//------------------------------// // Revenge of the Sphinx - Chapter I // Story: Sherlock Hooves - The Lost Cases // by Scribble Script //------------------------------// 1st- The Mummy Strikes Again To be send on any kind of errant by Sherlock Hooves I surely was used to. To what I however wasn’t used to at all was that I now was supposed to solve Sherlock’s cases for him. Get a load of that! Surely I was as doubtful whether I was able to fulfil his expectations in me, as Miss Star was. My readers might remember that I have sometimes before expressed my astonishment about the functioning of Sherlock’s mind, his outstanding knowledge on certain domains on the one hoof and on the other hoof the complete lack knowledge on any domain he considered unimportant. But though I think myself a stallion with a broad general knowledge, I had to admit that my knowledge on the matter I was asked to investigate could be called fragmentary at best. Yet I had the strange feeling that behind this whole mummy-nonsense was more than just distraction. But If I wanted to actually help Miss Midnight Star, I needed to extend my knowledge. Maybe we both needed. It took some persuasion, but in the end I was able to convince Midnight Star to consult somepony, who might be able to help us. Luckily, I didn’t have to seek for long; just across the street happened to live a pony, who was street-smart in both archaeology and superstition, a pony who was familiar with cults of all kinds. -<0>- Cattycorner from Baker Street 221 B, clearly in line of sight from our living room windows, is an antique store labelled a bit unimaginatively ‘Needful Things’. About three years ago, somepony had eventually bought the long vacant wine and spirits’ shop across the street, and then moved into said premises. This had happened about at the same time as, according to his own opinion, Sherlock Hooves had first foiled the plans of the mysterious Professor Moriarty. The new owner, an earth pony stallion named Silver Blaze turned out to be a former military officer. During his time in the army he has been promoted captain, which can also be deduced from the ‘Capt.’ on the letter-heads he uses. He was wounded in action, and he took that for a reason to take his honorable discharge from the crown’s service. Silver Blaze surely could have gotten by fairly by his pension alone, but he seems to be the kind of swashbuckler for whom standstill and idleness are hard to bear. Insofar the he surely is akin to my friend Sherlock Hooves… So our first, and still quite hesitant steps in this case lead Miss Star and me to ‘Needful Things’, from which’s shop windows already the dangerous, golden grin of an Coltyptian jackal-headed mask smiled at us. To my mind, this creepy mask with its empty eye-holes was conductive to business only for a chamber of horrors, but my academic companion at once was keen as mustard for it. “That’s impossible”, she exclaimed. “A priestly mask, death cult, Third Dynasty, on top of all in best condition! I can’t believe something like that got into free trade! It’s a masterpiece!” “Save that it is sadly not real”, there an amused voice barged in. “And thus not up for sale, I fear. Just meant to attract customers.” Silver Blaze nonchalantly leaned against the doorframe, and he didn’t really look like one would imagine an antique vendor: A light-grey stallion with his dark mane dressed just negligently enough it could have been on purpose. As usual, he was wearing a black eyepatch over his left eye. An adventurous figure like him seems to fit better into the southern jungles or on a pirate ship, or phrased with bad grace, into the dive bars rather than into the finer quarters of Canterlot, but that was gladly overlooked for an officer of noble origin like him. “The Twelve be with ye, neighbour”, Silver Blaze greeted me. “Do ye not want to introduce milady to me? I am always pleased to meet somepony who shares this hobby horse with me.” Well, a fable for old-fashioned manner of speaking has always been one of his quirks. “I am Miss Twilight Star”, Miss Star greeted him. Then she corrected: “And it’s not only a hobby. Archaeology is my profession, Mister... um?” Silver Blaze introduced himself with a scrape and asked us in. As mentioned before, he seemed a little out of place, in this shop that looked like a weird crossover between a pawnbroker’s and a charm peddler’s shop. Nevertheless he undoubtedly has a flair for business. Cunning and smart, he well knows to earn his living with the collector’s passion and superstition of the upper class. “Well, Doctor Trotson”, Mister Silver said and took a seat behind his counter. “As much as I would like to believe that it was my valuable display that brought you here, I fear I know better. Therefore, how can I be of service, today?” “You’ve guessed right, Blaze” I said. “Without any doubt you’ve heard about the …” I hesitated, searching for the right words but I simply found no better way to reword it: “The mummy’s curse?” Miss Star huffed unwillingly and I as well felt ill at ease to make use of these terms, after all we wanted to stand aloof from the ponies’ superstition, but how else should I have better pointed out our concern in a nutshell? And indeed, Silver Blaze’s face expressed understanding. “Of course, of course. The mummy’s curse. And now, Mister Hooves wants ye and the lady to find out whether I possess an evil black magic artefact in my shop that allows me to become a vile necromancer who sends out the undead to fulfil his sinister will!” I can’t say how shocked and scandalised Miss Midnight Star looked as she heard Silver Blaze’s words. I cringed internally and hoped she wouldn’t take him seriously. I had to explain that matter to her later: Silver Blaze hinted at certain, and not very pleasant circumstances: Shortly after the opening of his shop, Sherlock had tried to prove for quite some time that the former officer was involved in criminal activities, including but not restricted to dealing in stolen goods and smuggling. As far as I know, he has never been able to find any proof, though. It’s true, Mister Silver Blaze behaves suspiciously curious at times, but that’s about it… ‘Naturally’, I would like to add, but after all, we’re talking about Sherlock Hooves who was mistaken this time; and that’s all but naturally. Be it as it may, Silver Blaze’s secrets, if he has any, stay uncovered, and if he has ever taken offence at Sherlock’s accusations, I can’t tell. However, he likes to tease us a bit with this incident time and again. “Mister Blaze”, Miss Star scolded, once she had figured out the antique vendor was just joking. “It’s a serious matter! Doctor Trotson thinks you could be able to help him to figure out why somepony uses the ponies’ superstition as cloak for murder.” Silver Blaze tilted his head. “Superstition”, he drawled, tasting the word like it wouldn’t be to his liking. “I think ‘superstition’ might be not the right word, Miss. Maybe there indeed was a curse inflicted on the burial chamber, who knows? I personally think it could have been the curse of gold…” “You mean...?” I began, but I was cut short by Silver Blaze who fished out a necklace made of tarnished, thin golden platelets from under the counter. “Look here! Has come in just today, my friends. This little precious has realized five hundred bits at Sotheby’s. A friend asked me to monetize it for her, and though it is only brazen I hope to sell it for a thousand. Yesterday morning, I have told Mister Hooves the same: Do you have an idea, how much even the smallest piece of jewellery from a real royal tomb would be worth on the market? Believe me, murders have been committed for far less…” -<0>- Avarice, what a plain motive for undergoing the effort of strangling somepony with a mummy bandage, I thought. And even if Professor Apocrypha had been killed because the murderer wanted to steel something from the tomb, then why the second murder? “A strange fellow, this Silver Blaze”, Miss Star remarked, once we were back on the street. She seemed to share my concerns. “Is he trustworthy?” I explained that there indeed existed a black market for art objects, needless to say with anything but fine ways of behaving. In the past, Silver Blaze had preferred to go treasure hunting himself, but he had also admitted that it was necessary for his profession to tinker with the current situation on the black market. That would be better for health in the long run... So Blaze’s theory wasn’t made up out of thin air. But, as Midnight Star fittingly put her hoof on the problem: His theory didn’t explain the second murder, the one of Doctor Scriptoria. “Except maybe if the murderer couldn’t get what he was looking for”, I objected. It actually made sense if I thought about it. A thief enters the chamber, in search for a certain artefact. He doesn’t know that Apocrypha is still in there and thus is caught red-hoofed by the professor. He kills Apocrypha on impulse, or to silence him, or for whatever possible reason else. But whatever he is looking for, it’s no longer in the tomb. So the killer has no choice but to wait for a chance to try it again. And this chance had come on the way back to Canterlot. And Scriptoria had to die as well because he had gotten on to his track... “But if so”, Miss Star said unhappily. “Then it’s of no use, the murderer now has what he wanted and is over the hills and far away!” I actually wouldn’t have been so sure about that. The killer probably was part of the expedition. To tell Midnight Star that I suspected her mentor to be a cold-blooded murderer was likely no good idea but Adder Stone was the one pony who had both the opportunity to kill Scriptoria and Apocrypha and enough knowledge about Coltyptian artefacts to have a motive. This of course would explain why Doctor Stone did nothing to allay the rumours about the mummy’s curse. I would need to step into the lion’s den, but I was sure it would be worth to feel Doctor Stone out. To Miss Star, I said: “We should check the inventory list for the Coltyptian exhibition. If something on the list is missing, we have our motive. We can take it from there.” “Alright”, she confirmed. “Then we need to go to the Equestrian Museum next. Doctor Stone’s preparing the exhibition for the opening tomorrow, he should have the list there.” To go like a bull at the gate wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I could reconcile with that idea. Sherlock Hooves had adapted this tactic sometimes. And the sooner I got to know my main suspect, the better! What should await us at the museum, however, I would have never expected! -<0>- I got a bad feeling right from the start, when I saw two constables in uniform standing in front of the museum’s entrance: Two young lads, ashen-faced and timid, like they had seen a ghost; that didn’t contribute to my reassurance either. And as we entered the museum, my look at once fell on a certain stallion who was standing amidst a group of uncertain ponies that were nervously talking across each other, lean and ferret-like. I saw my worst concerns confirmed! “What a disaster, Doctor Trotson”, Inspector Lestride addressed me without ceremony, signing over the crowd to another constable who was just as little successful in calming the ponies down. “So Sherlock Hooves has been right once again! There he writes me to keep my eyes glued to this Adder Stone, and now this… Ugly situation…” “Wait!”, exclaimed Miss Star. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Doctor Stone?” Only now Lestride seemed to notice the mare standing by my side: “And you are, Miss?” “I’m Midnight Star”, she replied and it sounded like an accusation. “I’m Doctor Stone’s assistant! And I demand to know what’s going on!” Inspector Lestride gave her a sour look and said: “Then I’ll have to ask you some questions, too, Miss…” Before the two of them could get into a stalwart contention that would yet lead nowhere, I decided to barge in and turned to Lestride: “Inspector, could we defer that until later? Of course, you need to ask her some questions, but if you fill us in what’s going on here, maybe we’d be able to help you better.” Lestride grimaced. “Alright, alright. You actually might be able to help us, and since Sherlock’s technically already involved… But I must ask you to continue to be available, Miss!” “Oh, you can bet that I won’t leave your side, Inspector”, Miss Star assured him grimly. Inspector Lestride nodded. He didn’t look very happy, but he signified us to follow his lead. “You know, Doctor, I’ve been ill for the last week and had to lay up in bed. And when I enter my office this morning, there’s this telegram from Mister Hooves, lying on my desk for Celestia knows how many days: Matter of life and death, stop. Observe Adder Stone, stop. Sherlock Hooves, stop. I barely had the time to feel angry about Mister Hooves commanding me around, when the report came in that… …But see for yourself!” He downright shoved us into the room. In the middle of the room stood an antique sarcophagus. The gilded surface reflected the daylight falling in from the transom windows. A high-pitched scream escaped from Miss Star’s mouth; over the edge of the coffin protruded a stallion’s hoof! “The janitor has found him”, Lestride said. “When he was making his round this morning. He thought the mummy was trying to leave its last rest, and so he called us. After all this mummy-talk, ponies are getting pretty nervous… When I arrived, I at once ordered to open the sarcophagus and we found Doctor Adder Stone inside. Just like… chrm, chrm… Like this. No pleaseant view, I can tell you.” I forced myself to take a closer look at the body, or rather the bodies. Lestride was right, it was no pleaseant view, like death never was: Clearly visible beneath his white fur, Stone’s face was discoloured blackish-blue, a mask twisted with pain; his wide open eyes stared brokenly up to the ceiling. Half buried under his corpse lay a second lifeless body, in form of Katebet’s mummy. In a macabre way, it looked like the sphinx was about to embrace the unexpected bedfellow for its eternal slumber with its bandaged, withered paws. The golden death mask -it showed a face of unfamiliar and dangerous beauty- was sprinkled with red drops of blood that had dripped from Adder Stones mouth corner. As grotesque as this sight was, as clear seemed the stallion’s cause of death. Adder Stone’s corpse showed all signs of suffocation, he had been strangled to death, no doubt. Around his neck, were wrapped the same kind of bandages that had belike been found with Apocrypha and Scriptoria. I had to admit that, one the first glance at least, everything pointed towards Katebet’s mummy as culprit. On the first glance, mark you! Over the shoulder, I turned to Lestride, who was a little clumsily trying to console Miss Midnight Star. All of this was almost too much, even for her. She didn't cry but she looked like she would feint any second. “Was anything moved in this crime scene?” As you might notice, I was trying my best to adapt Sherlock’s strategy. At my words, Lestride looked even more uncomfortable than before. “At least not by us, Doc”, he sombrely replied. “The forensic ponies... Well, they simply refuse to come; they’re afraid of the curse, they say. And as long as they aren't done, we can't send for the medical examiner. But since you’re already here, and you’re a physician as well, AND you aren’t afraid of evil undead mummies…” “You want me to do the examination?” “We don’t have much options left, have we?” One hadn’t to be Sherlock Hooves exactly to tell that Lestride’s laughing was fake. “Time’s ticking’ on and we’re stuck with no results. So maybe you could lend us a hoof?” Maybe Lestride thought it would be better to let ME spoil the crime scene than if he or his constables did so. If Sherlock decided to show up, he would give me a piece of his mind instead of him for a change… But that was fine with me. Though I didn’t know exactly why, I knew Sherlock had decided to not deal with this case. And should he change his opinion for whatever reason, I wanted to present him as much information as possible. I had a lot of work to do. -<0>-