Sobek the crocodile; savage and strong. The god of the Nile. Lord of soldiers. He who loved robbery. He of pointed teeth and insatiable hunger.
Sekhmet the lioness; sleek and deadly. The goddess of fire, war and vengeance. Mistress of the dead. Lady of slaughter. She who mauls.
Anubis the jackal; proud and powerful. The god of funerals and death. The protector of the grave. Master of mummification.
The Sandman smiled. All he had to do was click his fingers… But for now he had to wait. Waiting came easily to him; it was what he did, day in, day out. But the waiting had never felt like this before.
Good things come to those who wait. Wasn’t that what people said?
The Sandman chuckled; an angry snort, brimming with bitterness. And bad things come to those who oppose me!
“You were meant to scare away those meddling investigators at the station!” he snarled.
Sobek the crocodile sank his massive head, admitting his failure. “I was disturbed.”
The Sandman glowered. “I will not accept failure a second time.”
Sobek said nothing.
On the floor in front of the golden throne there was a circle of fine sand. Using the tip of a curved bone, the Sandman drew a series of hieroglyphs, powerful symbols that together made a magical incantation. Pleased with his work, the Sandman watched and the sand began to stir…
First one lonely grain began a slow circuit, impossibly bouncing round and round. Then another grain started to move, then another, and another. Spinning faster and faster until the entire circle was whirling in a blur and rising into the air like a tornado of sand.
And something was materializing inside it.
“He returns!” the Sandman declared triumphantly as the mummy appeared inside the magical sandstorm.
“UuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH,” it growled, like an animal in pain. Suddenly the sand dropped to the ground, the magick done, and the mummy stood there, arms outstretched.
The Sandman held his breath as the mummy stumbled towards him. Although it was under his control it had lost none of its power to terrify him. Beneath the filthy grave wrappings was the body and skeleton of a man. The embalming wax – the mūm, which gave all mummies their name – had done its job well. Chunks of leathery flesh had been preserved and still hung on the frame of bones.
The stench was even worse than before. Mixed with the reek of decay was the sweet tang of cooked meat and the harsh sooty smell that lingers after a fire.
“What have they done to you, my beauty?” said the Sandman, shocked to see that one of the mummy’s arms had lost almost all of its bandages and been burned down to gristle and bone.
“I have more wax,” the Sandman said in a comforting tone, like a mother to a child, “and more bandages. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
The mummy nodded, another gurgle spilling from its leathery lips.
“I need you fighting fit,” said the Sandman. “We’ve only just begun… Vengeance shall be mine!” He threw back his head and laughed and laughed. The sound echoed through the Temple of the Seven Stars.
The gods of Egypt trembled.
A ghostly sun rose in the bone-white Edinburgh sky. The streets were just beginning to stir as a zebra-drawn carriage clattered over the cobbles, drawing to a halt outside the blackened wreckage of the hotel.
“Jings!” Doogie McCrimmon declared, his mouth as wide as a saucer. “And I thought I had news.”
“The mummy attacked us,” said Billy, sitting on his suitcase, which he’d rescued from the flames. “Oh, and the hotel burned down.” Billy smiled, but the dark lines under his eyes showed how long the night had been.
“Not much sleep then,” said Doogie.
“We’ll survive,” said Billy.
Doogie climbed down from the carriage and stood in front of the smouldering remains, the zebras snorting and stamping as they breathed in the smoky air. Spotting Charley, Doogie whipped off his cap. “Are ye all right, Miss Steel?”
“It takes more than an assassination attempt and a raging inferno to upset me. Now,” she said with a smile, “you said something about ‘news’?”
“There’s been another burglary,” said Doogie, “and the mummy was there.”
Charley clapped gleefully. “Oh, that is good news.”
“Really?” said Doogie. “When is a burglary good news?”
“When you’re a detective, my dear Doogie,” said Charley, patting his arm. “A new burglary gives me and my partner a fresh crime scene to investigate.”
“Do ye not want to visit Sir Gordon’s house now, miss?” said Doogie, looking at their bedraggled clothes and soot-smeared faces. “Maybes freshen up a bit first?”
“Certainly not,” said Charley. “We mustn’t let the trail go cold!”
Inside the carriage, their luggage safely stowed on the roof, Charley took a small mirror from her bag. She examined her reflection, then wiped her face clean with a fresh handkerchief and ran a brush through her luxurious red hair until it shone like polished bronze.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Fit for the palace, same as always,” said Billy. He licked the palm of his hand, rubbed it roughly over his face, then licked it again and tried to smooth down a spike of hair that was sticking up from his head like a horn. As an afterthought he lifted his arm and gave a sniff. He grimaced. “How about me?”
“Fit for the workhouse,” Charley answered with a smile.
“I’m improving then,” said Billy. “The last time you said I was only fit for the gutter.”
“I was being kind,” said Charley.
“Where to?” called the driver.
“Let the dog see the rabbit,” said Billy.
The carriage didn’t move.
“He means, ‘Please take us to the next crime scene, my good man,’” Charley explained. “And be quick about it.”
The zebras whinnied and they were off, rattling through the streets until they came to a halt outside an impressive three-storey house built from Edinburgh’s famous red granite. Billy whistled softly between his teeth. “Nice gaff,” he said admiringly as he and Doogie helped Charley out of the carriage and into her wheelchair. “Who lives here?”
“Lady Lavinia Fitzpatrick,” said Doogie. “A friend of Sir Gordon.”
Billy nodded. “Makes sense. And was she at the mummy unwrapping party?”
“Aye,” said Doogie.
“Can you tell us anything about Lady Fitzpatrick?” said Charley, her eyes glistening at the thrill of the chase.
Doogie scratched his head and then his face lit up. “Och yes,” he said. “She’s got a bahookie as big as a horse.” He bent over slightly and slapped his own backside, just for emphasis.
“Yes,” said Charley. “Thank you.” Then quickly added, “Why don’t you wait in the carriage?” Doogie’s face dropped. Charley felt as if she had just kicked a particularly cute puppy.
“Sorry,” said Billy, patting Doogie on the arm to show no hard feelings. “This is police business.”
Billy and Charley approached the front door just as a constable was leaving. Charley gave the bobby her brightest smile. Billy flicked him a salute. The constable did not seem pleased to see them. Even his moustache looked annoyed.
“Move along,” said the policeman curtly, making a sweeping movement with his gloved hand. “Nothing to see here.”
“On the contrary,” said Charley, “there’s a great deal to see.” She flicked open her warrant card with a flourish. “So be a good chap and show us in, will you?”
The constable looked at Billy and Charley and the silly smiles on their faces. He examined their badges. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Only if you find the living dead amusing,” said Billy.
“What are you talking about?” he blustered.