The Mummy’s Moment — A Simon and Stilo Halloween Adventure, Chapter 1

Hey! Two postings this week, or should I say three, since I'll post the second and final chapter of this Simon Halloween adventure by midnight for those of you who're in the GMT-6 time zone. It'll be six over here.

I got the motivation from BC, who's drawn a Simon piece that goes with the second chapter, so Christmas comes early this year.

But for now, enjoy ...

The Mummy’s Moment 

Chapter 1

Lord Archibald Wreathcomb is taking his daily walk in Hyde Park. It’s autumn, and low, dark clouds run above London, sometimes releasing showers that briefly interrupt the passersby who hasten to open their umbrellas. Lord Archibald doesn’t let a few drops stop him; he’s a man with plans. He’s been called to higher levels of control when the new world arises.

However, when he crosses Kensington Road he stops dead in his tracks. A young man with a fiery helmet of red hair stands in front of the Royal Albert Hall. He’s seen him in his dreams! It’s Mentuhotep’s servant, the one who cursed the Pharaoh and who needs to be put to rest forever. Lord Archibald stands still, unable to move.

The young man is thirteen or fourteen, at the most. He’s wearing a tight, formal suit; he speaks with a man in his late forties who still has poise and is wearing a top-hat and a large black cape with red lining. Archibald gets out of his trance as the man and the boy disappear back into the building, followed by a bouncing bunny. Archibald approaches to watch the posters announcing several music-hall acts: a contortionist, a juggler, magicians, and an escape artist.

This one states ‘Simon, whom nothing can hold.’ The poster features two pictures side by side, one of the young man tied to a post in a flurry of ropes, his lower face concealed by a wide, thick scarf. In the second one, he stands free, arms raised to signal victory, holding the scarf and the ropes in his hands.

Archibald has a leering smile; twenty years of his quest are about to end in a triumph. He’s got people to call—and lots to prepare, so he won’t dawdle in the chilly drizzle.

Simon is enjoying the current engagement in London. They’re playing in a huge theatre, and they stay at a nice hotel. It’s less work than the circus. He has to practice, of course, but they’re doing the easy numbers. These rely a lot on the acting; Simon is seized by villains who get him into perilous situations, which the skilled Houdini gets out of unscathed. Patrick has joined Stilo to get Simon into chains or ropes—sometimes both. He’s got a black robe, playing a crazy monk, or a black suit when he plays the burglar.

The theatre is two minutes away from the British Museum of Natural History, and they’ve spent hours watching the dinosaurs and exploring the marvels of science. They were even given enough time to go visit the other museum, the one with Greek statues, sarcophaguses, and mummies. It’s great being in a big city with time on one’s hand.

They’ve been invited to stay a whole week, as their boat won’t depart for several days. Simon wakes up early on this first day of vacation, whereas his friends will certainly sleep in this morning. They’ve planned to go back to the museum to watch the paintings, but Simon needs to get outside of his bedroom and get a whiff of air before everyone is up and ready to move. Powderpuff follows Simon for a morning stroll.

Simon politely greets the valet at the hotel’s entrance and steps onto the street with his pet rabbit joyfully leaping around him. He’s heading for a park three minutes away; it’s still dark, and Simon has no clue he’s being spied and followed.

He turns the corner into a residential street. An ambulance is parked near the curb with a man in a long white coat standing next to it. Simon spots the back door opening as three silhouettes materialize into six arms that seize him, one landing on his mouth and cutting out any attempt at shouting. Simon fights furiously while Powderpuff is cast aside by one of the men’s foot. It flees, heading back to the hotel for help.

The ambulance’s doors are wide open, and another pair of limbs grabs Simon, pulling him inside, the three accomplices keeping their hold and pushing their catch forward. A gurney lines up at the back of the vehicle, full of straps to hold a reluctant patient.

His attackers follow their victim inside the ambulance, keeping their grip on his struggling body. The man who stood in Simon’s way climbs on the front passenger seat. He slides a transparent panel, turning to his crew at the back.

“Make sure he stays still and quiet. He’s a renowned escape artist. It’s a challenge you’ve trained to face!”

Simon feels straps pinning him face down to the gurney. The hand gagging him doesn’t relent its pressure. His legs and waist are strapped to the table. The hands keeping his arms in a lock move his limbs, pulling his wrists between his shoulder blades. Leather cuffs sneak around his joints and forearms, with a strap going under his armpits and one pulling his pinioned arms close to his torso.

“Mmmmh!” Simon wails behind his handgag, trying to mollify his fierce kidnappers.

“He’s making too much noise. Handle it like we taught you,” the man in front barks.

Now the prey is immobilized, all hands gather around Simon’s head for the gagging. It gets pulled back with a yank of his red mane; his mouth is left free for the tenth of a second it takes one of his captors to slide a large ball of rolled up cotton. The handgag comes back.

“Mmrgrmm?!”

“It’s better, but it sounds like there more space inside this big gob!”

“Mmmh!”

Simon should know better than defying his evil kidnappers, but he can’t let the scoundrels pull their tricks without giving them a piece of his mind.

This time, it doesn’t impress his antagonists in the least, and the coordinated hands are back to assist in getting his mouth stuffed further. They’ve managed three large hankies when the man in front deems the stuffing silencing enough.

“A good start. Now, make sure it all stays in.”

Every time he gives orders, Simon hears an unspoken ‘or else.’ The men binding and gagging him are slender and handsome. They show up in front to get a good look at his stuffed face. Both look the same, like copies of the same Middle-Eastern young man. Brothers who were born a short time apart? He’ll have to wait to ask.

The youngest one has a roll of tape. It’s one inch wide, but four tight turns around his head push the massive packing further in. Then the young man grabs a roll of bandage. Simon feels it flying around his head, led by magic fingers, the turns coiling around his head one after the other, each turn part of an encasing helmet. The loops linking his chin to the top of his skull are done particularly tight.

“So, Simon … or should I say Waset, the Pharaoh’s traitor!”

Simon is clueless. The man orders the driver to start, and the engine revs up. The ambulance launches at full speed. His guards recover their balance; another roll of bandage appears, its application entertaining the captive for a few minutes. They have a support for his forehead, and a strap goes over the back of his cranium to keep his head down.

When the guards take a seat on each side of the gurney, the soft hum of the engine becomes the only noise.

“Three days we’ve been waiting for an opportunity,” the man resumes, “but you always walk around with your pesky entourage. Here you are, at last, strapped down and silenced to my taste, on your way to your temporary storage. You enjoy performing, so I’ll give you the role of a lifetime: you’ll make the prophesy happen, and at last we will rule the world!”

Simon wonders what kind of loon has gotten hold of him. His minions are skilled, though the straps aren’t locked—he’d be out of them in seven minutes. He feels the men’s stares as the drive goes on. Now and then, the man speaks through the hole, unveiling his plan. Simon will be put in a sarcophagus, which will be buried in a temple on the next full moon. This will bring the end of times for the wicked, the man’s crazy story goes.

The packing is much too dense that Simon can question the man’s sanity; his whimpers only get sniggers from his guards in return.

“But until this great and final moment, my squad will watch you. They’re keen on keeping my captives company.”

So the man is also a serial kidnapper, with henchmen to do his nasty bidding?

The drive lasts another hour, with the passengers mostly silent, the man sometimes enquiring about Simon’s condition, suspicious that he could be ready to jump out of his restraints at any moment. His goons reassure him every time.

The ambulance slows down before stopping.

“I leave him in your hands,” the man tells his employees.

The young men keep working in silence. Simon hears them opening the doors, and his gurney is pulled outside; the legs with wheels unfold, and the trolley starts rolling on a hard surface.

The ride is disorienting to the unwilling passenger; the abductors carry the trolley down staircases and take many turns in endless corridors. At last, they enter a room, the door slamming shut behind them. Simon feels the straps loosening, while new cuffs and bracelets adorn his wrists and ankles. Chains and locks link them, and the bandage blindfolding him is removed.

The men pick Simon up and have him stand. The room must be underground. It’s large and the ceiling isn’t low; Simon counts the tie-up contraptions in the room: three chairs, a scaffold, benches, a pommel horse, and crates. At least eleven people could be held here simultaneously.

“We’ve got time to have you try our nice equipment,” the tallest man tells the captive, smirking. “But right now we’ll prepare you for the Master.”

The four accomplices take Simon to the customized armchair. They undress him, leaving his trademark blue silk briefs only. They seat him and strap him tight. The piece of furniture has clever additions, and even his fingers and toes are individually pinned to the heavy wood.

The youngest guard tops their restraining job by adding a leather hood; at least it has an opening for his eyes and nose, but the tight lacing crushes Simon’s jaws; the devious youngster hooding him uses the rings at the side to pull Simon’s skull against the headrest.

“He can’t make a fuss in any way. This will please the Master,” the young man comments.

His accomplices approve; the four men gather and chat, too far from Simon for him to hear, but the glances he gets at regular intervals tell him he’s the discussion’s topic. The wait ends when the door opens and Sir Archibald enters.

His High Priest’s garb is red and as showy as his crown. Simon saw one at the museum: he identified the deschret, the red crown with the little thing sticking up.

The costume feeds the man’s delusions, and his features reflect his feeling of might. He inspects his captive with his dark eyes, moving around to see him from up close. Simon understands he’s after a flaw in his henchmen’s work, but he can find none.

“You treated our guest well. It’ll comfort him to spend his earthly life’s last days in good men’s hands, I’m sure. Now, Waset, you sold Pharaoh to his enemies so you could flee and escape your fate!”

At the museum, Simon heard the guide tell about these Egyptian kings being buried with their servants; Patrick even made a joke that his escape artist talents would be helpful in such a situation.

“I’ve discovered hieroglyphs forty years ago telling of this betrayal, and of the curse that, once lifted, could give a High Priest eternal powers!”

Simon stays very still; he’s been confronted to loonies and people losing it before. He witnesses years of anger and frustration writhing over the man’s wicked face.

“From the secret ritual I uncovered in this scroll, I can summon the powers that I’m owed by burying Waset alive during a full moon. I searched the world for decades, but fate brings him to me when I’m home! Rejoice, lad, you’ll become a god in the afterlife. That’s what the scroll says, too!”

Simon has no will to try out if he’s to become a deity after his death. The young performer realizes he hasn’t overly struggled yet, and time could quickly dull his watchers’ attention. Once again, he would wait for his hour.

“But until you’re brought to the temple for this day of glory, you’ll wait here. My assistants are capable, and they’ll make your stay as pleasant as possible if you don’t antagonize them.”

The four men stand on a line, leering and smirking at their ‘guest.’ Simon watches them back, recording their attitudes. He needs to find out as much about this quartet as he can before he makes his move.

TBC