Phantoms of the Pharaoh

by Jason Blacker

  "As much as I hate to say it, I think this murder's been the best thing for our relationship," he said. "'Scuse me, I'm going to go and listen to the band."

  Frances smiled politely at him and watched him weave his way towards the bow where the band had recently started back up. His weaving might have been forgiven, for they were on a boat, but the Nile was still. These were hardly heavy seas.

  "I don't think he'll last much longer," said Florence.

  "I agree," she said, "we might even find him sleeping on one of these divans tomorrow morning."

  The two of them shared a small chuckle. Albert stood up and looked at them both.

  "Well," he said, "before I decide on another one which is bound to do me no good, I'll bid you goodnight."

  "Good night, Albert," they said in unison.

  Frances watched him walk off towards the stairs. He was just as unstable as the Captain. He didn't seem to hold his liquor as well as the military man.

  "Are you going to have another?" asked Florence, looking at their sherry glasses. They were both half full.

  "Not likely," she said, "not from what it's been doing to this lot."

  Frances looked at her watch. It was almost ten in the evening.

  "Are you getting tired?" asked Florence.

  "A little, but I'm trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together," she said, smiling at her friend.

  "But you don't have all the pieces yet do you?"

  Frances looked at her quizzically.

  "Well, you don't have the information you're waiting for from Pearce at Scotland Yard. Perhaps a good night's rest will be in order to help you make sense of it all tomorrow morning with a fresh mind."

  Frances nodded at her.

  "I think you're quite right. Though I think I'll stay up for another half hour or so. We still have half our sherry to finish," she said, looking down at their sherry glasses.

  And in spite of it all, the air was warm, and the scents were fresh. It was a wonderful evening, and the band played soothing, melodic songs. Frances looked over at them, and saw Captain Wainscott swaying to the music by himself. Nigel finally got up from his chair, picked up his snifter and went over to the bar. He made a gesture to Jafari that he wanted a refill, which Jafari gladly obliged. Nigel didn't say anything to him. He took a big gulp of it, coughed and spluttered, cursed under his breath and went back to his divan, where he sat just as morosely as he had before. Only this time he held onto his snifter with one hand.

  At a little after ten, Fowler came back up to the top deck and took a seat next to Lady Marmalade. He surveyed the rest of the group, leaning his forearms on his thighs, and then he turned to look at her.

  "Looks like we lost a couple," he said grinning.

  Frances nodded.

  "I think it's likely to be an early night for most of us," she said.

  On the port side of the boat, Samuel finished with his whiskey and went back to the bar. He placed his empty glass on the bar, and walked off towards the stairs. He nodded at Fowler, Frances, and Florence but didn't say a word, nor did he stop.

  "Not a very happy chap is he?" asked Fowler.

  "Not at all. He was quite rude to Abigail as I recall, as was Maurice," said Frances.

  "Are you confident Scotland Yard will be able to help?"

  Fowler leaned back and put his left arm on the back rest between them. He looked at Lady Marmalade kindly, smiling softly.

  "Chief Inspector Pearce is the best policeman I've met. I'm sure he'll have the information for us by morning."

  "Good," said Fowler, nodding, "because I'd rather not leave it up to the Cairo authorities, I can't promise they wouldn't mangle it."

  He smiled at her and she smiled back at him.

  "By the way," he said. "I'm taking first shift. I'll be standing guard until two, and then Anton will come and relieve me and stay until six, when the Cairo police get here."

  Frances nodded.

  "That's very kind," she said, looking out over the port side of the boat towards Helwan.

  "Not at all," said Fowler, "I'm aghast I've had one murder, I'll be damned if I allow anymore."

  His good natured confidence was inspiring.

  "It would take a very brazen killer to try any more tricks, now that they know we've got a thorough investigation going on," said Florence.

  Fowler nodded and smiled at her. Maurice turned away from the railings and walked towards the bar. Once there he took the last sip of his whiskey, and just like Samuel before him, he strode off towards the stairwell, barely nodding as he passed by Frances and company, and certainly not stopping.

  "I must know what's going on with those two," said Fowler, "they're quite the pair. More than meets the eye I'm sure."

  Frances nodded.

  "I know. Their lying has intrigued me. I'm sure Devlin will shine some light on that. They are an odd couple, even though they both swear they hardly know each other."

  Simon got up and offered his hand to Mahulda who took it. They had finished their drinks. It was ten fifteen. They both walked up to Frances and stopped for a moment.

  "I'm taking Mahulda to her room, then I'll be off to bed myself. Awful day we've all had," said Simon. "Wouldn't you agree?"

  Frances nodded, as did Fowler.

  "Very trying indeed," said Florence.

  They all exchanged their evening farewells and Mahulda took Simon's elbow as he helped her towards the stairwell.

  "At least the whole tour wasn't wasted. Perhaps with those two, some love can come out this hateful violence," said Fowler.

  "I'd like to think so," said Frances. "They do seem happy together."

  There were only five of them left on the upper deck at this point. Nigel, still staring at nothing on the floor in front of his feet. Captain Wainscott who was still swaying in front of the band as they continued to play, and the three of them, Frances, Florence, and Fowler sitting quietly on a divan at the starboard side of Queen Nefertiti.

  "I don't imagine it will be too long before the stragglers head down to their cabins," said Fowler, looking at the remaining two men.

  "No, I don't imagine it will be long at all," said Frances. "Though I wouldn't bet on Captain Wainscott actually making it down to his room at all. He might end up here all night."

  Fowler nodded.

  "I suppose I can't stop him, can I?"

  Frances looked over at Captain Wainscott, he was turning towards them now, his brandy snifter almost empty. He stumbled towards them, grinning.

  "Wonderful music. Anyone want to dance?"

  He was starting to dribble vowels out of his mouth as he spoke, slurring on the roomier words. They all smiled politely at him, and he made his way towards Jafari who filled him up for a fifth time.

  "I think that seals it," said Florence, "I don't think he'll make it downstairs. Not on five brandies, I shouldn't think."

  Frances nodded, and Fowler chuckled to himself. Captain Wainscott turned and headed back towards the band. As he did so he raised his glass towards the three of them, and almost tripped over his own feet but managed somehow to remain upright. The stub of his now unlit cigar was tucked back into the corner of his mouth.

  "The band finishes up at eleven, Captain," said Fowler.

  Timothy nodded as he walked back up to the bow of the ship. On the port side of the boat, Nigel stood up and placed his empty glass on the table in front of him. He walked towards them with his head down, heading towards the stairs.

  "Nigel," called out Frances.

  He stopped and looked at her. He didn't look nearly as handsome as he did when he was in a happier mood.

  "Is everything all right?" she asked.

  "No," he said.

  "Would you like my help?"

  Nigel looked at her for a few moments, not speaking.

  "Perhaps tomorrow, when I have a clear head. Good night," he said and headed towards the stairs, not waiting for their response.

  They all watched after him. Fowler t
urned after a while towards Lady Marmalade.

  "Never in my career have I seen a group of holidayers turn from happy to sour so quickly and with such consistency," he mused.

  "It can't be help, Perry," said Frances. "I wouldn't take it personally. You're very good at this I must say, and I know that Florence and I will be back to actually finish this marvelous tour that you and Thoth Tours have put together."

  "Thank you," said Perry, grinning as he usually did.

  Frances took the last sip of her sherry and turned to watch the band play. They were playing European classics now. Dancing songs, though the only one in front of them dancing was Captain Wainscott. They were currently playing the Bing Crosby version of "Don't Fence Me In". One of Lady Marmalade's favorites from the last couple of years.

  Captain Wainscott was dancing slowly with an imaginary partner, singing along softly. She smiled at him. Once the song was finished, Lady Marmalade stood up.

  "Ready for bed, Fran?" asked Florence.

  Frances nodded.

  "I think I am," she said.

  "Give me a moment, won't you?" asked Fowler.

  He stood up and walked over to Captain Wainscott. The two of them exchanged words. Fowler smiled at him, nodded his head and walked back to Frances and Florence.

  "I told him everyone was heading to bed if he wanted to come along. He said he was enjoying the music and would be down shortly. I told him, once he was in his cabin to stay in there for everyone's safety."

  "Will you be all right for first watch?" asked Frances. "I wouldn't mind doing it either."

  "Good heavens no," said Fowler. "I could never permit that. What if the killer wants to get out and cause a ruckus in the middle of the night? I would hate to think that something might happen to you."

  Frances smiled at him and the three of them made their way down to the main level.

  Twenty-Six

  Frances was out of her cabin at six a.m. on the dot. A tired looking, but awake Anton greeted her. She had slept restlessly, tossing and turning thinking of who might have committed the atrocious murder of poor Abigail Beckles.

  "Anything untoward happen last night?" she asked him.

  Anton shook his head.

  "Not a peep. You all sleep quite silently. Although," said Anton, thinking about it for a moment, "when I relieved Perry this morning, he said that Captain Wainscott had not come to bed, and he still hasn't"

  "Thank you, Anton. Any word from Scotland Yard?"

  "Not yet, at least not that I know of. I know that Captain Badawi was asked to wake you as soon as anything came through the wire, but I don't believe there has been anything yet."

  "That's a pity," said Frances. "I'll go up and see what's going on. Would you mind waking everyone. I'm sure the Cairo police will be here any minute."

  Anton nodded, and as Lady Marmalade made her way up the stairs she heard him knocking loudly on the first door across from hers, which was her dear friend Florence's.

  Frances made her way all the way up to the helm and knocked on the door. Captain Badawi smiled at her and came and opened it up for her.

  "I have just gotten on shift myself," he said to her.

  "No word from Scotland Yard then, I take it," she asked.

  Badawi looked across at the telegraph operator. He started to look through the papers at his station.

  "Hasani has just come on shift with me too, at six this morning."

  "Sorry, Captain," said Hasani. "It appears as if this came in within the last couple of hours ago."

  Badawi looked at him sternly, as he took the sheets of telegram paper from him. He handed them to Lady Marmalade.

  "I do apologize," he said. "I left strict instructions for them last night to wake me if any telegram should come for you or me. I will have strong words with Moswen."

  "It is quite all right, Captain," she said. "From all accounts the evening was quite uneventful."

  Lady Marmalade looked out over towards the bow of the ship. On the upper deck, under the canopy she could see a stirring, and disheveled Captain Wainscott. Fowler was already coming up the stairs and crossing the upper deck towards the helm. He waved at them as he approached. Lady Marmalade smiled in return. At last he entered the bridge, smiling at everyone.

  "You look well for a man who hasn't had much sleep," said Frances.

  "There'll be sleep enough when we're dead," he said, and then winced at what he'd just said. "Pardon me, I didn't quite mean it like that."

  He grimaced, but Frances smiled kindly at him.

  "It's quite alright," she said, "and even so, there is some truth to it."

  "You're very kind. Did you get any word back from Scotland Yard?" he asked.

  Frances nodded and waved the telegrams in front of him.

  "I'll need some time to mull over what I've been sent. When is breakfast being served?"

  "I've asked for it to be served by six thirty," said Fowler.

  "Good, I'll just pop out on the deck and have a read then. Anton is waking everyone as we speak."

  Fowler nodded at her. Frances looked back at Badawi.

  "Have you received word from the Cairo authorities?" she asked.

  Badawi nodded.

  "They are on their way. They've sent two boats. One with the coroner and one with the police. They should be here by seven at the very latest they promised."

  Frances nodded.

  "All right then," she said, "I'll go have a read of my telegrams and meet you all in the dining room for six thirty?"

  Fowler and Badawi nodded in agreement.

  "From my quick perusal, I am delighted to inform you that I know who our culprit is."

  Fowler grinned.

  "That is a relief."

  Frances smiled at them both and made her way from the helm and down the stairs to the top deck. Captain Wainscott was yawning and stretching, tucking in his shirt. He sat back down and started to massage his temples. He looked up at her when Frances strolled across the deck towards the divan she had sat in the night before. He tried to put on a smile, but it obviously pained him.

  "Did we survive a typhoon last night?" he asked, grinning sheepishly.

  "Not we, but I think you went a few too many rounds with brandy," she replied.

  "That must be it," he said.

  "You might want to get ready," she said encouragingly. "Breakfast is at six thirty and I'll be outing the murderer."

  "You don't say? That's jolly good news."

  Frances nodded at him.

  "Your fiancée might have some aspirin for that nasty headache of yours."

  "You're right. I had forgotten about that. All is right with the world this good morning."

  Timothy slowly got up and steadied himself for a moment before walking towards the stairs. He stopped close to Lady Marmalade.

  "I shan't be drinking that much again, I daresay."

  "You're getting wiser as you get older, Captain," said Frances, smiling at him.

  Captain Wainscott left Lady Marmalade to her telegrams and gingerly headed down to the main deck all the while holding tentatively to the railing.

  After a few minutes, Florence came up to the top deck and saw Lady Marmalade just as she was finishing reading her last telegram. A wise smile had swept across her lips. She looked up to see her friend walking towards her.

  "Did you sleep well?" asked Frances.

  "As well as one would expect with a killer on the loose," answered Florence, smiling.

  "That will all change moments from now," said Florence. "I have determined who did it."

  Florence sat down next to her friend and looked at her.

  "Who was it?"

  Frances leaned in and whispered something into her ear. Florence pulled back and looked at her friend with a furrowed brow.

  "You don't say? I can't see how that could be," she said.

  "You will soon," said Frances. "It all makes perfect sense now."

  "Well, I'll be glad to have this behind us. I didn't realize
how much of a dour pall a murder can case over this whole experience."

  "Yes, I'm terribly sorry it happened during our holiday. We will come back again and do it properly."

  Florence smiled.

  "I'm not really complaining, it's just awful, that's all. I wish there was more kindness and understanding. Then we might not turn so quickly to violence and murder."

  Frances nodded.

  "Me too, my dear Flo. Me too. That's why I can't help but to try and find justice for the victims. The less chance they have of getting away with it, perhaps the less crime these ne'er-do-wells will commit."

  Florence nodded and looked out over the port side towards Helwan. She smiled a sad smile that had seen too much misery but not enough to temper the humors. Florence turned back to Frances.

  "That city over there," she said, nodding towards Helwan with her head. Frances nodded back at her. "I thought how odd it was that we'd come to Helwan where murder was committed. I got nervous about it frankly. Silly, I know, but sometimes one can't help but be a little superstitious."

  "What do you mean?" asked Frances.

  "Well, I thought that perhaps hell had won, as in Helwan. But you've broken that silly little superstition now that you've determined who did it."

  Florence looked away, back at Helwan and rebuked herself gently for even putting the two together. Frances smiled slightly. It was no surprise to her that the innocent and optimistic human mind wished to make sense of what were sometimes irrational acts, like this murder. We comfort ourselves by trying to explain things, make sense of things that hammer away at our belief in a safe world. When so often, things are left to chance, and sometimes humans just act badly when left to chance.

  "There are more things in heaven and earth, Flo, than are dreamt of in our philosophy."

  "Hamlet was wise," said Florence, looking back at her friend.

  "Or the bard was," said Frances smiling. "In any event, it's not a sin to try and make sense of madness."

  Florence smiled sweetly and patted Frances on the knee.

  "I saw something quite peculiar this morning, though I don't think it's all that important to you anymore," said Florence.

  "Even the smallest fulcrum can move the world with a lever long enough."