Can she get to the bottom of a mystery that's remained unsolved for thousands of years?
And just what is Geraldine Koliakov's involvement with wardrobes?
The Mummy Shrugged can also be found in my short story collection Adventures By Moonlight.
THE
MUMMY SHRUGGED
by Stephen Walker
(6,000 words)
There were certain
jobs in this life that you knew were rubbish without having to do
them.
Official
Government Occult Investigator was one of them.
If you did it, you
knew you'd either be bored out of your mind because there was no such
thing as The Occult to investigate or you were going to be in a
regular battle for your life, with the forces of evil.
Unfortunately, in
her first eighteen months in the role, Liz Sanford had discovered
that both those things somehow managed to be the least of the job's
drawbacks.
That Monday
morning proved no exception as, the moment she walked into her
office, she was hit in the face by something.
It was a carrier
bag.
And, as it had hit
her, she'd heard heard the words, “Betty, put this on.”
*
The
twenty-six-year-old picked the bag up from where it had fallen,
assumed it wasn't the thing her boss had just ordered her to put on,
and opened it in order to study its contents.
Inside, she found
two items of clothing.
She frowned at
both of them.
“What're
these?” she said.
The bag had been
thrown at her by her boss Lou. From his chair behind his desk, he
said, “That, Betty, is your brand new she-pharaoh outfit.”
“My
what?"
“Your
she-pharaoh outfit. It's what you're going to be wearing from now
on."
“Why
would I be wearing a 'she-pharaoh' outfit?"
“For
your job. At the museum."
“What
job? At what museum?"
“The
Salford Museum of Antiquities."
“Lou,
what the hell're you on about?"
The Department of
Occult Investigation was based in a back office, up some stairs, in
the middle of Sheffield. She'd have liked to have claimed that
starting a working week in a state of total confusion was a new
experience for her but, sadly, it wasn't.
Lou said, “The
whole country's gone Egypt crazy.”
“It
has?”
“Don't
you read the papers?” he said. “The mummy of Shimankhtep has just
been loaned to the museum, by some place in Germany. It's zillions of
years old and everyone loves it. Therefore, as a special treat to
everyone – yourself included - you're going to be spending the next
week at that very museum, giving daily lectures to children about
life in Ancient Egypt.”
Her sidekick
Alison Parker was sat in the plastic chair beside his desk. She was
twenty one, all in black, with purple hair, and a ring through her
nose. The girl said, “You'll knock 'em dead, Liz. I've never met
anyone knows more about Ancient Egypt than you do.”
“But
to do that,” said Lou, “it's vital you get in character. Hence
you'll be dressed as a she-pharaoh.”
“This
is just a skirt and head-dress,” Liz pointed out. “Where's the
top?”
“There
isn't one,” he said. “I have it on good authority that
she-pharaohs of whatever dynasty it is we're talking about didn't
wear them.”
“So
let me get this straight,” she said. “I walk into my office this
morning and the first thing that happens is my total moron of a boss
tells me to get my norks out? Does the phrase, 'Inappropriate
requests of a female employee,' mean anything to you?”
“It's
not my idea,” he said. “It's hers.” He pointed at Alison.
Alison said, “Liz,
you have to face it. Since you punched the nation's favourite
sculptress in the face, thinking she was a robot, the public mood's
turned against you.”
“Not
that they ever liked you in the first place,” said Lou.
“We
need to sort out your PR,” said Alison, “and we need to do it
fast. Nothing warms the public's heart more than the sight of a woman
being nice to children. And everyone
but the Secretary of State for Education thinks education's a good
thing”
“And
whipping my tits out is your idea of educational, is it?”
“It's
the museum director,” said Alison. “He insisted. He said, 'Miss
Parker, if Dr Sanford isn't historically accurate, the whole deal's
off. Our reputation as a museum would be in tatters.'”
“Not
only that, Liz but check this out.” Lou flung a huge lump of
something at her.
She caught it and
looked at it. “What the hell's this?”
“Anubis'
head. At one point in the lecture, you put this on and tell the kids
how the Egyptians dealt with the dead. Kids love all that stuff.
It'll be like Horrible
Histories.”
“But
there is one slight problem with the head,” said Alison.
“Which
is?”
“One,”
said Lou, “it doesn't let air in, which means you might find
yourself passing out, and, two, thanks to a design fault, it'll only
fit the human body if put on backwards.”
“So
let me get this straight,” she said. “You want me to stand there
with my tits out, my head on backwards and talk at a bunch of kids
until I collapse?”
“Everyone
loves a plucky loser,” he said.
“They
won't love anything. Because I'm not doing it.”
“You
don't have a choice,” he said. “The Minister's big on it.”
She planted both
palms on the table, leaned forward and gazed a steely gaze straight
into his eyes. “Lou. What am I? I'm the nation's Number 1 occult
investigator. I save the country from paranormal peril. How does this
help my image?”
On the desk, the
phone rang. Alison answered it. “Alison Parker: Department of
Occult Investigation. Yep? Seriously? You're joking! No, I don't
suppose it is a thing you'd joke about. Don't do anything.
We'll be right down there.” She hung up the phone and grabbed her
coat from the back of her chair. “Emergency time, folks.”
“Now
what's up?” said Liz.
“It's
the museum's Director of Antiquities,” Alison told her.
“What
about him?” said Liz.
“He's
been murdered,” said Alison.
“Thank
God for that.”
*
“You
see. This is why people don't like you,” said Lou. “The correct
response to, 'A man's been murdered,' is, 'Oh no! That's terrible!'
Not, 'Thank God for that.'”
“Oh
put a sock in it, sexual harassment boy. You're only upset because
his death means you're not going to get an eyeful.”
Liz and Lou were
at the museum, studying its Director of Antiquities who was lying
dead, on the floor, several feet away from where an Egyptian
sarcophagus was lying open on a stand. It was obvious from the marks
on his neck that he'd been strangled.
“This
is how I found him,” said the man whose phone call had alerted
Alison. When they'd arrived he'd informed them he was Montefue
Beesley; the place's Assistant Director of Antiquities. “Not only
that,” he said “but the mummy's been stolen.”
Alison was over by
the sarcophagus, hands resting on one side of it as she peered into
it. “Liz,” she said, “what's this?”
“It's
a sarcophagus,” said Liz.
“I
mean inside it.”
Liz rose to her
feet and went across to join her.
It seemed Alison
had spotted a parchment lying on the casket's floor. It was covered
in hieroglyphics.
Montefue Beesley
said, “I've never seen that before. It must have been hidden
beneath the mummy for all these centuries.”
“No
one's ever had the mummy out of the casket?” Liz asked.
“Oh
good gracious no. It's far too fragile for that.”
“Yeah
its so fragile it's strangled your boss.”
“Miss
Sanford, you can't possibly be saying...”
“I'm
an occult investigator, Mr Beesley. When I find a strangled man, a
missing mummy and a mysterious parchment, I leap to the only
conclusion I can.” She pulled out her phone and, not wanting to
disturb the parchment, took a snap of its arcane symbols.
Alison said, “Can
you read it?”
“It's
in some sort of code,” said Liz. “But fortunately for us, I know
a man who can fix that.”
*
He might have
known more ways to embarrass you at a party than any man she'd ever
met but, she had to hand it to him, when it came to things no one
understood, the man in question knew his stuff.
That was why she
was now in the lab of the man both she and he knew as Science Dave.
She'd met him at university, eight years earlier, when they'd both
been studying there. Him, for some sort of science geeky thing she
couldn't care less about. And her, getting the doctorate in
demonology that no one ever took seriously because everyone knew
demons didn't exist.
Admittedly, as,
after a year and a half as an occult investigator, she'd never once
encountered anything that even vaguely resembled a demon, they could
have been right.
This instant,
Science Dave was stood before a blackboard, studying the photo on the
screen of the phone Liz had just handed him. He said, “Let's see.
If we transpose every third symbol on your mystery parchment with
every fifth one, assume that half the characters are just there to
throw us off the trail, throw in a little Sumerian, turn it all
upside down and squint a little, we should have a message that
reads...” He grabbed a piece of chalk and started to write it out
on the blackboard, a letter at a time, his chalk clacking vigorously
with each stroke.
When he'd
finished, he took a step back and admired his handiwork.
His handiwork
read; ALL WHO POSSESS THE SARCOPHAGUS OF SHIMANKHTEP MUST DIE!!!
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