The Mummy Snatcher of Memphis (21 page)

“Khalil!”

“You never thought you'd see
me
again.”

“How, brother?”

The boy Khalil shrugged, or at least I think that was what it was, for his image rippled and then reformed.

“I come about Father,” we heard the spirit say. At least we think that was what we heard. “You must go home to him.”

“The scarab. I must find the scarab,” Ahmed pleaded.

“Gone, my little brother. You were never the wanderer.
It was I who should have sailed the world. Your place, Ahmed, is at home.”

“I must find the scarab to help father. The scarab will bless us again and the treasure will be saved.”

“Come home. Father's time is short.”

A low moan came from across the table. Mrs. Guppy was rigid, her face drawn with shock. She looked terrified. Suddenly I realized why. I would wager this was the first true spirit ever to have graced her parlor.

Ahmed's voice choked in his throat as the water flickered and fell still. It was just a puddle again. His brother—a ghostly messenger from twilight space between life and death—had gone.

“You
see
,” he turned to me and his eyes were full of tears. “You see the truth now.”

“Oh, Ahmed,” I began, but I was cut off by a loud thump on the table.

“THAT'S ENOUGH!” a voice rang out. The fat lady had risen from her chair, a commanding figure in her black garments. The veil had fallen from her face. The drooping widow was gone. In her place was a harpy with cruel eyes, her mouth a slash of scarlet.

“You've had yourselves some fun and games. Time to get down to business,” she spat.

In her hand Velvet Nell held a pistol, pointed straight at my chest.

Chapter Twenty-two

“We bin patient as sheep,” said the whiskered man. “Now it's time to turn tiger.”

With a lazy movement he tore off his mustache, revealing the insignificant mouth and weak chin of Bender Barney. He too had a gun, this one trained on Waldo.

I looked around the table: naval man, fat lady, whiskers. Not harmless spiritualists at all, but ruthless members of the Velvet Mob. I knew the so-called spiritualists seemed familiar, I had sensed danger. But I'd been fooled by the atmosphere of the séance. I had thought that the menace would be of the other-worldly kind. The thugs, all-too-human, surrounded us, each one bearing a gun. Rachel's scream echoed through the parlor. Mrs. Guppy was so bewildered her mouth was opening and closing like goldfish.

“You cover the Egyptian,” Barney ordered the naval man. “I've a history with this lad.” He grabbed Waldo by
the ear and shoved him out of the room in front of him.

I followed, Velvet Nell's gun digging into my back.

“Thank you for your little show, Mrs. Guppy,” Velvet Nell turned at the top of the stairs. “I've a good mind to mention you to the management at the Alhambra. You could do a nice little turn there, after the performin” monkey.'

Mrs. Guppy's doughy face crumpled. As for her husband, he had managed to melt into thin air.

The three thugs shepherded us down the stairs, covering us with their pistols every inch of the way. My breath was ragged, heart thump, thump, thumping. Maybe we could do something in the small space of the stairs. If I bumped into Waldo, who was in front of me, and he fell against the thug leading the way—then if Ahmed tripped up the naval man …

“None of your tricks now,” Velvet Nell snapped, as if she could read my mind. “Try any fancy moves and I'll put one through your head.”

We tumbled out into the smog of Kensington High Street. A cab was waiting, the driver smoking a gasper. He winked at the mob, threw it away and picked up the reins. Barney opened the door and gave Waldo another push.

“In yer get,” he snapped.

“Not so fast, Barney,” Velvet Nell commanded.

“Wot?”

“I said let's teach 'em a lesson, we don't need to drag along the whole bleeding pack of 'em.”

“I want the boy.”

“Sorry. Not today.”

Barney glowered, but a glance from the woman squashed him flatter than a rat under the wheels of an omnibus. Clearly it was Nell who gave the orders. She walked by, inspecting us closely, then stopped by Rachel.

“We'll take her,” she said, stroking Rachel's ringlets with the nozzle of her gun, an elegant weapon with a mother-of-pearl handle. “She won't be half as much trouble. Come along, dear.” Her fingers closed around Rachel's arm and she turned to us. “Now you run along, children, and keep out of trouble. I warn you, one squeak out of you, your pretty little friend gets it. She wouldn't look half so nice with a bullet in her skull.”

“Take me instead,” I blurted.

“You're a troublemaker. I can tell these things straight off.”

“Please.”

“I made meself quite clear. You keep your noses out of other people's business and your friend here will be unharmed. One step out of line and she's coffin filler. Clear?”

Miserably, I nodded.

Rachel had not uttered a word. Her face was pale and she moved like a sleepwalker as Barney took over from Nell and shoved her roughly into the cab. Nell kept us covered with her pistol, she was the last to climb in. Once all the thugs were inside with their captive she looked out and waved at us gaily. Then she yelled a command to the driver and the horses started up, clipping through the traffic at a breakneck speed.

“No!” I shouted, the word ringing out of me like a pistol shot

It was too late. The traffic surged, swallowing up the cab and Rachel with it.

Chapter Twenty-three

“Wait,” Ahmed called after the thugs. “I can help you. I'll do anything you ask. I will—” he stopped mid-sentence, his words hanging broken in the air. “This is all my fault.”

“No. I'm to blame.” Waldo said. “If I hadn't had that stupid idea about going to the séance.”

“What's wrong with you?” I cut in. “What does it matter whose fault this is? We should be halfway to Belgravia or the East End or I don't know, Cornwall by now. Quick. Stop a cab. I bet they're going to the Bakers” castle in Cornwall.'

“Forget Cornwall!” a voice rang out.

A cab had drawn up, a skinny grime-spattered figure leaning out of the door.

“Hop in,” the dirty shape yelped.

Waldo gaped at the person, unsure whether it was another kidnapper or merely an odd stranger. “Where have you been, Isaac?” I said as I ushered us all into the cab. It was my friend, under several layers of what
looked like Thames mud. Once we were all in, Isaac was just about to start talking when I shushed him. Instead I bellowed to the driver.

“Follow that cab!”

“What cab?” The man asked, looking where I was pointing. “Any particular cab in mind?”

The road was choked with cabs, of all shapes and sizes.

“It doesn't matter. That direction. And get a move on.”

“Follow that cab the little lady says, as if I'm a bloomin” magician.'

Grumbling, the cabby whipped his horses and we rumbled off, clattering past the rest of the traffic. Past the Royal Albert Hall and toward the snaking blue thread of the Serpentine. Here the traffic suddenly thinned out and there hoved into view the mob's cab, going at a fantastic pace.

As the horses galloped I explained Rachel's kidnapping to Isaac, in a few words. The hardest words I have ever had to say. He went very quiet. The cab lurched after the gangsters and Waldo hung out of the door, urging the driver to push the horses ever harder.

Where were we going? The mob had turned past Hyde Park and gone down toward the river. Then along the Thames, passing the Strand and going east.

“The East End,” I said. “The Velvet Mob must have
some sort of hide-out there.”

“You're wrong,” Isaac said, coming out of his reverie. His tongue tripping in his hurry, he started to tell us about one of his new inventions, a device he'd named a “telesphere.” It seemed that a telesphere was a sort of extendable ear that our brilliant friend had invented, a kind of bell-shaped receiver linked to a device Isaac carried. It sounded improbable, mad! I could see Waldo and Ahmed were skeptical from the looks they gave me. Don't ask me how it worked for I haven't a clue. I freely admit that I only understand a quarter of what goes on in Isaac's head. Anyway, the telesphere was the “secret” Isaac had been so quiet about over the last few days. When we lost him at the Baker Brothers' he had, in fact, been planting a telesphere in their study. For the last few days he had skulked around their house, listening for useful information. To no avail, mostly. It seemed the Baker Brothers kept a most monastic silence. Besides, though Isaac was a little cagey about this, his device didn't
always
work—and what he did hear tended to be a little muffled.

Two hours ago though, Isaac, our hero, had finally come up trumps. He had overheard the secretary and the servants discussing their master's traveling plans. Cook was complaining that she was expected to provide a feast for the Bakers to take on the
Morning Star
—with
only a few hours' notice. The secretary, meanwhile, called cook a “lazy pudding” and sniffed that a bit of work would do her good.

The meaning of the exchange was startling.

The two brothers were not going to their Cornish castle after all. They were setting sail for Cairo aboard the
Morning Star,
a P & O steamer. They were leaving from West India Dock that very afternoon. Reluctant to trust their minions with such a fabulous haul they were going after the Pharaoh's treasure themselves.

“You think they're taking Rachel to Egypt?” Ahmed gasped.

“It looks that way,” Isaac said. In front of us, almost hidden behind a hansom carriage was the mob's black and gold vehicle. “They are already three-quarters of the way to West India docks.”

“We have to stop them,” I said. “Even if it means going all the way to Egypt.”