The Mummy's Revenge

by Andrew Beasley

  She gazed at it for the thousandth time. What was it meant to be? A bowl? A plank? Charley turned her head on its side. Could it possibly be…a door?

  Working at lightning speed, Charley reordered the hieroglyphs, starting the sentence with a different character.

  “I’ve got it!” she said, waking Sir Gordon with a start. “It reads, The power to make my servant fly in an instant through the door. Do you see what that means?!”

  “Yes!” said Sir Gordon, then he paused. “Actually, no.”

  Charley was about to explain when they were interrupted by Doogie.

  “Sorry to bother ye, Your Lordship, but I’ve found something… I’m afraid you’re not gonna like it.”

  “What have you got there?” asked Charley.

  Doogie was holding three small wooden objects in his hands. Boxes. Or tiny coffins. Gingerly, he placed them on the workbench.

  “I found one in your room while I was cleaning, Your Lordship, and one in yours, Miss Charley, and one in Master Billy’s,” said Doogie. “They were hidden under your beds.”

  “And why were you doing a housemaid’s job?” asked Sir Gordon.

  “Beth’s gone,” said Doogie, “run away to somewhere the mummy can’t get her. And Mrs Fudge has packed her bags and gone to stay at her sister’s B&B – said she couldn’t take it no more.”

  “Mr Cowley has gone too,” said Sir Gordon on the verge of tears. “Handed in his notice this morning, said he was moving back in with his mother. Rats deserting the sinking ship.”

  “At least Doogie is loyal to you,” said Charley.

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” said Doogie with a shrug.

  Charley ran her fingers through her long ginger hair and returned to the coffin-shaped boxes. She took a pair of tweezers and carefully eased their lids open. Part of her wished she hadn’t.

  Each one had a lumpen wax figure inside.

  “Poppets,” she said quietly.

  “What?”

  “Nasty things,” said Charley. “Human figures used in witchcraft and sorcery.”

  Although the mannequins were crude, it was obvious who they were meant to be. One was fat, with a bright waistcoat button hidden inside its rounded belly, just visible through the wax. One was a boy, with a red scarf at his neck, and what appeared to be a scorpion sting protruding from its waxy flesh. The last one was thinner, more feminine, with strands of ginger hair plastered to the head. Looking closer, Charley saw that there was something within the chest cavity itself. She lifted the horrible wax doll out of its coffin and held it to her ear. She was right; there was a faint tick-tick-ticking coming from inside.

  Taking a scalpel, Charley carved through the grey wax to find a silver object buried there like a beating heart. “That’s my watch,” she said, relieved to have it back, but her stomach churned to find it like this.

  There was another metal object inside the doll’s head, just above the slit that was meant to be Charley’s left eye. Using the tweezers again, she pulled it free. It was a pin.

  The stabbing pain that had crippled Charley soon after she’d arrived at 44 Morningside Place suddenly made awful sense. Voodoo witch doctors used these sort of charms to control or hurt people, but the Egyptian magicians had done it first.

  “There’s a pin in your poppet too,” said Charley, indicating the sliver of steel that pierced the stomach of the fat little wax figure. “That’s how it works. The magician inflicts pain on the poppet and the victim feels it for real.”

  “That terrible agony.” Sir Gordon placed his hand on his belly. “That was caused by the Sandman,” he said.

  Charley had been afraid. Now she was angry. “I’ve been so stupid!” She slammed her forehead with the palm of her hand. “The Sandman has been right under our noses all along!”

  “This is all my fault!” Sir Gordon wailed. “I never meant to bring the curse down on us all.”

  “Don’t despair,” said Charley, seeing Sir Gordon sinking deeper into a hole of self-pity.

  “Ach, but ye haven’t seen this yet,” said Doogie. He led them out of the crime lab to the hall, stopping in front of the portrait of Sir Gordon. “This is enough to put the wind up anyone’s kilt.”

  The portrait had been vandalized in the most horrific and personal way. Sir Gordon’s face had been slashed with a knife, leaving the canvas hanging in tattered ribbons. Then, in case that message was too subtle, the vandal had also painted on the portrait in dripping red paint:

  “All right,” said Charley. “Now you can despair if you want to, but I haven’t got time.”

  She spun her chair round and headed straight back to the lab. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Anything else you need?” asked the housekeeper.

  Billy finished his bread and cheese and smacked his lips. At his feet, Wellington was tucking into a bowl of tripe. “Any biscuits going?” he asked.

  Suddenly Billy felt overwhelmingly tired. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the case began, and the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the armchair were taking effect. Wellington curled up on a tiger-skin rug and started to snore. Lord Wintersfall’s safe sat in the corner of the room, a huge squat box with the Phoenix Egg inside. The blunderbuss and the cricket bat were both within easy reach. Billy knew he should have asked for a coffee to go with those biscuits. Oh well, five minutes sleep wouldn’t hurt anyone…

  Billy was just beginning to nod when his sixth sense started to tingle, like spiders running around inside his head. He leaped up, totally alert. Danger was far better than caffeine at keeping him awake.

  Something was wrong.

  Billy felt a hot wetness on his top lip and instinctively touched it. His fingers came away red. Blood had started to pour from his nose as a wave of approaching magick overwhelmed him.

  In his mind’s eye, Billy was in an Egyptian temple. The Sandman was there, towering above him. The man’s face was in shadow but Billy knew it had to be him; he was holding a curved bone wand in one hand…and a fresh human heart in the other! The Sandman was not alone – he was flanked by creatures that looked like gods…evil, powerful gods. Billy caught passing impressions of them; humans with grotesque animal heads. A lioness, a crocodile and a jackal…

  Billy staggered. The vision was so strong that it felt as if his head was full of bricks, so heavy that he couldn’t stand. He stumbled and collapsed back into the chair. He tried to stand and fell almost immediately, tumbling forwards this time, but he managed to get his hands out and stop his face from hitting the floor.

  Wellington licked Billy’s cheek. If the wave of magick hadn’t woken him, the dog’s bad breath definitely would have done the job. His face was now level with the glass eyes of the tiger-skin rug. Billy blinked…

  The tiger moved.

  Billy blinked again, trying to decide what was real and what was an after-effect of the vision. The tiger was definitely moving, but it wasn’t coming alive. The tiger-skin rug was moving because something was underneath it.

  A hump appeared in the middle of the tiger’s back, and as Billy watched the hump grew. It was terrifying to see. Billy wanted to run away, but that was not what S.C.R.E.A.M. detectives did. Slowly the hump grew bigger, rising up off the ground and taking the tiger rug with it. Two other lumps emerged on either side of the first hump. A head and two shoulders, pushing the animal skin upwards.

  As the carpet rose, Billy could see a swirling circle of sand. He recognized that he had seen the same effect before, at the railway station when they first arrived. It was as if there was a tiny tornado, driving the sand in dizzying circles. And appearing out of that magical circle – seemingly rising up from the floor – was the mummy.

  So that was the secret of the sand circles! They were magick doors. That was how the mummy got in without breaking any windows or doors and how a burglar as conspicuous as a mummy was able to make a clean getaway without any witnesses. Charley would be fascinated. He only hoped that he lived long enough
to tell her.

  The mummy had fully emerged now in all its ragged glory. It towered over Billy, dominating the room. Billy already knew the raw power in those undead arms. There wasn’t a second to lose.

  Brave Wellington was already on the attack. The terrier had sunk its teeth into the mummy’s leg. Billy grabbed the cricket bat and took a mighty swipe at the mummy’s head. He’d once hit a ball for six and he desperately wanted to do it again. Billy put all of his strength into the swing and the mummy’s head rocked on its shoulders.

  The creature paused for a second. Its head was at an impossible angle, but with a sound of clicking bone, it righted itself again. The mummy gave a furious groan and lunged at Billy. It grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and threw him across the room, kicking Wellington after him. Then it turned its attentions to the safe.

  “Nnnnnnnnnnggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

  Billy fell in an ungainly heap in the corner, followed swiftly by Wellington, who landed with a yelp. It was time to get out the big guns, literally. Calling on all his inner calm, Billy picked up the blunderbuss and levelled it at the mummy. It was a crude weapon, a type of shotgun which fired a single massively destructive charge. Aiming carefully, Billy pulled the trigger. A huge muzzle flare leaped from the barrel as the shot ripped a hole through the mummy’s torso. Billy’s ears rang. The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder, stronger even than the mummy’s graveyard stink.

  The mummy swayed back on its heels, almost thrown to the ground by the sheer explosive force of the blast. But not quite.

  The blunderbuss had done hideous damage. Billy could see right through the wound and out the other side. It was a ragged hole, but nowhere near as distressing as if the victim had actually been a living creature. The mummy bled only dust and sand.

  The mummy howled, more in anger than in pain. But it did not stop.

  It stomped over to the safe, twisted the door off its hinges and begun to stuff handfuls of jewels into a leather bag across its shoulder. Billy caught a flash of brilliant red – the Phoenix Egg that the Sandman needed for his potion of immortality.

  When the safe was empty, the mummy raised its arms and advanced on Billy. Billy hurled the empty blunderbuss at the monster but it bounced off the mummy’s chest. Billy attacked again with the cricket bat as Wellington fearlessly went for the monster’s legs. He had to try to stop those cloth-bound hands before they reached his neck – but it was useless. He was trapped in the corner of the room with no way out and no way to stop the creature from killing him.

  In the distance, he heard a commotion of footsteps and a voice which he recognized. Inspector Diggins had arrived! But it was too little, too late. With a hideous growl, the mummy lurched towards Billy and flung both arms around him in a rib-breaking embrace, picking him up as if he were just a doll.

  The magical gateway swirled into life again as the mummy carried Billy into the vortex of sand. Wellington raced after them, sinking his teeth into the hem of Billy’s trousers in an attempt to hold him back.

  But the dog failed.

  Billy and the mummy plunged into the eye of the sandstorm, and the world around them disappeared. Billy felt his entire body being wrenched out of reality by the magick door; it was as if he was being torn apart by the desert winds. He thought that he might have been screaming, but he couldn’t hear anything above the raging of the sand.

  Billy regained consciousness. He was lying on his back and realized with terror that he had been placed in an open coffin. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t; his body felt stiff, his arms and legs wouldn’t obey him. Perhaps it was a side effect of travelling through the sand circle? He attempted to flex his fingers and failed. He tried to call out but his voice was muffled by something…

  Finally Billy understood what was wrong: he couldn’t move because his arms were secured across his chest. He couldn’t speak because his lips were lost beneath the folds of grave clothes. He’d been bound from head to toe in linen bandages. Only Billy’s eyes were free. Free to panic. Free to be afraid.

  Billy pushed those emotions down. He needed to keep a clear head if he was going to get out of this.

  Over the sound of blood pounding in his ears, Billy could hear voices chanting – low words, filled with dark intent. There was also the mummy’s unmistakable moan. But one voice rose above them all, a voice full of anger and authority. It was disturbingly familiar. He had to see!

  Billy strained against his bandage wrappings, tugging and heaving against his bonds until they loosened enough for him to prop himself up on his elbows. Lifting his head above the lip of the coffin, Billy saw that he was in the temple from his vision. He searched for the owner of that angry voice and found him sitting on a golden throne.

  You.

  The Sandman was exactly how Angry Annie had described him. Tall, lean, with an angular face and dark eyes outlined in thick black make-up. The shaven head glistened in the flickering torchlight. Billy swallowed hard. He had seen the Sandman before. Spoken with him. Slept in the same house as him. Even though the Sandman was wearing flowing white robes instead of a black suit, bow tie, white shirt and gloves, there was no mistaking the man.

  Billy felt furious with himself for missing the clues. He couldn’t believe that he had been tricked by such a simple disguise. Billy spotted what looked like a large grey rat squatting beside the throne. That was no rat, it was Cowley’s wig! Not a hair out of place!

  Sir Gordon’s butler had been working against them from the very start. And now Billy was completely at his mercy.

  Cowley was not alone. The strange creatures from Billy’s vision stood silently before the Sandman’s throne. They wore the same elegant robes as Cowley but their heads shone like gold. Part human, part monster; all terror. They cast fearsome shadows up the temple walls; a lioness, a crocodile and a jackal. The gods of Egypt. What had Charley said they were called? Ah yes, Sekhmet, Sobek and Anubis. These were the monsters Billy had seen in his vision.

  Billy shuddered. The Sandman was more powerful than they had possibly imagined if he had three gods of ancient Egypt at his command. This was going to be a lot harder than catching a pixie or charming a mermaid.

  “Come!” Cowley commanded, clapping his hands and summoning the mummy. Obediently the mummy shuffled forwards, carrying the leather satchel that it had stashed Lord Wintersfall’s treasures in. The hole that Billy had blasted through the creature had not healed and thin traces of sand continued to drip from it like blood.

  Cowley held out his hands and the mummy opened the satchel and poured out its contents. Gold necklaces, gold earrings, gold bracelets, pearls, diamonds and rubies came spilling out. So many jewels that Cowley couldn’t hold them all and they overflowed onto the stone temple floor. Last of all came the massive ruby known as the Phoenix Egg.

  Sekhmet, Anubis and Sobek drew near and bowed their heads to their master.

  Sobek the crocodile whistled. It was a strangely human sound, Billy thought, and it was followed by some very human words. “Slap my leg and call me Susan,” said Sobek. “This is even better than the last time.”

  Sekhmet the lioness shuffled a bit and the Sandman glowered at her. “Don’t you give me that look,” said Sekhmet, her voice oddly muffled. “I’ve been standing up for ages…and this headdress weighs a ton.”

  “She’s right,” chipped in Anubis. “How come you get the chair every time?”

  “We’ve been through this before,” snapped Cowley.

  “Are we going to be much longer, do you think?” asked Sobek. The crocodile god fished inside his white robe and pulled out a pocket watch, holding it up to the eyeholes of what Billy now saw was a golden mask. “Time really is getting on, and I’ll be in terrible trouble if I don’t get back in time for my morning duties.”

  So they aren’t really gods at all, Billy realized with relief. Cowley’s accomplices were just humans. Evil humans in fancy dress.

  Cowley shot to his feet, his bald head glistening, anger flashin
g across his face. “Enough of your snivelling!” he roared. “We are in this together…but never forget that it was my knowledge, my efforts and my plan that brought us this far!” He slumped back down, his chest rising and falling with emotion.

  When he spoke again his voice was back under control. “Surely none of you want to turn away now? Think of the rewards for one small sacrifice.”

  “What are you on about?” asked Sobek the crocodile. “What sacrifice?”

  “Human sacrifice,” hissed the Sandman, his voice dripping with malice. “Our meddling young police officer over there has poked his nose in one too many times.”

  It hit Billy like a steam train, knocking all the air from his lungs. That’s me Cowley’s talking about. He’s going to cut out my heart to make himself immortal!

  “Human sacrifice!” spluttered Sobek the crocodile. Or rather, said the man inside the stuffy crocodile mask. “You’re going too far, Cowley. We never talked about killing anyone.”

  Sekhmet the lioness and Anubis the jackal made noises of agreement. Cowley said nothing, although his fists clenched and unclenched on the arms of his golden throne.

  Sobek continued. “When we started this scheme, you said that we could get our own back and I was fine with that. But this new plan of yours is too much. Killing a police officer…? We can’t.”

  “I agree,” said Sekhmet. “Lady Tiffin is a right old cow and I wanted to make her suffer a bit, but there’s a difference between stealing stuff and murder! We’ll all be hanged.”

  Anubis the jackal chipped in. “I’m in it for the money, plain and simple. I thought that was what this was about, making us rich. I never really understood why we have to wear these fancy-dress costumes that you’re so keen on, and I have no intention of continuing with your crackpot scheme. I’ll take my share of the jewels, thank you very much, then I’m packing my bags and I’m on the first train out of Edinburgh.”