, both feeling rather fragile after a session of long division, prepared to refresh themselves with a lesson on hieroglyphs.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus had been showing Hattie some inscriptions that were found on many mummy cases. “They were fairly standard,” he explained. “Advice to the dead person on how to successfully enter into the afterlife. If you learn to read one, you’ll find them time after time, with very few variations.”

  “What is one you’ll often see?” Hattie asked.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus opened one of his big books. “This one, for instance. It’s often found on the walls of tombs, and on mummy cases.” He read it out, his finger moving slowly along the hieroglyphs.

  “As for he who destroys this inscription, he shall not reach his home. He shall not embrace his children. He shall not see success. May the crocodile and the hippopotamus be against him on water, and the snake and scorpion be against him on land. May the god Thoth destroy him.”

  “Oh,” said Hattie. “That’s very – threatening.” She would not, she thought, have liked to have those things wished against her. Especially the one about not reaching home.

  “Indeed it is threatening. It was meant to be. It’s a curse. It’s directed against anyone who might try to destroy the mummified body. That was very important. You will remember, the Egyptians believed that the body, the actual body, needed to survive after the person died.”

  “Yes,” Hattie recalled. “I remember you telling me that, I think. A little. Can you remind me again?”

  “Of course. Because they believed that for their souls to continue to exist after death, to be able to live on in the afterlife, the beautiful Fields of Yaru as they called it, then their physical body must continue to exist. If the body was destroyed, then the soul would wander in darkness forever.”

  There was a long silence. In darkness forever . . . thought Hattie. Her thoughts whirled and spun inside her head.

  “What?” she said. “I mean, I beg your pardon?”

  “The body must be preserved,” repeated Great-uncle Sisyphus. “They had other methods, of course. For example, they placed statues of the dead person in the tomb, and painted pictures of them on the walls. These were safeguards in case the mummified body should be destroyed. But the preserved body was the ideal, the best way for the soul to continue to exist . . .” His voice went on and on, but Hattie hardly heard him.

  She was thinking of the groan of despair she’d heard as Great-aunt Iphigenia had cut into the mummy of the man Padiamenet, and the wild weeping as she sliced open the mummy of the child Tamut.

  She thought of the mummies, left with the people who had paid for the parties and therefore now owned them, who very possibly might have the mummy remains thrown away. Or burned.

  Destroyed.

  Destroyed.

  What if, Hattie thought wildly, their tombs no longer existed? If there were no safeguards, no statues, no paintings on tomb walls? What would happen to their souls then? She thought of the way the child Tamut had dissolved into blackness, and she felt sick. What had happened to Tamut? Where had she gone? Was she now wandering in darkness forever?

  “What – what happens if the mummies are destroyed? When Great-aunt Iphigenia cuts one open?” Hattie asked faintly. She hardly dared to put the question. “Do the Egyptians’ souls cease to exist?”

  Great-uncle Sisyphus broke off his long discourse. He looked down at Hattie. “What happens? Why, nothing happens!” he said cheerfully. “Cease to exist? Heavens, no! It’s all superstition, my dear. Scientists and scholars, rational modern people like us, would never believe that. Would we?”

  “Of – of course not,” said Hattie.

  There was a deep silence in the room.

  “You’ve gone rather pale,” observed Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Have we been working too long? Time does get away with one.” He took his watch out of his waistcoat pocket. “Goodness me, almost time for tea! We must go down. Sekhmet will be quite put out if tea is ready and there’s no one there to eat it. And I believe muffins were mentioned . . .”

  Hattie followed Great-uncle Sisyphus from the room, her head whirling. Could it be –? Were the souls of the ancient Egyptians trying to reach out to her, to ask for her help? Surely such a thing could never happen! And yet there had been the groan, the weeping, the apparition of the child Tamut . . .

  Hattie walked slowly, puzzling over an idea that was swirling in her head but had not yet fully formed. She was pleased to see Great-aunt Iphigenia crossing the great hall on her way to tea. She hurried to catch up. “Great-aunt Iphigenia!” she called.

  “Yes, Hattie?”

  Hattie had not really had time to plan what she was going to say. It came out in a rush. “The mummies! The unwrapping party mummies!”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia stopped. “Yes, Hattie?”

  “Must we leave them? With the people who give the parties, I mean. Couldn’t we bring them back here?” She paused. That was unclear. “Bring the mummies back here, I mean! Not the people giving the parties.”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia’s brow wrinkled. “That could be a little difficult, I fear. They do actually own the mummies, you see. But – why would you want to do that?”

  Hattie thought quickly. “Well, um, if they don’t value them, if they just dispose of them, that’s rather a pity, don’t you think? Such a waste. We could bring them back here, store them. Perhaps Great-uncle Sisyphus might want to read the hieroglyphs. Or I could study the pictures. Or something . . .” Her voice trailed away.

  Great-aunt Iphigenia considered her. “This seems to mean a great deal to you, Hattie.”

  “Oh yes, it does. It does!”

  “Well, we could certainly ask the new owners what they intend to do with the mummies, and if they have no use for them, we could offer to bring them back here.” Great-aunt Iphigenia sighed. “It’s not as if we lack storage space, after all. So why not?”

  Hattie sagged with relief. If the mummies
came back to Crumblin Castle, then at least they would not be destroyed. It wasn’t ideal – the ideal would be for Great-aunt Iphigenia to give up unwrapping mummies entirely. But that was impossible. This would do for the time being, but Hattie knew she would need to find another solution.

  She needed time to think. And, she thought thankfully, she had it. Nothing was going to happen for a while. There were no mummies left in the mummy room, there were no unwrappings planned for a while. Not until the Ravens concluded their business with the antiquities dealers in London. Hattie hoped it would take them a long time.

  She sighed with relief. She needn’t worry for a while. Feeling better, she followed Great-aunt Iphigenia in to tea.

  But she failed to do justice to the muffins.

  The Ravens had been gone for several days when a messenger arrived at the castle with a letter.

  Sekhmet brought the letter into the dining room where Great-uncle Sisyphus, Great-aunt Iphigenia and Hattie were having lunch.

  “Thank you, Sekhmet.” Great-aunt Iphigenia took the envelope and slit it open. “Ah, it’s from Edgar and Edwina. I do hope they’ve been able to purchase some mummies.” She read the note quickly. “Mmm. Well, it doesn’t say whether they have or not. This is just a request for me to send them the address of a certain antiquities dealer.” Great-aunt Iphigenia frowned. “They must have forgotten to take it with them. Dear me, that’s not like them. They’re always so efficient. I must go and look for this address. It may take a little time. Sekhmet, could you see the messenger is given some refreshment, please? I’ll be with him as soon as I can.”

  Sekhmet nodded and paced gracefully out of the room.

  “Hattie, my dear, could you spare the time to come and help me look for this address? I’m unsure of just where I’ll find it. Edgar does say which file it should be in, but I’m afraid I’m not as familiar with the files as I really ought to be. If Sisyphus says it’s all right, of course.”

  Hattie looked to Great-uncle Sisyphus for permission. He smiled and nodded. There had been another arithmetic lesson planned for that afternoon, and they were both relieved to have the struggle with long division postponed.

  Hattie followed Great-aunt Iphigenia across the great hall and into the study. She had never actually been into the study before. It was very much the Ravens’ abode, so she knew she would not be welcome, even though Great-aunt Iphigenia had a desk in there as well. Hattie looked around the room curiously. There were two desks, several chairs, and a number of tall cabinets standing against the walls. There was no sign of the files Great-aunt Iphigenia had referred to, so Hattie assumed they must be stored in the tall cabinets.

  One desk was very tidy, with pencils and pens laid out neatly in a box beside inkwells with blue, black and red ink. The other desk was chaotic, with books, papers and cases of instruments piled up in teetering heaps.

  “That’s my desk,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  Hattie wasn’t surprised.

  “Let’s find this as quickly as we can,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “It’s quite cold in here. I didn’t bother having a fire lit since Edgar and Edwina are away. And we should get the messenger on his way as soon as possible, before the mist comes down again.” Through the window, Hattie could see that the mist, which had appeared to be clearing earlier, was thickening again.

  Great-aunt Iphigenia surveyed the tall cabinets. “Now, I believe the correspondence files are in this cabinet, and invoices and receipts stored in that one. Edgar said a blue file, in the correspondence section.”

  Hattie opened the doors of the correspondence cabinet and took out a file. “There are several blue ones,” she said. “Do you know which one? What are we looking for?”

  “We’re looking for the address of a firm called Peabody and Pruitt,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “We can’t have used them very often, the name’s not familiar to me, so I don’t know what date we’re looking for. We’ll just have to go through them all.”

  It was a long process. Great-aunt Iphigenia and Hattie took one of the blue files each and began to look through them. The first two files yielded no mention of Peabody and Pruitt. Hattie took out two more files.

  “The dates in these go a long way back,” she said. “I wonder if we’d have more success looking in the accounts files?”

  “By all means try them, then,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “I’ll continue looking through these.”

  Hattie turned to the accounts cabinet. The door was locked. “Do you know where the key is, Great-aunt Iphigenia?”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia looked up vaguely. “It’s locked? Perhaps the key is in one of the desk drawers.”

  Hattie hesitated, a little reluctant to open the drawers in the Ravens’ desk. But it wasn’t really their desk, she thought, it was Great-aunt Iphigenia’s. She pulled the top drawer open.

  More pens, more pencils, a pile of paper, envelopes. And, tucked at the back of the drawer, concealed under a box of pen nibs, a key.

  A key that fitted the accounts cabinet.

  The contents of the accounts cabinet looked just like the correspondence files. Shelves packed with blue file after blue file. Hattie sighed and took one out.

  An hour later, both Hattie and Great-aunt Iphigenia were growing quite cold. The mist was crawling its way up the outside of the window. When Hattie glanced out, it looked as if the castle was afloat on a sea of milk. She shivered, and turned back to the file she was searching.

  A moment later, “I’ve found it!” exclaimed Great-aunt Iphigenia. “I’ve found it!” exclaimed Hattie. They looked at each other and laughed.

  “It’s no wonder I didn’t recognise the name,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “It’s been some five years since we purchased anything from Peabody and Pruitt. However, here’s the address. Seething Lane. Is that what you have?” She handed Hattie the letter she had found.

  Hattie compared the address on the invoice and receipt she had discovered. “Yes,” she said. “That’s correct. Seething Lane.”

  “I’ll just write a quick note for Edgar and Edwina,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia, “and the messenger can be on his way.” She reached for paper and pen and began to write.

  Hattie glanced at the pieces of paper in her hand. She stopped. She looked closer. The letter Great-aunt Iphigenia had handed her confirmed that a mummy had been purchased from Peabody and Pruitt and sent to The Honourable Iphigenia Lambton at Crumblin Castle. It mentioned the purchase price for the mummy. Hattie was interested. She had been wondering what it cost to buy a mummy. Now she knew.

  Then she looked at the invoice and receipt she had found. That was odd. The amounts were different. Quite different. Maybe it was another mummy altogether? Hattie looked at the dates. No, the dates definitely matched. She looked closer. Now, she noticed that a note had been made, in pencil, against the purchase price. There must have been a mistake made, Hattie concluded, and the pencilled note corrected it. Yes, that’s what it would be. Just a mistake.

  “Hattie, could you take this note to the messenger, please?” Great-aunt Iphigenia neatly blotted her note and put it into an envelope. “He’ll be wanting to get away.”

  “Of course.” Hattie put the invoice and receipt back into the file and handed the letter from Peabody and Pruitt back to Great-aunt Iphigenia. She stowed the accounting files back into their cabinet, locked the door, and replaced the key under the box of nibs in the drawer.

  It was a good thing that the price of the mummy from Peabody and Pruitt had been discovered and corrected, she thought. It had been quite a lot of money.

  The Ravens stayed in London for another week. It was a very peaceful week at Crumblin Castle. Hattie conquered long division. They celebrated with a special, and delicious, honey and date cake for afternoon tea. Great-uncle Sisyphus told Hattie that Sekhmet made it from an ancient Egyptian recipe. Hattie also learned a great many more hieroglyphs, which was far more to her liking than long division.

  Then a letter came, with the news
that the Ravens would be returning in two days’ time.

  “Did they say how many mummies they’ve bought?” Hattie asked. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the Ravens’ return. The mummies were needed for the unwrapping parties, of course, but she was uneasy about what might happen at the next one. She was rather afraid there would be more signs of distress. She could ask not to be Great-aunt Iphigenia’s assistant any more, she supposed, but what excuse could she give?

  The day the Ravens returned was windy and stormy. The wind had blown the usual mist far away, and it had sent the marsh into turmoil, with the surface of the dark water trembling and small waves slashing viciously at the reeds. Everyone came to the great hall to greet the Ravens and hear the news of what they’d found in London.

  As soon as the Ravens walked in the door, it was clear that things had not gone well. There weren’t actually storm clouds and lightning visible above their dark heads, but the air around them positively crackled with frustration. And anger.

  The kittens took one look at them, hissed, and scampered away, their short black fur all on end. Great-aunt Iphigenia, Great-uncle Sisyphus and Hattie all took an involuntary step back.

  “Well,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Well. How did –” She stopped. “I think tea,” she said. “You must need tea, after all your hard work. Come through to the drawing room. Then you can tell us all about it. Sekhmet, could we have tea, please?”

  Sekhmet nodded regally and paced away.

  Everyone sat in the drawing room in an uncomfortable silence. The Ravens smouldered. Hattie, Great-uncle Sisyphus and Great-aunt Iphigenia glanced anxiously at each other. No one spoke. The wind rattled and whined at the windows, trying to get in.

  When the dumb waiter arrived, Hattie leapt to her feet and carried the trays over to small tables by the fire. Great-aunt Iphigenia poured tea and passed cups. Hattie offered slices of cake, which the Ravens rejected.

  Finally, the Ravens spoke.

  “There are no mummies,” said Edgar Raven.