Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(49)
Act normal, I ordered. Now was not the time to let this odd burst of giddiness take control.
“There he is,” Allison hissed, drawing to a sudden stop. She motioned to the very center of the room, to a stone sarcophagus—like the one we had seen earlier. This one, though, had its top off, and I could only assume that Milton’s surprise artifact lay within.
Behind the sarcophagus was a long table overflowing with exotic and traditional foods alike, and chatting happily beside it, a glass of champagne in hand, was Professor Milton.
Or I assumed the monocled man with the neat, peppery beard was he, for he was surrounded by a gaggle of fascinated men and women. And his tan, seamed skin was precisely as I imagined an Egyptologist must look.
He seemed to be telling a story, so I tugged Allison along, and we navigated our way around people and dancers until we were also in his crowd of listeners.
Yet before I could hone in on his story, I had to appease my curiosity. I slunk close to the sarcophagus. A placard before it read thutmose II, and excitement flickered through me. Milton’s unveiled artifact was a mummy!
Rolling onto my toes, I peered inside . . . and instantly recoiled.
I do not know what I expected since I had obviously seen many corpses before. Nonetheless, I suppose I’d hoped a mummy might be more impressive.
But it was not. Its skin was blackened and shriveled, with the ancient bindings that were mostly disintegrated. One of it legs was actually missing from the knee down, and it looked more like a sad skeleton (with skin and patches of curly hair) than it did a former pharaoh.
I glanced back at the placard. It would seem Mr. Thutmose II had died around 1480 bc.
At least that was impressive.
Allison’s fingers clamped onto my shoulder and wrenched me back to the circle of Milton’s admirers.
“And there I was,” Milton said, his voice quite bass and pleasant to the ear, “standing face to face with an imperial guard’s mummy! I daresay, it’s not often they come to life, but this one was most certainly awake—and ready to kill me for stealing his pharaoh here.”
“Oh my,” a woman squealed. “Was it one of Thutmose’s own guards?”
“In all likelihood, no.” Milton patted the edge of the sarcophagus with a proprietary fondness and sipped his champagne. “The mummies that guard many of the tombs are meant to protect any of the pharaohs, and judging by the mummy’s headdress, he was a nineteenth-dynasty guard.”
“And wha dynath-ty wath Thutmoth the Thecond?” asked a tiny man through a mouth full of pastry.
Milton smiled indulgently. “Eighteenth.”
“But,” the first woman said, “whatever did you do about the awakened mummy?”
“Why, I ran, of course!” Milton gave a deep, throaty laugh, and the party guests all giggled along with him.
Allison and I exchanged glances of mutual disdain—which only turned darker when Milton proceeded to say, “Once I was out of the cave, I hurried to our camp—which was all the way at the southern edge of the Valley of the Kings. Then I sent my dragoman, which is what we call a native Egyptian guide, of course.” A second indulgent smile. “I sent the dragoman back to deal with the wretched thing. I daresay, I have never run so fast or so far in my life. Though it could have been much worse had I awakened one of the queens’ guards. I never would have survived.”
“Zey are more dangerous?” asked an elderly woman with a French accent.
“Absolutely,” answered a British gentleman with muttonchops. “The queens’ guards were all women, and for whatever reason, their mummies are much better preserved than the kings’.”
“Just so,” Milton agreed. “They also carry much more frightening weapons. I try to avoid any excavations that might bring me near queens’ guards. I always send my dragoman instead.” He gave a smug chortle, and his listeners joined in.
Allison’s nostrils flared, and with no warning, her mouth popped wide in a shrill shout. “How very cowardly of you, Professor Milton.”
Instantly his laughter and the crowd’s broke off. Despite the low, almost magical hum that still remained at the base of my spine, I suddenly felt quite sober. I had not considered how very outnumbered we were or how exposed one feels with so many eyes turned upon you.
Milton’s lips pruned, but he did not bother to move—or even shift his body our way. He merely met Allison’s gaze and asked, “I beg your pardon?”
“I said,” Allison declared, lifting her voice even higher, “that it was very cowardly of you to run from the mummies. And to force your poor dragoman to deal with them—why, that’s not so different from how you treated the Wilcoxes, is it?”
Milton’s eyes narrowed even more. “I am afraid I haven’t the faintest idea to what you refer.”
“Clay Wilcox of Philadelphia. He invested ten thousand dollars in your excavation of . . . of . . .”
“Saqqara,” I whispered, thinking back to the booklet at Shepheard’s.
“Saqqara!” Allison thrust a finger in the air. “Ten thousand dollars, and yet you never paid him back. What do you say to that, sir?” She cast him her nastiest stare . . . yet Milton showed no sign of embarrassment.
In fact, after a moment, his lips burst wide in a laugh. “Of course! That’s why you look so familiar—you must be Clay’s daughter.” He took a step toward Allison, his gaze raking over her. “You do look like him, don’t you? Same coloring. Same ridiculous demands.”