Secrets of the Dead

  Micky took one hand off the wheel as he blazed along the motorway. He reached over, pulled down the flap of the glove compartment, and nodded with approval at what it contained. There, resting on a yellow duster, was a pistol. The weapon gleamed a metallic blue colour. Beside it was a clear plastic bag containing twenty bullets. The gun had cost him plenty this morning. However, this mission to retrieve the stash of coke mustn’t fail. Taking a gun would ensure success. Nobody would dare stand in his way when they saw that pistol in his hand.

  ‘Watch out,’ sang Micky Dunt. ‘Hell’s coming to Devon. Watch out, Ben Darrington. Hell’s coming your way!’

  Oliver Tolworth walked alongside Fletcher Brown. They were heading back to the gatehouse where Fletcher lived with his father. The strange man, Philip Kemmis, occupied an apartment in another part of the gatehouse. Oliver hoped they wouldn’t see Philip. The man was frightening. Crazy insane, more like, Oliver told himself. He ran up to our car when we arrived and started bashing it with his hand … or had he bashed it with the arm without the hand?

  Fletcher carried the kite they’d been flying. Suddenly, he asked, ‘Why are you worried?’

  ‘How’d you know I was worried?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘I’m good at reading expressions. So, what’s worrying you?’

  ‘I hope we don’t see that mad man who lives at the gatehouse.’

  ‘Philip? He’s alright. He’s just different, like me. If someone’s different, it worries people. It can scare them as well. Are you scared of me?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘Good.’ Fletcher studied Oliver’s face. ‘You’ll be worried about the mummy, too. You’ve seen Kadesh walk. He carried you away. For a while I thought you were dead. I was sure he’d have broken every bone in your skeleton and smashed your skull. And he’s been in your house, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ Oliver went cold inside. ‘I told you, it was a bad dream. Everything about Kadesh is bad dreams.’

  ‘Then we had the same bad dream, because I saw what happened the night that Kadesh picked you up and ran along the lane, carrying you.’

  ‘I told you about my nightmare; you’re just pretending that you were there. You like messing with people’s minds.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Oliver. You didn’t dream about Kadesh, because I’ve seen him walking before.’

  Oliver shuddered, too scared to talk. The sunlight had been roasting hot, but now it felt like he stood in a massive deep freeze.

  ‘I like you, Oliver,’ Fletcher continued in sympathetic tones. ‘Remember what I just said? About being able to tell what people are thinking just by their expressions?’

  Oliver managed a nod. For some reason he felt like crying.

  ‘I can tell stuff from people’s faces. But there’s another thing I can do. It’s hard to explain. It’s like the world around us has an expression – all the trees, and grass, and rocks, and dirt, and buildings – to me, they’re capable of expressing emotion. I don’t see it, as such, with my eyes. I sense it. But when I look at those trees down there, and the wall by the road, and even that old gatepost, they seem to be expressing emotion.’

  ‘Expressing emotion?’ Oliver echoed. Fletcher had an odd way of using grown-up phrases. Of course, he sort of seemed grown-up in some ways. Even though he was only twelve, he had the eyes of a man … an old man at that. Fletcher’s appearance was different to that of other boys, too. He had those thick, black eyebrows. He rarely laughed or joked around like other kids. Sometimes, Oliver thought that Fletcher had a hobgoblin face.

  Fletcher continued speaking in a quiet voice, almost as if he was murmuring to himself. They were on the grass at the side of the road that led from the gatehouse to the castle. Only, it felt as if they stood far away from this place. Like it was a million miles away. Like Fletcher had spirited them away to another planet and Oliver saw the world where he lived from some huge distance. At that moment, he felt fear twist his heart. What if he couldn’t go back to the world where his family and friends lived? What if he continued to live in Fletcher’s strange domain? This felt like a dream – and a strange dream that he couldn’t wake up from.

  Fletcher seemed to have been speaking for hours. Those softly spoken words of his floated in Oliver’s skull. Fletcher was claiming that he could read the expression on the face of the world. He said that every plant, tree, stone, house, road, fence – everything – was capable of revealing emotion.

  ‘I’ve been able see the mood of rocks, and trees, and furniture, and even the hills over there, since I was little. It’s like the world knows what will happen in the future and it tells me by wearing an expression on its face, even though there is no actual face. Six months ago, I looked out of the window and saw that the world had a sad face, and that’s when I knew my mother was going to die before my dad told me that she was dying.’

  Oliver stared at his friend. He felt like a character in a film who’d had his mind taken over by an alien. He could see Fletcher, he could hear him, yet he couldn’t speak or move, or run away, and he longed to run back home right now; this was frightening. Just then, he realized that Fletcher would break some news … some really bad news.

  Fletcher glanced around at the meadow and the trees. There was sunlight, although the shadows cast by the sun seemed to dominate the landscape right now. Oliver saw the shadows of telephone poles squirm over the grass like black snakes, their bodies oozing with venom. Shadows cast by trees were the shadows of bunched fists. They spread over the ground towards Oliver, threatening him with violence. The shadows had become as dangerous as monsters.

  Fletcher spoke in that calm voice: ‘Do you know what I see on the face of this world that surrounds us? I see fear. The trees, and stones, and plants are frightened for us. Everything you can see for miles around is scared, because we’re in danger. Everyone who lives here is in danger. Something is coming that will hurt us.’

  ‘The mummies … Is it the mummies?’

  Oliver blinked; he realized he stood outside the front door of his house. How did he get here? Just a moment ago, he stood on the driveway that led up to the castle. And where had Fletcher gone? Fletcher had been talking to him just a moment ago.

  Oliver Tolworth sensed that something strange and frightening was happening to him. Just what, though? He couldn’t explain it, only that there was this intense feeling that things were changing. Was he changing? Was the world around him being transformed in some mysterious and alarming way?

  Fletcher’s words came back to him, shimmering, echoing … haunting him, as if they were spoken by a ghost: Everyone who lives here is in danger. Something is coming that will hurt us.

  That evening John Tolworth returned home to find Ingrid worrying about Oliver.

  ‘He’s not ill again, is he?’ John asked.

  ‘No, but he’s quiet and withdrawn.’ Ingrid frowned. ‘Fletcher’s the cause of it. I don’t know if they’ve been fighting or if Fletcher has been teasing Oliver, but Oliver just clams up if I ask him what he and Fletcher have been doing.’

  ‘They were flying the kite this morning. I could see them from the lab window.’

  ‘Did they look to be getting on OK?’

  ‘They were having a great time. It’s probably just some spat.’

  Ingrid nodded. ‘Maybe. I’ll give him a couple of hours then talk to him again.’ Her face suddenly hardened. ‘But if I find out that Fletcher’s been bullying our son I’ll go straight up to the gatehouse and tell his father what I think.’

  ‘Don’t go in with all guns blazing. They’ll probably be friends again tomorrow.’

  In her finest schoolmistress tones, she declared, ‘I shall monitor the situation. But, if necessary, I will take further action.’

  ‘My God, you’re a formidable woman.’ He kissed her. ‘I’m sure you’ll become head of the United Nations one day.’

  OK, a weak joke, he told himself, but it did the trick. Ingrid laughed and began to relax. ‘Vicki’s in the gar
den with Jason.’

  ‘You think there’s something going on with our handsome teenage neighbour?’

  ‘Oh yes, I suspect that romance has raised its pretty head.’

  John followed Ingrid into the kitchen where she began rinsing a bowl of tomatoes. ‘They’re both teenagers,’ he said. ‘They live next door to one another. We shouldn’t be surprised.’

  ‘When it comes to teenage romance I’m not surprised by anything. There’s beer in the fridge.’

  ‘I’m ready for one. How about you?’

  ‘Go on, then. I’ll share your can.’

  ‘Share?’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s been thirsty work slaving over a million pieces of papyrus.’

  ‘OK, give me a full can.’

  ‘Aye, aye, captain, two beers coming straight up. Where’s Ben?’

  ‘He’s doing his best to get some exercise. He went hobbling down the lane on those crutches. Ollie’s gone with him.’

  John opened the beers. ‘While he’s out, I’ll get some of my things from his room.’

  ‘I thought you’d moved all your stuff out when we made up the bed for Ben?’

  ‘I left the model of the head in there that I’d made using the three-D printer.’

  ‘Don’t remind me about that.’ She sipped her cold beer with a heartfelt mmmm. ‘I still haven’t forgotten how you painted it so it looked like Vicki.’

  ‘Not deliberately! OK, I’ll go grab the head now.’

  ‘Go grab the head?’ She smiled. ‘I hope that isn’t a euphemism.’

  Laughing, he kissed her on the lips, tasting the bitter tang of beer. ‘Ask me to repeat it again later when we’re in bed.’

  ‘Kinky.’

  ‘Oh, and after grabbing the head, I’ll check my emails.’

  ‘Work? You’re allowed to switch off, you know?’

  ‘I’ll be ten minutes. There should be more translations coming back soon.’

  ‘You’re making progress?’

  ‘It’s going better than I thought it would. The software’s accurately piecing together images of shredded papyrus. The expert we’re using is translating the hieroglyphs, so we’re starting to build up a picture of the people in the tomb.’

  ‘Do you know their names yet?’

  ‘No. They’ll have to remain known by their nicknames for a bit longer yet.’

  Ingrid began slicing the tomatoes. ‘Right, get your work done, then spend some time with me, OK? I like your company.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘I might even sit on your knee in the garden.’

  ‘That’s guaranteed to give Vicki the abdabs!’

  John retrieved the model of the head from the downstairs back parlour that now served as Ben’s room and took it into the lounge. He couldn’t help but recall what Samantha had told him about the 1955 X-ray of Kadesh, which revealed that the mummy had two hands, and then the mystery of subsequent X-rays, which indicated that the mummy’s right hand was missing. John knew that this couldn’t be possible. There had to be a mix-up with the X-ray photographs, or that some practical joke had been played decades ago.

  After her revelation about Kadesh, Samantha had then made the equally surprising claim that the mummy called Amber had a cut on her scalp at the hairline, which had never been noticed before. What’s more, the injury had occurred before death because scab material could be identified in the wound.

  Remembering what Samantha had told him about Amber prompted him to check the head produced by the 3D printer. He looked into the beautiful, albeit plastic, face of what had once been a lively, and alive, sixteen year old. The lips were pink, the eyes open, the hair black as coal. He’d applied the paint, and yes, subconsciously, he’d given the model the same hair colour and skin tones of his daughter. True, there was some similarity. But could it be that Vicki and Ingrid’s side of the family had descendants that originally came from North Africa, or even Egypt itself? That would account for the superficial resemblance. Despite himself, he found his heart beating faster as he checked the hairline, half-expecting to see a duplicate of the wound that Samantha had found in Amber’s scalp. He held the head up to the light streaming in through the window. Smooth skin, a black fringe painted on to the plastic … but no mark indicating a wound. Then, did he really expect that the plastic head would have acquired an injury since it emerged from the printer? No, he did not.

  He glanced about the lounge, hunting for a place to put the head until he could retrieve it in the morning before taking it to the lab. He found a space in the corner of the room behind an armchair where he could tuck the copy of Amber’s head out of sight (he didn’t want to annoy Vicki by leaving it on view; the reproduction of the face had freaked her out the first time she saw it). That done, he went upstairs, switched on his laptop in the bedroom, and sat on the bed to check his emails. He heard laughter from outside. Glancing through the window, he saw Vicki and Jason as they sat together on a garden bench. They clearly enjoyed being together. The way their eyes were fixed on each others’ faces suggested that love might be in the air.

  Turning his attention back to the in-box, he saw an email from the translator in London. Quickly, he read the lines that had been translated from Egyptian hieroglyphs to English.

  My friend! My brother! He who gave his life to defend the lives of those whom I love, I praise you. I venerate your memory. The days we spent together hunting ibex in the great sea of sand live in my heart, just as strongly as they did when we rode forth. The wine and the honey cake—

  (Translator’s note: part of the document is missing here; however, fragments suggest that the writer is recalling youthful adventures with a friend.)

  I grieve for your death, I grieve for the deaths of my own loved ones. I therefore vow to house your body in a fine tomb of golden walls with my—

  (Translator’s note: part of document missing.)

  —so that you might continue to protect them for as long as the world shall live. I will prepare a testament of the wrongdoer’s crimes and place it with you, so that the gods might read of your heroic fight and self-sacrifice.

  There were more pieces of text that referred to lists of foodstuffs and weapons that might have been a record of items sealed inside the tomb with the mummies at the time of burial.

  John fired off a short email thanking the translator, and then he went downstairs. He helped Ingrid in the kitchen. He mixed flaked tuna with mayonnaise before returning it to the fridge. Outside, there was still laughter in the garden.

  ‘Just imagine if they decided to get married,’ he said to Ingrid. ‘The Oldfields would become part of our family.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’d like the idea of Samantha being family and prowling around you all the time. She really is beautiful – men’s heads turn when she walks by.’

  ‘My eyes are firmly on you.’

  ‘Cheesy.’ She wafted a fly away from the salad.

  Just then the laughter outside stopped. John clearly heard Vicki exclaim: ‘Shit!’

  Parental instinct signalled that there was trouble. John and Ingrid rushed outside to find Vicki holding a frisbee in one hand, while clamping the other to her forehead. Jason put his arm round her shoulders while watching her with eyes that were big and round with concern.

  ‘Damn tree.’ She swiped a branch with the frisbee. ‘Look how sharp the end is. It went and stabbed me. See? It’s cut my head. I’m bleeding.’

  The evening sun flooded the landscape with light. Even Micky Dunt had to admit that this was an astonishing part of the world. He’d used satnav to reach a country estate called, according to the sign at a road junction, Baverstock Castle. He’d ignored the warning: ‘GROUNDS CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC. PRIVATE ROAD ONLY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.’ Micky had driven along the private road to within a quarter of a mile of the address he’d taken from the unfortunate Mr Oates. The route had taken him over moorland that had masses of weirdly shaped rocks. Micky knew that it wouldn’t be wise to simply drive up to the house where Ben was staying with his fa
ther; therefore, Micky left the road for a dirt track that led into a forest. After a couple of hundred yards, driving along the bumpy lane, he parked the car in a small clearing surrounded by thick bushes. Good. The car couldn’t easily be seen. Of course, this operation required secrecy. He didn’t want anyone noticing him or the car, because soon the police would be investigating one hell of a crime. Micky sure as hell didn’t want to be linked to what would happen to Ben Darrington in the next few hours.

  Before leaving the car, Micky slipped the handgun and bag of extra ammo into a rucksack. After that, he headed into the forest. He held his phone in one hand, using the navigation app to take him to where Ben had hidden himself away. Micky saw a castle through the trees. It was a huge stone building complete with battlements and towers. The castle wasn’t his destination, though, and soon he saw the place he needed to find. Standing alongside a lane were half a dozen houses surrounded by trees. These were isolated homes, miles from the nearest village. Good. Micky liked what he saw. These houses were a long way from other people and, more importantly, the police.

  Voices nearby startled Micky. Not wanting to be seen, he dropped to a crouch behind a bush. What he saw coming along the lane both surprised and delighted him.

  ‘This is going to be so easy,’ he murmured, pleased. ‘The patron saint of mayhem is smiling on me today.’ The patron saint line amused Micky so much that he had to push his fist against his mouth to prevent himself barking with laughter.

  There, in the evening sunlight, walking along the lane that ran through the forest, were two figures. One, a boy of about ten or so. The other, a guy of nineteen. That guy was none other than Ben Darrington. The student lurched along awkwardly, using crutches. The yellow cast that enclosed the full length of his leg was plain to see. Jesus Christ, thought Micky, wearing that thing on your leg must be torture in its own right. Ha … and just think, Ben, you inconsiderate bastard, there’ll be more torture to come.