The Honey Mummy (Folley & Mallory Adventure Book 3) by E. Catherine Tobler Page B

how much more she knew about such matters. “But” –and with this she settled back into her chair, turning to Cleo— “Ptolemic?”
    Cleo remained standing, peering past Akila and Pettigrew toward the sarcophagi. Being shorter, she had difficulty until she bent down to peer between their arms. “One looks to be cartonnage,” she said. She sat back down and nodded to Eleanor. Virgil took her expression to be one of surprise, though he recognized it better on Eleanor’s own face. “Much younger than I would have thought, but…not outside the realm.”
    “And Ptolemic means when, exactly?” Virgil asked.
    “Dating from Alexander the Great’s time to the Cleopatra everyone knows best, the seventh,” Eleanor said. She leaned back into her chair. “I would have thought…well, I don’t know what I thought—it’s surprising, I suppose. We have rarely seen such things at auction, Virgil. It’s not ancient, but it’s nothing to sneeze at, either. If we can acquire them—”
    “We should,” Cleo finished.
    They had been allotted a budget from Mistral for such things, but the bidding rose quickly as each individual sarcophagi was presented. They were not grouped together as a lot, though plainly they were meant as such; dividing them up increased the profits for the auctioneers, causing those interested to bid more fervently to obtain a complete collection.
    Virgil feared they were doomed when it came to actually leaving with the sarcophagi in their possession, so heated was the bidding. He noted that once again, Akila did not bid, but sat very still, watching the sarcophagi rather than the bidders. Among the latter were Eleanor, George Pettigrew, and three others Virgil did not know, but it was Pettigrew who emerged victorious, refusing to give ground on any of the treasures. While Virgil would have contributed personal funds toward the acquisition of the sarcophagi, there was simply no way they could cover the amounts Pettigrew could.
    After the bidding, Pettigrew turned and extended a hand to Virgil. His grip was clammy, but strong, and Virgil offered the man a smile. Pettigrew’s own smile was viper-like, devouring even as it welcomed.
    “Quite an acquisition, especially that serpentine,” Virgil said. “Whatever to do you intend to do with them?” Virgil could not imagine Pettigrew meant to donate them to a museum or otherwise display them to the public.
    “This, my friend, is ever the question!” Pettigrew said, and he laughed as he looked at the others of their group. “Given your keen interest in the items—and the lady’s acquisition of the beautiful rings—I would like to invite you to my home. One week from tonight, we shall open the caskets and unwrap whomever lays within!”

Chapter Four

April 1887 – Alexandria, Egypt
    Dear Mister Auberon,
    I write to you slowly this morning, an exercise in using the new arms I have been fitted with. Doctor Fairbrass has made me two extraordinary mechanical arms, which I am still learning my way around.
    By all accounts, I should not have survived such an injury—they tell me you were there when I was pulled from the rubble of the catacombs, my arms nearly severed clean through. I remember nothing of those moments. Indeed, the first thing I remember is waking in the hospital, my arms bound so that I could not move them. I felt rather like a mummy—Doctor Fairbrass tells me this is not far from wrong, given how he had to stabilize me. He remains reserved as to other details, however, suggesting I should write to you and slay the monsters of Questions and Adaptation with one letter.
    I would enjoy hearing from you, should you have the time. Until then I remain as ever
    C. Barclay
    * * *

December 1889 – Alexandria, Egypt
    The dawn light was not yet a smudge on the horizon when Eleanor rose from her bed, ill-tempered from a night of poor sleep. She pushed the tangled sheets off and stared at her bare feet against the wood floor. The jackal inside her