got three, no make that four targets, travelling west along corridor B.”
The mummies heard the voice behind them a split-second before the noise of gunfire filled the air. One of the ghosts, that of Nubkheperra (the card cheat) abandoned his body and fled up through the roof. His bandage-clad cadaver clattered to the ground.
Two more figures dressed in black appeared in front of the remaining mummies and opened fire.
Bodies that had been preserved for millennia, carefully excavated, transported and cared for by museum experts, were ripped to shreds. The souls that had inhabited them were forcibly put to rest.
The ghost of Nubkheperra looked mournfully at his broken body from behind some stone tablets in a glass case. His ethereal eyes narrowed as he turned them towards the black figures.
One of them turned to their leader“One got away Father. What should we do?”
“The secular Police will be here any minute; we need to get out of here now,”came Father Pious’irritated reply. “He’s lost his mummy; he won’t cause any more trouble.” He paused and nodded towards the museum’s security cameras,“We’ll get the highwayman tomorrow night, then leave the country before we get too famous.”
They turned and fled into the night, ancient bones crunching under feet as they ran.
Chapter Fifteen
The Eternal Battle
“So what next?” Morag asked Gibbs as they walked across Waterloo Bridge.
“We fight the eternal battle against despair.” Gibbs uber-gloomy voice was even more melodramatic than usual.
“How on earth did ye ever manage to get a job as a minstrel with that bonny, sunny disposition?”
“I never really enjoyed it,”Gibbs replied with a glum shrug. “I wanted to be a thatcher and mend roofs.”
“Och why didn’t ye, wee hen?”
“My father was a minstrel and his father before him. He wanted me to pass down the family traditions and songs. But I could never remember the words.” Gibbs shuddered glumly, then suddenly, his eyes lit up -“But I was very good on the lute.” He pulled something like a small, rounded guitar out of his bag. It was ornately carved in pale wood. Like Gibbs himself, his lute was faintly transparent: the ghost of a musical instrument.
He smiled with a faraway look in his eye; Morag returned the smile as warmly as her irritation with this morose minstrel would allow.
He played a few notes and Morag was not sure if he had started the song or if he was still trying to tune his lute.
Then he started to sing,“ There’s a lady who’s sure …”
Morag felt the smile slip from her face.
“… all that glitters is gold …”
The singing was dreadful.
“… and she’s buying …”
Half of the lute’s strings were flat, and the rest were sharp.
“… a stairway …”
The chorus of howling cats that had struck up around them sounded more tuneful.
“… to heaven .”
By the time Gibbs had finished singing the first line Morag could well imagine how he had come to be a dead minstrel. However, she was aware that Gibbs was her only friend in a strange city and even stranger afterlife, so she tried to change the subject.
“Och hen, that’s lovely,”she lied,“but are we nearly there yet?”
Gibbs looked around and seemed disappointed as he replied,“Yes, just around this corner.”
They were walking through dark and dingy streets. For a moment Morag felt nervous: “Hadn’t we better quieten down? It looks like a rough old part of town.”
“Dear lady, there’s no need to worry, the worst has already happened - you’re dead!”
“It’s no’the worst thing that can happen!”Morag shuddered, remembering her husband Harold’s cry as his ghost had been exorcised.
* * *
They finally stopped at an almost derelict building surrounded by closed-down factories. The building had very few windows that were not boarded-up nor broken.
They looked at the list of names by a long
The mummies heard the voice behind them a split-second before the noise of gunfire filled the air. One of the ghosts, that of Nubkheperra (the card cheat) abandoned his body and fled up through the roof. His bandage-clad cadaver clattered to the ground.
Two more figures dressed in black appeared in front of the remaining mummies and opened fire.
Bodies that had been preserved for millennia, carefully excavated, transported and cared for by museum experts, were ripped to shreds. The souls that had inhabited them were forcibly put to rest.
The ghost of Nubkheperra looked mournfully at his broken body from behind some stone tablets in a glass case. His ethereal eyes narrowed as he turned them towards the black figures.
One of them turned to their leader“One got away Father. What should we do?”
“The secular Police will be here any minute; we need to get out of here now,”came Father Pious’irritated reply. “He’s lost his mummy; he won’t cause any more trouble.” He paused and nodded towards the museum’s security cameras,“We’ll get the highwayman tomorrow night, then leave the country before we get too famous.”
They turned and fled into the night, ancient bones crunching under feet as they ran.
Chapter Fifteen
The Eternal Battle
“So what next?” Morag asked Gibbs as they walked across Waterloo Bridge.
“We fight the eternal battle against despair.” Gibbs uber-gloomy voice was even more melodramatic than usual.
“How on earth did ye ever manage to get a job as a minstrel with that bonny, sunny disposition?”
“I never really enjoyed it,”Gibbs replied with a glum shrug. “I wanted to be a thatcher and mend roofs.”
“Och why didn’t ye, wee hen?”
“My father was a minstrel and his father before him. He wanted me to pass down the family traditions and songs. But I could never remember the words.” Gibbs shuddered glumly, then suddenly, his eyes lit up -“But I was very good on the lute.” He pulled something like a small, rounded guitar out of his bag. It was ornately carved in pale wood. Like Gibbs himself, his lute was faintly transparent: the ghost of a musical instrument.
He smiled with a faraway look in his eye; Morag returned the smile as warmly as her irritation with this morose minstrel would allow.
He played a few notes and Morag was not sure if he had started the song or if he was still trying to tune his lute.
Then he started to sing,“ There’s a lady who’s sure …”
Morag felt the smile slip from her face.
“… all that glitters is gold …”
The singing was dreadful.
“… and she’s buying …”
Half of the lute’s strings were flat, and the rest were sharp.
“… a stairway …”
The chorus of howling cats that had struck up around them sounded more tuneful.
“… to heaven .”
By the time Gibbs had finished singing the first line Morag could well imagine how he had come to be a dead minstrel. However, she was aware that Gibbs was her only friend in a strange city and even stranger afterlife, so she tried to change the subject.
“Och hen, that’s lovely,”she lied,“but are we nearly there yet?”
Gibbs looked around and seemed disappointed as he replied,“Yes, just around this corner.”
They were walking through dark and dingy streets. For a moment Morag felt nervous: “Hadn’t we better quieten down? It looks like a rough old part of town.”
“Dear lady, there’s no need to worry, the worst has already happened - you’re dead!”
“It’s no’the worst thing that can happen!”Morag shuddered, remembering her husband Harold’s cry as his ghost had been exorcised.
* * *
They finally stopped at an almost derelict building surrounded by closed-down factories. The building had very few windows that were not boarded-up nor broken.
They looked at the list of names by a long
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