The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

display, the Tomb of
the Egyptian Mummy. It was a vast display that took up enormous space behind a
large glass wall. A year earlier this monument had been trashed and the mummy
stolen. Cromwell had spent vast sums of the museum’s resources having it
restored, against Simmonds’s better judgement. But now that he was in charge he
had visions of turning it into a kind of House of Horrors attraction, perhaps
set in a giant plastic pyramid. It could even feature a mini fairground ride
with mummies and other creepy creatures.
    It was while he was staring at
the tomb that Simmonds’s night took an unexpected turn. He heard footsteps
coming down the main stairs at the far end of the hall on his right. He looked
around and saw James the security guard. He was being followed by a group of
men. One man in particular stood out above the others. He was a broad fellow
with a shaved head. He wore a smart silver suit and a pair of sunglasses. The
other four men who flanked him, two on either side were dressed all in black
with their faces largely concealed behind black headscarves. They looked like
ninjas.
    James waved at Simmonds. ‘Mr
Simmonds, I have a gentleman here to see you.’
    Simmonds sighed inwardly. It
seemed that the day was not quite over after all. The group of men made their
way up to him and then James introduced the big fellow in the suit.
    ‘This is Mr Gaius,’ he said.
Then he turned to Gaius and gestured back at Simmonds. ‘This is Elijah
Simmonds.’
    Simmonds held out his hand. ‘Hi,
I’m the manager here,’ he said. It felt so good to say it out loud.
    Gaius took his hand and shook it
firmly. ‘I’m the new owner,’ he said.
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘I’m the new owner of this
museum. So good to meet you, Mr Simmonds. I’m a big fan of your work.’
    Simmonds couldn’t hide his
shock. ‘How did this… I mean, umm, will I still be manager?’
    Gaius placed his right arm
around Simmonds’s shoulders and steered him away from the rest of the group,
walking him away to a corner where there was a large piano with a mannequin
dressed as Ludwig van Beethoven sat behind it on a stool.
    ‘Ever seen Beethoven play?’
Gaius asked.
    ‘Um, no.’
    Gaius raised his left hand. A
gentle glow seemed to emanate from his fingertips. He waved his fingers gently
in several directions like a puppeteer. It generated a reaction from the wooden
figure seated at the piano in the purple suit and grey wig. Beethoven was
coming to life. The figure of the composer began moving in an awkward, clunky
manner. His head perked up and his fingers began tapping away on the keys of
the piano.
    ‘Recognise the tune?’ Gaius
asked.
    It did sound vaguely familiar to
Simmonds, but he wasn’t entirely sure where he’d heard it. ‘Is it Thank you for
the Music by Abba?’ he asked.
    ‘No, it’s concerto number five,
you ignorant prick.’
    Gaius squeezed Simmonds’s
shoulder tightly as they watched the pianist perform. About thirty seconds into
the performance Simmonds heard the sound of glass cracking behind him. He
twisted his head around to get a look at where the noise had come from. He saw
the four ninja guys were taking turns kicking the glass cover around the tomb,
using their bare feet. The glass was several inches thick and not the sort that
would normally break easily, but as Simmonds watched on, held back by the firm
grip of Gaius’s hand on his shoulder, the four ninjas kicked at it repeatedly
until after four or five seconds the whole thing came crashing down. James
stood by helplessly, looking to Simmonds for advice on what to do.
    ‘What the hell?’ Simmonds
blurted out. ‘You can’t just do that.’
    Gaius twisted him back around
again to watch the wooden figure of Beethoven performing at the piano. He
leaned in and whispered into Simmonds’s ear. ‘Did Bertram Cromwell die easily?’
he asked.
    ‘What?’
    ‘When you killed Bertram
Cromwell, how did it make you feel?’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    Gaius smiled, not a warm smile
by any means, but a smile nonetheless. ‘I know you killed him,’ he said. ‘But
I’m not mad. As it happens you did me a favour. He would never have allowed me
to come down here and mess with his precious tomb, would he? But you, you Mr
Simmonds, have wisdom beyond your years. You don’t mind if my boys here spend a
bit of time rearranging the tomb do you?’
    ‘Um, well…’
    ‘I thought not. We’ve got
business here this evening you see. I’m having a