The Mummy or Ramses the Damned (47 page)

“I am, though today I’ve witnessed things that would sicken a monster.”

“You should never have followed me to the museum.”

Elliott nodded. He picked up the bottle, uncorked it and filled the glass. Whisky. Ah, yes. He took a stiff drink.

“I know I shouldn’t have followed you,” he said. “It was a young man’s folly. And maybe I would be young again … forever.”

He looked at Ramsey. There was more than a touch of majesty to the man in these white robes. He looked biblical, larger
than life. His blue eyes were rimmed with red, however. And he was weary, and suffering. That was quite clear.

“I want the elixir,” Elliott said politely. “Once you’ve given it to me, once I’ve drunk it, then I’ll tell you where she is. And she shall become your responsibility. And believe you me, I don’t envy you. Though I have done all that I could.”

“What state is she in? I want to know precisely.”

“Healed, but not enough. She is beautiful and she is deadly. She killed Henry, and his Egyptian mistress, Malenka.”

Ramsey said nothing for a moment, then:

“Well, young Stratford got what he deserved, to use your modern expression. He murdered his uncle. He tried to murder his cousin. I rose from the grave to stop him. The story he told you of my trying to strangle him was true.”

Elliott sighed. Another great wash of relief passing through him, but not without bitterness, deep bitterness. “I knew it … the part about Lawrence. About Julie I never guessed.”

“With my poisons,” Ramses sighed.

“I loved Lawrence Stratford,” Elliott whispered. “He was my … my lover, once, and always my friend.”

Ramses gave a small nod of respect.

“This killing, was it easy for her? How did it come about?”

“She is incalculably strong. I’m not sure she fully understands what death is. She killed Henry because he was firing a gun at her. Malenka she killed because the girl was frightened and had begun to scream. She broke the necks of these two people. The maid in the museum, the same.”

“She speaks?”

“Clearly. She picks up English from me as if imbibing it. She told me who she was. But something’s wrong with her, something profound. She does not really know where she is, or what’s happening to her. And she suffers. She suffers unspeakably because of the great gaping sores on her body, through which the bones are visible. She suffers anguish and physical pain.” Elliott took another drink of the whisky. “The damage to her body—surely there is similar damage to her brain.”

“You must take me to her immediately!”

“I gave her what was left in the vial, the one you so carelessly dropped in the museum. I applied it to her face and her hands. But much more is needed.”

“You saw it work? It shrank these wounds?”

“Yes. But the sunlight had already healed her enormously.”
Elliott paused; he studied Ramsey’s seemingly impassive face, the blue eyes staring forward. “But surely this is no mystery to you!”

“You’re wrong.”

Mechanically Ramses lifted the glass and drank.

“A quarter of the vial, that’s all that was left,” Elliott said. “Would it have been enough for me, if I had drunk it instead of giving it to her?”

“I don’t know.”

Elliott smiled bitterly.

“I am not a scientist. Only a King.”

“Well, you have my proposition, Your Royal Highness. You give me the elixir. And in a quantity sufficient to resolve all doubts. And I shall give you Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, to do with as you like.”

Ramses looked at him directly. “And suppose I told you I would kill you if you did not tell me where she was?”

“Kill me. Without the elixir I’ll die anyway. Those are the only two things I think of now: death and the elixir. I’m not sure I can distinguish between the two any longer.” One more glass of whisky, that was all he could handle. He drank it down and made a faint bitter face. “Look, I’ll be frank with you. I have no stomach for what I’ve seen today. But I want that potion. And all else collapses in the face of that desire.”

“Yes, how well I remember. Yet it didn’t for her. She chose death. To be with her beloved Mark Antony, though I held it out to her. That was her choice.”

“Then she didn’t really know what death was.”

Ramses smiled.

“In any case, that, I am certain, she doesn’t remember. And if she does, I doubt she cares. She’s alive now, suffering, struggling with her wounds, her hungers …” He stopped.

Ramses leaned forward. “Where is she!”

“Give it to me. And I will help you with her. I will do anything that I can. We won’t be enemies, you and I. We aren’t enemies now, are we?”

“No, not enemies!” Ramses whispered. His voice was soft, but his eyes were full of anger. “But I can’t give it to you. It’s far too dangerous. You simply do not understand.”

“Yet you raised her from the dead like a bloody alchemist!” Elliott said heatedly. “And you will give it to Julie Stratford, will you not? And your devoted friend, Samir?”

Ramses didn’t answer. He rested back against the wall, eyes forward again.

Elliott stood up.

“I’ll be at Shepheard’s. When you’ve brewed the elixir, call me there. I’ll know your voice when you call. But be careful. Then we shall arrange another meeting.”

Gathering up his walking stick, he started for the door. He did not look back, hard as that was for him. His face was burning with shame. But this was the only feeble chance that remained to him, and he played it out, miserable though he was.

There was a moment of fear as he walked in the dark alleyway alone. He was keenly aware not only of all the familiar aches and pains that plagued him, but also of the general weakness from which he was suffering, the premature curse of old age. Then it occurred to him that Ramses would follow!

He stopped, listened. Not a sound in the darkness. He went on.

She stood in the front room; she had not made up her mind whether or not she should kill this noisy bird. It was being quiet at this moment, clucking, dancing on its perch. And it was beautiful. If it did not scream, she would not kill it. That seemed fair enough.

The body of the dancing girl had begun to rot. She had dragged it into the farthest corner of the garden and there thrown a great cloth over it; but still she could smell it.

Even in the back kitchen she could smell it. But that had not stopped her from consuming all the food she could find. A few lemons, very sweet: a loaf of stale bread.

After that she had changed into one of the other “frocks,” to use the American’s word for frilly dress. This one was white; she liked it because it made her skin look very fine and faintly golden; and it had even bigger skirts with great ruffles to hide her feet.

The pain in her feet was bad. So was the pain in her side. If Lord Rutherford did not come soon, she would go out again. Though how to find him, she had no idea. It had been hard enough finding this house again. She had driven the American motor car to the outskirts of this curious part of the city where the houses were old and without colour or decoration, and then she had wandered through the narrow streets until she saw the open door. Now she was growing impatient.

Suddenly she heard a knock.

“Your name?” she said in English.

“Elliott, Lord Rutherford. Open for me.”

She opened the door at once.

“I have waited a long while for you, Lord Rutherford. You have brought the elixir to me? You know where is the man with the blue eyes?”

Lord Rutherford was startled by her English. She gave a little shrug of her shoulders as she closed the door. “Oh, yes, your language is no puzzle to me,” she said. “In the streets of this city today I heard much of it and other such tongues. I learned many things. It’s the past that’s the puzzle, the world I can’t remember!” Suddenly she felt angry. Why was he staring at her like that! “Where is Ramses!” she demanded. She was certain that that was the name of the man with the blue eyes.

“I spoke with him. I told him what was needed.”

“Yes, Lord Rutherford.” She approached him. He backed away from her. “Do you fear me?”

“I don’t know. I want to protect you,” he whispered.

“Ah, true. And Ramses, the blue-eyed one. Why does he not come?” Something unpleasant, something very unpleasant. A dim image of Ramses backing away from her. Of Ramses standing many feet away from her as she cried out. Something about the venom of the snake and … she was screaming, but no one could hear her! And then they pulled the black cover over her face. She turned away from Lord Rutherford. “If I remembered nothing, it would be easier,” she whispered. “But I see it, and then I see it no more.” She turned back to him.

“You have to be patient,” Lord Rutherford said. “He will come.”

“Patient! I don’t want to be patient. I want to find him. Tell me where he is. I shall go to him.”

“I can’t. That’s impossible!”

“Is it!” Her voice had risen to a shriek. She saw the fear in him, she saw the … what was it? He was not repelled as the others had been. No, it was something else as he stared at her. “Tell me where to find him!” she screamed. She took another step towards him, driving him towards the wall. “I will tell you a secret, Lord Rutherford. You are weak, all of you. Strange beings! And I like killing you. It soothes my pain to watch you die.”

She rushed at him, grabbing him by the throat. She would
shake the truth from him, and then kill him if he did not tell her. But suddenly strong hands laid hold of her, wrenching her backwards. For a moment she could not get her bearings; she screamed, blundering, and then saw the blue-eyed man standing before her. Who was this! She knew, ah, but it was just beyond her grasp. Yet the word broke from her: “Ramses!” Yes, this was Ramses, the blue-eyed one.… She ran at him with her hands out.

“Get out,” he shouted to the other. “Get away from here. Go.”

His throat felt like marble. She could not snap the bones! But he could not throw her off, either, no matter how hard he tried. Vaguely, she knew that Elliott, Lord Rutherford, had left the house, slamming the door behind him. And she was alone now, battling her nemesis, Ramses, who at another time had turned away from her; Ramses, who had hurt her. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember. It was like the name. She knew!

Through the room they struggled and into the other. She freed her right hand only long enough to scratch at him with her bone-bare fingers, before he caught her wrist again. With all her strength she fought him, seething with rage. Then she saw his hand go up. She tried to duck, but the blow caught her, and she fell back on the bed. Sobbing, she turned and pushed her face into the pillows. She could not kill him! She could not snap his neck.

“Damn you,” she roared, not in the new tongue but in the old one. “Evil Ramses!” She spat at him as she lay there, hands drawn under her breast, gazing up at him, wishing she had the strength of a cat to spring at him and slice open his eyes.

Why did he look at her like that? Why did he weep?

“Cleopatra!” he whispered.

Her vision blurred for an instant; a load of memories so vast and heavy hovered just near her, ready to wipe out the moment utterly, should she give in. Dark, awful memories, memories of suffering she never wanted to revisit again.

She sat up on the bed, looking at him, puzzling over the tender, wounded expression of his face.

Handsome man he was; beautiful. Skin like the young ones; firm, sweet mouth. And the eyes, the large, translucent blue eyes. She saw him in another place, a dark place, as she rose up out of the abyss. He’d been bending over her saying the ancient prayer in Egyptian.
You are, now and for always
.

“You did this to me,” she whispered. She heard the glass breaking, the boards shattering, felt those stones under her feet. Her arms had been blackened, withered! “You brought me here, to these ‘modern times,’ and when I reached out to you, you ran from me!”

Like a boy, he bit his lip; trembling, tears washing down his cheeks. Should she pity him in his suffering!

“No, I swear it,” he said in the old familiar Latin. “Others came between us. I would never have left you.”

This was a lie. An awful lie. She had tried to rise off the couch. The poison of the snake was paralyzing her. Ramses! In panic, she’d called out; she could hear her own call. But he hadn’t turned from the window. And the women around her, they pleaded with him. Ramses!

“Liar!” she hissed. “You could have given it to me! You let me die!”

“No.” He shook his head. “Never.”

But wait. She was confusing two different crucial events. Those women. They hadn’t been there when he said the prayers. She’d been alone … forever and ever. “I’d been sleeping, in a dark place. And then you came. And I felt pain again. Pain and hunger, and I knew you. I knew who you were! And I hated you!”

“Cleopatra!” He came towards her.

“No, stay back. I know what you’ve done! I knew it before. You’ve brought me back from the dead!” she whispered. “That’s what you’ve done. From the grave, you raised me. And this is the evidence of it, these wounds!” Her voice had almost dried in her throat from pure bitterness. Then she felt the scream coming; she gasped, unable to hold it off.

He grabbed her by the arms, shook her.

“Let me go!” she cried. Calm now. No scream.

For a moment, he held on to her and she allowed it; after all, fighting him was useless. But then she smiled slowly. The thing was to use her wits. To understand all this once and for all.

“Oh, but you are very handsome, aren’t you?” she said. “Were you always so beautiful? When I knew you before, we made love, didn’t we?” She lifted her fingers and touched his lip. “I like your mouth. I like the mouths of men. Women’s mouths are too soft. I like the silkiness of your skin.”

Slowly she kissed him. Before it had happened; before it had been so heated that all other men had meant nothing to her. If
only he had given her the freedom, the patience, she would have always returned to him; why hadn’t he understood? She had to live and breathe as the Queen of Egypt. Hmmmmm, kissing him, hot as it had been then.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned.