The Mummy or Ramses the Damned

4

SAMIR PURCHASED several Bedouin garments in the first shop in old Cairo that sold such clothes. He ducked into a small restaurant, a filthy alleyway of a place full of down-on-their-luck Frenchmen, and there put on the loose, concealing garb and tucked the other garments-those heft bought for Julie-under his arm, inside his robes.

He liked this loose peasant costume, which was infinitely older than the tailored robes and hats which most Egyptians wore, in fact, it was probably the oldest mode of dress still in active existence-the long, loose drapery of the desert wanderers. He felt free in it, and safe from all eyes.

He hurried along through the winding honeycomb streets of Arab Cairo, towards the house of his cousin Zaki, a man he disliked dealing with but one who would give him exactly what he wanted more easily and efficiently than anyone else. And who knew how long Ramses must hide in Cairo? Who knew how these murders would be solved?

When he reached the mummy factory of his cousin-surely one of the most distasteful places in the entire known world- he entered by the side gate. A load of freshly wrapped bodies baked hi the harsh afternoon sunshine. Inside, no doubt, others were being stewed in the pot.

A lone worker dug a trench now into which these fresh mummies would be laid for a few days, "browning" as it were in damp earth.

It disgusted Samir completely, though he had come to this little factory as a boy long before he had known there were real mummies, the bodies of the ancient ancestors to be studied, to be saved from theft and mutilation, and preserved.

"Look at it this way," his cousin Zaki once argued. "We are better than the thieves who sell our ancient rulers bit by bit to the foreigners. What we sell isn't sacred. It's fake."

Good old Zaki. Samir was about to signal to one of the men inside the place, a man who was in fact engaged in wrapping a body. But then Zaki himself emerged from the reeking little house.

"Eh, Samir! So good to see you always, cousin. Come have a coffee with me, cousin."

"Not now, Zaki, I need your assistance."

"Of course, you would not be here if you did not."

Samir accepted the rebuke with a humble little smile.

"Zaki, I need a safe place, a little house with a heavy door and a back entrance. Secret. For a few days, maybe longer. I don't know."

Zaki laughed good-naturedly, but a little smugly.

"Ah, so, the educated one, the one whom all respect, and he comes to me for a hiding place?"

"Don't question me, Zaki." Samir produced a roll of bills from under his robe. He held this out to his cousin. "A safe house. I can pay."

"All right, I know just the thing," said Zaki. "Come into the house and take coffee with me. One whiff, and you get used to the smell."

For decades Zaki had been saying that. Samir never got used to the smell. But he felt compelled now to do what his cousin wanted, and he followed him into the "embalming room," a miserable place where a vat of bitumen and other chemicals was always simmering, waiting for a new body to be thrown in.

As he passed, Samir saw that the pot had a new victim. It sickened him. He looked away, but not before he had glimpsed the poor devil's black hair billowing free on the surface as his face floated just beneath it.

"How about a nice fresh mummy?" Zaki teased him. ' 'Straight from the Valley of the Kings. Name a dynasty, I give it to you! Male, female, whatever you wish!"

"The hiding place, cousin."

"Yes, yes. I have several such houses vacant. Coffee first and I send you off with a key. Tell me what you know of this robbery in the museum! The mummy which was stolen! Was it genuine, do you think?"

* * *

In a daze, Elliott walked into the lobby of Shepheard's. He knew that he was disheveled, that dirt and sand clung to his trousers and even his coat. His left leg ached, but he no longer truly felt it. He did not care that beneath his rumpled shirt and suit coat he was drenched in sweat. He knew that he should be relieved to be here-safe and away from all the horrors he'd witnessed, the horrors in which he had shared. But it seemed unreal to him; he had not escaped the atmosphere of the little house.

Ah1 the way back from old Cairo, as the cab jolted him through the insufferable traffic, he had thought, Malenka is dead because I brought the woman there. Henry he could not grieve for. But Malenka would be forever on his soul. And the murderer, his monstrous resurrected Queen. What would he do with her if he could not find Ramsey? When would she turn on him?

The thing to do now was to find Samir, for he would know where Ramsey was.

He was quite unprepared for Alex rushing to him, and embracing him and trying to stop his progress to the desk.

"Father, thank God you're here."

"Where's Ramsey? I have to talk to him at once."

"Father, don't you know what's happened? They're searching for him all over Cairo. He's wanted for murder, Father, both here and in London. Julie's beside herself. We've been going out of our minds. And Henry, we cannot find Henry! Father, where have you been!"

"You stay with Julie, you take care of her," he said. "Let your American Miss Barrington wait." He tried to move on to the desk.

"Miss Barrington's gone," Alex said with a dismissive gesture. ' 'Whole family changed their plans this morning, after the police came to question them about Ramsey and about us."

"I'm sorry, son," he murmured. "But you must leave me now, I have to find Samir.''

"Then you're in luck. He's just come in."

Alex gestured to the cashier. Samir had apparently just written a bank draft for some money. He was counting it and putting it away. He had a bundle under his arm. He seemed to be in a hurry.

"Let me alone now, my boy," Elliott said as he hurried towards him. Samir looked up just as Elliott reached the marble desk. He drew Samir aside.

"I have to see him," Elliott whispered. "If you know where he is, I must see him."

"My Lord, please." Samir glanced around, slowly and casually taking in the entire lobby. ' 'The authorities are searching for him. People are watching us now."

"But you know where he is. Or how to get a message to him. You know all about him, you have from the beginning."

Samir's eyes became unreadable. It was as if a door closed firmly in his soul.

"You give him this message for me."

Samir started to walk away.

' 'Tell him I have her.''

Samir hesitated. "But who?" he whispered. "What do you mean?"

Elliott took his arm roughly again.

"He knows. And she knows who she is as well! Tell him I took her from the museum. And I have her in a safe place. I've been with her all day.''

"I don't understand you."

"Ah, but he will. Now listen carefully. Tell him that the sun helped her. It healed her, and so did the ... the medicine in the vial." /

The Earl drew out the empty vial now and put it in Samir's hand. Samir stared down at it as if he were afraid of it; as if he did not want it to touch him and did not know what in the world he would do now that it had.

"She needs more of it!" Elliott said. "She's damaged, inside and outside. She's mad." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex moving towards him, but he gestured for patience, drawing even closer to Samir. "Tell him he's to contact me at seven this evening. At the French cafe called the Babylon in the Arab quarter. I shall talk to no one but him."

"But wait, you must explain-"

"I told you. He will understand. And under no circumstances is he to contact me here. It's too dangerous. I won't have my son mixed up in this. The Babylon at seven. And tell him this also. She has killed three times. And she will kill again."

He left Samir abruptly, turning to his son and reaching out for Alex's helping hand.

"Come, take me upstairs," he said. "I have to rest. I'm near fainting."

"Good Lord, Father, what is going on!"

"Ah, that you have to tell me now. What's happened since I left? Oh, and the desk. Tell the desk I will speak to no one. They are not to ring the room. No one is to be allowed up."

Only a few steps more, he thought as the elevator doors opened. If he could only make it to a clean bed. He was dizzy now; and close to nausea. He was grateful for his son, who held him firmly around the shoulders, and would not let him fall.

As soon as he reached his room, he lost his balance altogether. But Walter was there, and Walter and Alex together helped him onto the bed.

"I want to sit up," he said crankily like an old invalid.

"I'll run you a bath, my lord, a good hot restful bath."

"Do that, Walter, but you'll bring me a drink first. Scotch, and set the bottle beside the glass."

"Father, I've never seen you like this. I'm going to ring the house doctor."

"You are not!" Elliott said. His tone startled Alex, which was all well and good. "Would Lady Macbeth have benefited from a doctor? I don't think a doctor would have helped her."

"Father, what is all this about?" Alex's voice had dropped to a whisper, as it always did when he was truly upset. He watched as Walter put the glass in Elliott's hand.

Elliott drank a swallow of the whisky. "Ah, that's good," he sighed. In that horrid little house, that house of death and madness, there had been a dozen bottles of Henry's liquor, yet he could not bring himself to touch them; could not bring himself to drink from a glass that had been Henry's, or to eat a morsel of Henry's food. He had given it to her, but he could not himself touch it. And now he luxuriated in the sweet warmth of the Scotch, so utterly different from the burning in his chest.

"Now, Alex, you must listen," he said, taking another swallow. "You are to leave Cairo immediately. You're to pack your bags now and be on the five o'clock train to Port Said. I 'm taking you to the train myself."

How utterly defenseless his son looked suddenly. Just a boy, a sweet young boy. And this is my dream of immortality, he thought; and it has always been there. My Alex, who must go home now to England where he will be safe.

"That's out of the question, Father," Alex said with the same gentleness. "I can't leave Julie here."

' 'I don't want you to leave Julie. You're taking Julie with you. You're to go to her now. Tell her to get ready! Do as I say."

"Father, you don't understand. She won't leave until Ramsey's been cleared. And no one can find Ramsey. And no one can find Henry, either. Father, until this matter's settled, I don't think the authorities would let any of us leave."

"Dear God."

Alex took out his handkerchief; he folded it carefully and blotted Elliott's forehead. He folded it again and offered it to Elliott. Elliott took it and wiped his mouth.

"Father, you don't think Ramsey really did these dreadful things, do you? I mean, I was rather fond of Ramsey!"

Walter came to the door. "Your bath's ready, my lord."

"Poor Alex," Elliott whispered. "Poor decent and honorable Alex."

"Father, tell me what's the matter. I've never seen you like this. You're not yourself."

"Oh, yes, I am myself. My true self. Desperate and cunning and full of mad dreams as always. Too much myself. You know, my son, when you inherit the title, you will probably be the only decent and honorable Earl of Rutherford in our whole history.''

"You're being the philosopher again. And I'm not all that decent and honorable. I'm merely well bred, which I hope is a tolerable substitute. Now, get into the bath. You'll feel much better. And don't drink any more Scotch, please." He called out to Walter to come and give him a hand.

* * *

Miles Winthrop stared at the telegram placed in his hand by the man standing before him.

"Arrest her? Julie Stratford! For the theft of a priceless mummy in London? But this is madness, all of it. Alex Savarell and I went to school together! I'm contacting the British Museum myself.''

"Very well, but do it promptly," said the other. "The governor's furious. The Department of Antiquities is up in arms. And find Henry Stratford. Track down that mistress of his, that dancing girl, Malenka. Stratford's somewhere in Cairo, and pretty well besotted, you can be sure of it. In the meantime arrest somebody or the old man will blow his top."

' "The hell I will,'' Miles whispered as he picked up the phone.

* * *

Ah, such a bazaar. Everything was for sale here-rich fabrics, perfumes, spices, and strange ticking devices with Roman numbers on them; jewelry and pottery; and food! But she had no money to buy the food! The first peddler had told her in English and with age-old indisputable gestures that the money she had was no good.

She walked on. She was listening to the voices on all sides of her, picking out the English, trying to understand.

"I won't pay that much. That's too dear, the man's trying to rob us. . . ."

"Just a little drink, come on now. It's burning hot."

"Oh, and these necklaces, how pretty."

Laughter, horrid noises; loud grating noises! She had heard these before. She put her hands over her ears under the broad floppy headdress. She walked on, trying to shut out what hurt her and still hear what she needed in order to learn.

Suddenly a monstrous sound-an inconceivable sound-shook her and she looked up, on the verge of screaming. Her hands would not shut it out. She stumbled forward, realizing in her panic that those around her were not frightened! Those around her were scarcely paying any attention at all.

She had to fathom this mystery! And though the tears were welling in her eyes, she moved on.

What she beheld suddenly filled her with a nameless dread. She had no words in any tongue to describe it. Immense, black, it moved forward, on wheels made of metal, a chimney atop it belching smoke. The sound was so loud all other sounds vanished. Great wooden wagons following, coupled to it by huge hooks of black iron. The whole monstrous caravan thundering along a thin strip of metal that ran along the ground. And the noise grew even louder as the thing rolled past her and entered a great yawning tunnel in which hundreds crowded as if trying to get near to it.

She sobbed aloud, staring at it. Oh, why had she left her hideaway? Why had she left Lord Rutherford, who would have protected her? But just when it seemed she could see nothing worse than this awful chain of wagons rattling past her, the last one entered the tunnel and she beheld, beyond the metal pathway, a great granite statue of the Pharaoh Ramses, standing with arms folded, his scepters in his crossed hands.

In dizzying shock she looked at this colossus. Ripped from the land she had known, the land she had ruled, this tiling stood here, grotesque, abandoned, ludicrous.

She backed away. Another one of the demonic chariots was coming. She heard a great searing screech from it, and then it roared by, obliterating the statue.

She felt herself turning, inward, away from all of it, back into the darkness, into the dark water whence she'd come.

When she opened her eyes a young Englishman stood over her. He had his arm around her and was lifting her and telling others to get away. She understood that he was asking after her and what he might do.

"Coffee," she whispered. "I should like some sugar in my coffee." Words from the talking machine Lord Rutherford had revealed to her. "I should like a bit of lemon in my tea."

His face brightened. "Well, yes, of course. I shall get you some coffee. I shall take you there, into the British cafe!"

He lifted her to her feet. What a fine muscular youth he was. And blue eyes he had, so rich in color, almost like the other. . . .

She glanced back over her shoulder. It had not been a dream. The statue stood there towering over the iron pathways; she could hear the roar of the chariots, though none was in sight.

She was weak again for a moment, stumbling; he caught her. He helped her right along.

She listened keenly to the words he spoke.

"It's a nice place; you can sit, rest. You know, you gave me quite a scare there a moment ago. Why, you fell just as if you'd been struck over the head.''

The cafe. The voice on the gramophone had said, "I shall meet you in the cafe." A place for drinking coffee, obviously, for meeting, talking. And full of women in these dresses, and young men clothed like Lord Rutherford and this fine creature, with the powerfully built arms and legs.

She sat down at the small marble-top table. Voices everywhere. "Why, I frankly think everything here is super, but you know Mother, the way she carries on." And "Gruesome, isn't it? They say her neck was broken." And "Oh, this tea is cold. Call that waiter."

She watched the man at the next table peel off slips of printed paper for the servant. Was this money? The servant was giving him coins in return.

A tray of hot coffee had been set down before her. She was so hungry now she could have drunk the pot entirely, but she knew it was proper to let him pour it in the cups. Lord Rutherford had showed her that much. And yes, the young man did it. Pretty smile he had. How to tell him that she wanted to bed him immediately? They should find a small inn. Surely these people had inns.

Across from her a young woman spoke rapidly:

"Well, I don't even like opera. I wouldn't go if I were in New York at all. But since we're in Cairo, we're all supposed to go to the opera and love it. It's ridiculous."

"But darling, it's A'ida."

A'ida. "Celeste Ai'da." She began to hum it, then sing it softly, too low for these people to hear. But her companion heard her. He smiled at her, positively beamed. Getting him into bed would be nothing. Finding the bed, that might be hard. Of course she could take him back to the little house, but that was too far away. She stopped singing.

"Oh, no, you mustn't stop," he said. "Go on singing."

Go on singing, go on singing. Waiting just a moment was the secret, then the meaning came surprisingly clear.

Ramses had taught her that. In the beginning, each tongue sounds impenetrable. You speak it; you listen; and gradually it comes clear.

Ramses; Ramses, whose statue stood among the iron chariots! She turned, craning her neck to see through the window-why, the window was covered over with a giant piece of very clear glass. She could see the dirt on it. However did they make such a thing? "Modern times," as Lord Rutherford said. Well, if they could make those monstrous chariots, they could make such glass.

"You've a lovely voice, positively lovely. Are you by any chance going to the opera? Everyone in Cairo is going, or so it seems."

"The ball will last till dawn," said the woman opposite to her female companion.

"Well, I think it's super. We're just too far from civilization to complain."

He laughed. He had overheard the women too.

"The ball's supposed to be the event of the season here. They hold it at Shepheard's." He drank a swallow of his coffee. That was the signal she'd been waiting for. She downed her entire cup.

He smiled. He poured her another from the little pot.

"Thank you," she said, carefully mimicking the record.

"Oh, but didn't you want sugar?"

"I think I prefer cream, if you don't mind."

' 'Of course not.' * He poured a dollop of milk in her cup. Was that cream? Yes, Lord Rutherford had given her the last of it that the slave woman had in the house.

"Are you going to the ball at Shepheard's? We're staying at Shepheard's, my uncle and I. My uncle's in trade here."

He stopped again. What was he staring at? Her eyes? Her hair? He was very pretty; she loved the fresh new skin of his face and throat. Lord Rutherford was a fine-looking man, for certain; but this one had the beauty of youth.

She reached across the table and felt his chest through the linen of his clothing, through the silk that covered her fingers. Don't let him feel the bone. How surprised he looked. Her fingertips touched his nipple and she pinched it ever so slightly with her fourth finger and thumb. Why, he blushed like a vestal virgin. The blood was roaring in his face. She smiled.

He glanced around, at the two women opposite. But they went right on talking. "Simply super!"

"I bought this gown, you know, spent a fortune on it. I said, well, if I'm going to be here, and everyone's going . . ."

"The opera." She laughed. "Going to the opera."

"Yes," he said, but he was still amazed at what she'd done. She emptied the pot into her cup and drank it. Then she picked up the little pitcher of milk and drank that too. She picked up the sugar and poured it into her mouth. Ah, she did not like that. She set it down, and then slipped her hand under the small table and squeezed his leg. He was ready for her! Ah, poor young boy, poor wide-eyed young boy.

She remembered that time when she and Antony had brought those young soldiers in the tent, and stripped them, before making a choice. That had been a lovely game. Until Ramses found out about it. Was there anything he hadn't accused her of in the end? But this one was powerfully amorous! He wanted her.

She rose from the table. She beckoned and went towards the doors.

Noise outside. The chariots. She did not care. If they didn't frighten all these people, surely they were something explainable. What she had to do now was find a place. He was right behind her, talking to her.

"Come," she said in English. "Come with me."

An alleyway; she led him back, stepping over the puddles. Shadowy here, and quieter. She turned around and slipped her arms under his. He bent to kiss her.

"Well, not here, right here!" he asked nervously. "Miss, I don't think ..."

"I say here," she whispered, kissing him and thrusting her hand into his clothes. Hot his skin, what she wanted. Hot and sweet smelling. And so ready he was, the young fawn. She lifted the skirts of the pink dress.

It was over too quickly; she shuddered as she held on to him, her body clamped to him, her arms wrapped around his neck. She heard him moan as he spilled into her. He was still for a moment, too still. The shudders were still passing through her; but she could not coax him anymore. He released her and leaned back against the wall, staring, as if he was ill.

"Wait, please, give me a moment," he said when she started to kiss him again.

She studied him for a few seconds. Very easy. Snap. Then she reached up, took a firm hold of his head with both her hands, and twisted it until his neck broke.

He stared off, the way the woman had stared off, and the way the man had also. Nothing in his eyes. Nothing. Then he slipped down the wall, his legs wide apart.

She studied him. There was that nagging sense of a mystery again, something to do with her. Something to do with what she'd just done.

She remembered that dim figure standing over her. Had it been a dream? "Rise, Cleopatra. I, Ramses, call you!"

Ah, no! Merely trying to remember caused a searing pain in her head. But the pain was not physical. Pain of the soul it was. She could hear women crying, women she had known. Women weeping. Saying her name to her. Cleopatra. Then someone covered her face with a sheer black cloth. Was the snake still alive? Strange it seemed to her that the snake should outlive her. She felt again the sting of the fangs in her breast.

She gave a dull little groan as she stood there, leaning against the wall, looking down at the dead boy. When had all that happened? Where? Who had she been?

Don't remember. "Modern times" await.

She bent over, and slipped the money out of the boy's coat. Lots and lots of money in a little leather book. She slipped it deep into her pocket. Other things here as well. A card with English writing and a tiny portrait of the boy, how remarkable. Very beautiful work. And then two small bits of stiff paper with AIDA written on them. And OPERA. They bore the same tiny drawing she had seen in the "magazine" of an Egyptian woman's head.

Surely these were worth taking as well. She threw away the dead man's picture. Slipping the little opera papers into her pocket also, she sang ' 'Celeste A'ida'' again softly to herself as she stepped over the dead boy and walked out again into the noisy street.

Be not afraid. Do as they do. If they walk near the metal pathways, you must do this too.

But no sooner had she started off again than there came one of those shrill blasts from the iron chariots. She covered her ears, crying in spite of herself, and when she looked up another fine man was standing in her path.

"Can I help you, little lady? You're not lost down here, are you? You mustn't go about down here by the railway station with that money showing in your pocket like that."

"Railway station ..."

"Don't you have a handbag?"

"No," she said innocently. She allowed him to take her arm. "You help me?" she said, remembering the phrase Lord Rutherford had used a hundred times to her. "I can trust you?"

"Oh, of course!" he said. And he meant it. Another young one. With smooth, lovely skin!

* * *

Two Arabs left the rear of Shepheard's, one slightly taller than the other, both striding very fast.

"Remember," Samir said under his breath, "take very big steps. You are a man. Men do not take small steps, and swing your arms naturally."

"I should have (earned this trick a long time ago," Julie answered.

* * *

The Great Mosque swarmed with the faithful as well as tourists who had come to see this wonder, and come to see the sight of devout Moslems in worship on their knees. Julie and Samir moved lazily through the crush of tourists. Within minutes they had spotted the tall Arab with the dark glasses, in his flowing white robes.

Samir placed a key in Ramses' hand. He whispered the address and the directions. Ramses should follow him. It would not be a long walk.

He and Julie moved on, with Ramses a few paces behind.

* * *

Ah, she liked this one, who called himself an American and spoke in such a strange voice. They rode along together in the horse-drawn "taxi" carriage, among the "motorcars." And she was no longer afraid.

Before they'd left the "railway station" she'd realized that the big iron chariots pulled people about. Just a common means of transportation. How strange.

This one was not as elegant as Lord Rutherford, by any means, but he spoke more slowly and it was becoming quite simple for her to understand, especially as he pointed to things as he spoke. She knew now what was a Ford automobile, and a Stutz Bearcat, and also a little roadster. This man sold such things in America. He was a merchant of Ford automobiles in America. Even poor people could buy these driving machines.

She clutched the canvas bag he'd bought her, which held the money and the bits of paper with OPERA written on them.

"And this here is where the tourists live," he said to her, "more or less. I mean, this is the British sector. ..."

"English," she said.

' 'Yes, but all the Europeans and Americans pretty much come here, too. And that building there-that's where all the best people stay, the British and the Americans, that's Shepheard's, the hotel, if you know what I mean."

"Shepheard's-the hotel?" She gave a little laugh.

"That's where the opera ball's going to be tomorrow night. That's where I'm staying. I don't much like opera"-he made a little face-"never did much care for it. But here in Cairo, well, this is an important thing, you see."

"Important thing, you see."

"Real important. So I figured pretty much I'd go, you see, and to the ball afterwards, though I had to rent a tailcoat and all that." He had a lovely light in his eyes as he looked down at her. He was enjoying himself immensely.

And she was enjoying herself as well.

"And A'ida being all about ancient Egypt."

"Yes, Radames singing."

"Yes! So you know it. Bet you like opera, bet you appreciate it." Suddenly he made a little frown. "Are you okay, little lady? Maybe you'd find the old city more romantic. You want something to drink? How about a little ride in my car. It's parked right behind Shepheard's."

"Motorcar?"

"Oh, you're quite safe with me, little lady, I'm a real safe driver. Tell you what. Have you been out to the pyramids?"

Pee-ra-mids.

"No," she said. "Drive in your car, super!"

He laughed. He shouted a command to the taxi and the driver pulled the horse to the left. They rode around the hotel, Shepheard's, a handsome building with pretty gardens.

When he reached up to help her down from the carriage, he almost touched the tender opening in her side. She shivered. But it had not happened. Yet it had reminded her that the wound was there. How could one live with such awful sores? That was the mystery. Whatever happened now, she must return at dusk to see Lord Rutherford again. Lord Rutherford had gone to speak with the man who could explain these things-the man with the blue eyes.

* * *

They arrived together at the hideout. Julie agreed to wait as Samir and Ramses entered, inspected the three little rooms and their neglected garden; then they motioned for her to come in, and Ramses bolted the door.

There was a small wooden table with a candle in the middle, stuck in an old wine bottle. Samir lighted the candle. Ramses drew up two of the straight-backed chairs. Julie brought the other.

This was comfortable enough. The afternoon sun came through the old garden and through the back door, and the place was hot, but not unbearable, as it had been locked up for a long time. A damp musky odor of spices and hemp hung in the air.

Julie took off the Arab headdress, and shook out her hair. She had not pinned it up because of the headdress, and now she loosened the ribbon that kept it tied at the back of her neck.

"I don't believe you killed that woman," she said immediately, looking up at Ramses as he sat across from her.

Like a sheikh he looked in the desert robes, his face partially in shadow, the candle glinting in his eyes.

Samir sat down quietly to her left.

"I didn't kill the woman," Ramses said to her. "But I am responsible for the woman's death. And I need your help, both of you. I need someone's help. And I need your forgiveness. The time has come for me to tell you everything."

"Sire, I have a message for you," Samir said, "which I must give you at once."

"What message? " Julie asked. Why hadn't Samir told her of this?

"Is it from the gods, Samir'? Are they calling me to account? I have no time for less important messages. I must tell you what has happened, what I've done."

' 'It's from the Earl of Rutherford, sire. He accosted me at the hotel. He looked like a madman; he said that I must tell you that he has her.''

Ramses was obviously stunned. He glared at Samir almost murderously.

Julie could not bear this.

Samir removed something from under his robe and gave it to Ramses. It was a glass vial, such as those she'd seen among the alabaster jars in the collection.

Ramses looked at this, but he didn't move to touch it. Samir went to speak again, but Ramses gestured for quiet. His face was so heavily disfigured with emotion that he scarce looked like himself.

"Tell me what this means!" Julie said, unable to stop herself.

"He followed me to the museum," Ramses whispered. He stared at the empty vial.

"But what are you talking about? What happened at the museum?"

"Sire, he says that the sun has helped her. That the medicine in the vial helped her, but that she needs more of it. She is damaged, inside and out. She has killed three times. She is mad. He keeps her safe in hiding, he wants a meeting with you. He has given me the time and place."

For a moment, Ramses said nothing. Then he rose from the table and headed towards the door.

"No, stop!" Julie cried out, rushing towards him.

Samir was also on his feet.

"Sire, if you try to find him sooner, you may be apprehended. The hotel is surrounded. Wait till he leaves and goes to this place for the meeting. It is the only safe thing to do!"

Ramses was clearly stymied. Reluctantly, he turned, looking past Julie with dull, crazed eyes. He moved back sluggishly to the chair and sat down.

Julie wiped her tears with her handkerchief and took her chair again.

"Where and when?" Ramses asked.

"Seven tonight. The Babylon, it's a French night club. I know it. I can take you there."

"I cannot wait until then!"

"Ramses, tell us what all this means. How can we help you if we don't know?"

' 'Sire, Julie is right. Take us into your trust now. Allow us to assist in this. If you are captured again by the police . . ."

Ramses waved it away in disgust. His face was working silently with emotion.

"I need you, and when I tell you, I may lose you. But so be it. For I have wreaked havoc with your lives."

"You will never lose me," Julie said, but her fear was mounting. A great dread of what was to come was building in her soul.

Until these last few moments she thought she understood what had happened. He had taken the body of his love from the museum. He had wanted to see it properly put in a tomb. But now, faced with the vial and these strange words from Elliott, she considered other more ghastly possibilities, denying them in the same instant, but returning to them again.

"Put your trust in us, sire. Let us share this burden."

Ramses looked at Samir, then at her.

"Ah, the guilt you can never share," he said. "The body in the museum. The unknown woman ..."

"Yes," Samir whispered.

"She was not unknown to me, my dear ones. The ghost of Julius Caesar would have known her. The shade of Mark Antony would have kissed her. Millions once mourned for her. ..."

Julie nodded, tears rising again.

"And I have done the unspeakable. I took the elixir to the museum. I did not realize how much her body had been ravaged, that whoie hunks of flesh were no longer there, I poured the elixir over her! After two thousand years life stirred in her ruined body. She rose! Bleeding, wounded, she stood upright. She walked. She reached out for me. She called my name!"

* * *

Ah, it was better than the finest wine, better even than making love, racing over the road in the open American motor car, the wind whistling past her, the American shouting convivially as he jerked the "stick shift" this way and that.

To see the houses flying past. To see the Egyptians trudging with their donkeys and camels and to leave them in a spray of gravel.

She adored it. She looked up at the open sky above, letting the wind lift her hair completely as she kept one hand firmly on her hat.

Now and then she studied what he did to make his chariot move. Pump the "pedals," as he called them, over and over again; pull the stick; turn the wheel.

Ah, it was too thrilling; too marvelous. But suddenly that horrid shrill sound caught her off guard. That roaring she had heard in the railway station. Her hands flew to her ears.

"Don't be frightened, little lady, it's just a train. See there, the train's coming!" The motor coach came to a jerking halt.

Metal pathways side by side in the desert sand before them. And that thing, that great black monster bearing down from the right. A bell was clanging. She was dimly aware of a red light flashing, like a lantern beam. Would she never get away from these hideous things?

He put his arm around her.

"It's all right, little lady. We just have to wait for it to pass."

He was still speaking, but now the great rattle and clatter of the monster drowned out his words. Horrid, the wheels rumbling by in front of her, and even the long procession of wooden wagons, filled with human beings who sat inside against the wooden slats as if this were the most simple thing in the world.

She tried to regain her composure. She liked the feel of his warm hands on her; the smell of the perfume rising from his skin. She watched dully as the last of the cars rolled by. Again the bell clanged. The light atop the pillar flashed.

The American pumped the pedals again, pulled the stick; the car began to rumble, and they drove over the metal pathways and on into the desert.

"Well, most people in Hannibal, Missouri, you tell them about Egypt, they don't even know what you're talking about. I said to my father, I'm going over there, that's what I'm going to do. I'm taking the money I've made and going over there, and then I'll settle down back here. ..."

She caught her breath. She was settling into the pleasure of it again. Then far away to the left, on the horizon, she saw the pyramids of Giza! She saw the figure of the Sphinx coming into view.

She gave a little cry. This was Egypt. She was in Egypt in "modern times," but she was still at home.

A lovely sadness softened her all over. The tombs of her ancestors, and there the sphinx to whom she had gone as a young girl, to pray in the temple between its great paws.

' 'Ah, yes, that's a pretty sight, isn't it? I tell you, if people in Hannibal, Missouri, don't appreciate it, it's their tough luck."

She laughed. "Their tough luck," she said.

As they drew closer, she saw the crowds. A great field of motor cars and carriages. And women in frilly dresses with tiny waists, like her own. Men in straw hats like the American. And many Arabs with their camels, and armfuls of cheap necklaces. She smiled.

In her time they had sold cheap jewelry here to the visiting Romans. They had peddled rides on their camels. They were doing the very same thing now!

But it took her breath away, the great tomb of King Kufu looming above her. When had it been that she had come here, a small girl, and seen this huge structure made up of square blocks? And then with Ramses, later, alone in the cool of the night, when she'd been wrapped in a dark robe, a common woman, riding with him along this very same road.

Ramses! No, something horrid that she did not want to remember. The dark waters rushing over her. She had been walking towards him, and he had been backing away!

The American motor car jerked to a halt again.

"Come on, little lady, let's get out and see it. Seventh wonder of the world."

She smiled at the chubby-faced American; so gentle with her he was.

"Okaaaay! Super!" she said. She jumped down from the high open seat before he could give her a helping hand.

Her body was very close to his. His chubby nose crinkled as he smiled at her. Sweet young mouth. She kissed him suddenly. She stood on tiptoe and embraced him. Hmmmm. Sweet and young like the other. And so surprised!

"Well, you sure are an affectionate little thing," he said hi her ear. He didn't seem to know what to do now. Well, she would show him. She took his hand and they walked over the beaten sand towards the pyramids.

"Ah, look!" she said, pointing to the palace that had been built to the right.

"Ah, that's the Mena House," he said. "Not a bad hotel, either. It's not Shepheard's, but it's okay. We can have a bite to eat there later, if you like."

* * *

"I tried to fight them," Ramses said. "It was impossible. There were simply too many. They took me away to the jail. I needed time to heal. It must have been a half hour before I managed to escape."

Silence.

Julie had buried her face in her handkerchief.

"Sire," Samir said gently. "You knew this elixir could do such a thing?''

"Yes, Samir. I knew, though I had never put it to such a test."

"Then it was human nature, sire. No more and no less."

"Ah, but Samir, I have made so many blunders over the centuries. I knew the dangers of the chemical. And you must know those dangers now too. You must know if you are to help me. This creature-this mad thing which I've brought back to life cannot be destroyed."

"Surely there is some way," Samir said.

"No. I've learned this through trial and error. And your modem biology books, they've sharpened my understanding. Once the cells of the body are saturated with the elixir, they renew themselves constantly. Plant, animal, human-it is all the same."

"No age, no deterioration," Julie murmured. She was calmer now, she could trust her voice.

"Precisely. One full cup made me immortal. No more than the contents of that vial. I am eternally in the prime of life. I don't need food, yet I am always hungry. I don't need sleep, yet I can enjoy it. I have perpetually the desire to ... make love."

"And this woman-she did not receive the full measure."

' 'No, and she was damaged to begin with! That was my folly, don't you see! The body was not all there! But damaged or no, she is now virtually unstoppable. I understood that when she came towards me through the corridor! Don't you see?"

"You're not thinking in terms of modern science," Julie said. She wiped both her eyes slowly. "There must be a way to halt the process."

' 'On the other hand, if you were to give her the full measure- more of the medicine, as the Earl put it. . ."

"That's madness," Julie interjected. "You can't even consider it. You'll make the thing stronger."

"Listen, both of you," Ramses said, "to what I have to say. Cleopatra is only part of this tragedy. The Earl knows the secret now with certainty. It is the elixir itself that is dangerous, more dangerous than you know.''

"People will want it, yes," Julie said, "and they will do anything to get it. But Elliott can be reasoned with, and Henry is a fool."

' "There's more to it than that. We are speaking of a chemical which changes any living substance by which it is absorbed." Ramses waited a moment, glancing at both of them. Then he went on: "Centuries ago, when I was still Ramses, ruler of this land, I dreamed I would use this elixir to make food and drink aplenty for my people. We would have famine no more. Wheat that would grow back instantly after every harvest. Fruit trees that would bear forever. Do you know what came to pass?''

Fascinated, they stared at him in silence.

"My people could not digest this immortal food. It stayed whole in their insides. They died in agony as if they had eaten sand."

"Ye gods," Julie whispered. "Yet it's perfectly logical. Of course!"

"And when I sought to burn the fields and slaughter the immortal hens and milk cows, I saw the burnt wheat spring to life as soon as the sun shone on it. I saw burnt and headless carcasses struggle to rise. Finally it was all cast into the sea, weighted and sent to the very bottom, where surely it remains, whole and intact, to this day."

Samir shuddered; he folded his arms over his chest as if he were cold.

Julie looked steadily at Ramses. "So what you're saying is . . . if the secret fell into the wrong hands, whole regions of the earth could be rendered immortal."

"Whole peoples," Ramses answered soberly. "And we who are immortal hunger as much as the living. We would crowd out the living to consume what has always been theirs!"

"The very rhythm of life and death would be endangered," Samir said.

"This secret must be destroyed utterly!" Julie said. "If you have the elixir in your possession, destroy it. Now."

' 'And how do I do that, dearest? If I hurl the dry powder into the wind, the tiny particles cleave as they fall to the earth, waiting for the first rain to liquefy them and carry them down to the roots of the trees, which they will make immortal. If I pour the liquid into the sand, it pools there until the camel comes to drink. Pour it into the sea and I give birth to immortal fishes, serpents, crocodiles."

"Stop," she whispered.

"Can you consume it yourself, sire, without harm coming to you?"

"I don't know. I would imagine that I could. But who knows?"

"Don't do it!" Julie whispered.

He gave her a faint, sad smile.

"You care still what becomes of me, Julie Stratford?"

"Yes, I care," she whispered. "You're only a man; with a god's secret in your possession. I care."

"That's just it, Julie," he said. "I have the secret in here." He tapped the side of his forehead. "I know how to make the elixir. What happens to the few vials I possess does not ultimately matter, for I can always brew more."

They looked at each other. The full horror of it was impossible to encompass steadily. One had to view it, draw away from it and then reexamine it again.

"Now you understand why for a thousand years I shared the elixir with no one. I knew the danger. And then, with the weakness of a mortal man-to use your modern phrase-I fell in love."

Julie's eyes again filled with tears. Samir waited patiently.

"Yes, I know." Ramses sighed. "I've been a fool. Two thousand years ago, I watched my love die rather than give the elixir to her lover-Mark Antony, a dissolute man, who would have hounded me to the ends of the earth for the formula itself. Can you imagine those two, immortal rulers? 'Why can we not make an immortal army?' she said to me when his influence had thoroughly corrupted her. When she had become his pawn. And now, in this day and age of astonishing wonders, I overruled her last words to me and brought her back to life."

Julie swallowed. The tears poured down silently. She no longer even wiped at them with the little handkerchief. She reached across the table and touched the back of his hand.

"No. Ramses, it isn't Cleopatra. Don't you see? You've made a terrible mistake, yes, and we must find a way to undo it. But it isn't Cleopatra. It cannot possibly be."

"Julie, I made no mistake on that account! And she knew me! Don't you understand? She called my name!"

* * *

Soft music drifted from the Mena House. There were twinkling yellow lights in its windows. Tiny figures moved back and forth on its broad terrace.

Cleopatra and the American stood in a dark tunnel, high up on the pyramid; the burial shaft.

Feverishly she embraced him, slipping her silk-covered fingers into his shirt. Ah, the nipples of men, so tender; such a key to torment and ecstasy; how he writhed as she twisted them ever so gently, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth.

All the bravado and high spirits were gone now. He was her slave. She ripped the linen fabric back off his chest, and plunged her hand down under his leather belt to the root of his sex.

He moaned against her. She felt him gathering up her skirts. Then suddenly his hand stopped. His whole body stiffened. Awkwardly she turned her head; he was staring down at her naked leg, her foot.

He was staring at the great strip of bloody bone exposed in her leg, at the fan of bones in her foot.

' 'Jesus Christ!'' he whispered. He drew back from her against the wall. "Jesus Christ!"

A low growl of rage and hurt broke from her. "Take your eyes off me!" she screamed in Latin. "Turn your eyes away from me! You will not look at me in disgust."

She sobbed as she grabbed his head with both hands and banged it against the stone wall. "You will die for this!" she spit at him. And then the twist, the simple little twist. And he was dead, too.

That was all that was required, and now there was blessed silence and his body lying there, like the body of the other, with the money showing under his sagging coat.

Her wounds could not kill her. The blast of heat from the one called Henry had not killed her; the blast which made the horrible, unbearable noise. But all it took to kill them was this.

She looked out of the opening of the shaft, down over the dark ocher sands towards the soft tights of the Mena House. Again, she heard the music, so sweet, drifting on the cool air.

Always cool at night, the desert. And almost dark, wasn't it? Tiny stars above in the azure sky. She felt a strange moment of peace. Nice to walk alone, away from them in the desert.

But Lord Rutherford. The medicine. Almost dark.

She bent down now, took the American's money. She thought of the beautiful yellow motor car. Ah, that would take her back to where she'd come from very swiftly. And now it was hers all alone.

Suddenly she was laughing, thrilled by the prospect. She rushed down the side of the pyramid, dropping easily from one stone block to the one below it; so much strength now, and then she ran towards the car.

Simple. Press the electric starter button. Then push the "gas pedal." At once it began to roar. Then forward on the stick, as she had seen him do it, as she depressed the other pedal, and miracle of miracles, she was racing forward, giving a mad turn to the wheel.

She drove in a great circle before the Mena House. A few terrified Arabs scurried out of her path. She hit the throbbing "horn," as he had called it. It frightened their camels.

Then she made for the road, pulling the stick back again to make it go faster, then shoving it forwards, just as she had seen him do.

When she came to the metal pathway, she stopped. She clutched the wheel, trembling. But no sound came from the great empty reaches of the desert to right and left. And ahead lay the lights of Cairo, such a sweet spectacle under the paling, star-filled sky.

" 'Celeste Ai'da!' " she sang as she started up and raced forward once more.

* * *

"You asked for our help," Julie said. "You asked for our forgiveness. Now I want you to listen to me."

"Yes, I want to," Ramses said in a heartfelt voice, but he was puzzled. "Julie, it is she . . . beyond question."

"The body, yes," Julie responded. "It was hers, without doubt. But the being who lives now? No. It is not the same woman you once loved. That woman, wherever she is, has no consciousness now of what is happening to this body."

"Julie, she knew me! She recognized me!"

"Ramses, the brain in that body knew you. But think about what you are saying. Think about the implications. The implications are every thing, Ramses. Our intellects-our souls, if you will-they don't reside in the flesh, slumbering for centuries as our bodies rot. Either they go on to higher realms or they cease to exist altogether. The Cleopatra you loved ceased to exist in that body the day it died."

He stared at her, trying to grasp this.

"Sire, I think there is wisdom here," Samir said. But he too was confused. "The Earl says that she knows who she is."

"She knows who she is supposed to be," Julie said. "The cells! They are there, revitalized, and possibly some memory is encoded within them. But this thing is a monstrous twin of your lost love. How can it be more than that?"

"This could be true," Samir murmured. "If you do what the Earl suggests-if you give her more of the drug, you may only be revitalizing a ... a demon."

"This is beyond my understanding!" Ramses confessed. "It is Cleopatra!''

Julie shook her head. "Ramses, my father has been dead no more than two months. There was no autopsy performed on his remains. The only embalming done upon him was the age-old miracle of the Egyptian heat and desert dryness. He lies, intact, in a crypt here in Egypt. But do you think I'd take this elixir, if I had it in my hands, and raise him from the dead?"

"God in heaven," Samir whispered.

"No!" Julie said. "Because it wouldn't be my father. The connection has been fatally broken! A duplicate of my father would rise. A duplicate who knew perhaps all that my father had known. But my father wouldn't be there. He wouldn't know the duplicate was walking about. And what you have brought back to life is a duplicate of Cleopatra! Your lost love is not there."

Ramses was silent. This seemed to shake him as profoundly as everything else. He looked at Samir.

"What religion, sire, holds that the soul remains in the rotted flesh? It was not so with our forefathers. It is not so in any land in the world."

"You are truly immortal, my beloved," Julie said. "But Cleopatra has been dead for twenty centuries. She is still dead. The thing you resurrected must be destroyed."