The Mummy or Ramses the Damned (56 page)

“I can’t go back to London,” she said. “But I will get Alex on that train.”

Destroy the elixir
. He stood before the mirror. He had put on most of the required garments, taken from the trunk of Lawrence Stratford—the shining black trousers, shoes, belt. Naked from the waist up, he stared at his own reflection. The moneybelt girded him as it had since he left London. And the vials gleamed in their canvas pockets.

Destroy the elixir. Never use it again
.

He lifted the stiff white shirt and put it on carefully, working the impossible buttons. He saw Elliott Savarell’s drawn and weary face.
You will persuade Julie to go back to London—until this is over
.

Beyond the windows, the city of Cairo seethed quietly with the great noise of modern cities, a sound he had never heard in ancient times.

Where was she, the dark-haired queen with the violent blue eyes? He saw her again, sighing under him, her head thrown back on the pillows,
same flesh
. “Suckle me!” she’d cried out as she had done so long ago; back arched like a cat. And then the smile on her face; a stranger’s smile.

“Yes, Master Alex,” Walter said into the telephone, “to suite two-oh-one, I’ll bring your clothes right away. But do call your father in Miss Stratford’s suite. He’s eager to get in touch with
you. He’s worried that he hasn’t seen you all day. So much has happened, Master Alex—” But the connection was already broken. Quickly he rang Miss Stratford. No answer. He had no time. He had to hurry with the clothes.

Cleopatra stood at the window. She had dressed in the gorgeous gown of pure silver which she had taken from the poor woman in the little shop. Ropes of pearls fell down over the swell of her breasts. She had never done her hair properly; in a dark black veil it hung down about her, moist still from the bath, and full of perfume, and she liked it. It made her smile bitterly to think it was like being a girl again.

Running through the palace gardens, her hair her cloak.

“I like your world, Lord Alex,” she said as she watched the winking lights of Cairo under the paling evening sky. The stars seemed so lost above this dazzling splendour. Even the headlamps moving through the streets had a soothing beauty. “Yes, I like your world. I like everything about it. I want to have money and power in it; and for you to be at my side.”

She turned. He was staring at her as if she’d hurt him. She ignored the knock at the door.

“Dearest, those things don’t always go hand in hand in my world,” he said. “Lands, a title, education—these I have, but money I do not.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, so relieved it was only that. “I shall acquire the wealth, my lord, that’s nothing. Not when one is invulnerable. But there are some scores I must settle first. I must hurt someone who has hurt me. I must take from him … what he took from me.”

The knock sounded again. As if waking from a dream, he took his eyes off her and went to the door. A servant. His evening clothes had come.

“Your father’s already left, sir. Your tickets will be at the box office under his name.”

“Thank you, Walter.”

There was barely time for him to dress. As he shut the door, he looked at her again, curiously, with that little touch of sadness.

“Not now,” she said, quickly kissing him. “And we may use these tickets, may we not?” She picked up off the dressing table the pair she’d stolen from the poor dead boy in the alleyway, the little papers which said “Admit One.”

“But I want you to meet my father, I want you to meet all of them. I want them to meet you.”

“Of course you do, and I shall, soon enough. But let us be alone somewhere lost in the crowd so that we can be together. We shall see them when it suits us. Please?”

He wanted to protest, but she was kissing him, stroking his hair again. “Let me have a chance to see your lost love Julie Stratford from a distance.”

“Oh, but none of that matters now,” he said.

NOTHER MODERN palace—the Opera House, swarming with bejeweled women in gowns the colours of the rainbow, and the men beside them, elegant in white and black. How curious it was, all colours belonging to the females. The males wore uniforms, it seemed, each perfectly identical with the other. She blurred her eyes, to see the reds and blues dancing independently of all detail.

She watched the great surge up the grand staircase. She felt admiring glances on her; the soft glaze of admiration like a light on her skin.

Lord Summerfield beamed at her with pride and affection. “You are the Queen here,” he whispered, cheeks flushed again for an instant. He turned to one of the merchants peddling strange little instruments the purpose of which she couldn’t guess.

“Opera glasses,” he said as he handed them to her. “And the program, yes, please.”

“But what are they?” she asked.

He gave a startled little laugh. “You did fall from heaven, didn’t you?” His lips touched her neck and then her cheek. “Put them to your eyes, adjust them until they come into focus. Yes, that’s it. You see?”

She was shocked. She jumped back as the people on the upper gallery appeared to loom over her.

“What a curious thing. What makes it happen?”

“Magnification,” he said. “Pieces of glass.” How delighted
he seemed that she’d never heard of it. She wondered how Ramses had mastered all these little secrets; Ramses, whose “mysterious tomb” had been discovered only a month ago by “poor Lawrence,” who was now dead. Ramses, who told “in the scrolls” of his love for Cleopatra. Was it really possible that Alex didn’t know that the mummy and his nemesis Ramsey were the same?

But how could he grasp it? With only the inane story of the disreputable cousin to link the two? Had she believed when the old priest had led her into the cave?

Chimes sounded. “The opera’s going to begin.”

They moved up the stairs together. It seemed to her a brilliant light surrounded both of them, separated them from others, and others could see this light, and cast their glances carefully, perceiving that it was love. Love. She did love him; it was not a full-blooded love such as she’d known for Antony; that hurtling through darkness and destruction because one cannot resist another, one cannot live with him or without him, and one goes on, knowing full well that one is being destroyed.

No, this was a newborn love, fresh and gentle as Alex was, but it was love. Julie Stratford had been a fool not to love him; but then Ramses could seduce the goddess Isis. Had there not been Antony, she would never have loved anyone but Ramses. That he had always understood.

Ramses the father, the judge, the teacher; Antony the bad boy with whom she’d run away. Playing in the royal bedchamber like children; drunk; mad; answerable to no one; until Ramses had appeared after all those years.

This is what you’ve done with your freedom? Your life?

The question was, what would she do with her freedom now? Why did the pain not cripple her? Because this newborn world was too magnificent. Because she had what she had dreamed of in those last few months, when the Roman armies swarmed over Egypt, when Antony was desperate and full of delusions:
another chance
. Another chance, without the weight of a love that was dragging her down into those dark waves forever; another chance without a hatred for Ramses, who wouldn’t save her doomed lover; who wouldn’t forgive her for being doomed herself.

“Your Highness, I’m losing you again,” he said intimately.

“No, you’re not,” she said. The lights swam around her. “I’m with you, Lord Alex.” The high crystal light fixture above
was full of tiny sparkling rainbows; she could hear the faint tinkle of glass as it moved in the breeze from the open doors.

“Oh, but look, there they are!” Alex said suddenly, pointing up to where the banister curved and ran away from the top of the stairs.

The noise died around her; the lights; the crowds, the soft communal excitement. Ramses stood there!

Ramses in modern raiment, and beside him the woman, of considerable beauty, young and fragile as Alex was fragile, her auburn hair brushed exquisitely back from her face. A flash of dark eyes as she looked at them and did not see them. And Lord Rutherford, dear Lord Rutherford, struggling on his silver cane. Did Ramses really fool the mortals around him? This giant of a man, his face glistening with immortal vigour, hair a tousled mane. And the woman—she had not been given it. She was mortal still. Desperately, fearfully, she clung to Ramses’ arm.

“Darling, not now,” she begged.

Onward the party moved, the crowd swallowing them.

“But dearest, just to tell them that we’re here. Why, this is splendid, it means Ramsey’s been cleared. Everything’s back to normal. Pitfield worked the miracle.”

“Give me this time, Alex, I beg you!” Had her tone become imperious?

“All right, Your Highness,” he said with a forgiving smile.

Away from them! She felt desperate, as if she were suffocating. Reaching the top of the stairs, she glanced back. They had gone into a far doorway draped with velvet. And Alex was taking her in another direction. Thank the gods for this.

“Well, it seems we’re at the opposite end of the dress circle,” he said to her, smiling. “But how can you be so shy when you’re so lovely? When you’re more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever beheld?”

“I’m jealous of you, of the hours we’ve spent together. Believe me, the world will ruin it, Lord Alex.”

“Ah, that’s not possible,” he said with utter innocence.

Elliott stood at the curtained doorway. “Where on earth can Alex be? What could possess him to wander off at a time like this? Oh, this is past all patience.”

“Elliott, Alex is the least of our worries!” Julie said. “He’s probably found another American heiress. The third consecutive love of his life in one week.”

Elliott gave a faintly bitter smile as they went on into the box. The woman he’d glimpsed in the car had been all hat, ribbons and hair flying. Maybe it was just the bit of good fortune his son required.

A curved tier; a giant amphitheatre save it was covered over; and only one-half of the oval. At the far end lay the stage, obviously, hidden by a wall of soft shimmering curtains; and sunk beneath and before it, a gathering of men and women making horrid sounds with their stringed instruments and horns. She put her hands to her ears.

Alex led her down the little step to the front row of this small section. The soft red chairs at the railing were theirs. She turned to her left. Across the dimly lighted gulf she saw Ramses! She saw the pale-faced woman, with large sad eyes. Lord Rutherford had settled directly behind them; and at his arm was a dark-skinned Egyptian, beautifully clad as the other men.

She tried to take her eyes off them; she did not fully understand the tumult inside her, as she continued to stare. Then Ramses put his arm around the woman. He embraced her tightly as if to comfort her, and the woman lowered her eyes, and there was a sudden glisten of tears on her cheeks! Ramses kissed this woman, and the woman, inclining towards him, returned his kiss!

How the pain passed through her as she saw this! It was like a knife travelling down her face suddenly, slicing her open. She turned her head, shaken; staring before her in the dark.

It seemed she would have cried out if she could. But why, what did she feel? A hatred for the woman swelled inside her; burning her.
Give Antony the elixir
.

Suddenly the great theatre went dark. A man appeared before the audience; applause broke out all around her, then rose in a deafening noise. Like so much in modern times, it was overwhelming yet strangely contained.

The man bowed, lifted his hands, then turned and faced the musicians, who had become quiet and still. At his signal, they played in concert; the sound rose, huge and searing and beautiful.

It seemed to touch her, this sound. She felt Alex’s hand cover her hand. The sound surrounded her, swept her away from her pain suddenly.

“Modern times,” she whispered. Was she too weeping? She
did not want to hate! She did not want this pain! In memory again, she saw Ramses above her in the darkness; had it been a tomb? She felt the elixir filling her mouth. And then he backed away from her in terror.
Ramses
. But was she sorry that he had done it? Could she really curse him?