Barnabas Tew and The Case Of The Missing Scarab Page 7

  “Oh!” said Wilfred. “Yes, quite so.” He, too, thought about it for a few minutes. “But what shall we disguise ourselves as?” he asked at last.

  Barnabas looked about for ideas. A field mouse rustled about in the grasses nearby, and a family of larks sang from the reeds that lined the riverbank. And, of course, the hippos were still there, lounging in the river. “Hmmm,” said Barnabas, considering all of these things. “Little animals, perhaps? Set wouldn’t feel threatened by two little mice poking about.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” agreed Wilfred. “But how would we make such a disguise? It’s not as if we have cloth or a needle and thread, or anything at all really.”

  “I suppose we don’t.” Barnabas sighed. “We’ll just have to make do with what is available.” He reached down, pulled up a handful of dried grass, and considered it for a moment. “This might do as fur,” he thought aloud. “But how would we affix it to ourselves?”

  Wilfred darted to the river bank (or as close as he dared, considering the ever-present hippos), and squatted to press his fingers into the mud. “This is quite thick,” he said. “Perhaps we could use it as a glue of sorts.”

  “Smashing idea!” exclaimed Barnabas, excited now that one of their problems, at least, was being solved. “And we can rip off little bits of those reeds for whiskers!”

  Immediately the two began to rush about gathering materials for their disguises. When they had enough, they approached the river bank, giving the hippos a wide berth, of course.

  “Well,” said Barnabas, looking doubtfully down at the thick, oozing mud. It stuck to the bottoms of their shoes and made slurpy suctioning sounds when they picked their feet up. There was also a ripe, earthy smell to it that wasn’t altogether pleasant.

  He didn’t much like the idea of slathering the stuff all over himself, but he liked the idea of being disassembled by Set even less and they needed the mud to get the grasses and reeds to stick to them so that he might not recognize them. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to just get it over with,” he said, and he promptly plopped himself into the mud. He rolled about so that soon he was entirely covered in the stuff.

  Laughing, Wilfred followed suit, and once they were both properly encased in mud they sat up and began sticking their collections of assorted vegetation on atop it. The mud dried quickly in the hot, perpetually noontime sun, and so it took very little time for them to complete their costumes.

  They stood up and surveyed each other’s disguises. Of course, neither looked anything like a field mouse, or like any other kind of animal at all. Instead, they merely looked like people who had rolled about in some mud and stuck grasses all over themselves.

  Each privately thought to himself that his own disguise must look a good deal better than his companion’s, but both were far too polite to say so.

  “You look…,” began Wilfred, “great.”

  “As do you,” agreed Barnabas.

  They stood there for a moment, feeling quite pleased with themselves, and then Wilfred turned to regard the river and the hippos once more.

  “So,” he said, “what shall we do about crossing the river?”

  Of course, Barnabas had no answer to this, and they were right back where they had begun. The only difference was that now they were covered in warm, dried mud that creaked and groaned when they walked and made even their light jackets feel quite stifling.

  “I think that we ought to just walk in and see how deep it is,” said Barnabas at last. “If it gets too deep, we can always just turn around.”

  “And the hippos?” asked Wilfred.

  “They probably won’t even notice us, now that we are disguised.” He eyed Wilfred’s get-up doubtfully. “Although it wouldn’t hurt to get as far upstream from them as we possibly can.”

  Wilfred reluctantly agreed that this was the only course of action open to them. They walked up the river bank as far as they could before the cliff impeded their progress. When they could go no further, they shared a glance, steeled themselves, and stepped into the cool knee-deep water.

  “Well, this is not so bad,” said Barnabas. Emboldened, he waded out even farther, followed by Wilfred.

  The hippos, for their part, were not fooled by the disguises, but neither did they have much interest in the two creatures who had bedecked themselves outlandishly and then splashed about so clumsily in the river. A few of the hippos exchanged disparaging looks, then continued about their business of lounging and bickering amongst themselves in the refreshing water.

  As Barnabas and Wilfred reached the center of the stream, the water deepened a bit, but it went no higher than their waists. The current, too, was cooperative. It pushed gently at them so that they had to angle their bodies a bit to make sure that they maintained a straight line across and didn’t drift downwards towards the hippos (who were most certainly feigning indifference, Barnabas and Wilfred were sure), but it never caused them to lose their balance or topple over.

  Of course, the water wetted the dried mud so that it washed off entirely from their waists down, taking the stuck grasses with it. This was how Anti, the falcon-headed boatman, found them: waist deep in the middle of the river with a great lot of vegetation bristling out from their heads and coats.

  Chapter Seven

  Barnabas and Wilfred were both glad to see Anti again and greeted him warmly.

  “Hullo!” called Barnabas, waving to him. Curious, Anti rowed his boat to where the two stood, the river swirling about their legs.

  “What are the two of you doing?” asked Anti.

  “We are crossing the river,” said Barnabas, “and then we must head upstream.”

  Anti sighed. He himself was heading upstream, and so there was no real reason he shouldn’t offer the two of them a ride. “And you are going…where?” he asked.

  “To Set’s house,” replied Barnabas.

  “That is quite a distance,” said Anti.

  “Oh dear,” said Barnabas.

  “Oh no,” agreed Wilfred, thinking about the uncomfortable prospect of walking a great distance in sodden shoes and eyeing Anti’s boat wistfully.

  Anti sighed again. “Hop in,” he said, somewhat regretfully. He didn’t much relish spending such a long time with the two silly detectives, but he felt sorry for them, and besides, it wasn’t as if it would take him out of his way.

  As Barnabas and Wilfred clambered aboard, they looked quite ridiculous with their upper parts entirely covered in mud and grass and their lower parts soaking wet and completely devoid of such accoutrements. Anti covered a snicker with his wing and gestured for them to sit on the bench in the prow.

  “Where are you two fine fellows off to, besides Set’s, that is?” he asked politely after they had offered him profuse thanks. He eyed their torsos with the grasses and reeds sticking out in all directions. “Is that some sort of British outfit?” he asked doubtfully.

  “No, it is our disguise,” said Wilfred.

  “A disguise for what?” asked Anti.

  “We have been hired by Anubis himself to investigate a kidnapping; indeed, it is a kidnapping that now seems to have become a case of murder most foul.” He had always wanted to say that bit about “murder most foul” and was quite pleased that at last an opportunity had come for him to bring it into conversation in a natural sort of way.

  “And so we are on our way to see Set,” added Wilfred helpfully.

  “Ah,” said Anti, frowning, still not quite certain why a visit to the god of chaos and darkness might involve plastering oneself with riparian vegetation. “I…see?”

  Seeing that Anti was still confused, Barnabas added, “As you no doubt know, Set is prone to chopping people up. Hence,” he waved his hands to indicate his clothes, “the disguises.” His tone was that of a man explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

  Anti, of course, was no more enlightened as to the reason for the disguises now than he had been before the conversation began. However, he quickly lost interest in the
topic as soon as Barnabas brought up the matter about Set’s penchant for dismembering people. His ears pricked up and he leaned forward intently.

  “And you are the official detectives on the case?” asked Anti. “Hired by Anubis himself?”

  “Yes, we are indeed,” said Barnabas proudly. “He sent for us specifically. Although,” he frowned, “of course, the way in which he got us here was most undignified and quite frightening. Completely unnecessary, don’t you think, to involve mummies?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Anti impatiently. He knew nothing about the mummies nor the manner in which Anubis had brought these two hence, nor did he wish to hear Barnabas expound upon such things. He fluttered his wings as though to hurry the conversation along. “But he brought you here, specifically, to investigate this kidnapping, this murder?”

  “Quite so!” said Barnabas. “Hence the need to interview Set in all haste, and also, well, this.” He gestured towards the bizarre disguises again, but Anti was quick to interrupt before he could go off on that particular tangent once more.

  “So you think Set has something to do with, ah, this murder that you are investigating?” he asked.

  “Why, of course,” Barnabas said. He lifted Khepre’s leg to show it to the boatman. “Who else would do something such as this!”

  “I see,” said Anti, a glint of something (malice? bitterness? spite? or perhaps it was merely the excitement of someone finding pleasure in the anticipation of something bad happening to someone else; a deplorable character trait to be sure, but yet, sadly, all too common) in his eyes. Wilfred saw the look, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He did know, however, that it made him feel a bit uneasy. “You found Khepre’s leg?” asked the falcon man eagerly.

  “Yes! It was given to us not an hour ago by…” Barnabas broke off, blinking rapidly, then drew back in suspicion. “Wait a moment! How did you know that this was Khepre’s leg that I hold?” he demanded.

  Anti sat back. “Oh,” he said nonchalantly, waving a wing dismissively, “everyone knows that it’s Khepre that has gone missing.”

  “But I don’t think that everyone knows he was dismembered. We only just found out about that bit ourselves,” replied Barnabas doubtfully.

  “Well,” sniffed Anti, putting on an air of injured sensibility, “it is quite obvious that it is an insect leg that you have in your hand. And since it is Khepre that has gone missing, and he is, indeed, an insect, and thus possessed of insect legs, plus the fact that you are going to visit Set, and Set likes to chop people up, well, it is easy enough to conclude that this must, then, be Khepre’s leg.”

  “Oh dear,” said Barnabas. He saw the sense in what Anti had said, and now he felt guilty for having offended the person who had just lifted them out of the water and was even now giving them a ride. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “It’s just been quite a trying day. I certainly hope that I didn’t offend you horribly.”

  “No matter,” said Anti in an aggrieved tone.

  “Really, I meant nothing by it. I’m a detective, you know, and it’s my job to question everyone and everything. Just being thorough, is all,” concluded Barnabas lamely.

  Anti sighed as he looked out over the water with a melancholic air, the very picture of falsely accused innocence. An awkward silence descended upon the boat, and they rowed in utter quiet for some minutes.

  “Do you know much about Set?” asked Wilfred at last in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  Anti let out a harsh laugh tinged more than a little by bitterness. “Do I know much about Set?” he asked wryly. “Oh yes, I could tell you some things about Set.”

  Barnabas and Wilfred waited expectantly, but it seemed that Anti wanted them to draw the information out of him piece by piece. Really, thought Barnabas, the manners of these underworld people were sorely lacking.

  “Perhaps, then,” he prompted, trying to keep the impatience from his voice, “you might tell us these things?”

  “Well, what exactly would you like to know?” demanded Anti.

  “Hmmm,” thought Barnabas. “I suppose I’d like to know anything that you happen to know about him,” he said.

  “I know quite a bit, so that doesn’t really narrow it down at all,” replied Anti.

  Wilfred, seeing that this conversation was swiftly going nowhere, decided to try to steer it towards a more productive course. “Have you yourself had any dealings with Set?” he asked Anti. “Anything that might cause you to think that he had some particular proclivity, some inclination, towards violence of this sort?”

  “Other than chopping up Osiris, you mean?” barked Anti in what Barnabas and Wilfred took to be a laugh. “Oh yes, that god certainly has some violent proclivities, as you say.” He said this last sarcastically, and Barnabas and Wilfred exchanged a quizzical look.

  “So,” tried Wilfred again, patiently, “what have you, personally, seen him do?”

  Anti laughed his harsh, squawking laugh again, although the sound was utterly humorless. “I’ve personally seen him chop off my toes, is what I’ve seen him do,” he said bitterly. He wiggled the stubs of his missing toes at the two detectives, and the men cringed uncomfortably.

  Barnabas, who had already gone through the process of becoming accustomed to the horribly mangled feet during his initial boat ride into the underworld, recovered himself first. “You are saying then that Set had something to do with, uh, well, your, um, misfortune there?”

  “Yes, of course he did!” exclaimed Set, his exasperation obvious. “He chopped them right off. It was a punishment, he said.”

  “Oh my!” exclaimed Barnabas, shocked. “That seems quite a stringent punishment! Whatever transgression could have warranted such a thing?”

  “It was no transgression,” answered Anti. “It was a mistake, pure and simple.”

  “Well,” prompted Wilfred again, “what was the mistake, then?”

  “Hah!” cried Anti. “Set was all about having a secret meeting with a bunch of other gods. They all wanted to take over the underworld from Osiris and Anubis. Surely you’ve heard that story?” he asked, looking at Barnabas and Wilfred.

  Barnabas looked at Wilfred and shrugged, having no idea what the ferryman was talking about, and Wilfred did the same. Then they both looked to Anti, waiting for him to explain. They all looked back and forth at each other until at last Anti sighed in an exaggeratedly beleaguered fashion.

  “Fine, fine,” he huffed. “I’ll tell the story, although I hate thinking about it.”

  “Oh, no,” said Barnabas politely, “don’t distress yourself. It’s quite alright if you don’t feel up to telling us.”

  Anti waved his wing dramatically. “No, no, it’s fine,” he said. “So, Set is having this secret meeting on an island, and I’m to ferry everyone over to it. But Isis, who is married to Osiris, was not supposed to come because she would certainly spoil their plot if she found out about it. Isis, now, is a very clever lady, and she dressed up as an old beggar woman. Her disguise was very clever. She looked nothing at all like herself, and she gave me a nice gold ring to take her over to the island so that she could beg from the gods there. It seemed innocent enough, and so I ferried her right over. How was I to know it was Isis herself I brought there?”

  “Quite so!” agreed Barnabas. “Although, if she were a beggar, you might have found it strange that she offered you a gold ring,” he suggested helpfully. “If she had a gold ring, she most certainly had no need to go begging, one would think.”

  Anti, of course, did not find this statement helpful at all. Indeed, it seemed to make him quite angry. “It was a clever trick, I tell you!” He scowled. “No one can be blamed for being fooled by Isis herself! It was not my fault, not in the slightest. Because she snuck into the meeting and ruined all of their grand plans, Set blamed me and took off my toes in sheer malice.”

  The poor falcon-headed boatman was getting quite worked up talking about it, so that Wilfred and Barnabas could see his face was flushi
ng red under his feathers.

  Wilfred attempted to soothe him. “Perhaps he is sorry about that,” he offered. “Have you talked to him since?”

  “Talked to him since?” sputtered Anti. “Of course not. I steer well away from Set. The god is a psychopath, I tell you.”

  Barnabas and Wilfred both wondered how an Egyptian god had managed to learn modern psychiatric jargon, but there was no time to ask for they had reached their destination. A large, black castle loomed on the east side of the riverbank. There was a dark wooden pier, followed by a black gravel path that led up to the castle.

  Anti steered the boat expertly to the pier and held the boat steady so that his passengers could disembark. “Be careful,” he warned ominously, once Barnabas and Wilfred stood on the creaking, rotting wood of the pier. “I’m quite certain that Set is your villain. He’s the killer, mark my words. And I’ve taken a liking to you both and so I would hate to see anything horrific happen to you,” he said, significantly looking at his missing toes. With that, he rowed away without even a glance back at his erstwhile passengers.

  Barnabas, who had been waving farewell to him (just as he had done the last time Anti let him off his boat and then unceremoniously rowed away), lowered his hand awkwardly.

  “Hmmph,” he said, feeling a bit put out.

  “Did you notice,” whispered Wilfred, once Anti had paddled away far enough to be out of ear shot, “how strange his manner was, especially when we first asked him about Set? It seemed almost as if he wanted to tell us the information but didn’t want to seem eager to be telling us.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t want to be a tattle-tale?” suggested Barnabas. “Or perhaps he is afraid of Set. The fellow did chop off his toes, after all. One can see how someone might be loath to give testimony against such a ruffian as that.”

  “I suppose that could be so,” agreed Wilfred. Indeed, Barnabas’ theory on the matter made quite a good bit of sense, and was the easiest and most logical conclusion. Something, however, about the falcon-headed boatman seemed a bit off to Wilfred. Still, he supposed that he felt that way about this entire place, strange as it was. So he shrugged and disregarded his misgivings on the subject of Anti as due merely to the utterly foreign nature of this place and its inhabitants. After all, Anti had proved most helpful by delivering them as close as he dared to Set’s estate.