anner.themummy-第35节

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　〃Ever　see　this　before；　sir？〃
　
　Be　calm。　There　is　not　a　scintilla　of　evidence　to　connect　you　to　anything。　Let　indignation　serve　you　as　well　as　it　always　has。
　
　〃Why；　that's　from　my　uncle's　collection。　The　Ramses　collection。　How　did　you　get　it？　It　ought　to　be　under　lock　and　key。〃
　
　〃The　question　is；〃　　said　the　one　called　Trent；〃　how　did　Mr。　Sharpies　get　it？　And　what　was　he　doing　with　it　on　his　person　when　he　was　killed？〃
　
　Henry　ran　his　hands　back　through　his　hair。　If　only　the　pain　would　stop。　If　only　he　could　excuse　himself　for　a　minute；　get　a　good　stiff　drink　and　have　some　time　to　think。
　
　〃Reginald　Ramsey！〃　　he　said；　looking　Trent　in　the　eye。〃　That's　the　fellow's　name；　wasn't　it？　That　Egyptologist！　The　one　staying　with　my　cousin。　Good　God；　what's　going　on　in　that　house！〃
　
　〃Mr。　Ramsey？〃
　
　〃You　have　questioned　him；　haven't　you？　Where　did　he　e　from；　that　man？〃　　His　face　coloured　as　the　two　men　stared　at　him　in　silence。〃　Do　I　have　to　do　your　job　for　you？　Where　the　devil　did　the　bastard　e　from？　And　what's　he　doing　with　all　that　treasure　in　my　cousin's　house？〃
　
　For　an　hour　Ramses　walked。　The　morning　was　cold　and　dreary。　The　great　imposing　houses　of　Mayfair　gave　way　to　the　dingy　tenements　of　the　poor。　He　roamed　narrow　unpaved　streets；　like　the　alleyways　of　an　ancient　city…Jericho；　or　Rome。　Tracks　of　the　horse　carts　here；　and　the　reek　of　damp　manure。
　
　Now　and　then　some　poor　passerby　would　stare　at　him。　Surely　he　should　not　be　dressed　in　this　long　satin　robe。　But　that　did　not　matter。　He　was　Ramses　the　Wanderer　again。　Ramses　the　Damned　only　passing　through　this　time。　The　elixir　still　had　its　potency。　And　the　science　of　this　time　was　no　more　ready　for　it　than　the　science　of　any　other。
　
　Look　at　this　suffering；　these　beggars　sleeping　in　the　alleyway。
　
　Smell　the　filth　of　that　house；　as　if　the　door　is　a　mouth　that　spews　its　foul　breath　while　gasping　for　clean　air。
　
　A　beggar　man　approached　him。〃　Spare　a　sixpence；　sir；　I　haven't　eaten　in　two　days。　Please；　sir。〃
　
　Ramses　walked　on　by；　his　slippers　damp　and　dirty　from　the　puddles　in　which　he　had　stepped。
　
　And　now　es　a　young　woman；　look　at　her；　listen　to　the　cough　rattling　deep　from　her　chest。
　
　〃Want　to　have　a　good　time；　sir？　I　have　a　nice　warm　room；　sir。〃
　
　Oh；　yes；　he　did　want　her　services；　so　very　much　that　he　could　feel　himself　hardening　immediately。　And　the　fever　made　her　all　the　more　fetching；　she　thrust　out　her　small　bosom　gracefully　as　she　forced　a　smile　despite　her　pain。
　
　〃Not　now；　my　fair　one；〃　　he　whispered。
　
　It　seemed　the　street；　if　it　was　in　fact　a　street；　had　carried　him　into　a　great　wilderness　of　ruins。　Burnt…out　buildings　reeking　of　the　smoke；　with　windows　empty　of　drapery　or　glass。
　
　Even　here　the　poor　camped　in　alcoves　and　shallow　doorways。　A　baby　cried　desperately。　The　song　of　the　hungry。
　
　He　walked　on。　He　could　hear　the　city　ing　alive　around　him；　not　the　human　voices；　those　he'd　heard　all　along。　It　was　the　machines　which　awoke　now　as　the　dirty　grey　sky　grew　brighter　and　became　almost　silver　overhead。　From　somewhere　very　far　away；　he　heard　a　deep…throated　train　whistle。　He　stopped。　He　could　feel　the　dull　vibration　of　the　great　iron　monster　even　here　through　the　damp　earth。　What　a　beguiling　rhythm　it　had；　those　wheels　rolling　on　and　on　over　the　iron　tracks。
　
　Suddenly　a　spasm　of　shrill　noise　threw　him　into　a　panic。　He　turned　in　time　to　see　an　open　motor　car　hurtling　towards　him；　a　young　man　bouncing　on　the　high　seat。　He　fell　back　against　the　stone　wall　behind　him　as　the　thing　rattled　and　bumped　over　the　ruts　in　the　mud。
　
　He　was　shaken；　angry。　A　rare　moment　in　which　he　felt　helpless；　exposed。
　
　Dazed；　he　realized　he　was　looking　at　a　grey　dove　lying　dead　in　the　street。　One　of　those　fat　dull　grey　birds　which　he　saw　everywhere　in　London；　nesting　on　the　windowsills　and　on　the　rooftops；　this　one　had　been　struck　by　the　motor　car；　and　part　of　its　wing　had　been　crushed　under　the　wheels。
　
　The　wind　stirred　it　now；　giving　it　a　false　semblance　of　life。
　
　Suddenly　a　memory；　one　of　the　oldest　and　most　vivid；　caught　him　off　guard；　ripping　him　from　the　present；　cruelly；　and　planting　him　squarely　in　another　time　and　place。
　
　He　stood　in　the　cave　of　the　Hittite　priestess。　In　his　battle　garb；　his　hand　on　the　hilt　of　his　bronze　sword；　he　stood　looking　up　at　the　white　doves　circling　in　the　sunlight　under　the　high　grate。
　
　〃They're　immortal？〃　　he　asked　her。　He　spoke　in　the　crude；　guttural　Hittite　tongue。
　
　She　had　laughed　madly。〃　They　eat；　but　they　do　not　need　to　eat。　They　drink；　but　they　do　not　need　to　drink。　It　is　the　sun　that　keeps　them　strong。　Take　it　away　and　they　sleep；　but　they　do　not　die；　my　King。〃
　
　He　had　stared　at　her　face；　so　old；　shrunken　with　its　deep　wrinkles。　The　laughter　had　angered　him。
　
　〃Where　is　the　elixir！〃　　he　had　demanded。
　
　〃You　think　it　is　a　great　thing？〃　　How　her　eyes　had　gleamed　as　she　approached　him；　taunting　him。〃　And　what　if　all　the　world　were　filled　with　those　who　could　not　die？　And　their　children？　And　their　children's　children？　This　cave　harbours　a　horrid　secret；　I　tell　you。　The　secret　of　the　end　of　the　world　itself；　I　tell　you！〃
　
　He　had　drawn　his　sword。〃　Give　it　to　me！〃　　he　had　roared。
　
　She　had　not　been　frightened；　she　had　only　smiled。
　
　〃What　if　it　kills　you；　my　rash　Egyptian？　No　human　being　has　ever　drunk　it。　No　man；　woman　or　child。〃
　
　But　he　had　already　seen　the　altar；　seen　the　cup　of　white　liquid。　He　had　seen　the　tablet　behind　it　covered　with　tiny　wedgelike　letters。
　
　He　stepped　up　to　the　altar。　He　read　the　words。　Could　this　possibly　be　the　formula　of　the　elixir　of　life？　mon　ingredients　which　he　himself　could　have　gathered　from　the　fields　and　riverbanks　of　his　native　land？　Half　believing；　he　mitted　it　to　memory；　never　dreaming　that　he　would　never　forget。
　
　And　the　liquid；　ye　gods；　look　at　it。　With　both　hands　he　lifted　the　cup　and　drank　it　down。　Somewhere　for　off　he　heard　her　laughing　and　laughing；　it　echoed　through　the　endless　chambers　of　the　cave。
　
　And　then　he'd　turned；　wiping　his　lip　with　the　back　of　his　hand；　his　eyes　wide　as　the　shock　coursed　through　him；　his　face　throbbing；　his　body　hardening　as　if　he　were　in　his　chariot　before　the　battlefield；　on　the　verge　of　raising　his　sword　and　giving　the　cry。　The　priestess　had　taken　a　step　backwards。　What　had　she　seen？　His　hair　stirring；　writhing；　as　if　lifted　by　a　swift　breeze；　the　grey　hairs　falling　away　as　the　strong　brown　hair　replaced　them；　his　black　eyes　fading；　turning　the　colour　of　sapphires…the　stunning　transformation　that　he　would　verify　later　when　he　held　up　the　mirror。
　
　〃Well；　we　shall　see；　shan't　we？〃　　he　had　cried；　his　heart　pumping　fiercely；　his　muscles　tingling。　Ah；　how　light　and　powerful　he'd　felt。　He　could　have　taken　flight。〃　Do　I　live　or　die；　priestess？〃
　
　Stunned；　he　stared　at　the　London　street　before　him。　As　if　it　were　only　hours　ago！　The　moment　whole　and　entire；　and　he　could　still　hear　the　flapping　of　those　wings　against　the　grate。　Seven　hundred　years　had　passed　between　that　moment　and　the　night　he'd　entered　the　tomb　for　his　first　long　sleep。　And　two　thousand　since　he'd　been　awakened；　only　to　go　to　the　grave　within　a　few　years　again。
　
　And　now　this　is　London；　this　is　the　twentieth　century。　Suddenly　he　was　trembling　violently。　Again；　the　damp　smoky　wind　stirred　the　feathers　of　the　grey　dove　that　lay　dead　in　the　street。　He　walked　forward　through　the　sludge　and　knelt　down　beside　the　bird　and　scooped　it　up　in　his　hands。　Ah；　fragile　thing。　So　full　of　life　one　moment；　and　now　no　more　than　refuse；　though　the　white　down　fluttered　on　its　warm；　narrow　little　chest。
　
　Oh；　how　the　chill　wind　hurt　him。　How　the　sight　of　the　dead　thing　pierced　his　heart。
　
　Holding　it　in　his　right　hand；　he　drew　out　the　half…full　vial　of　the　elixir　with　his　left。　He　pushed　open　the　hinged　cap　with　his　thumb　and　poured　the　shimmering　liquid　over　the　dead　creature；　forcing　one　heavy　drop　after　another　into　its　open　beak。
　
　Not　a　second　passed　before　the　thing　quickened。　The　tiny　round　eyes　opened。　The　bird　struggled　to　right　itself；　its　wings　flapping　violently。　He　let　it　go；　and　up　it　went；　circling　as　it　soared　beneath　the　heavy　leaden　sky。
　
　He　watched　until　it　had　disappeared　from　sight。　Immortal　now。　To　fly　forever。
　
　And　another　memory　came；　silent　and　swift　as　an　assassin。　The　mausoleum；　the　marble　halls；　the　pillars；　and　the　gaunt　figure　of　Cleopatra　running　beside　him　as　he　walked　on；　faster　and　faster；　away　from　the　dead　body　of　Mark　Antony　lying　on　the　gilded　couch。
　
　〃You　can　bring　him　back！〃　　she　screamed。〃　You　know　you　can。　It's　not　too　late。　Ramses。　Give　it　to　us　both；　Mark　Antony　and　me！　Ramses；　don't　turn　away　from　me。〃　　Her　long　nails　had　scratched　at　his　arm。
　
　In　a　rage　he'd　turned；　slapped　her；　knocked　her　backwards。　Astonished；　she'd　fallen；　then　crumpled　into　sobs。　How　frail　she'd　been；　almost　haggard；　with　the　dark　circles　beneath　her　eyes。
　
　The　bird　was　gone　over　the　London　rooftops。　The　sun　grew　brighter；　a　shocking　white　light　behind　the　rolling　clouds。
　
　His　vision　blurred；　his　heart　was　pounding　thickly　in　his　chest。　He　was　weeping；　weeping　helples