InsaneJournal

Who: Bill Weasley and Florinda McGonagall
What: Assisting a formerly-living Gringotts client with some medical issues and then some
When: Overnight 9-10 June 1998
Where: The British Museum, London
Warnings: Language, Scooby-Doo violence, potted Egyptology, gratuitous Classic Who references



Well, Florrie had wanted something more interesting to do at work. This was, she thought, the universe's way of laughing at her for that request. She was glamoured against Muggle notice and carrying a heavy valise with extra bandages and wrappings in addition to the usual shoulder bag she used on shift. Bill Weasley strode ahead of her, confident, but not quite to the point of cockiness, leading the way to the British Museum and the Gringotts client that Florrie was going to be tending to.

"So tell me again exactly what it is I need to do for the patient," she suggested, on the grounds that she wanted to be very clear on the procedures. She'd read the instructions, and she thought she understood, but it was a little different to actually experiencing the work, or even witnessing it the way Bill had. "And what you're going to do when we get in there."

Bill smiled. “We never quite know. The signal basically tells us to send medical assistance. It can mean ‘my bandages are not fresh enough’ or ‘I got into a screaming fight with my worthless son, and he tore off my arms’. Sometimes it means ‘I’m bored, and I want to talk to people who can actually see me.’ Those were the kinds of calls we got in Cairo, mostly.”

He looked at the hand-written note that the Goblins had handed him. “We’re seeing Hor, Overseer of the works of Amun in Deir el-Bahari, which is in Thebes. I didn’t get down to the Valley of Kings that much, it’s almost as far from Cairo as Hogwarts is from here. Probably around the twenty-second dynasty.”

Bill approached the loading dock at the back of the museum. The door, as expected, was propped open. “We have a guard on the payroll. A squib, I think. I haven’t met her yet. She’s the one who found the message and took care of this.” He cast lumos and held his wand forward, adding a bright spot to the otherwise-bleak overhead fluorescents. “Third Floor, room Sixty Two”, said Bill, and led the way up a set of marble stairs that were time-worn enough to be tricky.

At the top of the North Stairs, there was indeed a Museum Guard. “You the Gringotts people?” Her eyes narrowed. “I haven’t seen you before.”

Bill handed over what looked like a muggle business card. “Gringotts Asset Protection. I’m Bill Weasley. The Mediwitch is Miss McGonagall. Do you know what’s wrong with Hor?”

The woman shook her head. “His nibs doesn’t talk to me, Mister Weasley. He looks rough, though. And he keeps moaning. He’s not the most articulate of speakers, that one.”

"I'll need to have you translate the diagnostic questions, then." It was a bit difficult to tell whether Florrie was being deadpan or serious by her tone. Probably some combination of the two. "Thanks for your help," she added with a bright smile to the guard. "Should we check in with you on the way out? How long do we have to work tonight, in case the course of treatment indicated takes more than an hour or so?"

“Six hours, and my replacement is not from a magical family, but if you take that long, I expect extra compensation from Gringotts. I know there’s a spell that keeps the others from seeing anything, but this is risky.”

"I hope it won't take six hours." Florrie's chirpy tone and bright smile faded a little as she turned to look at Bill. "And I hope overtime is billable to the client." She was more concerned about her own, and the prospect of accidentally breaking secrecy, than she was about the bank's profit margins, but she imagined they had procedures at Gringotts for dealing with mummy-induced overtime adapted for the London market.

“I hope it won’t take six hours, either, but it is a time-and-materials contract. We’ll have to be out of here before the staff start arriving. The mummies have their own magic, and people don’t see even gross irregularities, like missing legs, or the mummies moving around but if we’re found here, we’ll be questioned.

Bill pointed his wand around the room, illuminating dozens of mummies, sarcophagi, and funerary goods. Not all of them were moving, but most were. They seemed to be gathered into groups, speaking amongst themselves. When the humans walked in they all turned towards the back, where a mummy was sitting on a gilded throne. He was somewhat the worse for wear.

“Ahati, I am here. I was assaulted by wizards, in my own display case!”

With a mummy, it was hard to guess gender, at least for Florrie. Maybe Bill could tell. She turned toward the enthroned mummy and gave a respectful neck-bow. "Honoured sir," she said, in English, because her knowledge of ancient Egyptian was sorely lacking, "I am a mediwitch and I have come to tend to any injuries you may have received."

The mummy looked at her, or at least turned his bandaged head in her direction. “Yes, Anahata, they have broken my fingerbones. But worse, they have taken Neit!”

Bill hesitated, “they’ve taken … night?”

A small stone statue stood by the priest, one of dozens that should be in the cases lining the walls. “Neit,” he corrected. “after the goddess of the hunt.”

“Quiet my ushabti, the ahati does not need to hear your prattle.” The mummy turned back to Bill. “She was my first friend when I came to this cold land, and they took her. I need you to find her. She will be scared. She could be hurt. You and the Anahata must find her and help her. She is a good kitty.”

Bill looked at Florrie. “We’ll … see what we can do. Let the mediwitch treat you and I’ll look around a bit.”

Hor nodded, and held out his arm to Florrie.

Florrie took it and examined the superficial damage as best she could through the wrapping. "I'm afraid I'm going to need to unwrap this, honoured sir. If you'd prefer privacy, I can charm up a screen."

The mummy bobbed his head a little, as if he were imitating the British fashion more than as if it were a native gesture for him. "Please, Anahata."

Florrie did exactly that, conjuring up a visual barrier and an auditory privacy charm to keep any noise the mummy made, or any fleshy squelches that Florrie made with him, out of the ears of his courtier. Then she set to work unwrapping the bandages.

Bill knelt down next to the foot-tall shabti. “You know, Neit has a ka, so technically, Asset Protection isn’t responsible for her.”

The tiny figure looked back at Bill. “I will fetch the lawyers, if you wish, but Hor, Blessed of Amun, adopted Neit over a century ago, and carved his glyphs on the base of the sarcophagi. What is written is true, as what is true is written, and you must help him.”

Bill did not roll his eyes, but he again swore that one day he’d write “property of Bill Weasley” on the pyramid of Khufu and have a place to live in Cairo forever. “Fine, the lawyers and accountants can argue over the classification of the expense. The anaha-- I mean the mediwitch, has already asked about overtime if this is an extended call. Now, I know I’m going to regret asking this, but do you know if there were any witnesses to the theft of Neit?”

“Ahati, it is pronounced, ‘Neit’,” replied the shabti. Bill still couldn’t tell the difference. “You may ask amongst the honoured dead, but be aware that only those who are younger than Hor need to reply to you. He is only a revered ancestor to half the dead here, and there is still bad feeling between the dead of Men-nefer and the dead of Waset.

“However, you would do better to ask my kind. As servitors to the dead, we see and do much more than our masters, who needs must dedicate their efforts to the important tasks of being gods.”

Bill nodded. He’d learned to pay attention to the ushabti in Egypt. “House Elves of the Dead”, Priscilla Choate had called them. Bill had liked her. She’d joined the cursebreakers to avoid her father marrying her off to a good family in New England.

“All right, then. Tell me what you saw, and if any of the other ushabti know anything more, get them over here.”

The little figure bowed. It was hard them to bend their necks, and this shabti was only a foot tall, if that. “My tale is the best, for I, Gurob, am foremost servitor to Hor, blessed of Amun, so I had the best view of my honoured master. Three wizards appeared suddenly, their faces obscured by ibis beaked masks. The honoured one was petting Neit in his lap when they approached him. They ran out, and down the stairs. I followed, but stopped at the steps to the basement, for we are forbidden from going there.”

Bill nodded. “And when was this?”

“Two hours ago. You should find them below, if they have not fled their misdeeds.”

Behind the screen, Florrie, with a pasted-on smile, was working on the mummified priest. His entire hand had to be unwrapped to repair the broken fingers, and Hor was teaching her the correct ritual prayers for unwrapping as she went. She followed his lead phonetically, removing all the herbs and spices (some of which she had replacements for) and the magical parchments in the wrapping as they came out.

She wasn't about to tell Hor that this was her first time casting bone repairing charms on a non-living patient. The less the patient knew about the healer's experience in cases like this, the better.

From outside the privacy screen she'd constructed, all Bill could hear was the joint chanting in Egyptian, which Florrie was mangling. It was also audible to the shabtis and other non-living residents of the room, some of whom were snickering.

Bill pointed his wand at one of the snickering shabtis. “Did you see anything?” The shabti was older, taller, and made by a less talented stonemason than the shabti Gurob. The figure stepped backwards and Bill remembered what Gurob had said about the social hierarchy amongst the dead. He shined the light from his lumos spell on another of the mummies, this one sitting next to a display of roman funeral goods. It had a cigarette in between the bandages on his face. For a being that didn’t breathe, force of habit must be very strong.

“Is that safe?,” Bill asked the mummy.

“It is not, but the dead do not fear dying, Ahati.”

“Your lungs are in a jar; how do you even exhale? And I’m not really a soldier, but I’m not going to tell Hor.”

“The Blessed of Amun is right, Ahati. You have a soldier’s ka.”

“Do I? Well, let me know if he needs it back. Did you have anything to add to the tale of the cat-napping?”

“The shabti Gurob did not mention, for he did not know, that the conspirators were in the pay of Hor’s brother, Suty. Suty does not approve of Hor being on display while he is in the basement.”

Bill sighed. Some people had to rescue cats from trees. He had to rescue cats from angry mummies. He went to the door of the room to look for guards. The floor seemed empty.

Once the prayer sounds stopped, Bill went back by the privacy screen. “Almost done, Miss McGonagall?”

"Almost," Florrie half-sang, half-spoke over the privacy wall. The fingers had been repaired during the long chanting and now fresh herbs and scented ointments had been rewrapped in the bandages. Without a look at his face, which Florrie had no real desire for now that she'd seen his hand, Florrie couldn't tell for certain, but she thought Hor might be smiling underneath his face mask.

If anyone ever tried to unwrap Hor, they were in for some big surprises. Presuming Hor even let them.

But he had been very helpful, and made this process easier for Florrie, so she was inclined to like Hor. "Don't worry," she said quietly as she finished tucking the last finger bandage into place. "We'll get your kitty back."

"Thank you, Anahata." Hor's voice was equally low, and protected by the privacy screen and charm. They both straightened to a proper posture, and Florrie dismissed the enchantments.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and other beings of note," Florrie said as she stepped to the side, carefully not turning her back on Hor, "I give you Hor, beloved of Amun, who is restored to his full glory."

Hor looked as if he’d stepped into a spotlight. Mummies had such a theatrical bent, but Bill politely applauded with the shabti. The pointed his spindly, bandaged finger at Bill. “Now Ahati, return Neit to me. I, Hor, beloved of Amun, order it.”

One of the other mummies, an older one whose display case was near the door, snickered quietly and spoke in a soft, hissing voice. “Best do what he says. He won’t let up until you do. His cat probably just wandered off looking for mummified fish. Neit was never the smartest cat in the room.”

Bill forced a smile and didn’t reply to the older king. “Of course, Oh, Beloved of Amun,” Bill said in an equally theatrical voice. “Miss McGonagall, if you would accompany me?” Bill waited for Florrie at the doorway to room Sixty Two.

Florrie moved to join Bill in the doorway of the room. "Of course." She waited until they were out of earshot of the mummies, or at least another room or two away, to add, "You know, every time you call me 'Miss McGonagall', I have to restrain myself from looking round for Aunt Minerva. I'm Florrie, so just call me that now that we have no more patients to impress."

Bill smiled conspiratorially, “Mummies are very fond of titles, but when we’re not in the Royal Presence, please call me Bill. Anahati, by the way, means ‘person who is not a soldier’, because apparently they thought there were only four types of people: royals, soldiers, farmers, and others. The Upper Kingdom didn’t have much of a middle class.” He paused, briefly, then continued. “You don’t have to go down into the basement with me, but I certainly would appreciate it.

“Before you volunteer, the wizards that Hor mentioned are members of a secret society that calls itself ‘The Illuminati’, but are really a small-time gang of wizards who started selling their services to the less-reputable dead of Cairo about three years ago. There may only be three of them, total.” Bill frowns. “I’ve no idea why they’re here. The Scarman brothers won’t really hurt you, but their friend Naiman might be dangerous, if he’s here.”

"Bill," Florrie agreed. By the end of the explanation about the Illuminati, she was shrugging. "I apologise in advance for the fit my brother's going to throw if he ever hears about this. I'm a mediwitch, not a pampered senior Healer who never does any work outside of wards. I'm in. Besides, I have friends who would throw a fit if I didn't help rescue a kitty.

"Why would the so-called Illuminati steal a cat anyway? Just to poke Hor in the eye, as it were? And when we say kitty, here, do we mean an actual living feline or another mummy?"

Bill led the way down the stairs and corridors of the empty building. He checked his pocketwatch to see how much time they had left, and hurried a bit faster. “Neit is definitely a mummy. The shabti told me Hor had adopted her by writing his name on her sarcophagus. Egyptians were cat-crazy. There are way, way more cat mummies than people mummies in every necropolis in the entire Nile River basin.

“However, since she’s here, she’s almost certainly as mobile as Hor and his friends and enemies back there. One of the downsides of museums is that they put all the mummies together, so the rivals are likely to share a room. It can get unpleasant. They are addicted to personal drama, as you might’ve noticed.”

“As to why catnap a dead cat, I don’t know yet. Maybe to make Gringotts look bad, maybe there’s another mummy who claims the cat, maybe the shabti were right and it’s all Hor’s brother. The brother is in the basement, and apparently feels slighted because he isn’t on display. He’s named Suty, if we run into him. He’s also beloved of Amun.”

Bill willed his wand’s Lumos spell to brighten, and opened the door marked ‘Basement: Staff Only’. He shined it down the steps, and even from the top he could see the difference between the polished public view of the museum’s first floor and the off-limits basement.

Florrie had noticed that the mummies related to each other more like fifth-years than five-thousand-year-old adults, but she forebore to say so to Bill. Instead, from their view at the top of the stairs, she, too was observing the differences: less polished marble and more wood and iron. "Why don't I do the lights and you do whatever else needs to be done?" she suggested. "I think you're more likely to be able to handle this Naiman fellow if we run into him. Or--how do the Muggles get light down there?"

“Well, in the necropoli, when they go underground, they carry torches, which were once described to me as ‘fat muggle wands that only cast lumos.’ Look for a tiny lever on the wall, either at the top or the outside. Or else a string… Found it!” Bill flipped on the lightswitch, and the naked bulbs came dimly to life, not so much lighting the stairwell as glowering over it. “Let’s hope the Illuminati have better lights down here.”

Bill took the first step, listening and being rewarded with a tell-tale creak of the boards. They were lighting the place up, so there we no hope for surprise, in any case. He went down the rest of the flight to the first basement, leading with his wand.

Florrie followed him closely, using all the protocols she recalled from her lessons on first response with Hits or Aurors. Basically, let them take the lead because they know what they're doing. Most of this basement seemed quiet, though, with all sorts of drawers and cases full of things that might later be put on display in the upstairs. They made their way through several rooms of art from much later periods--Picasso and Renoir were not Egyptians--before locating a map that told them where the Egyptian artefacts were stored.

They were about halfway to the Egyptian rooms when they found the other wizards. There was a nervous pale fellow in old-fashioned robes who sounded like he might be British and a dark-skinned gentleman with an equally British accent, darker robes, and a fez. Florrie could only hear snatches of the argument

"--worth hundreds of galleons--"

"--never argue with the gifts of the Ancient Ones. If he wants to--"

“Stay here and watch behind us, there’s another one,” Bill whispered to Florrie. He didn’t slow down as he entered the room. “She may be worth money to you, but she’s a Protected Asset to Gringotts.” His wand brightened to maximum, incidentally prepared for dueling should they be foolish. “Evening Laurence, where’s our client’s cat?”

Laurence’s beady eyes narrowed, almost disappearing into his wrinkled face. “Weasley, of course. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re just coincidentally in the British Museum where three wizards matching your description attacked our client and stole his cat this evening. Naturally. I’d ask you if you’d seen anyone suspicious looking, but you are with Naiman, so I don’t suppose that’s necessary.” Naiman moved as if to draw a weapon and Bill stabbed his wand towards the man, but didn’t cast. “Not so fast, Naiman! We can all go to Azkaban for breaking secrecy if you’re not careful.”

His wand flicked the light between the two tomb robbers. “Where’s Marcus?” Bill felt the breath on his neck and the wand in the small of his back.

“Right here,” said the third robber, “Just like a Gringotts man to walk into an ambush. Drop your wand and raise your hands, please.”

Bill complied and Marcus picked up the wand. “Fine,” Bill said. “Gentlemen, take me to your mummy.” Bill let his captors march him away, deeper into the museum depths.

Florrie knew that was her cue to follow along quietly, and she scurried along behind, making no noise as best she could with the aid of a wordless silencing charm. Apparently the Scarmans and their friend Naiman were too cocky to check behind them, because Florrie wasn't very good at hiding; if they'd been paying much attention, she was sure they would have seen her.

A few minutes later, they arrived in what had to be the chamber where Hor's brother Suty was living. Well, residing, at least. The elder, or at least bossier, of the two Scarmans shoved Bill toward the enthroned Mummy. "We've brought you a servitor of Hor, O beloved of Amun. If you destroy him, it will send a message to all of Hor's people."

Bill bowed, arms crossed. “Suty, is it? It will. But the message will likely be ‘Whatever happened to Suty? Has anyone seen him this century?’ So be careful of taking the advice of your lackeys. Their names are not carved anywhere, and never will be. I, however, am from Gringotts and we are everywhere and we do not forget trespasses against us. Let dismiss the chattering of your servitors and deal with this matter man-to-mummy.”

The Scarmans were frowning now, and Bill imagined that Naiman was in a rage as well.

Bill cleared his throat. “Suty, Beloved of Amun, Overseer of the Works of Karnak, I’m here to negotiate for the return of Neit, Hor’s cat.”

Suty’s voice was rough and sillibant, and it looked like his chest had been opened without the proper rituals. “Hor is a thief and a liar. Neit has always been mine. She was in the conservation room with me until Hor had her placed on display.”

“It does seem as if you have a matter to discuss with your brother,” Bill replied. “We can mediate, but not while I’m your prisoner.”

Suty looked at the Scarmans. “A chair for the negotiator, please.”

Bill held out his hand. “And my wand, Marcus, if you don’t mind? You wouldn’t want Suty, Beloved of Amun to think you were just a simple thief,” Bill said.

The wizard grudgingly handed Bill his wand. As he did so, he whispered into his ear. “I will kill you, personally. I’m not afraid of bankers.”

Bill ignored the threat and sat, “You honor me, Blessed One. Now, what will it take to get you to allow us to return Neit to Hor?”

Suty crossed his legs on the throne, revealing more damage to his frame. “If Hor had not banned me from his chamber, none of this would be an issue. He is jealous that Neit likes me better. My demands are thus: Hor will acknowledge that we are co-equal brother rulers, rescind the ban and remove the spell that prevents me from entering the third level, and allow Neit to go to whichever of us she wishes, without interference. If he does this then Neit and I will return to Chamber Sixty TwoSit.”

Bill nodded. He’d heard worse. “Well, I can cert-” He only got a few words out before Suty interrupted.

“And you will provide a swnwt to attend my injuries.”

“I already sent the mediwitch home,” Bill replied, loudly. The last thing he wanted was Naiman searching for Florrie. “We can return another night, if things are arranged.” Bill leaned in towards the mummy. “Suty, Blessed of Amun, if you do not wish to contract with Gringotts Asset Protection for your perpetual care and safety, any of the member companies of the Consortium of Goblinary Finance & Red-Nosed Wizard Investors can provide care. You don’t need to resort to those poor chaps. You can work with someone bonded and insured.”

Naiman moved forwards and opened his mouth to speak, but Suty held up his hand for silence. “And the rest of my demands?”

Bill nodded. “They are an excellent starting place for discussion. I will take them to Hor and we shall see. Now, may I please see Neit, that I may testify that she is well?”

“Alas,” replied Suty, “you may not. She has run off, chasing mice.”

Bill leaned back. That was not what he’d expected to hear.

Great. Now it was Florrie's job to find the feline mummy. It wasn't as if she'd missed the evidence of mice elsewhere in the building. The cat could be anywhere. And Bill looked as if he didn't need any help handling Suty after all. But how on earth was she going to attract Neit's attention?

She backed out of the room she was in, carefully, and retreated a couple of rooms away while she considered her options. After a moment, she started looking round for something suitable for the plan she'd come up with. Spotting an item made of some unfamiliar substance sitting on a desk, she decided it was about the right shape: square body, long cord running out from one end. Whatever it was, she hoped they wouldn't miss it. It took her a few minutes to figure out how to pull it out of the box it was attached to, and then she transfigured it into a very large mouse.

"Find Neit the mummy and bring it back here," she told the oversized mouse and set it loose. There was a tracking charm she knew for loose patients; Florrie set it on the mouse as it ran off.

Bill frowned. “That does make it harder, Blessed of Amun. I don’t see that Hor will want to concede anything without some reason to do so.”

“It will be rectified,” said the mummy. “Scarman, you are dismissed.” The two old wizards headed for the door, leaving only Naiman with Suty and Bill. Naiman fancied himself a modern-day Priest of Amun, and was no doubt carrying a Bagsu. Modern egyptologists had never been able to figure out why the Ancient Egyptians carried thin stiletto-like daggers with fiber cores. Bill knew it was because they wanted to be able to successfully stab people with their wands. It was disturbing, but efficient.

Bill spoke, hoping that Florrie would hear him, “They’re searching for Neit? Good idea. Now, let us just continue talking about what Gringotts has to offer to an honourable decedent of your lineage and state. For example, your manservant here, I have it on good authority that when he came onto this island, he did not observe the proper rituals before the Priesthood of Thoth, which we call the Ministry of Magic and thus is not welcome in the land of the Ibix of Knowledge, the Double-Blessed God.” Suty turned towards Naiman, glowering, and the man stammered to explain himself to a three thousand year old ruler.

Florrie was sadly unaware of the warning; she was elsewhere in the basement, following the mouse she'd animated as it lured feline prey on. The first cat that found the transfigured rodent was not, sadly, mummified, and Florrie shooed it off without incident. The feral cats who lived in the basement seemed to be friendly enough, but wary of humans who got too close. Florrie wished she'd brought something to share with them, but that was probably just courting breaking the secrecy laws further than they were already doing.

The second feline was equally alive, and not so friendly. Florrie came away with a bloody scratch for her trouble. "Hope there are no vampires living in here," she said to no one in particular as she spent a moment sealing the injury.

It was the third feline who proved to be the lucky formerly-living feline. Neit had the overlarge mouse in her mouth and was meowing around it as Florrie approached. What she was meowing about wasn't clear until someone behind Florrie said "Expelliarmus!"

Years of working with Aunt Minerva on dueling practice meant that Florrie's wand stayed in her hand. With her left hand, she scooped up Neit and ducked behind a cabinet. "Bad move, Scarman. Back off or I apparate back upstairs with Neit."

"Then," came the cultured voice of the elder Scarman brother, "what will happen to your friend Weasley?"

Florrie's stomach flip-flopped, but like the Gryffindor she was, she called back, "Nothing if you're smart. You're assuming I haven't already called for the DMLE. They'll be here any minute. If you've got any sense, you'll run for it now."

There was only silence from the far end of the room.

Bill ran for it, slowing only to throw a leg-locker curse at the squib. He didn’t have to outrun the mummy, only Naiman. The mummy he would deal with when the time came, he hoped. Bill ran towards the sounds of trouble, assuming he’d find Florrie in the midst of it. He rounded a corner and saw the Scarman brothers, wearing their ridiculous masks and pointing their wands in the general direction of a cabinet. It was a split second decision, but he sped up instead of slowing down.

“Gryffindor!” he shouted as he slammed into the two old men, knocking them down and landing in a heap of robes and boxes. He rolled to his feet and kicked their wands away. “Did you find her?”, he asked the cabinet, hoping Florrie was indeed behind it. “I hope the answer is yes, because we’ve got to run, there’s an angry mummy behind me.”

"I've got her." Florrie's voice came from behind the cabinet, and her head appeared moments afterward. "I think a tactical retreat is called for. Get their wands and let's go!" She didn't stop to see whether Bill was taking her advice, but ran, Neit held in her arms more like a quaffle than a cat, for the door toward the stairs to the visitor halls.

Bill looked down for the wands, but they’d ended up under something. He settled for stunning the two wizards and chasing after the Florrie. He was glad he’d asked for her. She was turning out to be very solid under circumstances that most Mediwitches would at least complain about. “Head back the way we came!” Bill shouted at Florrie. He cast Lumos, and hoped that a little light helped rather than hindered their retreat.

"So I guess selling asset protection to Suty didn't work out so well?" Florrie asked between harsh breaths as she led the way back toward the stair (she hoped), with Bill rapidly catching up to her. "Legends say they're not very fast. Should I be more worried about him or Naiman?" She slammed a door behind them with a wand gesture once Bill was through it to delay their pursuers a moment more.

Bill caught up with her and stopped her at the foot of the basement stair. He let her catch her breath and he did the same “He’ll come around. Might take a decade or two. Might be sooner. Goblin banks are long term enterprises. You’re faster at your fastest, but they never tire, and they never give up, and you saw how hard it was to work magic on them if they didn’t let you inside their bandages.” Bill spent a moment listening. “Scarmans are a good distance back. Naiman was leg-locked, so unless he’s either got some anti-magic charms or Suty was nicer to him than a mummy is likely to be, he’s going to have some difficult explaining to do.

“So, what you need to worry about is mostly Suty, who is probably a few seconds from hitting the far door pretty hard. C’mon!” They ran to the stairs and started racing up them, hearts and muscles pounding with fear. Suty was at the a full flight behind them when they got to the ground level and he kept coming. At the first floor he was closer, and at the second he was half a flight behind them. His feet were almost silent, but he roared with anger.

Bill and Florrie burst out of the stairwell just steps ahead of their pursuer and steps away from Room Sixty Two. Bill saw Hor inside the room, holding out his arms for Neit, surrounded by his shabti. “Doorway!, No further!”, Bill said to Florrie, who nodded as she hit the doorframe and stopped. It was a natural witching location, neither in nor out of the room.

Suty made a grab for Bill who ducked under his arm, and let the motion carry him forward into a somersault. Hor came forward “Neit! Good Kitty!”, he said reaching for her with both arms. between the two brothers, they almost made a Florrie sandwich on mummy with a side of cat.

Bill stood up between them, beside Florrie in the doorway, very close. He hoped his breath was fresh. “Halt!” he cried out, placing the palm of his hand on the breastbone of each of the honoured dead. “We have Neit and we will decide what happens to her. Listen to me, Blessed of Amun. I swear by the moderately ancient name of Weasley that I will be fair and true to each of you. Now, will you accept me as your mediator?” Reluctantly, both mummies nodded, and stopped pressing forward. “Excellent. Now, let us bargain like civilized peoples.”

Florrie ducked out from between the two Beloved of Amun, now holding Neit more like a baby than a quaffle. The feline mummy mewed at everyone and began pawing at Florrie to get down; its head tracked the oversized rodent that had followed them into the room and was now eyeing the mummies with interest.

"Gentlemen," she said, and amended to, "gentlemummies, it's your move."