The Magic and the Mummy (3 page)
Inside the House of Death dozens of men and women hurried about their tasks. When Neria’s father came near they stopped and bowed.
There were twenty tables under the rippling white roof and every one had a body on it. The priest walked up to a man in a black robe and said, “Has it started, Thekel?”
Thekel was a large man with a small, round head. It was shaved and his ears stuck out like handles on a water jug. He smiled happily.
“It has started, Lord. The old Pharaoh became a god last night at moonrise. They’re dumping his body here later on today.”
Neria’s father pulled a face as if cheerful Thekel’s words had hurt. He turned and said, “This is my daughter, Neria. She’ll deal with Bastet.”
Neria was puzzled. She knew that Bastet was the cat-god who looked after their corn.
Thekel grinned his simple grin. “We need all the hands we can get.”
“Teach her what to do,” her father ordered.
“Leave it to me. Let’s start with the brain-pulling, shall we?” he asked.
Before Neria could answer, her father said, “No! Wait. If the Pharaoh’s body is arriving this afternoon we need to get Nesumontu out of the way. Let’s do it now.”
Thekel winked at Neria. “Won’t be long, mistress. I’ll have him gutted in no time.”
He clapped his hands and the priests gathered round. “Right, my Lords. We need to get Nesumontu ripped open. Let’s make it snappy … as the crocodile said to the fish.”
The priests shuffled around one table where the body of a withered old man lay. They began to chant a prayer and their voices filled the tent.
They looked to the east where light from the eye of Horus was pouring in to the tent.
Neria shuddered when she saw the great god Anubis walk out of the sun and towards the body. He had the body of a man but the big-eared, sharp-nosed head of a monstrous jackal.
Neria had expected to see the dead here. But this was a shock. This was Anubis … the God of the Dead himself.
Anubis walked between the tables and stumbled. He caught his toe on the leg of a table. The leg cracked, the table fell and the mummy of a man rolled onto the floor.
“Ohhhh!” Anubis roared with pain and anger. He raised his hands, grasped his ears and pulled. Neria blinked as Anubis pulled his head off.
But the head of Anubis was just a mask. Under the mask was the red and angry face of her father. “I hate this mask,” he grumbled as the chanting of the priests became a jumble of noise and stuttered to an end. “Can’t see a blind thing.”
He threw the mask to the ground and limped to the table where the old man’s body lay. “Has someone scooped out the brain?”
A young priest held up a bowl of grey mush. “Yes, Lord.”
“We’re in a hurry,” Neria’s father said. He looked at the body. “Sorry, Nesumontu,” he sighed. “I’ll have to do you without the mask.”
A priest handed Neria’s father a pen made from a reed and a pot of ink. He marked a line about the length of his hand on the old man’s side then turned to the man in black. “Right, Thekel, get on with it!”
Thekel took a sharp stone knife from his belt and sliced along the line her father had just drawn. He plunged his hand into the body, wriggled it around and quickly pulled out the stomach. A priest took it and wrapped it in a cloth. He took it off to a stone jar and plopped it in.
