dinosaur bones. Lately, the big draw was the original tome of the Necronomicon, the ancient spell book that—through a combination of a rare planetary alignment, the phase of the moon, and a homely old witch’s paper cut that had provided the requisite drop of virgin’s blood—had sparked the reality upheaval that gave birth to all manner of creatures formerly relegated to ghost stories and paranoid imaginations. The museum dioramas, the insect display cases, even the dinosaur bones, now took a backseat to the creepy stuff.
When I gave my name to the security guard at the door and told him I was a friend of Ramen Ho-Tep’s, the man looked skeptical. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”
I was puzzled. “What do you mean? He was a client of mine. I know him well.”
Again, the guard was unimpressed. “Do you know how many groupies hang around the delivery doors just trying to get his autograph?”
“Uh . . . no, I don’t. How many?”
“A lot,” the guard said. “He was the Pharaoh of all Egypt, you know.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before. Tell him Dan Chambeaux is here—I’d just like a word.”
“You’d better not be wasting my time.” The guard left me standing outside the museum’s side entrance. I continued to smile pleasantly at him, holding back my own comment that this guy was wasting my time. A few minutes later he opened the door again, looking both surprised and humbled. “What do you know? He says come on in. It’s your lucky day.”
“Right.”
Robin and I had helped Ramen Ho-Tep in his suit to be emancipated from the museum, on the basis that he was a person, not property. Since Mr. Ho-Tep, the Pharaoh of all Egypt, was a significant draw in their Ancient Egypt wing, the museum resisted letting him go his own way. Eventually, we reached a resolution, and now, with his regular dramatic readings, Ramen Ho-Tep had become something of a star, and his weekly performances of “Egypt through the Eye Sockets of Someone Who Was Really There” had even been featured on a national news program.
When I went into his dressing room, the mummy rose to his feet, glad to see me. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Jellied larks’ tongues? I shall summon my slaves.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Ho-Tep. Just a quick question—I’m hoping you can shed some light on one of my cases.”
Ramen Ho-Tep was looking well. His laundered and bleached bandages had a stiff clean-linen appearance, and his dust-dry sinews and skin had plumped up again (just like any other ramen when soaked in water).
“The wealth of my knowledge is yours for the asking, Mr. Chambeaux. I was the Pharaoh of all Egypt, and I am generous to my friends.”
“I’ve been hired by another Egyptian, with whom you may be acquainted. She’s experiencing some trouble.”
“I am concerned for all of my subjects,” Ho-Tep said. “Who is this person and how may I help?”
“She’s another mummy, maybe from a different dynasty. Her name is Neffi. She runs the Full Moon.”
Even behind all those bandages, I could see Ho-Tep’s expression pull into a pinched grimace of distaste. “She’s most definitely a slut, Mr. Chambeaux. No two ways about it. There was nothing between us whatsoever. Just gossip.”
Playing it cool, I said, “You know her, then?”
“Knew her—a long time ago. She used to think she was the scarab’s knees. Had quite a reputation, that one. But she wasn’t as lovely as she wanted to think. She painted herself up more than my sarcophagus, and she always used too much myrrh.”
“So . . . ,” I ventured, sensing a lot more there than mere hostility, “you two had a little thing going?”
“Not much of a thing,” Ramen Ho-Tep said. “Not at the rates she charged! She wanted me to build a pyramid for her, just to show my appreciation, but I wasn’t her honey daddy. Plenty of other fish in the Nile.”
“Somebody’s been harassing her,” I told him, “apparently trying to drive the Full Moon out of business.”
“Neffi?” He sounded alarmed, and he didn’t even try to hide his concern. “Is she all right?”
“Unharmed, but worried. Someone smashed two of the jars where she kept her mummified pet cats.”
“Oh, no! Not poor Socks, Whiskers, and Blackie!”
Ramen Ho-Tep had been a cat lover himself. His own pet, Fluffy, was preserved and on display in the museum.
“I shall have to send her my condolences, uh, as a professional matter,” he said. “If there is anything that I, as pharaoh, can do