07. sorry, we're dead: clover and curses.
PART SEVEN:
PERSONAL INJURY
WARRENWICK
"Well, Mr. Khasekhem -- I apologize, this is the first time I've spoken to a Pharaoh," Bjørnson said conscientiously. "What is the proper form of address?"
"I thank you for your consideration, Mr. Bjørnson. It is refreshing to find deference so far from my home. You may simply call me Khasekhem -- if this experience has taught me nothing else, it has taught me humility. I will not stand on ceremony with you, who are so willing to hear my story."
Bjørnson grinned at that. I still didn't know how the Viking-turned-vampire-turned-lawyer did it, but he had the sort of infectious attitude that washed over you and filled a room. I could practically feel his approval like heat from a naked light bulb. "I'm honored, Khasekhem. As I was saying, I'm afraid you don't have much of a leg to stand on in the eyes of the law."
Confusion flashed across the mummy's face. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair beside mine. "...But the sorcerer repaired it," he said, looking down at his lap. "The bindings had come loose, yes, but they wrapped it fresh with new linen--"
I couldn't have stopped the short laugh that escaped me if you'd put a stake to my chest. "I'm sorry," I said quickly. "It's just a colloquialism -- a turn of phrase. What Peder means is that the court wouldn't take your case seriously."
"Whysoever not?" he lamented, distress furrowing his illusory brow.
"Legally speaking, you are dead," Bjørnson began patiently, hands tented before him and elbows resting on his desk.
"This is undeniable."
"And as a result, you no longer have any legal claims to physical or monetary goods. There is a saying that you cannot take it with you, and this is an all too apt example of that. As terrible as Mr. Davenport's actions have been, he has broken no actual laws. We can't even charge him with grave robbing, as he opened your tomb with the permission of the Egyptian government -- he was supervising the archaeological dig at their behest, even. He has filed all of the correct paperwork with Customs in transporting your funerary goods out of Egypt and into the city. His behavior towards you and callous words are most certainly unconscionable, but they cannot be prosecuted."
"You are saying it is impossible?" Khasekhem said quietly, sitting perfectly still. When it came to stillness, I doubted many could rival a mummy.
"Perhaps not," Bjørnson said. "I hesitate to raise your hopes, but there may be something I could build on... You would say that you are experiencing extreme pain and suffering as a result of Mr. Davenport's actions, would you not?"
"Most assuredly, this is so. I can think of no greater agony than what I have gone through."
He scribbled something onto the notepad open before him. "Would you say Mr. Davenport violated your autonomy?"
"What is this word?"
"Your sovereignty," I explained. "Your personal control."
"Oh, yes, this is the truth," the Pharaoh said quickly, nodding with vehemence. "He snatched me from the afterlife, from my divine duty. He was the one who lifted the mask from my face."
"So he laid hands on you, physically?"
"Yes. He lifted me from my sarcophagus and put me into a wooden crate full of straw. I remember hearing him tell another that they would ship me separately to display me beside it in the case -- as if I were nothing more than a clay pot. When I finally regained the use of my limbs, it was hours later, after they had nailed the lid shut. It took everything I had to break free and escape."
"Hmmm, unlawful imprisonment and inhumane treatment," Bjørnson said to himself. "Yes, if we treat this as a violent crime against your person rather than a larceny, perhaps we may have something..."
"If he got on the stand and explained to a jury how this man has cost him his Heaven, they can't possibly ignore that," I chimed in. "The people of this city might be self-centered and cruel, but they aren't that heartless." Not even to a preter, I added silently. Did the poor guy even begin to understand the world he'd woken up in?
The lawyer nodded slowly. "And you say there is no guarantee that you will ever be able to return?"
"No." A simple word, delivered with an utter resignation that spoke volumes.
"Khasekhem, I am truly sorry," Bjørnson said quietly, voice heavy with sincerity. I wondered, and not for the first time, what Peder believed in. The warriors of his culture and day thought they would enjoy an eternity of feasting and fighting in Valhalla after death -- did he still hope that he could enter such a place, should he ever cease to 'live'? Or did he sympathize so greatly with Khasekhem because he, too, thought himself barred forever from Heaven because of events beyond his personal control? "The trauma you have gone through, the disrespect you have faced, it is unpardonable and unforgivable. I will do my very best to ensure that Mr. Davenport is held responsible and pays for his crimes against you. It may take time -- the courts never move as rapidly as we wish -- but I give you my word that I will fight for you."
A rush of hope brightened Khasekhem's face. He practically surged up out of the chair, hand flying to touch his forehead, then his heart, as he bowed to the seated lawyer. "Mr. Bjørnson--"
"Please. It's Peder. Only fair that I return the kindness you've already extended."
"Peder, I thank you most devoutly. I am humbled by your pledge. I am your servant, in this life and the next. Should I return to the halls of my Gods, I shall give them your name with my praises. I shall give them both of your names," he promised, turning to bestow the same gestures to me. "Oh, I thank you both! Blessed was I when I heard your names. May Osiris keep you safe from all harm."
"We haven't won quite yet," Bjørnson cautioned him, before hope sent him rocketing for the moon, but tempered the warning with a smile. "But we'll make this the biggest story of the year if we have to. If the world is so eager to admire your artifacts in a dusty museum, they had better be prepared to hear the full story behind them. And I've learned a thing or two about the media -- if a man spins them just right and gains the public's sympathy, the battle's essentially over."
The intercom box at the edge of the desk buzzed suddenly. "Yes, Susan?"
"I still need your signature on these depositions before I take them to Judge Mankowitz."
"Oh, stars, yes, thank you, Susan, I'll be right there. Forgive me, gentlemen," the lawyer said. "I'll be right back. Please, feel free to help yourselves to anything."
"I am pleased to find that Law is still practiced," Khasekhem said to me when the heavy door clicked shut behind Bjørnson. "That it is still a venerated custom."
"It's probably gotten more complicated over the centuries," I warned. "Nothing's ever really black or white -- there's always extenuating circumstances -- and sometimes it's not who was right but who hired the best lawyer."
"Well, I am convinced that Peder will be more than capable of handling whoever Mr. Davenport summons," the Pharaoh said with assurance. He caught my glance and added, "I know what you are thinking, Mr. Gam. You are thinking me naive and quick to trust a man I have only just met. But I was a good judge of character in life, and thousands of years in the presence of gods has only sharpened that skill. I know when people are speaking lies or truth to me -- I can hear it in their voices, see it on their faces. As surely as Anubis brings souls to judgment before the scale, I can recognize the worthy when I lay eyes upon them."
"Bjørnson is a good man and the best lawyer I know," I said. "You won't regret putting your faith in him."
"Nor you. My, but this room is impressive. So many books. I was pleased to learn about books -- my scribes maintained rooms of scrolls, larger rooms than this, but I think I like books more. So much sturdier and easier to use. One does not require a large table or flat space of floor in order to fully appreciate them." The mummy stepped towards the shelves covering the far wall. "Has he read all of these? Little wonder that he is as wise." He pulled a book out, letting it fall open in his hands.
"Can you read it?" I asked, curious.
"Yes, though the meanings of some of these words escape me," he admitted readily. "...My glamour," he added, picking up the underlying question I hadn't yet voiced. "Not only adjusts my face, but my tongue -- as it were -- as well. What language am I speaking?"
"English."
"Strange -- we are not in the place called England, though I have been to this place -- it was where my ship sailed from."
"A lot of the people who started this country were originally from there. They brought it with them."
"I see. But not you -- you are not American."
"No, I'm not. I'm Korean. It's a country on the coast of China."
"And what took you from there?" Khasekhem asked with interest. "I never wished to leave my home, not until all of this."
"...When I became what I am," I said slowly. "I began to travel. I couldn't stay in one place for too long, not if I didn't want to be attacked. When you don't age, and you kill to survive, people tend to notice that."
The Pharaoh closed the book and carefully slid it back onto the shelf. "But you do not kill any more," he said, more a statement than a question.
"No."
"I have taken life," the mummy said after a pause. "In battle. As an arbiter when criminals were brought before me with irrefutable proof. You never truly forget how it feels -- the sour pit in your stomach. Even in death, I was responsible. The priests' spells required willing sacrifices for power, in order to open the way for my spirit. Ten of my most devoted servants gave their lives for my glory. And even though I carried them with me into the presence of holiness... Their deaths were not something I savored."
The door swung open and the room was immediately warmed by the effusive personality of its owner. "I apologize for that interruption," he said. "The girl who has been working nights always seems to wait for the last minute to tell me when I've forgotten something." Bjørnson smiled at War. "...Which is yet another reason why I'm so pleased that Nora will be resuming her usual duties. You truly don't realize how much you've come to rely on someone until they are no longer there."
"We're both pleased about it ourselves," I said earnestly. "I feel like I haven't seen her properly in weeks."
"Mr. Waddington has done nothing but sing her praises -- from the way he talked, and I fully believe it, he wouldn't have won that case if not for her help."
"It's selfish of me, but I just hope he doesn't demand it again too often in the future," I said. "Though, she did say the change of pace was nice for a while. Said she'd half forgotten what the world looked like at noon." I had, and long ago, but I didn't resent such statements from her.
"And it did enable her to do more charity work," Bjørnson added. "When we talked yesterday on the phone she said her one regret is that it'll be more difficult for her to visit the orphanage as often now."
I couldn't quell the flash of surprise. "Orphanage?"
"Yes," the lawyer said slowly. "St. Helen's. She didn't tell you?"
"...Like I said, we haven't had a chance to see each other much lately."
"I apologize if I overstepped somehow or spoke out of turn." He turned his focus back on the Pharaoh. "And I apologize for excluding you from the conversation, Khasekhem. I'm going to begin working on the foundations of your case tonight -- the technical jargon and phrasing for a petition to the court has to be very exact. I'll also call the police department and discuss the exact charges we wish to file with them. By tomorrow night, I may have something to show you. Is there anything else you wish to add to your initial statement? Anything you still need from me now?"
"Is there perhaps a book," Khasekhem asked. "That would inform me in greater detail some of these things we will have to do? I would very much like to have a better understanding of how the Law operates in this new country and time."
"I don't have anything too succinct or portable, I'm afraid, but if you're not intimidated by cinder blocks disguised as books, I do have one you might find beneficial."
After assuring Bjørnson that the book was neither too off-putting nor too heavy, my new client started towards the door with arms straining beneath its weight and shoulders far lighter than they had been upon entering the cluttered office. I picked up my coat and hat, only to pause when Peder's hand fell on my arm.
"War, I apologize again, if I said something I should not have," he said, brow creased. "I did not realize I was betraying a confidence, and I would never wish to be the cause of friction between you. I am sure Nora will speak to you about it soon."
I thought about her comment earlier in the evening about meeting for lunch -- "...there're some things I want to talk over with you." -- and shook my head slightly. "Don't worry about it," I said. "Thanks for meeting with us."
"If there is some way for me to put right the wrong that has befallen that poor soul, I will find it. But... Remind him that this can be a lengthy process. If he sets his heart on a quick solution, we will all of us be frustrated."
When we stepped through the brass front door and fancy columns that declared the building was a prestigious business, there were drifts at least half a foot high lining the street. A plowing truck must have already gone by; I could see the marks of its cow-catcher scraped across the pavement. Khasekhem looked around in alarm, flinching as a large clump of snowflakes fell wetly onto his head. "What is this?"
"Snow -- this the first you've seen of it?"
"It is rain only... Cold? Visible?"
"Guess you could look at it that way."
"I do not like it," he said definitively, before his tone shifted into an uneasy one. "I will get damp."
That definitely couldn't be good for a desiccated corpse over four thousand years old. A taxi cruised by, its IN SERVICE light flickering thanks to a faulty bulb. I darted to the curb and waved it down. "Well, we can't have that." He ducked inside quickly, arms wrapped protectively around his borrowed book, and I followed him as soon as his foot had cleared the seat. "Where can I drop you?"
He blinked at me. "...I do not wish to be dropped."
"Sorry, lemme re-phrase that: where would you like to go next?"
"The person you and Peder were discussing? Nora?"
"Yes?"
"Who is she?"
"My..." We weren't formally engaged, but she wasn't just a 'girlfriend'. Not just a lover, either. I don't think they've invented the word yet that fully encompasses what she means to me. "Girlfriend," I finally settled on, unsatisfied.
"Girl... friend...?"
"A wife who isn't officially a wife yet?"
"Oh! This English is very confusing," the Pharaoh said. "So many words that mean other words. They are not translating smoothly inside my head. Egyptian is so much clearer."
At least the alphabets in the Romance languages are only a few lines and curves, I thought privately. You don't have to draw a complicated character or tiny picture every time. And then I realized that was a very Western way of thinking -- damn, had I gone native? -- and was just as privately annoyed with myself.
"What is your Nora like?"
"...She's hard to describe," I said after a few moments of dwelling.
"Beautiful?"
"Incredibly so."
"Wise?"
"Definitely."
"Kind?"
"The most generous and gentlest person I've ever met."
"Then I think you would do well to make her an actual wife instead of a 'girl friend', and quickly. Women of such high quality are hard to find," he added wistfully.
"Are you married?" I asked before I could think, before I could wonder if such a question would be painful.
"I was," he said quietly. "Nimaethap was my queen. But her tomb, beside mine, was looted by thieves. I lost her centuries ago." He rubbed a hand over the book in his lap. "The pain never truly dulls." When he looked over at me his face was composed. "I wonder... Would it be possible for me to meet your Nora? It has been too long since I've been in the presence of love."
I had glanced at my watch before stepping into the cab; I knew Nora would be waiting at our favorite diner by now, and had intended to see Khasekhem back to wherever he was staying before going straight there. I knew she had probably been looking forward to a private meal and conversation, but...
How could I possibly turn down a simple request from someone who had already lost everything?
"The corner of Picayne and Stuyvescent," I told the driver who had been waiting with admirable patience, making a mental note to tip him generously. "No problem, Khasekhem."