The Phantom and the Fisherman (5 page)
The noise of the crowd outside roared and swirled around them. So they didn’t hear the phantom when he arrived. “Still here, old woman?” the voice roared.
Ahmose jumped.
Menes peered out from the lid of the chest and made out the figure of a large man with a black cloth over his head to hide his face. There were holes cut out for his mouth and eyes.
Ahmose called back, “Here! Here! Here! Watch who you’re calling “old”. I’m only sixty summers old – King Pepi lived to a hundred or more.”
“You’re old enough to be my granny,” the phantom snarled.
“No I’m not, you young monkey!” Ahmose said and his voice was perfect.
“Look, you withered old baboon, if I can’t scare you out then I’ll have to throw you out,” he said and moved towards the couch.
“Phantoms can’t hurt the living,” Ahmose told him.
“No?”
“No! You’re just a spirit. You can’t pick me up.”
“Yes I can! I’m an extra-strong spirit.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“Let me see … pick up that bowl of beer by the statue of Bes,” Ahmose said and waved a shaking finger towards the statue by the lamp.
The phantom wandered across to the table and picked up the bowl of strong beer. “See? Told you!” he crowed.
“But I’ll bet you can’t drink it,” Ahmose urged.
“Watch me,” the phantom said and sipped the beer.
“Ooooh! Nice drop of beer that,” he said smacking his lips. “I’ve had a few tonight but none as nice and strong as this.” He put it to his lips and swallowed it all.
Then he stepped back. He seemed to catch his heel on the rush mat and sat down heavily. “Oooof!” he grunted then belched. He swayed. “Ooooh! Just have a little sit down, I think.”
The big body swayed and the mask hung crookedly so he was looking out through one eye and the mouth-hole.
“Just sit down? You didn’t come here to sit down. You came to rob me, you villain!” Ahmose cried.
“Rob ’oo,” the phantom said. “Not rob ’oo. Just come to get what belongs to me.”
Menes slowly raised the lid of the chest further. He put down the pen and picked up the net.
The phantom didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy trying to talk to Ahmose on the old woman’s couch. And talking was hard because the words were getting muddled in his mouth.
“What belongs to you, you villain?” Ahmose asked as Menes crept around behind him.
“Me tresher … me trea-sure. I buried it here five summers ago before I was banished from Karnak. I hid it under the floor of me house. But when I came back I found you’d knocked down me house and built yours in its place.”
Suddenly the large man began to sob. “Me tresher! Me lovely tresher. All I want’s me treeeesher! Waaaagggghhhh!”
And to soak up the tears he pulled off the mask.
Ahmose jumped from the bed as Menes jumped from the shadows to throw the net over the fat man. “Master Meshwesh!” the boys cried.
“Wesh mesh?” the man bubbled. “Wish-wash, mess-mish!”
As Menes tied the rope tightly the fat teacher rolled on to the floor and began to snore.
The governor’s guards came and took the terrible teacher away. That night they dug up the treasure and returned it to their master, Payneshi.
The next day Meshwesh was dragged in front of the governor. “I should have you beaten to death, Meshwesh,” he said.
“Yes, governor,” Meshwesh groaned.
“And I should give the beating job to the young scribes.” The whole school was there to see the trial. “Would you like that boys?” Payneshi asked.
“Yes!” the boys roared.
