Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,55
closer, you wankers! I’ll do it! I’m warning you—I’ll do it!”
Patrons who had been evacuated—by only ten or fifteen feet—watched in horrified fascination, leaning forward to get a better view. Three uniformed museum guards stood tense, ready to tackle the mummy to the floor; if they did that, he would probably shatter into bone dust and lint.
Ramen Ho-Tep had not, after all, taken hostages, nor had he seized one of the guards’ weapons. It was worse.
In front of the exhibit’s open sarcophagus, the mummy sat cross-legged on the floor. I couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to bend his dried-jerky muscles and petrified bones into such a configuration. He dangled a red can of gasoline in his clawlike hands, threatening to dump it on himself. One of the guards held a long canvas fire hose, ready to open the valve if Ho-Tep should succeed in igniting his bandages; I suspected the high-powered spray would damage the mummy as much as a fire.
One man in a clean dark business suit, a neat tie, and gold wire-rimmed glasses looked highly agitated. Ramen Ho-Tep seemed most upset with him. I recognized the human museum curator, Bram Steffords, who had been so proud to obtain the Necronomicon exhibit after reopening the Metropolitan Natural History Museum “in these exciting, though darker times.” I had shaken the curator’s hand during the ribbon-cutting ceremony, but I doubted he remembered me.
Steffords growled, “If you carry out your threat, Mr. Ho-Tep, I promise we will bring you up on full charges for destroying priceless antiquities. The museum will sue you for damages to yourself and to this exhibit, as well as lost revenue.”
“I don’t give a bloody damn about your revenue, or your antiquities! I am the antiquity! But I’m a person, not property!”
“We have the paperwork to prove otherwise, Mr. Ho-Tep. Now stop this nonsense and put down that gasoline!”
To solidify his threat, Ramen Ho-Tep unscrewed the fuel cap. Fumes wafted up, and the guards backed away.
“I’ve got this,” Robin said to me and pushed forward. “Excuse me, excuse me!”
The mummy turned toward her. Behind the bandages on his face, his chapped lips twitched in what might have been a surprised smile.
In that moment of hesitation, Steffords yelled to the guards, “Now! Jump him!”
But Robin threw herself between them and Ramen Ho-Tep. “You’ll do no such thing! This man is my client!”
Steffords looked at her. “And who the hell are you?”
“Robin Deyer, Esquire, of Chambeaux and Deyer.”
I reached into my jacket pocket, withdrew a business card, and handed it to the curator.
“I shan’t go back on display,” the mummy said. “I’d sooner burn myself and let my ashes join the river of time.”
“He’s been going on like that for an hour,” one of the guards said to me out of the side of his mouth.
“We can resolve this, Mr. Ho-Tep,” Robin said. “Think about the loss to history. Please give me a chance.”
“I’ve waited quite long enough, thank you. I shall no longer endure being a prisoner. I was Pharaoh of all Egypt, and I deserve to be treated with respect!”
“Ask him if he had a girlfriend or something,” the curator said. “Maybe we can dig her up and add her to our museum display if he wants companionship.”
“I wish to be a free man!”
“And I want to be the King of England,” Steffords quipped, imitating the mummy’s British accent. “But that isn’t likely to happen, is it?”
“Bloody hell, don’t you disrespect me, you insignificant grave robber!” Ramen Ho-Tep sloshed the gas can, and a few drops spilled onto his brown gauze bandages. Clutched in his left hand was a disposable butane lighter, but I saw, like everyone else did, that he was holding it upside down. The ancient mummy had no idea how to use a lighter.
Robin said in a plaintive voice, “Mr. Ho-Tep, you’re only hurting our case. We have to make our appeal according to the law. The law is the safety net that holds society together. This is not a solution. If you strike that lighter, no one wins: You lose everything, the world loses your priceless knowledge, and I lose a friend.”
The mummy’s hand wavered.
“I’m going to set up mediation so both parties can discuss this matter as adults.” Robin glared at the curator. “Mr. Steffords, I suggest that you and your legal counsel attend. After airing grievances, we’ll see if we can’t reach some kind of compromise. We all want this to work.”
“The bugger’s going to have to make some damned hefty concessions,”