Adventures (12 page)

Friday shook his head, trying to get the tape off his mouth, and stared at me blearily.

"Frmmx fblimm!"
he said through the bandage.

“He's speaking in the ancient tongue!” cried a woman.

The Egyptians in the crowd started muttering quick little prayers to Amen-Ra, just to be on the safe side. Then Friday gingerly moved a hand to his head, and a couple of pistols appeared.

“Don't waste your bullets, men!” I cried hastily. “He's
already
dead!”

With that, two-thirds of our customers raced for the door. The rest just lay quiet and peaceful on the floor where they had fallen.

Friday must have been nursing a pretty large hangover, because he just stood there in his coffin moaning and gently rubbing his eyes. Finally he saw me, took a step out of the wooden box, and tripped over a couple of bodies, falling smack-dab on his head with a thud so loud it sounded like unto a gunshot. Rosepetal ran over to him, knelt down on the floor beside him, and cradled his head in her lap, stroking it gently. I got a knife and cut a little tape away from his mouth so he could breathe a mite easier, without cutting so much that he couldn't go back to work once we got him back into his box.

It took him about ten minutes to open his eyes. Then he stared straight up at Rosepetal's breasts for another five minutes before he turned his head to me, blinked a couple of times, and struggled to his feet.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, offering him a cup of vodka. “Ready to go back into your tomb?”

He slapped the cup out of my hand and glowered at me—as much as a mummy
can
glower, anyway.

“Who are you that dares address Amenophis?” he rumbled. “I have lain in my crypt for centuries. I will not return to it!”

“If you think acting like this is going to get you out of playing the mummy, Friday, you got another think coming!” I snapped. “Now get on back into the coffin before some of these people littering the floor start waking up!”

I grabbed his arm to lead him back, but he threw me against the wall with no apparent effort.

“Rash mortal!” he bellowed. “The person of Amenophis is sacrosanct!” He reached a bandaged hand out for Rosepetal. “Come, my princess.”

“Lucifer, do something!” she whispered as he approached her.

“I'll do something, all right!” I snapped, getting up and dusting myself off. “I'll fire the son of a bitch!”

“Look at his head!” she said, backing away from him. “It's all bloody. Maybe he really does think he's Amenophis!”

Friday caught her and hoisted her over his shoulder.

"Lucifer!"
she screamed.

I noticed that she wasn't so all-fired terror-stricken that she didn't think to grab the money and stuff it into her G-string as Friday carried her through the doorway and off into the night, so I had no choice but to follow them, though at a respectful distance. We made an interesting sight, what with Friday wandering aimlessly with his half-naked princess slung over his shoulder, Rosepetal frightening everyone away with her screaming, and me tagging along in their wake, trying to figure out how to stop him, if not permanently then at least long enough to get the money back.

He made a couple of quick turns and I momentarily lost sight of him, so I increased my pace. As I rounded the second corner I ran headfirst into a policeman.

“Excuse me, officer,” I said.

“Quite all right,” he replied.

“Beautiful night, isn't it?” I said.

“Could be a tad cooler, though,” he responded thoughtfully.

“By the way, I know it may sound a little peculiar,” I said, “but did a half-crazed mummy carrying a naked girl happen to pass by here recently?”

“As a matter of fact, he did,” said the officer. “It was most amusing.”

“Well, it might have been a lot of things,” I said, “but somehow I never thought of amusing as one of them. Didn't you hear her calling for help?”

“Indeed,” he said, smiling. “And most convincing it was, too.”

“Then why didn't you help her?”

“I just assumed they were advertising a new restaurant or nightclub or something,” said the policeman.

“I'm afraid not,” I said.

“A new movie, then?”

“No.”

“You
will
tell me when I'm getting warm, won't you?” he asked.

“I know it sounds a bit odd,” I said, “but they were exactly what they seemed to be.”

“You P.R. types have a marvelous sense of humor!” he guffawed. “Tell the truth now: Was it a new Turkish bathhouse?”

I told him he was right, bade him goodnight, and continued my search alone. I must have walked four miles up and down Cairo's winding streets and back alleys when I finally saw this bandaged figure sitting morosely on the sidewalk, his head buried in his hands. I approached him kind of cautiously, inasmuch as he hadn't been all that friendly since falling on his head.

He looked up when I got within a few yards of him, but made no attempt to rise to his feet.

“Well?” I said.

“What do you want, mortal?” he said glumly.

“Where is she?” I demanded.

“Gone,” he moaned.

“What the hell do you mean, gone?” I exploded. “She's got all our money.”

“Money?” he said dazedly. “What is money?”

“Money is what's ours that she's run off with!” I yelled. “Now where the hell is she?”

“She's all alone, her lithe, youthful body exposed to the elements.”

“Her lithe, youthful body can damned well take care of itself just fine!” I snapped. “What direction did it run off in?”

He belched. “You wouldn't know where I could get a fatted calf or something like that, would you?” he asked apologetically. “Ordinarily I would not ask favors of a mere mortal, but I haven't eaten in more than three thousand years, and I'm hungry.”

“First the girl, then the food,” I said.

“She started pounding on my head,” he said, “and when I set her down for a moment she ran into the alleyway.” He pointed to a narrow channel between two buildings.

“Then I'd better get after her right quick,” I said, starting off.

“Wait!” he cried. “You're not going to leave me here, are you? I mean, everything's changed so much in three thousand years. I have dim, distant memories of sitting around a campfire eating antelope and gallivanting with Nubian maidens. I'm having serious problems adjusting to present-day Egypt.”

He looked so unhappy that I finally agreed to let him tag along, and off we went in pursuit of his lost love and my lost money. Gradually the alley turned into a minor street and then a major thoroughfare, but it remained just as empty, probably because when people got a gander at Friday they just naturally remembered that they had urgent business elsewhere.

We finally came to one house that was all lit up like a Christmas tree, and since no one answered when we knocked at the door, we moseyed around back and found ourselves in the midst of a garden party. I could see that Friday was likely to prove a considerable social hazard, because the second he rounded the corner of the house everyone lit out for the hills except for two bearded men who immediately fell to arguing amongst themselves as to whether he was from the Ninth or the Eleventh Dynasty. When Friday helpfully put in that he was Amenophis III, they both turned on him and told him not to interrupt in matters that he knew nothing about.

“But I
am
Amenophis!” he protested.

“What the hell do you know about it?” demanded the smaller of the two men. “That would date you much too late. From the style of your leg bandages, you're much more likely to be Userkaf or perhaps Sahura.”

“No,” said Friday firmly. “I'm confused about a lot of things, but if there is one thing I know with absolute certainty, it's that I'm Amenophis III.”

“You are, are you?” said the taller one nastily. “Then how come you don't know that Amenophis is merely an Anglicization of Amen-hetep?”

“That's what I said,” interjected Friday hastily. “I'm Amen-hetep III. I just used Amenophis to make it easier for you gentlemen.”

“So you think the Colossi were set up in your honor, do you?” snarled the smaller man. “You think you're the guy who's credited with building the Temple of Amen-Ra at Karnak?”

“How do I know what I've been credited with?” said Friday. “I've been away.”

“Piffle!” snapped the larger of the two men. “Do you hear me? I say
piffle!
You're Ninth Dynasty, and that's all there is to it!”

“Eleventh!” protested the smaller man. “Look at the eyeholes!”

“Age could do that,” said his companion. “After all, he's at least four thousand years old.”

“Three thousand,” said Friday petulantly.

“Keep out of this!” they snapped in unison.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I said, stepping forward, “but may I interrupt you for just a moment?”

“Are you with the mummy?” asked the smaller man suspiciously.

“In a manner of speaking,” I replied.

“Is he Ninth or Eleventh Dynasty?” he asked me.

“Brother, I never discuss politics, religion, or Egyptian dynasties,” I said firmly.

“My God!” said the taller man in shocked amazement. “What else is there?”

“Well, for one thing, there's naked white women,” I said.

“He's right,” nodded the smaller man thoughtfully. “There
is
that.”

“Have you happened to see any this evening?” I persisted.

“Any what?”

“Any naked white women.”

“I'm afraid not,” said the taller man.

“Damn!” muttered Friday.

“I'm terribly sorry,” continued the taller man, “but it's really not the sort of thing one might expect to see at a cocktail party for Egyptologists.”

“More's the pity,” added the smaller man. “But why do you ask?”

“We seem to have misplaced one,” I said.

“l didn't know they were that easy to misplace,” remarked the taller one thoughtfully.

“She was my beloved,” said Friday mournfully.

“Ah!” said the smaller man. “That would be Thi, daughter of Kallimma-Sin.”

“Only if you accept his cock-and-bull story about being Amen-hetep,” pointed out the taller one. “Otherwise, she's probably Nitaqert.”

“Nitaqert!” screamed his colleague. “Impossible! You've got the wrong dynasty, the wrong wife, and the wrong color!”

Well, their tempers got to flaring up then, so Friday and I just kind of walked back around to the street and continued on our quest. Friday was about as happy as a lovelorn mummy can be, since he had finally found out his lost love's name, but I was getting more depressed with every passing minute, because the longer it took to hunt Rosepetal down, the more likely it was that she'd be able to find some clothing—and if we couldn't find a naked white woman on the streets of Cairo, our chances of finding a particular clothed one didn't seem all that promising.

“Think, Friday!” I said as we walked up and down the avenues. “Where would she be likely to go?”

“I have no idea,” he replied, “and I'll thank you to call me Amen-hetep or else risk bringing my godly wrath down upon yourself.”

And then it came to me in a flash: If
I
were in Rosepetal's britches (figuratively speaking, you understand) and I had as much dishonestly-come-by money as she did, the first thing I'd want to do would be to leave the country. And, being a white woman, it made sense that she'd wait for the next ship out of here where all the white folks did: at Shepheard's Hotel.

I conveyed this line of insightful reasoning to Friday, who, having nothing better to offer by way of suggestions, decided to accompany me. We reached Shepheard's, which had become a jumping-off place for no end of wealthy tourists, just as the sun was starting to rise, and walked up to the registration desk.

“I don't mean to unduly alarm you, sir,” said the concierge, “but are you aware of the fact that there is a rather large mummy following you?”

“Yes, I am,” I said. “I wonder if I might see your guest register?”

“It doesn't bother you?” he asked.

“What doesn't?” I asked.

“The mummy.”

“Not a bit,” I said. “If it disturbs you, I'll have it wait outside.”

“That won't be necessary,” he said in a resigned tone of voice. “When you've worked this desk as long as I have, a mummy can be a pretty trivial thing, if you know what I mean.”

I assured him that I knew exactly what he meant, and began reading the guest book. “I don't find the name I'm looking for here,” I said at last, “but the party in question may very well have been traveling incognito. Has anyone checked in during the past two or three hours?”

“Would you have in mind a young lady who gave every appearance of having dressed in rather a hurry?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The very person!” I exclaimed.

“I must say, she has a peculiar notion of incognito,” he remarked.

“I'd sort of like to surprise her,” I said with a knowing smile. “What room is she in?”

“I'm afraid that releasing room numbers is against the rules of the hotel,” he replied stiffly.

“That's a pity,” I said, stepping aside as Friday walked forward and grabbed him around the neck. “It seems that strangling concierges isn't against any particular rules that govern the behavior of mummies.”

“207!” he gurgled. Friday released him and he slid to the floor behind the counter as we raced to the stairs. A moment later we were standing in front of the door to Room 207. I knocked twice, and heard a familiar voice ask who was there.

“Room service,” I said.

Rosepetal opened the door, and I stepped in.

“Why, Lucifer!” she exclaimed, startled. “What a pleasant surprise!”

She was wearing a sporty brown suit with matching shoes, all of which looked mighty expensive. I let out a curse the second I saw them.

“Just how the hell much did those duds cost you?” I demanded.

“Not that much,” she said, backing away and shoving a small table between us. “I still had enough left to buy a suitcase and to book passage out of this stupid country.”

“You spent it all?” I screamed. “All of it?”

“Well, I
am
fleeing for my life, you know,” she said. “I have no intention of being here when—” She let out a little shriek as Friday entered the room. “Oh my God!” she cried. “He's back!”