Chapter Six

"It will be fine," Gray whispers to me as Lady Christie slips away to retrieve her husband's medical tools. "We will be respectful." He passes me a small smile. "For science."

I try and fail to return that smile.

"If you would rather not participate…" he says.

"We have an excuse to unwrap a mummy," I say. "I'm not going anywhere. I just know that this is also a bigger share of the limelight than you like."

Gray has always worked off-stage. He presents his findings quietly to McCreadie and doesn't speak at trials or give lectures. That's how he's happiest. Left to work without having strangers accuse him of being a ghoul with an unnatural interest in the dead. He gets enough of that from asshole cops who don't know that the work he and others are doing will revolutionize criminal investigations.

That has started to change, though. His name slipped into the discourse during our first case together, and it was firmly planted there during our second case, thanks to both Jack and Gray's own sister—Annis, of course.

At the time, Gray had said he wasn't concerned because no one would care. He was just a scientist. But now apparently someone is chronicling his adventures, and I can damn well bet the focus isn't on the science. We're in a world just discovering a fascination with detectives, and I'm worried that Gray is going to get caught in it.

"I suspect the curtain over my activities has already been drawn back too far to be closed again," he says. "Which seems to oddly coincide with me taking on a certain assistant. I never had this before, you know, despite my years of working with Hugh."

"Your vast decades of working together? Exactly how many years, Gray?"

His lips twitch, as they often do when I call him that. "Almost three."

"Yeah, that wasn't going to last, with or without me. You're too damn interesting."

"That oddly sounds like a compliment."

"It is one. I toss them out every now and then to keep my boss happy. His ego is so fragile."

Another lip twitch. Gray might be a very private person, but it is not for lack of self-confidence.

"As for these new stories," I say. "If it's Jack, I'll tell her to stop. If she refuses, I'll threaten to kick her ass. She's already said she wouldn't want to face me in the ring."

"Are you saying you would challenge her to a duel to defend my honor?"

"Happily."

That smile grows, his eyes dancing as he leans closer, lips parting to whisper—

"Here is everything you should need, Dr. Gray," Lady Christie says as she appears with a tray of medical implements.

Around us, everyone had gone back to chattering. Now silence falls as Gray takes the tray, and Phoebe and Michael run over to join. It is time to begin.

To the obvious displeasure of the crowd, the children and I insist on beginning with a short lecture, grounding the night's events in their historical context. I leave most of this to the kids and play the role of mediator only when they start arguing over a point of contention in the history.

The kids really are amazing. If they don't grow up to play notable roles in Egyptology, I'll be both shocked and disappointed. It seems that Phoebe has spent much of her young life living on excavation sites and, with a father who let her run wild, she indulged her natural curiosity. I suspect she already knows more than most archaeologists of this day. Michael's expertise is the history of his country and his people, and he puts the mummification into its historical, cultural, and religious context.

The children explain the full process of mummification, starting with removing the organs and stuffing incense-perfumed cloth in their place. Then the body is covered in a salty powder called natron and left to dry for about six weeks. After that, the stuffing is removed and replaced, the incisions are sewn up, and the body is covered in resin.

Next come the shroud and the wrappings. The bandages—up to four thousand square feet's worth—are supplied by the deceased's family, which among the poor could include rags and household linens. As the body is wrapped, hot resin is brushed on as a glue. The embalmers will recite protective spells as they work and may place amulets among the layers.

Once the mummy is done, it's put in a cartonnage case, which sounds like papier-maché made with papyrus and other fibers. Then comes the funerary mask, like the one we saw on display. It will be decorated with a likeness of either the deceased or a god. The cartonnage case is placed into a suhet—a coffin painted to look like a person—and the suhet is ceremoniously taken to the tomb, where it's propped against the wall.

The children impart their knowledge with a liveliness and brevity that even my English prof father could learn from. Sorry, Dad, but you do go on sometimes.

Despite the fact that the children talk for barely ten minutes, the guests' attention doesn't just waver. It never exists in the first place. While a few listen, either out of interest or courtesy, most are too rude to even humor the children, and they resume conversations, as if the kids are on a television playing in the background.

My glares only bounce off the offenders. Well, they bounce off most, though a couple of the men seem to mistake them for flirting. My only consolation is that McCreadie and Isla move to the front and prove as rapt an audience as Lady Christie. Even Annis comes forward to listen, and several others do as well, enough that—I hope—all the children see is an appreciative audience.

As they end, Michael's high, clear voice rings out over the group. "Sir Alastair has brought two mummies to Edinburgh to further advance the study of Egyptian burial practices. As you can see, this one is not well wrapped, and so it is the one we will be examining today, while the other has been delivered to the university for further study."

Phoebe takes over. "This mummy was not found in a proper suhet or even a cartonnage case, which accounts for the condition of its wrappings. It was located in a corridor, and we could not determine where it belonged. The tomb had previously been robbed, and most of the mummies had been removed from their suhets and taken from the tomb altogether. This one seems to have been partially unwrapped, as you can see, as if the thieves had been looking for amulets or jewels under the layers. We do not know who lies within these wrappings, and that is why my father felt it was acceptable to open the mummy here, so that we might be able to determine who lies within and properly repatriate the remains."

Guests look at one another, brows furrowing, either at the unfamiliar word or the unfamiliar concept.

Michael says, "Dr. Gray? If you would begin, please."

Gray inclines his head in a nod. Then he looks at the crowd. "I will be unwrapping with care, out of respect for the dead. Aiding me is my assistant, Miss Mallory Mitchell."

I don't miss the snicker that goes up at that. Assistant indeed. They all know the truth—Gray has found himself a pretty girl to fetch and carry his implements… and possibly more.

If Gray notices the snicker, he ignores it and leans over to whisper a plan to me. This is not a Christmas gift to be easily or quickly unwrapped. It's going to take time, and no one here wants that. So both of us will move as fast as we dare in removing the outer wrappings.

Fortunately, as Phoebe said, the wrappings are in poor condition. The resin that would have glued them together seems to have dissolved, suggesting a cut-rate mummification.

The outer layer shows the classic mummy shape, with the legs together and arms crossed over the chest. It's lumpier than I would have expected. The children had said padding was often used to fill out the form, and I suppose the lumps are another sign of poor—or hastily done—mummification.

I start at the legs with scissors. Yes, scissors, because otherwise, this would take hours. I don't have the luxury of latex gloves, but at least I have silk ones, though I suspect this will be the end of them. The smell of the grave doesn't come off with a simple soak. As we begin, a maid lights pots of incense, and it's not just for atmosphere.

We get the outer layers off more easily than I expected. Then we're down to a recognizable body, with the legs wrapped individually.

"You will note that the legs are bound at the knees," I say. "And that the feet are held apart by packing material. Also, if we examine the wrappings, we can see that some of it is made from old clothing. There's an armhole here." I lift a piece and demonstrate. "I believe that would suggest a relatively poor person inside the wrappings."

"It would," Michael says. "As Phoebe said, Egyptians used whatever cloth was available, including old clothing."

Someone in the crowd audibly sighs with impatience. When someone else makes a hurry-up gesture, McCreadie steps in front of them and smiles.

"We are almost through," I say. "I don't know how many of you will have seen a mummified body, but I should prepare you for what will likely be a disturbing sight."

And with that, the room falls to a hush. A few women raise a gloved hand to their faces, as if preparing to cover their eyes, but those eyes stay trained on my fingers, as I slowly unwrap the mummy's leg.

"I really cannot stress this enough," I say. "If you are faint of heart—or stomach—you may wish to avert your gaze."

No one averts their gaze. Phoebe smirks at me, knowing I'm playing it up for the audience.

"Only a few moments left," I say. "I can see the skin, darkened from the mummification process. If you wish to look away, now is the—"

"Miss Mitchell," Gray says.

I glance over, ready to apologize for the theatrics. If we need to unwrap this poor soul, then I want to make it count and hold their attention. But if Gray has a problem with how I'm treating the procedure, I'll defer to him.

Yet the look he's giving isn't one of warning. In fact, he's not looking at me at all. He's staring down at the corpse.

Gray hasn't been unwrapping as quickly as I have, so his section—the head—is still covered. But he's standing there, gazing down with a deep crease between his brows.

"Hmm?" I say as I move to him.

He looks at me and then down again. I don't see what he's…

Oh, that's odd. At my end of the body, the skin appeared dark under the last layers. That's expected, whatever the skin color of the mummified person. But while Gray still has a few layers to go, a poorly wrapped section exposes part of the cheek through the gap. And that skin isn't much darker than mine.

"Something on the face?" I whisper as I move closer. "Some sort of under-the-wrap death mask?"

He motions for me to touch the still-wrapped portion of the cheek. I frown, but I do as he asks.

"Press down," he whispers.

"What the devil is going on?" someone says. "You're almost there. Get on with it."

I ignore the murmur of assent that follows. I press my fingers on the wrapped cheek, and there's give where there should not be give.

"Something went wrong with the desiccation process?" I whisper.

Gray hesitates. Then he says, "Yes, that must be it."

He clears his throat and turns to the audience. "There appears to be an issue with the upper part of the body. It may not have been properly desiccated. We are going to leave that for now and turn our attention to the legs."

A grumble ripples through the crowd.

"We will return to the head," I say. "Once we have ascertained the damage."

The children look at each other. Michael steps up to us and lowers his voice.

"What sort of damage?" he whispers.

"The face is not as we expect it," I say. "It could indicate a failed mummification."

His frown grows. "That does happen but…"

"The skin seems very pale. I expected darker, from the process."

He shakes his head. "No, natron dries without the significant darkening you'd see in a natural mummification. There were also paler-skinned people in ancient Egypt, with those who traveled from Rome and Greece."

"That might be it. But the skin also seems softer than I'd expect."

"Oh?" He hesitates. "Oh, that is…" He shakes his head. "Perhaps it is a poor mummification, as you said. Forgive the interruption. Continue."

I want to ask what he's thinking, but he's moved away, and now he's in a whispered conference with Phoebe. Lady Christie moves closer to join in the discussion.

Gray is already at the mummified corpse's leg, where I had almost finished the unwrapping.

"We are nearly done here," Gray says, "and seeing what we ought to."

"Yes," I join in as I raise my voice for the audience. "The flesh is hard beneath the bandages, and the desiccation has darkened the skin."

Except, as Michael said, the skin shouldn't be darkened. It must really be a poor mummification.

"We are at the end." Gray raises his voice. "We are about to uncover the leg of the mummy. Miss Mitchell will do the honors."

He offers me the end of the bandage with a little bow, as if handing me a rose. Despite the solemnity of the moment, I have to smile. Apparently, theatrics are indeed allowed.

I take the end between my gloved thumb and forefinger. Then I very gently ease it under the mummy's leg and out the other side, pulling it up and over the shin to reveal—

I stop.

I'm not seeing dark and wizened flesh. It looks like cloth, as if the mummy was wrapped while still wearing something over its legs.

"What's that?" someone says. "A trouser leg?"

I let out a light laugh. "It looks like that, doesn't it? It seems we are not at the mummy yet. Something has been wrapped around its leg. Perhaps the deceased was injured in life, and an assistive device was left on to help in the afterlife."

Michael turns to frown at me. Right. "Assistive device" isn't the period-appropriate term.

"A leg binding," I say. "To aid in mobil—with walking."

Gray is already beside me, having taken the bandage from my hand and unwrapping the leg as I speak. He has revealed an entire swath of dark fabric.

Dark and whole fabric. Showing no ravages of time. Because of the wrappings? Would cotton hold up that long? I know Egypt had cotton. Only it isn't cotton. It's wool. Dark wool—

"Take the children out," Gray says to the room, as the reality of what I'm seeing hits me.

Dark wool trousers.

Victorian trousers.

"Children out," he snaps. "Clear the room! Hugh! I need your assistance." He turns to me and lowers his voice. "Someone—"

"—is inside these wrappings," I say. "This isn't a mummy."

Gray is at the corpse's head, unwrapping as fast as he can, and I wonder why until I realize what he clearly has figured out already: we might not be dealing with a corpse.

I hurry to the mummy's head, but McCreadie is already there, helping without needing an explanation. I wildly look around to see a room full of people watching with the same intent interest they'd shown during the final unwrapping.

I bite back the urge to snarl at them to get out. And say what? That someone has been wrapped in mummy bindings? A possibly live person? That this is a crime scene? None of them would leave after that.

I wheel toward where the children were, but Isla is escorting them out, flanked by two members of the staff. Good.

Gray and McCreadie are almost through. I can see the clear outline of a face now. A masculine face with a light tan and a light brown beard. McCreadie is unwrapping a piece around the neck, and when he pulls back the bandages, they're spotted with blood. Clear ligature lines cut around the base of the neck, below the beard. A ligature pulled so deep it drew blood.

A gasp from the crowd.

"Is he dead?" someone says.

They keep unwrapping. A mouth next, and Gray moves down to check for breath as McCreadie takes over unwrapping the upper part of the face. A nose. Then eyes. Brown eyes that stare lifeless at the ceiling.

"Sir Alastair!" someone shouts.

And Lady Christie begins to scream.