The Mummy Smugglers of Crumblin Castle

by Pamela Rushby

  The Sheikh, Rais Abdallah, Omar Shaydi and Great-uncle Sisyphus sat in a circle of chairs on the deck and proceeded to bargain. Great-aunt Iphigenia, Hattie and Amal watched from a discreet distance. Women did not bargain.

  “It will take some time,” Amal said. She had been up the Cataract before, with her father, to visit family, and knew how things were done.

  It did take some time. The Sheikh made a demand, and Omar Shaydi relayed his offer to Great-uncle Sisyphus and Rais Abdallah. Rais Abdallah shook his head, and a counteroffer was made. Omar Shaydi turned to the Sheikh and gave their reply. The Sheikh shook his head, and the whole process began again.

  At last, heads began to nod instead of shake. Frowns were replaced by smiles. Hands were extended and shaken.

  “It appears a bargain has been struck,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus turned around. “It has. We will be attempting the Cataract tomorrow, with the assistance of these good fellows. Edgar, Edwina, could you speak with Omar Shaydi and arrange to have our passage money paid to the Sheikh, if you please?”

  “Not all of it,” cautioned Omar Shaydi. “Half now, half when we have passed the Cataract. An, um, incentive, you might say.”

  The Sheikh and his men now gracefully accepted glasses of lemonade, before climbing back into their boat and rowing away.

  “Pirates,” scowled Rais Abdallah. “As disreputable a bunch of pirates as you would ever meet.”

  “Really?” Hattie was surprised. They didn’t look like pirates. Not a peg leg or an eye patch or a parrot among them.

  “Yes. Pirates. They hold the power. They can delay boats for days. Leave them stranded in the middle of the rapids if something displeases them. That is why it is wise to withhold part of their fee.”

  Early the next morning the Hetepheres left Aswan and sailed on, past rocks and islands. The rocks soon grew larger, the islands smaller, the sound of turbulent water nearer and louder. They rounded a bend and found their way seemingly blocked by a line of islands stretching across the river. Water poured and boiled between them, throwing up spray and white foam. Fragile rainbows came and went in the mist. “It looks so beautiful,” Great-aunt Iphigenia said dreamily. “And yet so dangerous.”

  “Yes!” Amal said. “But so exciting!”

  “We have to go up there? But it’s like a waterfall!” Hattie said to Rais Abdallah.

  Rais Abdallah nodded gloomily. “And here I must hand over command to the Sheikh and his men. They will control the boat until we pass the Cataract.” It was clear that this did not please him at all.

  Hattie was eyeing a jumble of shattered timber lying on the beach of one of the small islands. It looked as if it might once have been a boat, she thought. “Are there many boats, um, wrecked here at all?” she ventured.

  Rais Abdallah glanced at her. “No, no. It is quite safe. Quite! Forty or fifty dahabiyas pass through the Cataract every season. Miss Amal has done it several times.” He paused. “When we start to go up, make sure you are holding onto something. Hold tightly. But it is quite safe!”

  Hattie was not reassured. She resolved to hold on very tightly indeed. “But how do we ever get up there?”

  Rais Abdallah nodded at the rocks around the Cataract. From nowhere, men had sprung up as they approached. Many men. They waited, watching the Hetepheres approach. The Sheikh of the Cataract also appeared, his men paddling him out to the Hetepheres in his little boat. He climbed on board and took Rais Abdallah’s place near the wheel. Rais Abdallah stepped back with bad grace. I wash my hands of this, his attitude seemed to say.

  The Sheikh called commands, and the Hetepheres moved towards the chain of islands. The river came hurtling between them, split into several torrents. At the bottom they joined together again and the Hetepheres, approaching the islands, dipped and bowed in the waves created.

  The steersman, at the Sheikh’s command, steered the Hetepheres straight towards the widest foaming channel. The men waiting on the rocks at the sides of the channel moved swiftly. Some leaped into the water, coils of rope over their shoulders. Others stayed on the rocks, shouting and waving frantic hand signals. Some ropes were attached to the Hetepheres, others to the rocks. Men swarmed on deck, soaked and dripping, and seized the ropes. The men on shore stood ready. At the Sheikh’s signal they began to chant, a wild rhythm, a half song. Then they began to pull. Slowly, the Hetepheres was dragged towards a hill of moving water. Chant. Pull. Chant. Pull. They were in the torrent. They were moving up it. Water raced by the sides of the boat and waves splashed onto the deck. Mist flew, scattering shining drops and rainbows onto Hattie’s head. The chant grew faster, the roar of water grew louder – and then the Hetepheres reached the top of the rapids, hung suspended for a second, then slid forward into a pool of calmer water. There was a shout of achievement – and relief.

  “There!” Amal said. “I knew we would do it! We are halfway there already.”

  Looking ahead, Hattie saw another series of rapids, and beyond it, yet another.

  The men rested for an hour before tackling the next rapids. These were lower, easier. “The Sheikh says we are making good progress,” Rais Abdallah reported.

  The Sheikh had spoken too soon. Halfway up the third series of rapids, a rope snapped. Men fell abruptly backwards onto the deck; others tumbled over rocks on the shore. The Hetepheres swung suddenly sideways, with a rush of water over the side of the boat. The Sheikh yelled commands, men hauled frantically on their ropes, and the Hetepheres’ sideways slip was arrested just short of a massive boulder. The men quickly attached a new rope and hauled the Hetepheres to the top of the rapids and a calmer pool beyond. Then they shook their heads, shrugged their shoulders and coiled up their ropes. The Sheikh’s small boat came alongside.

  “Where are they going?” demanded Edgar Raven. “We are nowhere near the top yet!”

  “The Sheikh says this is not a good sign,” said Rais Abdallah. “The day is not auspicious. They will go home. Tomorrow, perhaps . . .”

  “So we must stay here tonight?” said Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  “Tonight,” shrugged Rais Abdallah. “Perhaps tomorrow night. Until the Sheikh feels the day is a lucky one.”

  There was nothing to be done about it. The Hetepheres remained moored in the pool in the middle of the Cataract, rocking gently in the waves produced by the rapids they had yet to conquer. Hattie fell asleep with the roar of water filling the chill night air.

  The next day, however, was clearly regarded as a fortunate one. The Sheikh and his men arrived early. The men pulled heartily and chanted loudly, no ropes snapped, and by sunset the Hetepheres had reached the top of the Cataract. The Sheikh and his men departed, with many expressions of goodwill on both sides. Rais Abdallah happily took command again, and they sailed forward into calm, level waters. “We will moor at Philae tonight. An hour away only,” Rais Abdallah said.

  Everyone was happy to sit on deck, enjoying the peace of the evening. The roar of the Cataract faded behind them. On the banks beside them, white birds settled for the night.

  “What is that over there?” Hattie asked Rais Abdallah. In the distance, back from the river and under the red cliffs that filled the horizon, a cloud of dust rose.

  Rais Abdallah shaded his eyes from the setting sun. “A caravan,” he said. “A caravan from Abyssinia.”

  The road the caravan was following came closer to the river. Soon they could all see it: a long, long string of camels, laden with great bundles. At its head walked a Nubian with a curved sword at his side and large pistols tucked into his belt. Camel boys led some of the camels, others were tethered to the animal in front.

  “The camels are carrying elephant tusks. Ivory,” said Omar Shaydi. “But do you see the last two? Those cages on their backs? They appear to have leopards in them.”

  “Where are they going?” Hattie asked. It was the strangest, wildest procession she had ever seen.

  Omar Shaydi shrugged. “A market somewhere.�
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  The procession disappeared into the glow of the setting sun and Hattie, her eyes dazzled with its orange glare, turned around to find they had arrived at Philae.

  A white temple stood above them, on the top of a low cliff. The village glowed with cooking fires, smoke rising in columns into the still air, the sounds of people and animals settling for the night. The sky above, still flushed orange and pink in the west, turned slowly to an inky blue. Cliffs in the distance, catching the last of the sun still glowed red, pocked with dark openings of ancient tombs.

  “You see the cliffs up there?” Omar Shaydi said.

  Everyone nodded.

  “That is where my brothers, my family, live. I will send a message. I think we will see them tomorrow.”

  The home of the Shaydi family.

  They had reached their destination.

  Omar Shaydi went to the town to send his message the next morning. He returned with mail from England. Postcards from Sekhmet and the kittens, including one for Amal, with kitten paw prints all over it.

  “From the kittens!” Amal breathed. “I do so want to see the kittens!”

  Omar Shaydi received the answer he had been waiting for by afternoon. The Shaydi brothers would expect them in the evening.

  “So late?” Edwina Raven questioned. “But that means we will be returning in the dark.”

  “We do not wish to be observed,” Omar Shaydi reminded her.

  “But the crew will be aware we are away from the boat,” Edgar Raven objected.

  “The crew will be told we go to visit the temple of Philae,” Omar Shaydi replied. “Visitors often go there to see the sunset. They will not question it.”

  It was arranged. Donkeys were ordered. An hour before sunset, everyone went ashore, ostentatiously talking about the temple of Philae and its beauties. Great-uncle Sisyphus looked at the temple wistfully as they passed it. “Perhaps on another occasion . . .” he suggested. Then, catching Omar Shaydi’s eye, “When our business is concluded,” he added hastily.

  They rode out across the desert towards the cliffs. Omar Shaydi led, following a route only he knew. Hattie, Great-aunt Iphigenia and Edwina sheltered under parasols. A spare parasol had also been found for Amal. It gave more shade than her scarf, she said gratefully, but she must wear her scarf as well. “My aunts would not be happy to see me without it.”

  Edgar rode awkwardly, clutching his attache case to his chest. The sun, to everyone’s relief, slid lower and lower until it sank behind the cliffs. Shadows, purple and grey and brown, formed at the base of the cliffs and crept towards them. The air grew suddenly chill. By the time they reached the cliffs, the shadows had spread to the distant river. The white temple still gleamed. Beyond it, the Hetepheres floated on a river dark with shadows.

  When Hattie looked up at the cliffs above them, she saw that lights had begun to appear in some of the tomb openings. “Look!” she said. It was as surprising as seeing lights in an English churchyard at night.

  “People live in some of the tombs,” Omar Shaydi said. “My family occupies several of them.”

  “They live in tombs?” Edgar said.

  “Certainly. They are large, dry, comfortable. Why would people not put them to use?” Omar Shaydi did not say it, but Hattie could think of another excellent reason for living in a tomb. They were remote, secret – very suitable for activities that needed to escape notice.

  Omar Shaydi motioned to everyone to stop and wait. He climbed nimbly up a set of rough stairs hacked into the side of the cliff until he reached a large tomb opening with light spilling out of it. He disappeared inside for a moment, then came out again holding a lantern. “Come,” he called, descending the stairs. “We are expected.”

  Several small boys followed behind him and took charge of the donkeys while the party followed Omar Shaydi up the stairs. At the top they paused, blinking, in the light of the tomb.

  “Please,” said Omar Shaydi. “Enter.”

  Hattie swallowed.

  Enter.

  It was a tomb. She was less than happy about entering tombs.

  Amal gave her a push from behind. “It will be all right. You’ll see.” And it was. This tomb, Hattie found when she went hesitantly in, held no fears for her. The smoke from fires and lamps that had burned here – for centuries, perhaps – had blackened the painted scenes on walls and ceilings until they were obliterated under layers of soot.

  Inside, the tomb had been made as comfortable as a house. Cushions and stools supplied seating. A fire burned in the middle of a circle of chairs, where three men sat waiting for them. At the back of the chamber, a dark passage led further into the tomb. There, a group of black-robed women and curious, big-eyed children watched the visitors with fascination, and twittered like birds among themselves. They seized Amal, hugged her and fussed over her. One of the men turned and waved his hand at the group, and they disappeared into the darkness in a flurry of black robes, taking Amal with them.

  “You are welcome,” said Omar Shaydi to Great-uncle Sisyphus. “These are my brothers. The family of Shaydi.”

  The three men rose and bowed. Great-uncle Sisyphus bowed in reply, and Edgar Raven hastily copied him. Great-aunt Iphigenia, Hattie and Edwina Raven, as was proper, stood with clasped hands and bowed heads. Great-uncle Sisyphus, Edgar Raven and Omar Shaydi were drawn into seats around the fire, and the women were offered cushions a few paces back. Great-aunt Iphigenia sighed and raised her eyebrows, but she understood it was how things were done, and she offered no objections.

  Women appeared from the depths of the tomb, Amal among them, carrying trays of tea and sweet cakes and biscuits. They set them on tables near the visitors and withdrew again, lingering to cast inquisitive glances at the women. Hattie and Great-aunt Iphigenia smiled and nodded their thanks, but the Shaydi women were veiled, and their reactions – friendly or otherwise – could not be seen.

  The men had already begun talking. The Shaydi men must surely have been well aware of why they were there, but Omar Shaydi described, again, Great-aunt Iphigenia’s great need for mummies, and stressed that she was willing to pay a good price for such objects.

  “A fair price,” interjected Edgar Raven.

  “A good price,” Omar Shaydi repeated. “If such objects can be supplied at all. The current situation, as it is well known, is difficult.”

  One of the brothers spoke at length.

  Omar Shaydi translated. “My brother says such objects can, though with some difficulty, be supplied. He has discovered many such objects in the past. He feels confident he can acquire more. He asks if you would care to see some samples.”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia leaned forward, her face alight. She appeared to have totally forgotten the etiquette for females. “Your brother has some mummies? Here? Now? Really, here?”

  Omar Shaydi nodded. “He has. Would you care to see them?”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia started up from her cushion. “Now? We can see them now? Oh yes. Oh yes indeed!”

  The mummies, it appeared, were stored in passages and chambers deep inside the tomb-home of the Shaydi family. The three brothers stood and led the party, picking up flaring torches to light the way. At first, at ground level, they walked further and further into the tomb. Dark doorways led off to the sides, obviously family living quarters, and women peered curiously at them as they passed. Then the passage began to slope downwards, down and down. There were no more side-chambers. They must be deep inside the earth by now, Hattie calculated, below even the base of the cliffs they had climbed.

  “We will be going to the burial chamber itself,” Great-uncle Sisyphus whispered. “In ancient times, it would have been sealed off, against robbers.”

  Quite unexpectedly, the passage ended and they stepped out into a wider chamber with a high ceiling. “As I thought,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “The burial chamber. Ah, the paintings. What a shame.”

  The walls had been decorated with painted scenes but Hattie was relieved to see that they w
ere virtually invisible, smudged with smoke from the torches that had been carried here over the years. She gave them only a quick glance. She was far more interested in what the chamber contained.

  Mummy cases.

  Dozens of mummy cases, all sizes and shapes, lined up against the walls of the chamber. Giant ones. Small ones. Some perfect, some battered and damaged. Some shining with gold, some covered in colourful hieroglyphs. And not only mummy cases. There were also canopic jars, statuettes, rolls of papyrus. The Shaydis must have been collecting these things over a long period of time, Hattie thought. Beside her, Great-aunt Iphigenia gasped and trembled with excitement at the sight of the mummy cases.

  “So many! So beautiful!” Great-aunt Iphigenia whispered. “And are they all – all – available?”

  “Every one,” Omar Shaydi assured her. He paused delicately. “For a price, of course.”

  “Of course.” Great-aunt Iphigenia moved further into the chamber, pausing in front of mummy after mummy, smiling at some, rejecting others, reaching out and running her fingertips gently over those she particularly favoured.

  “How many could be reasonably fitted onto the Hetepheres?” she asked. “How many could we be sure of transporting to England?”

  “On the Hetepheres?” said Omar Shaydi. “Perhaps six could be stored in the luggage cabin. They would be out of sight of the crew there. And to England? Oh, we have ways of arranging that. It would be no problem.”

  Hattie regarded her great-aunt. Great-aunt Iphigenia’s thoughts of it perhaps being the wrong thing to take mummies out of Egypt seemed to have totally disappeared. Maybe it was the Ravens’ persuasions. Maybe Great-aunt Iphigenia simply could not help herself.

  Obviously she could not. Because Great-aunt Iphigenia’s next question was, “So you could guarantee a steady supply of mummies to be sent to England? How would you accomplish that? We have heard about the strict regulations, the inspections, the officials.”