for he did not appear to want to do any work,
either. I am in Egypt to dig for mummies, not to
let these poor, miserable, wretches do it for me. I
ignored his attempts to dissuade me, and found I
enjoyed the work very much. There is something
comfortable about simple, ordinary work with
one's hands!
The men and I passed baskets of sand up the hill.
One gets into the motions and feels quite at home.
I was just reaching a lovely state of mindlessness,
when an excited clamor arose ahead of me—
something had been found! We had reached the
entrance to the tomb of the Queen Hetepheres!
All of the men became quite excited and chatty,
though heaven only knows what they were saying.
We all gathered about in front of the uncovered
entrance and one man began to step in, when Lord
Hargrave, forgetting himself, came pushing past
all of us. One can hardly blame him for wanting
to be first to open the tomb—he is the head of the
dig—but he entered without acknowledging any
of the workers, or even myself ! I've seen the man
without his shirt, for heaven's sake. I think a little
moment of intimacy would have been expected.
"Thank you, Miss, for your trouble,” or some such.
He disappeared into the tomb, and I entered
behind. Hargrave said, “Oh, Miss Dashwood,
look at the breadth of treasure here entombed!
You would have regretted not seeing this, hey?!”
And the riches, indeed, were vast! He lifted
the torch high, spinning to illuminate even the
darkest corners, and I gasped as the light fell
upon the Queen's sarcophagus. If Mr. Longville
were only here to see this, I thought—and then
wondered why I should consider Mr. Longville at
a time such as this!
We moved closer. Lord Hargrave was told,
“Please, do not yet disturb the tomb. Not until I
have finished deciphering the warnings inscribed
upon it...”
But the young Lord grabbed a crowbar, and
with his impressive strength, simply went to
prying open the lid! The lid at first refused to
move, and then, it cracked across the painted
visage, the delicate paint crumbling and lifting
upward as though disturbed by a breath taken inside the tomb. I say, we were all expecting a cursed
mummy to spring forth. I even stood back.
But nothing happened. Hetepheres lay
dormant, a broken scarab over her heart, hands
clasping a golden amulet. I hoped the Queen
would have a more respectable fate than being
ground up into a virility potion, for however long
ago she lived, she was once a woman like myself.
"I need an itemized list of this tomb's contents,”
said Hargrave. “Down to the smallest bead, along
with its estimated value. Bring in the cases; I want
the contents of this room cleared and packed for
shipping by sunset.”
I think I understand Lord Hargrave's ill
temper. He wants so very much to step out of his
father's shadow and develop a name for himself.
He was so very disappointed that the mummy
wasn't cursed. I stayed with him well into the
night, and he mostly ignored me, frazzled by the
lifeless mummy. He thinks the mummy—“stupid
mummy,” as he says—would have come to life
if the “idiot Egyptians hadn't thrown away the
mummy brains.” It seems that Egyptians thought
the brain to be the most useless organ, though
now we know differently, thanks to phrenology.
Hargrave spent the rest of the night tinkering
on some mysterious devices. Apparently he
is quite talented when it comes to machines,
having been raised around the most intricate and
forward-thinking of technologies since a mere
boy. It seems he has been making a replacement
brain for the mummy. He stuck the machine
in the brittle cranium of the Queen, turned it
on, and—I’m sorry to say—began throwing a
tantrum when nothing happened. I do hope he
is not always so unpleasant when he works, for he
seemed so attractive when we first met.