Mystery of the Mask, Ch. 15

If Elizabeth and Jeremy had been able to see where they were going, they would have been less willing to follow the Frosts to their secret library. The trip was made in darkness, even for the young couple that was leading them, but in the light, the journey was like something out of a watered-down Indiana Jones adventure. The room at the bottom of the flight of stairs branched off into five long corridors, each of which had a hundred doorways. Half of those doors led into small chambers. The unlucky person to enter would find the door suddenly locked behind them, and they would be trapped in the room until they either starved or ran out of air.

The other sets of doors had long, narrow pathways suspended over deep pits filled with sharp objects. When the person reached a door at the end of the pathway, a counterweight would trigger and the pathway would collapse, dropping the trespasser into the pit. With the weight gone, the pathway would reset for the next intruder. The Frosts were not cruel people, but they were the guardians of a trove of knowledge too important to be stolen. And so far, these false rooms had not had to be tested.

It was into one of the pathway rooms that the Frosts led their guests. It was the only room out of five hundred that did not have a countersink trap, and the bridge held firm all the way to the other side. The door at the far end was locked, and Mr. Frost unlocked it with a key that he kept on a chain around his neck.

“You can take off your blindfolds now,” he said, flicking a light switch. Elizabeth and Jeremy ripped off their blindfolds and gasped. The room before them was enormous, filled to the brim with bookshelves and ceiling-high ladders. Elizabeth’s jaw gaped.

“Welcome to the library,” Mr. Frost said with pride. Melody’s face was glowing with happiness, and she led Elizabeth by the hand around to some of her favorite shelves, scribbling furiously on her pad. Kayla strolled off to a separate shelf; it was obvious that she had been here before.

“Don’t just stand there!” Mr. Frost cried, clapping Jeremy on the back. “Go read something!”

“Erm, where should I start?”

“This way,” Mr. Frost motioned for him to come over to a shelf full of particularly dusty books. Jeremy took one down and ran a hand lovingly over its age-worn cover. “Hieroglyphics and How They Influenced the World,” he read, hugging the book to his chest. “I love this stuff.”

“What do you need to know?” Mr. Frost asked.

“Do you have any books about the mask that Elizabeth mentioned or the canopic jars that go along with it?”

Mr. Frost stroked his chin. “Very little is known about that mask,” he said finally. “But I may have something for you.” He moved a ladder over to the shelf in front of them and climbed up to the very top to grab a small book. He blew the dust off of its cover and returned to the ground. Jeremy took the book gently. It was small, but appeared absolutely ancient. The first thing Jeremy noticed were the papyrus pages covered with spidery hieroglyphics and loosely-sketched drawings. “Is this… authentic?”

“No, but it’s a very accurate copy. You can’t expect the journal of Ramses the Great to have survived for this long.”

Jeremy’s jaw dropped. “This is the journal of Ramses the Great?”

“Yes. He wrote all about his battles, his strategies, and most importantly to us, the mask. It’s a more accurate picture of his life than what we’ve found on monuments and tombs. Scribes tended to be very flattering.”

Jeremy fingered the pages reverently. “Is this why you have all the secrecy?”

“This and some other books in our collection were never meant to fall into the wrong hands. It is my duty, along with Melody, to make sure that they stay safe.”

Elizabeth came over to them. She didn’t care too much for old books, so she wasn’t entirely impressed when Jeremy tried to explain the significance of the journal.

“What books can I find for you, Miss Fayne?” Mr. Frost asked, bowing slightly.

“Do you have any books on the feather of Ma’at?”

An hour or two later, the friends were still poring over ancient books. Conversation had been nearly forgotten, and the only sound was the turning of stiff pages, and the occasional cry of discovery from Jeremy as he discovered something worth scribbling down in his notebook. They had long since given up trying to ask him what he had found, since he would only answer with an unintelligible grunt. Finally, he set down the journal and cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him expectantly.

“Well, I haven’t learned all that much that we didn’t know already,” Jeremy admitted. “But I did find this about the sacrifice: according to Ramses, the sacrifice would have to be performed on the grave of someone of influence that the sacrificed victim had known. The theory was that when the victim was killed, he or she would go down into the afterlife and the Valley of Reeds—the Egyptian’s name for heaven—and the friend would use their influence to gather an army around the sacrifice, which Ramses would then take back into our world, with the promise of being able to return to life after their quest was complete.”

“Did Ramses let them return?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes filled with horror.

“No,” Jeremy said, flipping through his notes. “Ramses didn’t have that much power. The best he could do was let them come back for a few hours at a time. After that time, the army would crumble into dust again and Ramses wouldn’t be able to use the mask again for another week or so. Part of the chant used to bring them back to life holds a promise of eternal condemnation if they fail in their task, but from what I can tell, Ramses didn’t have the power to make that come true either.”

“So he was a liar.”

“Pretty much. Ramses was great at convincing people, and this is just another example of that, even if he was trying to convince an army of avenging zombies.”

“Does it say anything about the chant? What it is or where it was written down?”

“Ramses never said. There is a mention of the canopic jars and a reference to a secret ritual for the body and organs of the sacrifice, but as far as the significance of the specific jars, he doesn’t say.”

“Hmm,” Elizabeth murmured, deep in thought. “Did the sacrifice ever fail?”

Jeremy scratched the back of his neck and picked up the journal. “There was one time where the sacrifice wasn’t as ‘pure and blameless’ as they had thought. Instead of going to the Field of Reeds and bringing back an army of good, decent soldiers, the sacrifice must have descended into the abyss instead. Where the normal army looked fairly normal, at least for dead people, these were more like half-rotted living corpses. Ramses writes that ‘festering flesh hung from their faces as though mangled by the teeth of a hippo; their teeth green, moldy, and full of insects. Holes and cavities in their bodies showed pitted bones and oozing organs. Their eyes—’”

“Stop, stop!” Elizabeth cried, clapping her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Anyway,” Jeremy continued, “half of Ramses’ army ran away in fright, and whoever was left was eaten alive by the zombies. Many of them turned towards Ramses, but he clutched the mask tightly to himself and was protected by its magic. Within an hour, they crumbled into dust, and Ramses had to make a hasty and solitary trip back to the nearest city. The enemy army besieged the town and took it within a fortnight. It was Ramses’ only loss during his reign.”

“Wow. Okay. I’m sure he learned his lesson after that little fiasco, then.”

“Yeah. Never trust Akhem to pick the sacrifice.”

“Ouch.”

“Technically, Akhem was eaten alive by zombies, so he wouldn’t be able to give advice anymore anyway.”

“Right.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Erm, what have you found so far, Elizabeth?” Jeremy asked.

“Nothing as fascinating as all that, but I did find this: Ma’at was not only an Egyptian goddess, she was an ideal; an thing. Ma’at was the physical form of justice itself, and so weighing a person’s heart against Ma’at was the same as weighing a heart against justice, to see if ‘the person had done ma’at.’”

“And if the person was found to be without ma’at,” Mr. Frost added, “The person’s soul would be eaten by a demon named Ammut.”

“What if the person’s heart weighed less than Ma’at?” Elizabeth asked.

“Impossible,” Mr. Frost scoffed. “Ma’at was justice. There could be nothing more just than justice.”

Love, Melody slipped to Elizabeth. She looked at the young wife curiously. Melody pointed at Jeremy, who was deep in conversation with Mr. Frost.

“Jeremy?” Elizabeth whispered.

Melody nodded vigorously. I’ve seen the way you look at him. You’re in love.

Elizabeth drew back. “We’re just friends. We’ve been friends for a long time.” An image of Jeremy kicking away the table in the pawn shop made her bite her lip. She looked over at Jeremy, who was chewing his lip as he muddled through a page of hieroglyphics. He caught her eye and smiled. Elizabeth looked quickly back at her notes.

You love him, Melody persisted.

He saved my life last night, Elizabeth wrote on Melody’s pad. I’ve been reconsidering. Thinking more… she paused. Seriously.

Why not tell him?

What if he doesn’t love me back?

Miss Fayne, he saved your life. That’s the best way in the world to show someone that you love them.

Has Mr. Frost ever saved your life? Elizabeth wrote, hoping to change the subject.

Melody blushed. We were on the same trip to Australia—that’s where we first met. When I lost my voice to the parasite, I became very ill and nearly lost the use of my legs, too. But Quinton worked diligently with me, helped me walk again, and in the meantime, I fell in love. We came back to Blackpine and were married before setting out on a ‘round-the-world trip to some of the world’s most famous landmarks.

That sounds wonderfully romantic, Elizabeth wrote, smiling.

It was. She was about to write more, but Mr. Frost’s voice of indignation distracted her.

“Mr. Thatcher!” he cried. “You haven’t even touched your Aztec chocolate tea!”

“Oh dear!” Jeremy replied, sounding not at all distraught, “It’s gotten cold.”

“Melody, would you mind warming up Mr. Thatcher’s tea?”

Melody smiled and nodded, and took Elizabeth’s coffee with her. Unseen to Mr. Frost, Jeremy turned towards Elizabeth and mouthed, “Foiled again!”

Elizabeth giggled, and Mr. Frost turned a questioning eyebrow towards her. “Erm, Mr. Frost—”

“Please, call me Quinton.”

“—Quinton, do you have any more books on Anubis?”

“Of course! Would you like Theories on Anubian Culture by Delainei Dietrich, Ammut, a God of Death’s Best Friend by Palmer Isaacson, Anubian Rituals and Their Modern Significance by Malvina Snipes, Garden of the Dead by Frederic Dehart, Let’s Talk Anubis by Ruthann Porterfield, Anubis Fangirling 101 by Chang Shelley, Does the Egyptian God of Death Go For Walks? by Katryne Woodruff, Anubis is Not a Dingo! by Carl Stewart, Never Mess with the God of Death by Benjamin Morgan, How to Tell if You’re Doomed to Hell by Hugo Gonzalez, 3,001 Ways to Annoy Anubis by Nickolas Morse, Executed by Anubis and Loving it by Felton Moffett, Avoiding Ammut by Lenard Cornelius, or my personal favorite: Anubis: Jackal-Headed Reaper by Brenton Kasper?”

“Uhh… How about Jackal-Headed Reaper?”

“Good choice,” Quinton said, handing her the thickest book on the shelf.

Melody reappeared with their reheated drinks, and Elizabeth accepted hers back dubiously. Quinton and Melody were watching them expectantly.

“I’ll drink mine if you drink yours,” Jeremy hissed through gritted teeth.

“You first,” Elizabeth replied.

Jeremy took a deep breath, and then sipped his authentic Aztec chocolate tea. His face went through an amazing change from tan to white to red before he gagged out, “It’s wonderful.” He swallowed hard.

“Oh, you’re not supposed to swallow the chunks. That’s what the extra cup is for,” Quinton laughed. “No one likes swallowing dried dung beetles.”

Jeremy’s face switched from red to pure green. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said before dashing off to a secluded corner of the library, Bermuda coffee cup in hand.

“Anything I should know about mine?” Elizabeth asked, deathly afraid of the steaming liquid in her hands.

“No, but it might be a little strong, especially if you’re not used to old-fashioned coffee.”

Elizabeth took a very hesitant sip. She couldn’t bring herself to take an entire mouthful of the stuff, but she did let it touch the very tip of her tongue. It burned! It wasn’t hot from the steam, or even spicy hot, but the coffee was so strong that her jaw locked up and seemed to shrivel her tongue down to the size of a raisin.

Noticing her streaming eyes, Quinton asked, “Would you like any cream or sugar?”

“It’s a little late for that,” Elizabeth choked. “I can’t feel my face.”

“You probably won’t sleep for the next few days, either. I remember the first time I had true Civil War coffee,” Quinton reminisced. “I was bouncing around for eight days, and I only had a thimbleful!”

Kayla came over to the little group and saw Elizabeth’s face. “Oh dear. You didn’t have his coffee, did you?”

Elizabeth nodded stiffly.

“There’s a mistake you won’t make again.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Elizabeth gasped.

“I didn’t hear you talking about it, Elizabeth. I was thinking about the case.”

“Could you think a little less hard next time?”

Jeremy rejoined the group, his face flushed and eyes red and streaming.

“Aztec chocolate tea?” Kayla asked.

Jeremy nodded miserably.

“I’m so sorry.”

“So am I.” He turned to Quinton and sniffled, “Thank you for all your help, but we need to get back home. Elizabeth’s friend Brittany is expecting us to pick her up.”

“Oh my goodness!” Elizabeth cried hoarsely. “I nearly forgot about Brittany!”

“What happened to you?” Jeremy asked, finally seeing his friend’s mutual discomfort.

“Coffee,” Elizabeth tried to explain, but coughed instead.

Kayla, Elizabeth, and Jeremy followed the Frosts back to the entrance of the library. Quinton pulled out the blindfolds, but Melody put a restraining hand on his arm.
No blindfolds, she wrote.  Not after the coffee.

Quinton shoved the blindfolds reluctantly back into his pocket, as though he had really enjoyed having the chance to use them earlier.

“That’s it?” Jeremy asked as they were walking along the narrow pathway. “That’s all you were hiding?”

Without a word, Quinton whipped out a flashlight and shone it into the pit below them, displaying hundreds of metal spikes the size of ponies.

“Never mind,” Jeremy said quickly, paying extra attention to where he was walking. He was similarly unimpressed with the hundreds of doors, until Quinton opened one and demonstrated its locking and suffocating capability.

Elizabeth paid very little attention to the booby traps. Her thoughts were focused on what little they had learned about the mask. There was nothing about the canopic jars, nothing about the strange inscription on the watch. Could Ramses have accidentally left them out or were they part of something else altogether?

She was still puzzling over it as she waved goodbye to the young couple and climbed back into Jeremy’s car.

“Give Brittany a call,” Jeremy said, shattering Elizabeth’s thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, sure.” She dialed Brittany’s number and picked at a peeling spot of fake leather on the door.

“Hello, this is Brittany!”

“Britt—”

“If you’re calling to offer your condolences, sympathies, or meatloaf,” the recording continued, “please leave them with someone else. If you’re calling for some other reason, please leave a message.”

“Brittany,” Elizabeth began, continuing to pick at the door. “when you get this message, please call me back and let me know when we’re supposed to come and pick you up. Thanks! See you later.” She hung up and sighed. “She’s not there.”

“We can do something else for a while,” Jeremy said. “Do we need to do any more research?”

“What about Mrs. Sainsbury?” Kayla asked. “How much do you know about her?”

“Not much,” Elizabeth admitted. “She does have a lot of stuff about Egypt, though.”

“Blackpine’s old library might have some old newspaper clippings about her. You never know what you may dig up in a library.”

“But Officer Harrison is looking for us! He thinks we murdered Mr. Pendleton.”

“I doubt the word would have gone out so quickly,” Kayla assured them. “Even if something does happen, I’m sure someone will help you out. There are plenty of people in Blackpine who know you would never murder someone.”

“It’s still dangerous, though,” Jeremy pointed out.

“Danger is what adventures are all about!” Kayla cried. “And you two are on the adventure of a lifetime.”


*   *   *


Brittany’s voicemail began to play. “When you get this message, please call me back…” Elizabeth’s voice said.

“Well you heard her,” a man’s voice said. “Call her back.” Brittany, bound, gagged, and cloaked in darkness, could only stare wildly at her captor, hidden in the shadows.

“And don’t even think about asking for help.”