Sherlock Holmes and the Mummy's Curse by Stephanie Osborn Read Free Book Online

Nichols-Woodall, had the final seat, across from Beaumont. This was, Watson was soon to find, likely highly preferable to having the two men sit beside each other.
    The first course was a flavourful, spicy lentil stew, a slightly sweet sauvignon blanc providing a counterpoint, with local Egyptians hired for the duration serving the course. After taking a sip of the wine, a curious Watson glanced at the Professor, knitting his brows.
    “Sir, if I might make bold, is this not a European wine?”
    “It is,” Whitesell smiled, taking a sip and savouring it briefly. “One of my favourites. Is it perhaps not to your taste, Doctor? I can have another fetched, if you would prefer.”
    “No, no, that won’t be necessary. It is very much to my taste; it is an excellent wine. But surely you did not bring sufficient…? The entire dig team?” Watson wondered, suddenly worried for the expedition’s finances.
    “Ah, I see your concern. No, my boy, the wine is only served in the main tent; you see, the majority of the manual labourers are Muslim, Doctor. They do not drink alcohol, as perhaps you know from your own exploits in the Afghan territories. But my sommelier is Coptic Christian, one Abraam Fouad of Alexandria; he chooses from the selection we brought from a fine London vintner, based on what the cook is preparing for the given meal. He is also the one who serves the wine and any aggregate after-dinner spirits, so that the Muslims among the wait staff do not have to handle it, and thus violate their precepts. Don’t worry; I shan’t break the bank, I assure you.”
    “It has always been Professor Whitesell’s belief that at least one proper meal a day, complete with the niceties, is a boon to morale during an expedition into the wilds,” Holmes elaborated urbanely. “It is why he insists upon a formal—well, I suppose ‘semi-formal’ is perhaps a better term, given that our tendencies have always been to arrive at table with minimal freshening, in preference to remaining at the dig pits as long as possible—a semi-formal dinner, at the very least. Breakfast and luncheon are somewhat negotiable; dinner is not.”
    “Except in the event of an emergency,” Whitesell added. “Should such a matter arise, Doctor, I assure you that you, your attendants, and anyone you required to assist, would of course be exempt. I suspect that, in a very bad situation, we might well forego it altogether, but fortunately I have never had to do so yet. I do my utmost to maintain as safe conditions as it is possible to do, under such circumstances as we currently find ourselves. Since I often use the same local workers on successive expeditions, and new workers are most usually obtained from the families of my regular workers, it is something of,” Whitesell paused to shrug, then added in a slightly gruffer tone, “a family affair, I suppose.”
    “After all this time, the Professor knows most of the local workers on a first-name basis, Doctor,” Phillips informed Watson.
    “Oh, of course, of course. Quite understandable. Well, then. Very good. Cheers,” Watson offered, holding up his goblet.
    “Cheers,” came back the chorus, everyone clinking glasses to right and left.
    “Tell me, Professor,” Holmes queried, tasting his first course, “is old Qusay still working for you?” At this, everyone else also began the meal with alacrity, all sampling both the stew and wine and making pleased sounds.
    “No, Holmes, he retired about two or three years after you moved on,” Whitesell noted. “Said he was getting too old in the joints for all that work. His youngest son Razin took his place, however.”
    “Oh, capital. I should like it if you would introduce me to him at some point, Professor; his father was a positive delight, and easily taught me half of my Arabic. Watson, you were noting my fluency on the trip here, and Qusay not only improved my vocabulary, but helped me hone my pronunciation, into the bargain. He quite took