Chapter Nineteen: Dr. Bhunia or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Book

 

 

***

 

It had taken another four weeks by ship to get back to the Red Sea, and Hubert had continued to be seasick.  Pierre thought it was rather funny, but stopped laughing after the first time he had been forced to help clean up the mess.

 

They worried and argued about how best to conceal the black book.  It was difficult because not only was the book very large and wide, it was extremely heavy.  They finally wrapped it in linen and hit it under the second false bottom of Hubert’s trunk.  Under the first false bottom they placed some very well done costume jewelry.  If one of Imhotep’s inspection officers managed to search that far, they would probably let them go–or steal the jewelry and then let them go.  In the rest of the suitcase they packed Hubert’s regular clothes.

 

They would just have to pray that no one searched their bags too closely.

 

 

***

 

 

Their ship sailed through the Suez Canal and around the eastern coast of Egypt to Alexandria.  Immediately after docking, all of the passengers of the ship took their bags and brought them to the police office, where every person and bag was inspected before they would be allowed inside the country.  There were many travelers, so Jonathan, Pierre, and Hubert had to wait anxiously for several hours.

 

The waiting was definitely the worst part, Jonathan thought with a scowl.

 

When they finally got near the front of the line, Jonathan was horrified to see the guards ripping through the suitcases of the people in front of them.  Obviously security was much tighter here, trying to enter Egypt, than anywhere else.  And if they found the book...it was all over.

 

Jonathan shared a agonized look with Pierre.  Neither knew what to do.  In a few minutes, they could be discovered for what they were.

 

Think, Carnahan, think, he told himself furiously, racking his brains for some semblance of a plan.  But nothing came to him.  He looked up, trying to maintain an outward calm while his insides raged in a fierce panic.

 

And then–from nowhere it seemed–came an avenging angel.

 

***

“Dr. Bhunia!” Jonathan called out joyously, stepping out of the line with his suitcase.

 

The heavyset Indian man turned, surprised, but smiled when he saw Jonathan.  “Um hello!  Evans, was it?”

 

Jonathan nodded enthusiastically, coming over to shake Bhunia’s hand.  “Yes, yes of course, you must remember us.”  He gestured to Hubert, who had come up behind him.

 

Bhunia nodded, frowning slightly.  “But what are you doing back here, in Alexandria?”

 

Jonathan scanned his head quickly for a lie.  “Erm, when we got to Hong Kong we found the apartment where she had been staying, and–”

 

“Who again?” Bhunia asked carelessly.

 

“My sister, Danielle.  We got a forwarding address from her landlady.  She’s moved to Cairo.”

 

Bhunia smiled again, remembering their little chat.  “Ah, of course.  Mr. Belleau,” he said as Hubert came forward to shake his hand vigorously.

 

“We’ve almost found her, sir,” Hubert said, smiling sycophantically.  “We’ve almost tracked her down.”

 

Bhunia smiled.  “I’m glad to hear it, boys.”

 

This whole time Pierre had been trying to mask his utter confusion by pasting a huge smile on his face.  What the hell is going on here? he wondered.  Who is this greasy Indian guy?

 

Jonathan continued speaking jovially.  “We really couldn’t have done it without you, sir!  Your advice has helped us so much!”

 

“It did?” Bhunia asked, confused.  He didn’t remember giving them any advice.

 

“Of course!  Truly, my good son, you helped us more than we can even thank you for!” Jonathan continued, heaping flattery upon him.

 

“Oh, well, you’re welcome,” Bhunia got out, smiling in a puzzled way, but with an unmistakable look of pride and arrogance coming over his pudgy features.  He was no doubt internally congratulating himself on being such a stand-up human being.  “What, exactly did I say?”

 

“So,” Jonathan continued eagerly, quickly ignoring his question, “the last time we saw you we were in Ethiopia!  What are you doing here in Egypt?”

 

Bhunia smiled greasily.  “Transferred.  They’re increasing security around here, you know.  Getting harder and harder to get in and out.”

“Really?” Jonathan asked, his voice rising a pitch.

 

For the first time Bhunia noticed Pierre, and gestured to him as he spoke to Jonathan.  “Who’s he?”

 

“Oh,” Jonathan said shrugging, “we hired him to be our bodyguard.  It’s dangerous traveling nowadays, old boy.”

 

“Oh.”  Bhunia smiled, appreciating the wealthy European travelers before him.

 

But suddenly the two men checking the luggage motioned for Jonathan to bring his suitcase over for inspection.  “You,” the first one called, bored.  “Bring that bag over here.”

 

In response, Bhunia waved his hands, smiling benevolently at the three men.  “I know them,” he said to the inspectors, waving the three of them through and past security, no doubt feeling like father Christmas himself.  He showed them the way out of the police office, rubbing his stomach in a self-satisfied way.

 

Jonathan shook his hand again.  “Thanks again, so much, Doctor.  When we find Danielle, maybe we’ll bring her here and we’ll all get together.  Have dinner sometime!  What do you say?”

 

“Oh, well, sure,” Bhunia said, flustered, surprised that these men liked him so much.  Well, he was a smart, generous man and a damn hard worker.  He should be well-liked, dammit.

 

“Good luck finding her, boys!” he said, waving goodbye as the three men practically ran into a waiting taxi.

 

 

***

 

 

After having many laughs at Bhunia’s expense, and a quick two day boat ride down the Nile, the three men checked into what must have been Cairo’s seediest motel.

 

As they prepared for sleep, Pierre turned to Jonathan.  “So where are we going tomorrow?  You said that you knew of a place where we could get information about the Med Jai.”

 

Jonathan smiled to himself as he fell back on his uncomfortable bed.  “It’s called The Sultan’s Kasbah.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

Jonathan walked into the Kasbah, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior.  Pierre and Hubert waited by the door as Jonathan cased the place.  The Sultan’s Kasbah had been an old haunt of his, he knew the dark corners of this bar like the back of his hand.  He had met some rather unsavory characters here, and had gotten into his fair share of trouble.

 

But (thanks to Evy) he had always paid the bills on time and had been pretty well liked.  The bar owner, Nazir, had always enjoyed Jonathan–especially the English pounds with which he always paid the bill.  Jonathan surveyed the bar for Nazir, but did not see him.  That wasn’t surprising.  Nazir often waited behind the scenes.  He was, Jonathan thought with a snort, probably counting his money. 

 

Jonathan quickly scanned the faces of the men sitting around, not seeing anyone he knew.  Since Imhotep’s palace had been built not sixty miles from the city, Cairo had changed, and changed a lot.  Jonathan was pretty sure no one here would recognize him, but he wanted to be cautious.

 

“Stay here, but look natural.  Sit at that table.  If someone asks, order a drink, but don’t do anything distinctive,” Jonathan said quietly to his partners in crime.

 

Pierre rolled his eyes.  “Thanks for the advice, Evans,” he whispered back.  He found it amusing to use Jonathan’s fake name.

 

Jonathan gave the look right back to him.  “No problem, Gabriel.  I heard in some circles that you need it.”

 

Pierre grinned.  “Yeah yeah, English boy.  Now get going,” he said, smacking Jonathan’s ass.

 

Jonathan made his way over to the bar, stepping past a drunk man sleeping on the floor and a woman giving two other men a risque personal dance.

 

He glanced back at Pierre and Hubert, who were making their way to a table, repressing laughter.  They had decided to wear disguises in case Jonathan ran into someone he had known who could positively identify him.  Pierre now had a goatee and huge black eyebrows, and Hubert was under large black glasses and a beret.  A quick visit to a local costume shop had done the trick.

 

He repressed his mirth, however, because he knew he must look equally ridiculous, at least to them.  He hoped the brown beard concealed enough of his face–while looking natural–to make him look like someone else.

 

Approaching the bar, he laid down some money and spoke to the bartender.  “A shot of bourbon.”

 

The barkeep, a thin, scraggly looking man with an eyepatch poured Jonathan’s drink, eyeing him closely.  As he leaned forward, Jonathan discerned a rather unpleasant smell emanating from the man’s unwashed body.  He shouldn’t be surprised, he thought with a sigh.  This place had never exactly been respectable.

But the bartender was no fool, and his eyes panned up to a table near the doorway shrewdly, where Pierre and Hubert were sitting down.

 

“Drinking without your friends?” he asked nasally, eyeing Jonathan with a clever gleam in his eye.

 

A year ago, Jonathan might have laughed, cowering internally while he debated ways to flee without being too obvious.  But this Jonathan was a harder, tougher breed.

 

He looked right back at the bartender.  “Actually, they’re waiting for me.  Is Nazir around?”

 

The man looked at him, slightly surprised.  What did this Englishman know of Nazir?  “What do you want?” he asked.

 

Jonathan calmly took a sip of his cold drink.  Under Imhotep’s reign, everyone was more careful about everything.  “I have some business with him.”  He silently stared back at the smelly man, keeping his face a bland mask.

 

The man assessed him silently, debating internally whether it was worth it to bother his boss, and risk getting yelled at later.  But it wasn’t too often a well-dressed Englishman walked in, so finally he relented.  “This way,” he muttered.

 

Jonathan grabbed his drink and followed the skinny man as he left the bar area, walked down a dim hallway to a stained door at the end.  “Wait here,” he cautioned.  He knocked, then disappeared inside the room.

 

Jonathan waited nervously.  He had always trusted Nazir implicitly, because he could count on the man to be utterly predictable in acting in his own best interest.  He was a shrewd and canny businessman and a ruthless loan shark.  He made heaps of money by lending poor men and women cash, and then forcing them to repay it at exorbitant rates of interest.

 

But Nazir was also exceptionally good at keeping a secret.  The man knew lots of things he would never say, and heard lots of things from drunk travelers and businessmen that he tucked away, to be used to his advantage later.

 

The brown door creaked open, and the barkeep popped his head out.  “Who should I say is calling?” he asked sarcastically.

 

Jonathan shook his head.  “I go by no name here.  He will speak to me.”

 

The barkeep eyed him, his body propped up between the door and the doorframe, concealing whatever lay behind him.  “Why?”

 

“He knew me before...before Imhotep.”

 

The dirty man shook his head, as if to say, “whatever you say.”  He shut the door behind him, coming to frisk Jonathan.  Finding no weapons, he shrugged again, this time clearly implying, “your funeral, friend.”

 

He knocked on the door again.  Hearing “come in” bellowed from the other side, he beckoned Jonathan to enter.

 

***

 

Stepping into the dank room, it took Jonathan a minute for his eyes to adjust to the light.  When he did, he found himself looking at a confused Nazir, reclining in his chair behind a cluttered desk.  “Yes?” he asked, staring skeptically at the stranger.

 

Jonathan smiled to himself, reaching his hands forward to pull of the sticky beard.  The fake hair came off in his hands, and he looked up to see Nazir’s face frozen in a look of almost comical surprise.  The man had gained weight, Jonathan thought, noticing the protruding lower belly of the Egyptian.  And he appeared just as oily as ever.

 

But Nazir quickly recovered, leaning forward and eyeing Jonathan as the Englishman stepped into the light emanating from a single bulb hanging overhead.

 

“Carnahan,” Nazir croaked, sliding his chair up to his desk as if about to conduct business.  “What brings you back to Cairo?”

 

Jonathan smiled wryly.  “Many things, Nazir,” he answered, settling himself in the chair facing the bar owner.  As he surveyed the dumpy room, he wondered why Nazir, who was making plenty of money, didn’t sell this place and move on.  But Jonathan realized that this dank little bar was where Nazir felt right at home.

 

Nazir pretended carelessness as he rearranged some papers on his desk.  “Didn’t know you were still alive,” he commented casually.

 

“It hasn’t been easy to stay that way,” Jonathan responded, a smirk crossing his features.

 

Nazir laughed appreciatively.  “I can imagine, Carnahan.  So where have you been?”

 

“Places,” Jonathan replied evasively.  While he needed Nazir’s help, there was no need to give him too much information.

 

Nazir acknowledged Jonathan’s terse answers, understanding that he wasn’t going to get much out of the usually talkative Englishman.  “You seem different, friend,” he commented wryly.

 

Jonathan bowed his head.  “Much has changed.”

 

Nazir nodded, the smile slipping off of his round face.  “So what do you need me for?” he asked bluntly.  “I know Imhotep’s after your neck.  You wouldn’t show your face here if it wasn’t important.  What are you after?”

 

Jonathan opted for honesty.  “I need your help Nazir, as well as your discretion.  And I’m willing to compensate you generously for your...services.”

 

Nazir nodded, rubbing his hand over his oily chin.  “Well, Carnahan, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I no longer sell arms out the back.  It’s become to dangerous in recent months.”

 

Jonathan shook his head.  “No, it’s not weapons I need.  It’s information.”

 

Nazir’s eyes widened appreciatively.  Gathering rumors and secrets was part of his trade, the part he was most proud of.  “Ahh, so I see.  But before we get to that, we should talk about payment...” he trailed off, eyeing Jonathan’s face craftily, trying to discern how much the Englishman had on him, and how much he could ask for.  “I presume this information will not help our lord and ruler, and I would expect a large compensation for my,” he coughed, “treason.”

 

Jonathan smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.  In earlier days, he might have allowed himself to be manipulated by Nazir, but not anymore.  “I am willing to offer you 60 British pounds, Nazir.  But only if the information you provide satisfies me.  If you do not have what I need, or I think you’re lying to me, I’ll take my business–and my money–elsewhere.  Are we understood?”

 

Nazir stared at him in amazement.  The Jonathan Carnahan he remembered was a fun-loving drunk, an easygoing bachelor who loved a good laugh.

 

But the Jonathan before him was not that same man.  And for a moment, Nazir the corrupt business man was replaced by Nazir the human being, and he wondered what Jonathan had been through this past year.  He knew, as well as everyone else, who Jonathan was and what he had done in the past to defeat Imhotep.  But Nazir was, unlike most, one of the few people who could positively identify him.

 

“I understand, Carnahan.  But why shouldn’t I just go to Imhotep’s special police and have you arrested?”

 

Jonathan stared back at him unrelentingly.  “Because you can get money from me by leaving me alive.  If you turn me in, you’ll get nothing.”

 

Nazir contemplated that, begrudgingly nodding as he realized the economic sense of that statement.  “Fine.  What do you want to know?”

 

Jonathan smiled, leaning in towards Nazir, until the two men were only a foot apart.  “I want to know about the Med Jai.  I want to know about Ardeth.”  Nazir started to interrupt but Jonathan beat him to it.  “Don’t lie and say you don’t know who Ardeth is.  You know.  All sorts of people come in here all the time, drinking too much, saying more than they should, sharing rumors and secrets with you.  You know.” 

He took a breath, continuing into Nazir’s surprised silence.  “I want to know what happened to the desert warriors after Imhotep took control.  I want to know where they scattered, and where the tribes have settled now.  I want to know where Rick and Evy are.  Tell me everything you know.”

 

Nazir stared back at Jonathan in silence.  “I know the answers to most of your questions, Carnahan.  But it will cost you more than 60 pounds.”

 

Jonathan nodded impatiently.  “Just start talking.”

 

Nazir took a deep breath, and then began.  “Well, one of Imhotep’s translators stopped here for a drink not long ago...”

 

 

***

 

 

After about an hour, Jonathan finally emerged from the back of the bar, dirty and sweaty but with a triumphant grin on his face.  Pierre and Hubert were on their third pitcher of ale when Jonathan waved them over.

 

In the dingy hallway, Pierre handed Nazir the envelope stuffed with bills.  He glared at the fat little Egyptian.  “The information you gave my friend better have been accurate,” he growled into the man’s ear as the money passed from his hands.  “Or I’ll come back here and finish you off myself.”

 

Nazir looked at the Frenchman’s glaring face, his tense posture, and his thick muscles and smiled weakly.  “For cash, and an old friend like Carnahan here, I won’t disappoint.”

 

Pierre nodded, glaring into the Egyptian’s beady eyes.  “Good.  I don’t care what you do with your clients, barkeep.  But if something happens to Jonathan–if this is any kind of trap–I’ll come back and kill you myself.”

 

Nazir turned white and nodded, his eyes wide and frightened, his fingers clutching the paper envelope like at any moment someone would snatch it away.

 

Pierre nodded gruffly.  “Let’s go.”  And the three of them–divested of much of their cash, but arms laden with valuable information–headed for the door.

 

 

***The Next Day***

 

 

“I only want three!” Jonathan complained as the merchant tried to sell him his entire stock of camels.  “Three!”

Pierre, seeing the commotion, came over to back up his friend.  Laying an arm over the little Arabian man’s shoulders, he proceeded to give him some sound advice about how and when to sell his stock.  Three minutes later, Jonathan and Pierre walked down the crowded marketplace street with three baying camels, which they had gotten at a surprising discount.

 

“Smelly little beasts,” Jonathan commented as they corralled them next to an open air restaurant, which was really just a bar with some outdoor seating.  Men and women hurried by in different types of exotic dress, and they could hear the sounds of merchants describing their wares.  It was hot and dusty and busy, but felt completely natural.  Some things, Jonathan thought again to himself, never change.

 

Hubert was already waiting for them at one of the sunny tables.  “I got all the supplies,” he announced quietly as they both sat.  “Enough for all of us for eight days.”  Seeing Jonathan’s look, he added, “just in case.”

 

Jonathan spoke pointedly.  “The trek should take us three days at most.  Straight East, Nazir said.  Well, at least that’s the rumor.”

 

Pierre shrugged.  “We don’t want to have to come back to Cairo for supplies.”

 

Jonathan nodded, slapping at a fly that landed on his arm.  “We leave tonight.  We don’t want to attract undue attention by leaving in broad daylight.  And, as I’m sure you know, the desert is much easier to traverse at night.”

 

Pierre and Hubert both nodded their agreement.  The next few days were the ultimate test of their entire mission.

 

 

***

 

 

The sun blazed down on the three men trekking through the empty desert.  It was only 11 a.m., but the sun was unforgiving in its burning caress.

 

It was the fifth day of their journey, and they had found absolutely no remnants of any life whatsoever.

 

“This desert is as barren as my ex-wife,” Pierre commented, scratching his unkempt mane of dirty blond hair.

 

Jonathan snorted, but he sounded more relaxed and confident than he felt.  They had reached the foothills of the mountains early yesterday morning, and were now walking south along the base of the mountains.  But Jonathan was getting worried.  If they didn’t find something soon, they were going to have to turn around to get more supplies.

 

“This desert is as empty as Jean-Luc Belleau’s love life,” Hubert spoke up, mocking his alter-ego.

 

“This desert is as vacant as Imhotep’s sense of humor.” Jonathan added.

 

Pierre laughed at that one.  “Didn’t like your jokes, Evans?”

 

Jonathan shook his head, allowing himself to grin.  “Nah.  But it could have been because he didn’t understand a word of what I was saying.”

 

They shared a laugh, but quickly lapsed again into silence.  The worry was beginning to eat at all of them, and Jonathan couldn’t believe that they could come this far and not find Ardeth or any surviving Med Jai.  He allowed his doubts to fill his mind.  Was it possible that they were all dead?

 

At least they still had the black book.  He leaned back slightly, running his hand over the heavy package attached to his saddle bag.

 

No one dared to voice a doubt, but the uneasy silence continued, each man lost in his own personal thoughts.  Jonathan gazed up, shielding his eyes from the sun’s massive power.  He usually thought of the sun as life-giving, a benevolent force in the universe.  But without water, to a human being, the sun could become the most potent of killers.  Like the Gods, the Sun has the ability to bestow life, as well as the ability to take it away...

 

“When I said I wanted to come along I had no idea what this trip would entail,” Pierre began, grumbling just to fill the vacuous silence.  “First I spend four weeks cleaning up his,” he jerked his thumb toward a blushing Hubert, “barfola, then I have to wait for hours in a disreputable little dump of a bar...” he paused, wiping some sweat from his brow.  “And now I’m trekking blind through a desert I don’t know, searching for people I’ve never seen.”

 

“Well,” Jonathan said, trying to lighten the mood, “when you put our trip in that context this seems like the high-note.”

 

Pierre laughed.  “Sure, Evans, whatever you say.  But I would like to add that–”

 

But Pierre was interrupted by a sound, echoing and bouncing off of the mountain walls.  It sounded like...Who goes there?  Could that be right?

 

“Shhh,” Jonathan said, reigning in his camel.  “Was that a voice?”

 

Pierre and Hubert stilled, each reaching for the small handgun they had attached to their waist.

 

“Who are you?”  The sound came again, from far away, echoing on the cavernous walls of the mountains.  But it was definitely words.  Coming from a voice.  A human voice.  The three men strained themselves, searching for the owner, for the origin of that beautiful sound–the proof of life in this barren wasteland.

 

Then, Jonathan saw him.  A black figure up in the mountains.  To them he was only the size of a pencil.  But it was a man.  In black robes.  Jonathan squinted.  With black tattoos on his face. 

 

A Med Jai. 

 

He stood up awkwardly on the camel, letting out a whoop that reverberated around them.  “Med Jai!  We are here to see Ardeth!  I am Jonathan Carnahan!”

 

 

***

 

Notes:

1. The Sultan’s Kasbah is the name of one of Aulizia’s stories.  I thought it would be funny to use here, because in her story it is the place where Jonathan originally steals the key from Rick, before The Mummy even begins.

2. A note about the currencies and amounts used in the chapter: Jonathan offers Nazir £60 (British pounds) for information.  Before World War II, £60 would have been approx. $300 (a pound was worth about $5).  Translating it to current times, that offer would be worth approx (VERY approx, gimme a break) $5,000.

 

***