Vern's Part-Time Job. "Thanks for the Mummy-ries" 1/3
For the Vernerds reading, this story takes place after If Wishes Were Dragons and the short story, “DragonEye, PI,” and before Nun of My Business.
Nobody does nostalgia like an immortal dragon.
Of course, my memories are mostly limited to the past eight-and-a-half centuries, from after St. George took my knowledge along with most of my power, size, magic…you know, all the things that make a dragon great. I’m slowly gaining it all back while under the service of the Church, but my memories from before our epic battle are spotty at best.
Thus, when I was asked to take a job guarding the joint Faerie/Mundane Imhotep exhibit at the Los Lagos Museum, I jumped at the chance. Egypt (the Faerie version) had been in my territory, and I remembered knowing the Egyptian chancellor. Seeing some of the artifacts might jog my memory. That was almost as important to me as the money that might pay my bills for a month or two.
Plus, I’d get the chance to reunite with one of my newer Mundane friends.
“Vern!” Linda called out and ran across the Egyptology room, dodging workers and ducking around displays with a grace that said she was staying in shape. Good—it was hard to tell under the loose button-down she wore over her jeans. After our adventure last year, Titania, Queen of the Midsummer Court, had granted her the boon of an amazing physique—as long as she kept up with exercise. Glad to see both were keeping their promises.
Linda didn’t even slow her approach but threw herself at me, hugging my neck hard. “I can’t believe it’s been over a year. I’ve missed you.”
I leaned into her embrace and purred. Linda was one of my first Mundane friends, along with the rest of her DnD group. She’d left to get her Masters in Archaeology at Georgetown. Now, we gathered online once a month to game.
She pulled back and examined me. “You’re bigger! Good deeds paying off?”
Since George, I’ve been slowly earning back my dragon greatness. I’d grown from gecko size post-George to about pony size. “Must be. I can breathe fire, too.” It felt so good to be packing heat.
She squealed in delight. “You have to show me!”
I snorted. “I’ve been warned against it. No smoking in the museum.”
She laughed. “Just as well. Things here are flammable.”
The man approaching us added, “Not to mention rare and invaluable.”
She gave a little start at his voice—and not because he’d snuck up on us. So this was the crush she’s been sighing about during our sessions?
With a neutral smile that might have fooled him, she introduced us. “Vern, this is my professor and advisor, Dr. Matthew Duncan. Dr. Duncan: Vurnerrah, known as Vern.”
“Call me Matt,” he told me. I felt his heart hammering. I wish I could say it was from the honor of meeting a for-real dragon, but no. He gave me a polite, but nonetheless insultingly brief glance before returning his gaze to Linda. “You, too. I told you there’s no need to be so formal.”
“Sorry, Matt.” Her smile grew coy.
Before it got to painful to watch, I suggested they show me the exhibit I was going to guard. The two finally broke their furtive eye contact and Duncan—Matt—led the way.
The first room was mostly dioramas and interactive displays. People were putting in the final touches or testing the buttons that light up sections or ran recorded explanations.
“The first part simply provides background on both Faerie and Mundane Egypt in the twenty-sixth century BCE,” Matt told me. “Linda actually provided most of the research and direction for this part—but you know that. Thank you so much for the contacts and information you provided. It was invaluable.”
“No problem,” I said. I did notice that the banner explaining the exhibit had his name in large letters, hers below it, and a list of contributors. My name was absent. Invaluable, yet uncredited. Typical.
Matthew continued, “The real magic—if you’ll pardon the expression—is in the next room. That’s where the actual artifacts are, Faerie and Mundane. Similar items sit side by side, so we’re not only learning about our own past, but understanding the parallels and differences between our two universes. It’s absolutely fascinating.”
He took us through, showing me things I already knew. Linda leaned toward me. “Congrats on the job. How was the interview?”
I sighed. “They told me if I had to ‘go,’ to do it in the dumpster.”
“Rude! Yet, practical.” Linda thought a moment. “Lid up or down?”
“That’s what I asked!”
We came to a fake tomb entrance that led to the next room. Before we could pass under the painted Styrofoam rocks, a man in rags and a crazed expression ran to block us.
“Wait! I have seen the portents! You must be warned!”
His back arched and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Arms flung out, chin to the heavens, he intoned. “The stars align. Pluto is in the eighth house. At the rising of the moon, Imhotep returns!”
He held this pose a dramatic moment, then returned his focus to us. “What do you think? Too much? I want to scare, but not traumatize…”
Matt patted his shoulder. Linda rolled her eyes as we passed.
“Don’t quit your day job,” I advised.
“This is my day job!”
This room was actually larger, but with the subdued lighting and crammed-in displays, seemed smaller. Like the other room, one side was devoted to Faerie and one to the Mundane; these held artifacts the two did not have in common.
The interior path held display cases that described a winding path that led to the piece de resistance—the twin sarcophagi of the Faerie and Mundane Imhoteps—then out to the dinosaur exhibit.
Matt stopped, as if overcome. Maybe he was; Linda said this had been a dream project for him. She tapped his shoulder, jerking away quickly, and he roused from his reverie to lead us inward. He pointed out a pair of ceremonial robes here, a couple of staffs there. We passed twin mummified cats, one with half its tail missing. I had a flash of memory, followed by the sense that I should have been feeling guilty.
I shrugged it off—Hatsup probably had had it coming—and started cataloging the hidey-holes and blind corners a potential thief might skulk in. Not too bad, but if I wanted a good view of the whole room, I’d have to cling to the pipes for the exposed sprinkler system above.
He paused before twin pillars each holding a canopic jar with a jade scarab beetle in front of it.
“This is the most fascinating find, in my opinion. The jars are imprinted with identical preservation spells, but the Mundane one held only dust. The other—beetles.”
Linda shuddered. “Still alive. I don’t get it. Why keep a jar of beetles?” she asked me.
I was more concerned that there were active spells in this display and no mage on duty to protect the exhibit. I’d mentioned this to Bernard in my interview, and he’d brushed it off. “Everything’s been stable for millennia.”
Yeah. Everything was fine…until it wasn’t. I rolled my eyes at myself. Now, who was the harbinger of doom?
Matt had started to answer Linda, “This is Egyptology 101—scarab beetles are the symbol of life and resurrection. They preserved memories—”
When Linda narrowed her eyes at his patronizing tone, he ground to a halt. “Ah, but…live beetles. I see. Yes, Vern, we’d value your opinion.”
I peered more closely at the jar. Was that Imhotep’s writing? “You know, I think he wanted to be sure his cat had something to play with.”
Finally, we came to the sarcophagi. The lids were off, and the occupants lay within, wrapped neck-to-toe in bandages, their faces black, pulled tight, and hairless from mummification and millennia of death. Too bad—Imhotep (mine, anyway), had been vain about his hair.
I peered closely at my Imhotep’s face, but other than that one weird factoid about his pelt, no other memories came to mind. I may as well have been looking at a stranger. Ah, well, I was still getting paid.
This is a story I did for Holy Flying Pumpkins, a LegendFiction anthology. I’d long wanted to write a Vern vs. The Mummy and always knew Linda would be in it.