THE MUMMY

There are worse things than being in Cairo in the summer.

You can, for example, be in Cairo in the summer with no money, no food, no friends, one suit of clothes, and a crazy Dutchman spreading vile and terrible lies about you to anyone who will listen.

Or you can be in Cairo in the summer with no money, no food, no friends, one suit of clothes, a crazy Dutchman spreading vile and terrible lies about you to anyone who will listen, and be stalked down a lonely alleyway by a tall dark figure that keeps just out of sight.

Which I was.

In point of fact, the street, which was pretty well lit, was just a few short yards away, but it was presently populated by a trio of young men with whom I had recently indulged in certain games of chance involving laminated cardboard rectangles with interesting and intricate markings onboth sides. Not wishing to bring up bitter memories, I felt it wise to remain off the beaten track, so to speak, when it suddenly came to my attention that my particular track wasn't quite so unbeaten as I might have wished.

Every time I took a step so did this shadow behind me, and every time I stopped it stopped too. At first I didn't pay it much attention, since I had nothing anyone could possibly want, but then I got to thinking, and decided that any civilized man might well have something some of these Egyptians might want, if only his shoes.

Well, this cat-and-mouse business went on for the better part of twenty minutes, at the end of which time I would have traded my soul for a cold bottle of beer, inasmuch as being stalked through the slums of Cairo is mighty thirsty work, when finally this figure stepped out of the shadows holding a wicked-looking dagger in its hand.

“It's all a mistake!” I hollered, throwing my hands up over my head. “This resemblance between me and Rudolph Valentino is purely superficial! I ain't made away with no Egyptian women that I can recall.”

“Aw, goddamnit, it's you!” muttered a deep voice. “What the hell are you doing here at this time of night, Lucifer?”

I edged closer to get a better look. It turned out to be the English-speaking porter.

“Why ain't you back with your tribesmen, hightailing it for Uganda?” I asked when I'd finally recognized him.

“I decided to stay here and seek fame and fortune,” he replied, lowering his dagger.

“You expect to find them in an alley at four in the morning?” I asked.

“This wasn't my first choice,” he admitted sheepishly. “But did you ever try to rob a bank with only a knife?”

“So why didn't you buy a gun?” I asked with a certain detached curiosity.

“With what?” he demanded. “All I have is this damned loincloth. Lucifer, I'm freezing to death!”

“Well, brother,” I told him, “freezing to death is one thing I don't have to worry about.”

“No?” he said skeptically.

“No,” I assured him. “I'm gonna starve to death long before that.”

“Well, sorry to have bothered you,” he said, walking off.

“Hold on!” I called after him. “Maybe we ought to pool our resources and form a partnership.”

“I don't know about that,” he said after some thought. “Your last partner is probably drinking my wife's blood at this very moment.”

“But he's happy and well-fed,” I pointed out. “You gotta consider exactly who and what my last partner was.”

“True,” he said slowly. “But none of this poor black heathen crap. We're equal partners or the whole thing's off and I'll probably rob you of your clothes.”

“Brother,” I said sincerely, “you got me all wrong. The Good Lord explicitly forbids me to take advantage of partners of any race, especially when they got me beat by six inches and a good fifty pounds. By the bye, what's your name?”

“You couldn't pronounce it,” he said haughtily.

“Try me,” I said.

“Kanchupja,” he said.

“That being the case, I will call you Friday,” I told him.

He shrugged in assent.

“Friday it is, then,” I said. “And now, Friday, my partner and cherished friend, I don't suppose you've got any foodstuffs to toss into our mutual pool of resources?”

He held his naked arms above his near-naked body and turned once around. “Just where do you suppose I'd be hiding them, Lucifer?” he asked.

“Just curious,” I said.

“I see that you've got an undershirt and a top shirt on,” said Friday. “I don't suppose you'd care to turn one of them over to me?”

“Ain't no sense both of us freezing,” I replied. “You ain't using your head at all tonight, Friday. It occurs to me that just based on brainpower alone, a fifty-fifty partnership may not be the most equitable arrangement ever to come down the pike.”

“You can be an equal partner or a naked victim,” said Friday seriously “I don't recall offering you a third alternative.” He placed his hand meaningfully on the hilt of his dagger.

“Well, partner, as long as you put it that way, I guess everything is settled,” I said quickly.

We decided to set off in search of food and clothing. By sunrise we still weren't exactly the best-dressed or fattest men in town, so when a crowd began forming on one of the main thoroughfares, we just naturally followed them, hoping for a handout or two, or at least a couple of bulging and unprotected pockets.

What we found was a caravan filled to the brim with golden statues and other baubles, all of them worth a pretty penny or two. Some fellow in khaki shorts and shirt and an oversized pith helmet was standing next to all this stuff, answering questions that a bunch of reporters was tossing up at him.

“What seems to be causing all the commotion, brother?” I asked a European who was standing on the outskirts of the crowd, trying to get a peek of the goings-on.

“Why, don't you ever read a newspaper, friend?” he replied. “This is the first load of treasure to be removed from King Tut's tomb.”

“And where might I find this King Tut?” I asked, figuring that any king who gave away gold in such quantities ought to have a little food and a couple of suits left over for a young and modest Christian gentleman who had just undergone months of privation on the Dark Continent.

“I guess you don't read the papers at that!” laughed the European. “King Tutankhamen has been dead for more than three thousand years.”

“Just settling the estate now, are they?” I asked, not wishing to appear unduly ignorant.

My companion shook his head with a smile. “King Tut's tomb was discovered on December 1 of last year by an Englishman named Lord Carnarvon and an American named Carter. It's the greatest archaeological find in history.”

“Yeah?” I replied. “What all did they find?”

“All kinds of antiques: gilt couches and alabaster vases covered with hieroglyphics. And of course they found Tut himself, the boy king who had been buried with all these marvels millennia ago.”

“So now that they found all this stuff, who are they going to sell it to?” I asked.

“Sell it?” He looked horrified. “My good man, all of these fabulous items from antiquity will be put on public display.” He looked long and hard at me, and then added: “Under extremely heavy guard, of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed, nodding my head thoughtfully. “And what about old Tut himself? They gonna finally give him a decent Christian burial?”

“You must be mad!” thundered the European. “Tut is the greatest find of all! They'll be displaying his mummy all over the world.”

“You mean to tell me, brother, that they're going to take this dead little boy all wrapped up in bandages and put him on display?” I exclaimed. “Why, it's uncivilized!”

“They're considering bids from various countries right this moment,” said my companion.

“Bids? Why would a country pay good coin of the realm to put a mummy on display?”

“They'll charge tourists and recoup their money, never fear,” he replied. “But they'll be doing it for the prestige. The profits will be merely incidental.”

I thanked him for all this information and moseyed on back to Friday, who had been busy relieving onlookers of their excess change while they were watching the caravan.

“Look, Lucifer,” he said, holding up a wad of pound notes. “At least we won't freeze or starve.”

“The possibility ain't never crossed my mind,” I said, looking around for a store that sold notions and similar goods. “But better still, I think I have hit upon our first business venture.”

“First let me get something to wear,” said Friday, heading off toward a nearby haberdashery.

I grabbed his arm, hooking it in my own, and kept walking. “Coals to Newcastle,” I said. “I'm going to dress you from head to toe.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Friday, with a suspicious look on his face.

“Brother Friday, just put yourself and your economic future in my hands,” I said reassuringly. “I promise that by nightfall you'll be the warmest man in all Egypt.”

“This isn't going to hurt, is it?” he asked warily.

“Not a bit, Brother Friday.”

“You're sure?” he persisted.

“Brother, the only thing that's getting hurt around here is my feelings when I see this lack of trust on your face,” I told him. “Now let's get to work.”

We began by hunting up a notions shop and buying a couple of hundred feet of bright white bandages. Then we found a little storefront smack-dab in the middle of the Avenue of the Pharaohs and plunked down a pound for a week's rent.

“Now what?” asked Friday as we unloaded our bandages into the empty store.

“Now you take a few shillings,” I said, “and go out shopping for a couple of pieces of white cardboard and a can of paint.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Friday, you are the most suspicious partner a mortal man ever did have!” I complained. “I'm just going out to do a little serious thinking. I keep feeling that we need a little something else, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is.”

He muttered some gibberish in Swahili and stalked off to make his purchases, while I, deciding that I could think better on my feet than sitting in the store, began walking up and down the winding streets of Cairo. I guess I had gone about half a mile when a small but very rounded figure shot out of a doorway and grabbed me by the hand.

“I have lost my heart to you, noble sir!” she breathed, her dark eyes shimmering above the veil that obscured the rest of her face—and suddenly it dawned on me exactly what our little business venture was lacking.

“It ain't nothing to be ashamed of,” I admitted, smiling down at her. “Lots of ladies have felt even stronger emotions on less notice, me being a Christian and a gentleman, and an American to boot.”

“I am overcome by an all-pervading desire to give of myself freely to you!” she whispered.

“Freely, you say?” I repeated, as she began leading me into the doorway from which she had emerged.

“Well,” she said, modestly dropping her gaze, “there is a small handling and cover charge. as well as an entertainment tax.”

“Sister,” I said, still smiling at her, “I have a feeling that you and me were meant for each other.”

“Good,” she said, and from the way her eyes kind of crinkled up at the corners I knew she was returning my grin. “Shall we get the crass commercial details over with?”

“Suits me fine,” I agreed. “Of course, I ain't got any money, but...”

“Oh, damn!” she snapped, stamping her little foot in rage. “Not another one!”

“I do have a counteroffer to make, though,” I said.

“Forget it,” she said. “Why don't you go back to sweeping them off their feet in Peoria or Biloxi or some other backwater where paupers can—”

“Where'd you ever hear of them places?” I interrupted.

“Where do you suppose?” she said, ripping the veil from her face.

“Why, you're a white woman!” I exclaimed. “What in blazes are you doing here?”

“I'm an entertainer.”

“I can see that,” I said admiringly.

“I mean a nightclub entertainer.”

“Then how—?” I began.

“There are only two nightclubs in town,” she explained. “I played for a week in each. That made me about a tenth of what I need to get back home. And now,” she added, putting her veil back over her face, “if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to work.”

“You sure you wouldn't like me to take you away from all this?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“I told you: I've got a little business proposition to make,” I said.

“Listen, mister,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “I may not be the most expensive girl in Cairo, but on the other hand you've already admitted that you don't have a penny to your name. What do you intend to pay me with?”

“One-third,” I said smiling.

“One-third of what?” she demanded.

“One-third of the stock, of course.”

“What stock are you talking about?” she said.

“The stock in our little company,” I replied. “Think it over. It's nice, safe, indoor work, and you can keep on your feet.”

“Just what kind of scam do you have going?” she asked suddenly, with just a trace of professional curiosity.

“That's a word I am unfamiliar with,” I said, “but I have the distinct impression that if I understood it I would be very sorry that I had opened my heart to you, Miss ... ah, I didn't quite catch your name?”

“Rosepetal,” she said. “Rosepetal Schultz. And no snickering.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” I replied. “And I am the Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones, pastor of the Tabernacle of Saint Luke.”

“Really?” she said dubiously. “You're not just some religious nut who's going to dress me up like a nun and then make vile suggestions?”

“Of course not!” I said. “This is strictly business. Let us proceed to our corporate headquarters on the Avenue of the Pharaohs, where I shall introduce you to our silent partner.”

“We have a silent partner?” asked Rosepetal.

“Not at the moment,” I admitted. “But by tonight he will be.”

We kept walking, talking about this and that and the next thing, and before too long we arrived at the store just as Friday was returning with his purchases.

“Well, hello!” he said, his face lighting up.

“Friday, this is Rosepetal, our new partner,” I told him.

“I don't know what Lucifer has in mind for you, but I'm all for it!” he enthused. Then he turned to me. “What do you want me to do with all this stuff I bought?”

“Start painting signs,” I said.

“What kind of signs?” he asked.

“Oh, signs that tell all and sundry that the mummy of ... Rosepetal, name a Pharaoh.”

“How about Tutankhamen?” she suggested.

“No. He's been used,” I said. “Try a different one.”

“Amenophis III is the only other one I know,” she said. “Although I suppose there must have been an Amenophis I and II.”

I turned back to Friday. “Have the signs say that the mummy of Amenophis III will be on display from six in the evening until midnight at, oh, three shillings per customer.”

“I'll have to get a paintbrush,” said Friday.

“Do that,” I said. “And buy yourself a big dinner. Charge it to the company. And Friday...”

He stopped in the doorway. “Yes?”

“I wouldn't drink too much coffee if I were you,” I said.

“Lucifer,” he said, “I hope you don't think that I'm going to let you wrap me up as a mummy!”

“Perish the thought,” I said reassuringly.

He stared long and hard at me again and then left.

“If he's not going to be the mummy, who is?” asked Rosepetal.

“Who says he's not going to be the mummy?”

“But you told him....” she began.

“I told him not to think about it,” I replied. “Good advice, too: It would only depress him. And now, if you'll excuse me for an hour or so, I have to do a little shopping. Why don't you make yourself at home and sort of tidy things up a bit?”

Within the next hour I had bought a dilapidated wooden coffin and a batch of gold foil paper and had them both sent right to the store. I picked up a couple of things for Rosepetal and then returned. Friday had finished painting the signs, and was already at work coating the coffin with the gold foil. I had Rosepetal help me hang the signs, and then we settled back to await late afternoon. There being nothing better to do to pass the time of day, I spent our remaining pound on three bottles of inexpensive but explosive vodka, and saw to it that most of the contents were poured down Friday's massive and eager gullet.

When he was properly mummylike in demeanor, which is to say stiff as a board, I carried him to the back room and wrapped him in the bandages, doing his arms and legs separately so he'd be more comfortable, and leaving just a trio of tiny holes for his nostrils and eyes. Then, since his condition hadn't changed appreciably, I had Rosepetal help me heft him over to the coffin, which was standing upright against a wall. We maneuvered him into it and then turned it away from the front window so passersby couldn't get any free looks.

“Thanks!” I panted. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

“That's the whole of it?” she said dubiously. “That's all I have to do for a third of the profits?”

“Almost all,” I said. “The rest should be a piece of cake.”

“The rest?” she said quickly. “What rest?”

“Here,” I said, withdrawing a small package I had kept in my pocket since returning. “Why don't you go into the back room and change into this?”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Your costume,” I said.

“What costume are you talking about?”

“Look,” I said calmly. “Friday's going to bring in all the mummy buffs in the city, but let's be honest: How the hell many of them can there be? Your job is to attract those customers who have absolutely no interest in mummies.”

She looked into the bag. “But there's nothing here!” she protested. “Just a necklace and a tiny little G-string!”

“What do you mean, nothing?” I said sharply. “I'll have you know that necklace alone cost me four shillings.”

“But Lucifer, I can't wear this! It's indecent!”

“A third of the profits,” I said.

“Never! I just couldn't!”

“Must be seven, eight thousand people pass here every night,” I said. “At three shillings a head.”

“Be quiet!”

“We'll each get a shilling apiece for every man, woman, and child who walks through the door.”

She grabbed the bag and stalked off to the back room. “But I think you're a low, despicable con man!” she yelled back over her shoulder.

I looked out the window, checked the sun, and reckoned that it was about a quarter to six, so I set up a table with a little cardboard cash box right by the doorway, pulled a chair over to it, and got ready to unlock the door.

“Is anyone out there with you?” called Rosepetal.

“I'm all alone,” I said.

“You're sure?”

“Positive.”

She walked out hesitantly, an absolutely gorgeous vision of a full-breasted, narrow-waisted, hot-blooded Egyptian princess. She had her hands crossed modestly in front of her, and kept peeking around to make sure I hadn't lied to her about being alone.

“I feel not unlike a fool in this getup,” she said.

“Nonsense!” I said enthusiastically. “You'll outdraw Friday fifty to one.”

“You bought the G-string in sort of a hurry, didn't you?” said Rosepetal.

“I didn't spend long hours agonizing over which one to purchase, if that's what you mean,” I replied, staring in rapt attention as she inhaled and kind of fluttered all at the same time.

“That's what I mean,” she said. “You know, Lucifer, even if the queens and princesses of ancient Egypt walked around in G-strings, which I for one am inclined to doubt, I nonetheless think it very unlikely that their G-strings possessed emblems of Buster Brown and his dog Tyge!”

She spread her hands, revealing the problem.

“So we'll say it's young King Tut and his pet dog,” I said quickly. “Who'll know the difference?”

“It's bad enough that I'm out here being a bare-breasted and bare-assed and bare-whatevered shill for you!” she snapped. “I don't intend to be an object of ridicule as well!”

“You just keep on breathing and making muscles like that and I guarantee there ain't nobody going to be laughing at you,” I said devoutly. “Now get in the window and start attracting attention. It's time to open for business.”

“Couldn't you at least have gotten one with Teddy Roosevelt?” she said, taking her place and starting to gyrate for the pedestrians. “And what about a headdress? Egyptian queens wore headdresses.”

“They also didn't chew gum,” I said, gesturing for her to empty her mouth. “Now let's just concentrate on business.”

So we did, and business concentrated right back on Rosepetal and Friday—mostly Rosepetal—and by seven o'clock we had taken in almost five hundred shillings, and Rosepetal was so tired from shimmying that she forgot all about being embarrassed. Her body glistened with sweat, but I decided not to give her a towel, since it looked for all the world like she had anointed herself with various kinds of ancient Egyptian oils and love potions and stuff like that, and I even added that fact to my spiel.

We kept up our little show for hours, Rosepetal wiggling and wriggling, me telling the customers what remarkable curiosities they were looking at, and Friday mummying it up like he'd been doing it all his life. In fact, I was giving serious thought to franchising the operation when a small, skinny little Englishman with a daintily manicured mustache walked up to me, hat in hand, and cleared his throat.

I stopped my complicated explanation of the Dance of Sublime Surrender, which Rosepetal was right in the middle of, and turned to him.

“Yes, brother,” I said, putting on my best Sunday smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I don't mean to interrupt your show,” he said apologetically, “or to intrude in matters that are none of my business, but...”

“Just spit it right out, brother,” I told him. “Don't mind interrupting Queen Cleopatra here; she'll just put everything into a holding pattern until we can get back to her.”

“Well, I was looking at the mummy of Amenophis here,” said the Englishman, “when the strangest thing happened.”

“Oh?” I said. “And what was that?”

“It winked at me.”

A woman in the audience screamed.

“I thought it distinctly odd myself,” agreed the Englishman, turning to her.

“It must be your imagination,” I said smoothly. “Mummies don't wink. And even if they did, a vigorous, manly mummy like this one would wink ather “—I gestured toward Rosepetal—"long before he'd think of winking at you.”

Suddenly Friday grunted, and three women fainted.

“My God, he's coming to life!” cried an Egyptian.

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'salready 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 mummycan 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.”

“Youwill 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 Iam 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 saypiffle! 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. “Thereis 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: IfI 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, Iam 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!”

“My beloved Thi!” he intoned, extending his arms and walking slowly toward her. “I shall take you to wife and together we shall rule my kingdom, bring order out of chaos, and produce many heirs.”

“He still thinks he's Amenophis!” she wailed.

“Oh, no, my love,” said Friday. “I know now that I am Amen-hetep.”

“Your name is Friday!” she said, practically crying. “Now leave me alone or I'll miss my boat!”

“But my beloved Thi!” he said, confused. “Can it be that the passing of the eons has dimmed your memory? I am the Pharaoh of all Egypt!”

“You're not even an Egyptian!” she said desperately. “You're a ... a Nubian!”

“Impossible!” he scoffed.

“You think not?” she said, walking up to him and avoiding his hand. “Let me try to bring you back to your senses once and for all!”

I positioned myself behind him, ready to race out the door if he got violent, while Rosepetal grabbed the end of a bandage that was coming loose at Friday's waist and began unraveling it. Pretty soon she got the most curious expression on her face, and by the time she had unwrapped the tape down to his thighbones she just quit altogether, staring kind of strangely at what she had uncovered thus far.

“Amen-hetep, dear,” she sort of crooned, “can you ever forgive me for doubting you?”

“It is forgotten,” he intoned graciously. “And you are still my beloved Thi?”

She took one last look and nodded vigorously.

He reached out and embraced her.

“Lucifer,” she said, “you'll find my ticket lying on the nightstand. Take it and leave.”

“I'll do no such thing!” I said.

“Lucifer,” she said sweetly but firmly, “if you're still in this room in ten seconds I shall ask Amen-hetep, Pharaoh of all Egypt, to execute you as slowly and painfully as possible.”

I was on my way down the hall in eight seconds flat, and I heard the door to Room 207 slam shut just as I reached the stairway.

That was the last I ever saw of Rosepetal Schultz or Friday, though she did write me after I had finally established my tabernacle to assure me that there were no hard feelings and that Amen-hetep had certain virtues that were well worth waiting a mere three thousand years for.

As for me, I wound up in Morocco, which was as far as Rosepetal could afford a ticket for, and within a mere fortnight I was holding one of the world's rarest and most valuable treasures in my hand.

It was not, as you shall see, quite as simple as it sounds.