The two detectives were surrounded on all sides by exotic plants from around the world. Most gardeners were content with an orange tree and a few orchids. Clearly not Sir Gordon. Some of the plants were vast, with knotted trunks and huge waxy leaves. Vines climbed up the walls, and hung in loops from the ceiling. Dotted here and there through the undergrowth were the ghostly white shapes of statues – Greek beauties that had been frozen in time, furry moss clinging to their perfect faces like beards.
Charley spotted the huge white trumpet-shaped flowers of the datura. She brought her nose close and drank in the heavenly aroma. Billy cupped another flower, like a bright red mouth surrounded by thin spiky leaves, pulling it towards his nose for a sniff.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” warned Charley.
“It’s just a plant,” shrugged Billy. “How dangerous can a plant be?”
A fat fly buzzed over, drawn by the strange flower’s sickly scent. It landed and quickly found that its six tiny feet were stuck. Before it could escape the plant had closed around the poor insect, trapping it inside a red velvet cage.
“It’s a Venus flytrap,” said Charley. “A carnivorous plant.”
“A plant that eats meat?” said Billy. “Lovely.”
The plants stirred suddenly overhead and, looking up, they saw a flash of blue and yellow as a huge bird came squawking and shrieking out of the canopy of leaves.
“What the—?” said Billy, ducking as the bird swooped past, its beak clacking.
“Ach, don’t worry, that’s just Queen Victoria,” said Doogie. “She’s a parrot.”
“God save me!” Queen Victoria screeched from somewhere overhead. “Show us your bloomers!”
“Nobody knows who taught her to say that,” said Doogie, a little sheepishly.
“I imagine it’s a complete mystery,” said Billy, giving the young lad a knowing look. “Any other animals that we should know about?”
“Only Prince Albert,” said Doogie. “He’s a snake.”
“Of course he is,” said Billy. “Stands to reason.”
“There,” said Charley softly. Billy followed the line of her gaze until he spotted the coiled shape, wrapped around a branch. It was a vivid green with a yellow diamond pattern down its scaly back.
“That’s a big snake,” said Billy.
“A green boa,” said Charley, “quite a beautiful specimen actually.”
“If you say so,” said Billy. Prince Albert looked at Billy and poked out a forked tongue. It hissed menacingly and Billy took a step back. “I feel like I’m in a zoo. In what way is this a crime lab?”
“In this way,” said Doogie proudly. “Sir Gordon had Mr Cowley working half the night to get this ready.”
They followed the path through the conservatory and found that an area had been cleared for them. A blackboard had been installed, accompanied by a new box of chalk. Positioned next to that was a large map of Edinburgh on an easel and an extensive selection of reference books. There were also chairs, tables, pencils, paper, notepads, ink pads, a magnifying glass, reading lamps, an impressive chemistry set, Sir Gordon’s own camera and, to Charley’s delight, the finest microscope she had ever seen.
“Look at this!” she said.
“Look at this!” said Billy, heading for a side table where a tea urn was bubbling merrily and a plate of biscuits had been arranged. “Sir Gordon really has thought of everything,” he said, spraying crumbs. He was bringing a second biscuit to his lips when Queen Victoria swooped down and snatched it right out of his hand.
“She does that,” said Doogie.
Billy glared at the bird and shoved another biscuit into his mouth whole; he wasn’t taking any risks this time.
Now that they weren’t in the thick jungle part of the conservatory and were far enough away from Prince Albert, Billy could see that this would be a good place to work. The windows let in a clear light and a vent provided a pleasant breeze. There was even an ornamental pool with a fountain in the middle and beautiful fish swimming in slow circles. The tinkling of the water was very relaxing, almost like music. Although the effect was somewhat spoiled by the glass tank nearby which held some enormous hairy spiders and a selection of other equally horrible scuttling things. Billy shivered; he didn’t like bugs.
“Don’t worry,” Charley said, reading the look on his face. “None of those spiders or scorpions could actually kill you. Oh, except for those yellow ones. They’re deathstalker scorpions. They are deadly. One sting is all it would take.”
“Where is Sir Gordon, by the way?” Billy changed the subject, and edged away from the crawling nasties. “We haven’t seen him since we arrived.”
“His Lordship has business in town,” said Doogie. “He said something about buying a gun. He’s afraid… We all are.”
By flickering candlelight, in his secret, dark place, the Sandman was busy. His eyes narrowed to slits as he concentrated on his task. Egyptian magick as powerful as this couldn’t be rushed. Preparation was everything.
He had bathed in scalding hot water and dressed in the white linen robes of a Lector Priest – an Egyptian magician. The braziers were lit and the coals were glowing red-hot. With ceremony, the Sandman placed an earthenware bowl on the coals and then carefully lowered a block of wax into the dish. Within seconds the wax had softened and was becoming a bubbling soup. Using tongs, he removed the bowl from the coals and poured the molten wax into a wooden mould.
The Sandman smiled as the wax ran into the recesses and the shape became clear. Two arms, two legs, a body, a head. He was making a figure, a little wax person. But not just any person…this doll would have a name.
The wax quickly started to harden and while it was still soft enough for him to shape with his hands, the Sandman tipped up the mould and set to work. He smoothed the limbs and added features to the blank face; a nose, two holes for eyes. It was crude and lumpy but still easily identifiable as a human figure. The Sandman paused. A sheen of sweat covered his face and he wiped it away nervously. There was always a risk when casting a spell… He had to do this right. One wrong ingredient, the wrong action, the wrong word…and the result would be disastrous. Possibly fatal.
In his hours of study, the Sandman had learned that Egyptian magick – Heka – had two components. The physicaclass="underline" the ingredients, the ritual actions. And the spoken: the words of power.
Using an ornate knife, the Sandman cut a small slit for a mouth then, leaning over, he breathed into it. “Breath of my breath,” he said quietly.
A groaning sound behind him made the hairs on his neck stand on end. The Sandman paused in his labours and looked over his shoulder. It was the mummy, standing motionless, waiting for its next command.
The Sandman crossed the chamber and stood in front of the creature. Once upon a time the mummy had been a king, but now it was his servant. It felt good to be the one with the power for a change.
“You’re angry, aren’t you?” said the Sandman. “Good! I’m angry too.”
The mummy stirred, the moaning becoming a fierce growl. The bandaged feet shuffled and the arms began to rise from its sides.
“Halt!” ordered the Sandman. He stepped closer until his face was level with the mummy’s. The Sandman stared into the pits where the eyes had been. He had grown used to the disgusting perfume of decay which filled the air wherever the undead creature went. For the Sandman, this had become the smell of victory.
“I wear the Eye of Horus,” said the Sandman, stroking the gold pendant at his throat. “You go when I say ‘go’; you are mine to command.”
The mummy retreated and the Sandman returned to his wax doll.