Mummy Dearest - lanyon Josh (книги без сокращений .txt) 📗

It happened to be my area of expertise. I silently began to read.

For who shall defile the temples of the ancient gods, a cruel and violent death shall be his fate, and never shall his soul find rest unto eternity. Such is the curse of Amon-Ra, king of all the gods.

“Can you tell us what you’re looking at, Dr. Lawson?” prompted Fraser.

I raised my head and blinked. He was invisible behind the blazing, hot lights.

“What?”

“That inscription seems to have caught your attention. Can you translate it?”

“No.”

“No?”

I stared at the inscription again.

Before the Twelfth Dynasty, hieratic, like hieroglyphic script, could be written in columns or horizontal lines. After the Twelfth Dynasty, it was exclusively horizontal. What did not change—ever—was that whether written in columns or horizontally, hieratic was always read right-to-left.

The text in front of me was written left-to-right as is English. Right there, that indicated to me the sarcophagus was a phony. But in case I had any doubt, the inscription itself sealed it.

I happened to recognize it. It was a quote from the 1940 film, The Mummy’s Hand.

Chapter Three

When I finished my examination, the production crew started lugging lights and equipment again. Fraser wanted to conduct our interview in front of a more visually exciting background, so I moved to the side and let them get to work while I considered what to do about the bogus mummy case.

Should I speak up or not? My instinct was to keep quiet—and around a film crew that was probably a good instinct. The best thing would be to talk to Noah about it. But they had me on film authenticating the thing. Or as good as.

Babe dragged out a large wooden chair, legs scraping hideously as she hauled it through the exhibit room, banging against tables and shelves.

Fraser, busily arranging a bizarre arrangement of geodes and giant conch shells, started to shift a small offering table with canopic jars.

“Don’t touch that!” Babe said sharply.

Fraser hastily put the table down. The jars wobbled ominously. “Sorry.” He sounded as guilty as a little kid.

“No, no. It’s just…the artifacts that are part of the princess’s exhibit are better left alone.”

Yep, there really was one born every minute. She had him hooked, and I couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t deliberate. Given what he did for a living, I’d’ve expected Fraser to be a total cynic, but I was beginning to think he was just a great big kid.

“But those can’t be the real thing,” I said. “They were still using stoppers fashioned like human heads in the Sixth Dynasty.”

Babe gave me a funny look. “Well, that’s true. But it’s also true that it’s better not to disturb any part of the princess’s exhibit if we can help it.”

“Why?” Fraser demanded. “Are there stories?” He caught me rolling my eyes and his face darkened. “You think you have all the answers, don’t you. Well, don’t look so superior because there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.”

I snorted.

Babe said, “There are stories from before my time. I’m sure that’s all they are, but…”

“Go on.” Need I say that was Fraser?

“According to Oriel Banning, my predecessor, if any of the items in the princess’s exhibit were moved to different places within the museum, they always returned to their original positions by the next morning.”

“That’s it?” Fraser’s disappointment made me bite my lip. Yep, just a big kid.

“Er, no… There are also stories of strange noises and weird lights at night, and they always come from the princess exhibit.”

“What kind of strange noises?”

“A sound like wind scouring sand or maybe more like sand hitting glass.”

I was expecting a howling jackal at the least, so I thought the scouring winds and sand against glass was a pretty good touch. I could see Fraser thought so too.

Babe added, “And sometimes there is sand…just a little, mind you…around her display case in the morning. I’ve seen it myself. Of course it could be anything. Someone could have tracked it in earlier.” But she clearly didn’t believe that.

Fraser’s eyes were nearly shining as Babe excused herself. “Oh, don’t say it,” he growled as he caught my expression. He finished moving the chair to his exact liking. “Just shut up and sit.”

“It’s not going to be much of an interview.”

He gave me what he probably thought was an ironic look. “Sit.”

I sat.

They positioned lights and reflectors, and Karen reappeared with her trusty brush and powder. I closed my eyes and tried not to wrinkle my nose. The powder made me sneeze.

“Oopsie.” She redusted.

Fraser took his place behind the camera. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him loud and clear from behind the lights.

Karen retreated. The dark-haired girl, Jeannie, snapped the clapperboard in front of me again.

Fraser’s disembodied voice inquired, “Dr. Lawson, were you able to decipher the inscription on the mummy’s sarcophagus?”

I didn’t bother trying to hide my irritation. “I told you I didn’t.”

“The cameras are rolling,” Fraser reminded me sweetly. Like I could have forgotten.

I glared into the white light. “No.”

“You’re not holding out on me, are you, Doc?” Fraser was openly teasing. I understood that he was going to cut and paste—or whatever the film-editing equivalent was—but I didn’t see how he had time or money for fooling around like this. All I could do was figure he was trying to push me into some indiscretion that might look good on camera.

“No. I’m not.”

“How did you get interested in Princess Merneith?”

“I’m not sure you really want to hear this.”

The crew started to laugh, although I have no idea what was so funny about that.

Fraser said gravely, “Why don’t you tell me, and if it turns out to be something I don’t want to hear, I’ll edit it out.”

I sighed. “Well, I’ve always been troubled by how little information we have about homosexuality in ancient Egypt. We don’t have legal texts, and explicitly sexual motifs in art and literature are limited. Coded images and metaphors confuse the modern scholar working within the parameters of both modern and ancient taboos. We do have some small evidence suggesting same-sex acts took place between partners of comparable age and social status. Princess Merneith’s story is one of those. What we know for certain is that she fell in love with a priestess who served as a temple singer in the temple of Ra. Princess Merneith was pledged to marry in a political alliance to the vizier Userkare. We know that Merneith refused to marry the vizier and that her younger sister was married in her place. Those are pretty much the only documented facts that we have. The temple priestess died shortly after. Her name was Ahmose and her mummy is in the University of Chicago’s Oriental Institute museum. Merneith’s name disappears from all the sacred and royal texts, but we don’t know what her fate was. In fact, until her mummy was discovered in the 1900s, we weren’t sure she existed at all.”

Probably way more than anyone wanted to know. Fraser asked as politely as any real interviewer, “What did your examination of the mummy tell you?”

This was awkward. I wasn’t about to go on the record verifying anything now that I knew the sarcophagus itself was a fake. “The mummy itself looks authentic. But I’m an Egyptologist not a scientist. To verify her age and lineage, we’d need to conduct experiments, test for DNA. We’d have to use CAT scans, x-rays—”

“And that could get us in real trouble with the princess.”

So much for promises.

I grimaced. “I doubt it. It might get us in trouble with Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities—or Dr. Solvani.”

Fraser’s voice drifted out from the white sun of the oversized lamp he stood next to. “You’ve heard the legend. You know the curse Princess Merneith placed upon all those who disturb her rest, and yet your quest for the truth drove you to examine the mummified remains of the once-beautiful priestess of Isis. Tell me honestly. Are you afraid, Doctor Lawson?”