Sherlock Holmes and the Mummy's Curse (13 page)

“And while I did teach Holmes the basics of pictographs, hieroglyphs, and logograms,” Whitesell added, annoyed at the not-so-subtle reverse accusation, “he has taken his language skills far beyond anything I taught him, so I did little more than glance at it, trusting him to analyse it swiftly and accurately upon his arrival—which he did. And at any rate I prefer to study the mummies themselves, and to a lesser extent, the architecture. I can translate quite facilely, when the need arises, for that is how I found this site, but I have always used a translator for the expeditions themselves. That way, I have the time and energy to focus upon what I most enjoy. I felt we had obtained a truly first-rate translator in Holmes, and I am now proven correct. Still, I would have been more comfortable with a less… unorthodox… method of testing him, Beaumont. You should have come to me with your concerns.”

“I am sure, I am sure, Professor, and I am sorry for the capricious humour, but it does out, sometimes.” Beaumont turned to Holmes. “My compliments, Monsieur Holmes. That was quite the feat. Very systematic and logical. You are a very intelligent young man; you will make much of yourself before all is said and done, provided we all make it safely out of this dusty oven of a land with our skins unscathed.”

At Beaumont’s addendum, so discreetly ominous, Holmes stiffened; he nodded his affronted acknowledgement.

“Um, let’s all finish the lovely kebabs now,” Leighton offered, just a little too brightly, “and then I’m sure there will be a delicious dessert to follow.”

Holmes pushed back his chair and rose.

“Professor, if you will excuse me, I have some work to do in my tent,” he said, controlling his insult and exasperation with an effort.

* * *

“What?” Whitesell said in some surprise; he had spent the last ten minutes silently reproaching himself for confiding in Nichols-Woodall, against Holmes’ recommendation, and it was proving to be a diplomatically difficult meal to get through. He realised suddenly that there were times he regretted insisting upon such communal meals—and this was one of them. “What do you have to do, Holmes?”

“I have sketched out a map of the locations of the relics we have recovered, and had planned to study it,” Holmes said, brusque. “Should I deduce from it anything about the location of the tomb, I will of course inform you at once.”

Whitesell nodded with a sigh. “Go, then.”

Holmes left the table immediately, vanishing into the dark outside the tent.

* * *

Back in the tent, Holmes found a folded slip of paper on his pillow, his surname inscribed on the outside. It was a short note in Professor Whitesell’s hand, evidently left by that worthy just after Holmes had already departed for dinner, and it read,

Holmes,

I just received a wire from my friends at the University. They have confirmed that Dr. Beaumont’s team is not active at this time, and that work on his most recent independent dig was completed last spring. I am relieved to say I think we may have no concerns from that quarter, though there are others that come to mind.

W. A. W.

“Hm,” Holmes hummed to himself, pondering the information. “Perhaps it was only a poorly-considered prank, a form of
le bizutage
,
33
then.”

He pulled out his pipe, packed and lit it, and settled down on his cot in the dim light of the lantern, for a thoughtful smoke.

* * *

“Fine job of it there with your deuced ‘perverse humour,’ Beaumont,” Nichols-Woodall jibed again in intense annoyance, after they all watched an offended, irked Holmes depart with ramrod-straight back. “Alienate our translator, while you’re about it.”

“Once again, I offer my apologies, my friends,” Beaumont said, bowing his head in what seemed to be humble obeisance. “It has gotten me into much trouble many times before this, I fear. I will endeavour to make it up to you all in the days to come—especially the talented young Mr. Holmes.”

Which was a pretty apology, it had to be admitted.

But Watson thought he was just a trifle too cavalier about it.

CHAPTER 5

Something Old, Something New

—::—

The next day, the new tent for the hospital and infirmary arrived shortly before noon. The quartermaster promptly notified Lord Trenthume, Professor Whitesell, Doctor Watson, and Udail the foreman. Udail, recognising the need to erect the tent as soon as possible, showed up at the mess tent just prior to luncheon to obtain permission from Whitesell for appropriating some half-dozen men from the dig, in order to get the task done quickly.

“About time,” Whitesell decreed. “By all means, Udail. Take however many men you need for the work, and get the ruddy blasted thing set up! The sooner the better, don’t you agree, Dr. Watson?”

“I do indeed, Professor Whitesell!” Watson averred.

“Will you supervise, Doctor?” Whitesell queried.

“If you like,” Watson agreed with a shrug. “I doubt I am any more knowledgeable about erecting large tent structures than the good Udail, though admittedly, my military experience taught me a good deal about the subject; but I can certainly direct the placement of cots and equipment to my preference. Udail, I will join you after luncheon, if that is suitable. Sooner, if you require.”

“No,” Whitesell decided, “we all need to eat. After luncheon is quite soon enough, I think.”

“Very good, Professor, Doctor. After luncheon will be fine.” Udail bowed and exited the tent post-haste, on his way to organise the matter before the meal should be served.

* * *

After the meal, which was for a wonder relatively quiet, they all stood.

“Well, I am off to see about the infirmary tent,” Watson declared. “What about the rest of you? Time for an afternoon nap?”

“No, I think not, at least for me,” Whitesell noted. “As we get farther into winter, it is cooling off more, and I think I shall begin foregoing a siesta. We are working our way through the grid fairly nicely, too. And it is cool, with a slight, high haze, to-day. So I believe I am for the dig pits, to see what we may find. Phillips, lad, you’re with me to-day, if that suits.”

“Very well, Professor.”

“I think I will join you, as well,” Beaumont said. “Perhaps we will find something of actual significance to-day.”

“I’m for prowling the rocks,” Nichols-Woodall decided; Holmes suspected the geologist felt rather anti-social after the previous evening’s dramatics, and frankly did not blame him. “I want to get the best feel I can for the stratigraphy of the region. I think it may help us locate the tomb sites.”

“And I shall wander the dig sites, placing an emphasis upon not falling in,” Holmes said, carefully hiding his own reclusive sensibilities behind a droll exterior. “In any event, the better I know the layout of the ‘crime scene,’” he forced a chuckle at the deliberate pun, “the more likely it becomes that I can figure out the location of the body.”

The other men laughed, which was as he had intended.

“Well then,” an irritable Leighton declared in annoyance, “if you’re all going to be out working in the heat, I’m going back to my tent and reading a book.”

“Why, Leighton,” Whitesell remonstrated, “I thought you liked the digs.”

“…I do,” she said, abashed. “I just… hadn’t realised…”

“Come along with us, Leigh,” Phillips urged. “You know you have fun, out amongst the dig pits.”

“Just don’t fall in,” Nichols-Woodall reminded her with a laugh.

“Well… all right,” she decided, mood lightening. “Perhaps for a little while.”

“Good,” Whitesell said, satisfied. “You can explore for a bit, and we’ll be happy to answer your questions, then if you wish, you may go back to your tent a little early, to cool off and freshen up before dinner.”

* * *

Upon seeing one of the less-experienced diggers uncover what looked like a suspiciously smoothly-curved stone of a particular hue, Holmes cried, “STOP!” before the man could damage it for an ordinary stone. The man froze, and Holmes vaulted nimbly down into the hole and moved to investigate. Pulling a whisk broom from his back pocket, he brushed the sandy soil from the top, then ran his fingers over the surface.

“Mm, yes. I believe you may have found an early amphora,” Holmes told the digger. “Most likely from Bronze Age Greece, though it may be Egyptian. Quite probably it was brought over in trade, and contained olive oil.”

“But not wine, Mr. Holmes?” the digger asked in a heavy accent.

“Possibly, I suppose,” Holmes considered. “There seems to have been a preference for beer in ancient Egypt, but tastes do differ. Let us see about extracting it, and we shall find out.”

Holmes removed his cravat, rolled his sleeves higher, and unbuttoned his waistcoat, then reached for a spade and began to help excavate the soil around the vessel.

* * *

Soon sweat and dust streaked Holmes’ shirt, plastering it to his back as the sun glared down, but the neck and body of the amphora were exposed at last. He handed the spade back to one of the workmen, and wielded his whisk again, using it to uncover the handles on the neck of the pot, lest a spade break them. When he got to the top—it was lying partly on its side, at an angle—the detective got a surprise.

“It is still sealed,” he said in astonishment. “That is a rare thing.”

“Why, Master Holmes?”

“Because the stoppers are usually of something like cork, which rots over the millennia,” he explained. “This one appears to use a clay stopper, sealed with beeswax. Run fetch the Professor; I will keep digging.”

One of the workers climbed the ladder and ran to find Professor Whitesell, while the other two assisted Holmes in moving the soil away from the pot, carefully freeing it from its age-old grave.

Within minutes, Whitesell, his daughter, Phillips, and Beaumont stood or crouched at the side of the pit where Holmes worked.

“What have you got there, Holmes, lad?” Whitesell asked.

“A SEALED amphora, Professor,” the detective-turned-archaeologist replied, removing his pith helmet and dragging a dusty forearm across his perspiring forehead, leaving a reddish-brown smear behind. “You might want to have Udail fetch the block and tackle; it feels full. And we have almost got it dug out sufficient to recover it.”

Whitesell turned, put his hands to his mouth, and bellowed, “UDAIL! FETCH THE BLOCK AND TACKLE CRANE, PLEASE!”

A rapt Leighton gazed down at Holmes in pride and something like adoration. Holmes, busy determining the best way to free the amphora and hoist it intact once the crane had arrived, did not notice.

Phillips did, and glared down at the sleuth in hatred.

* * *

In short order, the heavy amphora was hoisted to ground level, and the group escorted it back to the artefact tent, where Professor Whitesell himself entered it into the records. The digger who had first uncovered part of it, one Ghali by name, tagged along behind. The amphora was carefully positioned upright in a wooden box, and the others stood back to gaze at it in a certain level of awe.

Udail turned to go back to the dig, and nearly fell over Ghali.

“Ghali! What are you doing here?!” he exclaimed. “Lazy dullard! You should be at work!”

“Master Holmes promised we should find out what was in it, once we got it out,” Ghali protested.

“So I did,” Holmes agreed. “Professor, with your permission?”

“By all means,” Whitesell agreed. “Let us find out.”

Holmes extracted his jack-knife from his waistcoat pocket, unfolded it, and delicately slid the blade down into the ancient, hardened beeswax, pressing the blade against the inside neck of the amphora, and began a kind of sawing motion, working his way around the seal. When he had completed the circuit, he withdrew the blade, wiping it on his handkerchief before folding it and dropping it back in his pocket. Then he took hold of the knob on top of the amphora lid, and looked at the others.

“It is many thousands of years old,” he warned, “and unlikely to be anything but rancid at best. It will not smell good,” he directed that last to Leighton, who nodded, backed up a step, and held her own lace-edged handkerchief to her nose. He lifted the cap.

A thick, gelatine-like sludge, a dark olive green, dripped sluggishly from the bottom of the stopper. Swiftly, Beaumont grabbed a nearby teacup, left there the day before by Phillips. He snatched the saucer from beneath and held it under the stopper, catching the torpid, viscous drop as it fell, leaving a string connecting it to the stopper for a brief moment.

Holmes dipped two fingers into the material, studying it briefly before holding it to his nose.

“Olive oil?” Whitesell queried.

“I believe so,” Holmes decided, then held his greasy fingers out for the Professor to sniff.

“Yes,” Whitesell confirmed, smelling the substance on Holmes’ fingers. “A full amphora of olive oil from pre-dynastic Egypt.”

“Which in turn proves that they had commerce with early Greece,” Beaumont pointed out. “A nice little find. Congratulations, Holmes, Ghali. Very nice indeed.”

Ghali looked delighted; Leighton beamed.

“Well, let’s get back to it,” a sullen Phillips declared.

* * *

Mid-afternoon that same day, as Holmes watched from a perch on a large sandstone outcrop, a turbaned head popped up from a dig pit, and a cry went out for Udail. Udail scurried to the location and climbed down the ladder into the pit. Loud, rapid jabbering in Arabic ensued, then Udail climbed halfway up the ladder and looked around.

“Dr. Beaumont!” he called, waving to the nearest member of the expedition’s scientific team. “Over here!”

Beaumont hurried over and climbed down, disappearing from sight. Moments later, his excited cry rang out over the dig site.

“
C’est beau, ça!
”
34

Seconds later, his head reappeared above ground. He cupped his hands and shouted.

“WHITESELL! HOLMES! OVER HERE! COME AT ONCE! WE HAVE FOUND SOMETHING!
C’EST MAGNIFIQUE
!”
35

The others, including Phillips and Nichols-Woodall, neither of whom had been summoned, broke into a run.

* * *

As Holmes reached the side of the pit with the others, he gazed down into it, to find an unknown digger, Udail, and Beaumont bending over a large stone block. It was some two feet wide by one and a half feet high and deep, heavily carved both with illustrations and with hieroglyphs; rather fewer of the latter than the former, and the images still had colouring upon them, various paints and stains bringing them to life.