January 22, 2025

A Train Trip From Cairo
​ by Tim Law

Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.


As our train pulled away from Ramses Station, Cairo’s main train station, me and the boys all clinked our glasses of single malt scotch and cheered. We were on our way to Shanghai, where a warm welcome awaited us. The Egyptian authorities had been surprisingly lax in their examination of our crates. The Chinese Emperor had suggested he could grease the wheels, but we had our worries that something, somewhere along the line would go wrong. Now it seemed like nothing could touch us, a foolproof plan, and we thought ourselves, not a single fool among us. How wrong we were proven to be.
 
The treasures, ancient relics taken from the tomb of Princess Anotepiana, were rumored to be cursed, but as grown men, we did not believe in such rot. Ana’s Punishment we had jokingly named it, and then claimed it both null and void since we had thought to bring dear old Ana along with us for the ride. Our employer, Emperor Qing, specifically requested we deliver everything that we found, and leave the tomb completely bare. For the amount of gold offered, we were willing to do whatever it was that he wished us to do. We were all going to be very rich men. The most difficult part was already done, we needed only to survive the night.
 
Dinner time was the first sign that something was out of the ordinary.

“Is there a doctor aboard?” asked a lady of a certain age, two booths along from where I dined with George Smyth. “My friend here seems to have fallen to slumber.”

I made to rise, but dear old George patted my hand.

“Enjoy your soup, Edward, while it is still warm,” he urged of me. “Let the real doctor handle this conundrum.”

I made to argue, but then saw the sense in what my dear friend was suggesting. While I had my medical degree, hard-earned from Oxford, George had studied Psychiatry at Cambridge. The shrill tone of the lady in question certainly led us both to believe this dilemma was a fine example of the Damsel Archetype. George oft considered himself a gentleman, so I allowed him his moment of heroic chivalry.

“Poor Daphne did let me know of her heart murmur,” I overheard the elder mam say.

“Fear not,” so said George. “We shall have Daphne right as rain in no time.”

“Why thank you, kind sir, I believe she always carries her pills with her, everywhere that she goes,” Daphne’s friend replied.

A moment later I heard my friend uncharacteristically cry out. Immediately this set me on high alert.

“Dear God!” he shouted. “This woman’s heart is not a murmur… The heart is in fact completely gone!!”

My soup was forgotten then, as, with haste, I made my way to my dear friend’s side. It was indeed clear that the patient had a bloodied hole in her chest where the most vital organ should have sat.

My keen eyes detected a trail of darkness, three inches wide, soaking into the carpeted floor, evidence that pointed toward a hooded figure not more than two or three yards from whence we were standing. A cloth bag, stained with what could only be blood was sitting between the mysterious figure’s booted feet.

“You there!” I hollered, indignant. “Remain seated and reveal what is the nature of your possession!”

The villain did choose at that moment to rise swiftly and abscond with the bloodied package in their firm grasp.

“Edward, what is the meaning of this?” asked George, although, surely it was as obvious to him as it were to me, both of us learned men.

“Go quickly to my quarters, George,” I ordered. “Fetch me my pistol and dirk, as I fear they are needed.”

“Of course, Edward,” George replied, although it was clear the man suffered textbook symptoms of shock.

“Go man, now!” I urged. “I shall meet you in the Caboose.”
 
My quarry was escaping, so I had no more time to waste with useless chatter. I had to assume George would do as I had asked of him and swiftly, as time and my safety were both of the essence. I followed the path taken by my adversary, vowing to bring them to justice, no matter the cost. The wind whipped at my hair and my dinner jacket as I threw open the door at the end of the dining carriage. Beyond, the next carriage were the sleeping quarters of second-class. My careful footing navigated the gap successfully. Moving along the passageway I noted immediately the lack of evidence. Ahead and above I caught the sound of thumping, the hooded figure was making its way across the top of the carriages.

“Madness,” I muttered, but I also considered the genius of such a choice.

Unimpeded by the complexity of doorways, this mastermind could make their way to the very rear of the train as swiftly as a sparrow. I in my far more ancient state dared not follow. Within the confines of the carriages, I remained.

“Good evening, sir, are you lost?” enquired a guard of me and my whereabouts.
I shook my head.

“Alert the driver that there has been a death aboard,” I informed him.

“Certainly, sir,” he replied and hurried off in the opposite direction.

Further and further I continued, allowing my ears to track that which I wished to trap. I passed by my fellow passengers of first class, instructing them to remain indoors. Many muttered their disdain, but one, a man of the army, a Major I presumed, did offer me his support. Together we made it to the final carriage, the place where I and my companions had paid handsomely to have our cargo safely stored and guarded. What little good such payment earned us, three bodies, cold and lifeless, did greet the arrival of myself and my soldierly addition. At the very rear of the caboose, I spotted the sarcophagus, lid askew, golden cups placed upon the mummified corpse, organs jutting bloodily from said vessels’ openings. The hooded figure, now revealed to be a woman of Egyptian heritage, was delicately placing the stolen heart within one such cup. A final vessel still remained empty. Markings upon the female’s facial features seemed to glow, as if sinister magic were afoot.

“Are you armed?” I asked the militant.

Disappointingly he shook his head.

“What requirement have we of weaponry when it should be possible to simply overpower the young lady?” asked the soldier.

“I would advise against rushing in,” I cautioned, but the fool did not listen.

He managed to get his ham-like hands around the lady’s throat, but to both of our amazement, the lady did not flinch. Instead, the markings upon her cheeks pulsed once, a blinding light, and then, when my eyesight returned, I found to my horror the poor man had slumped to the train carriage floor, the top of his scalp gone and the girl held skyward the man’s brain. With an unexpected gentleness, she placed it in the final cup.

“Edward my dear boy, what have I missed?” George’s voice murmured in my ear.

“George, at long last,” I cried with a smile. “I have a need of your services, such is the disturbing nature of what I have witnessed.”

“Forget psychiatry, what is called for now is violence,” my friend declared.
​
It was too late though, and I knew it. As George fired off my loaded pistol we saw with our own eyes the transformation that took place at the far end of the caboose. The golden vessels erupted with an unholy flame, the color of the wing of the devil’s messenger, devouring the organs in the process. The girl did scream, and then laugh, as her skin was flailed by an unseen wind, a transference of such exotic beauty wrapped about the mummy’s form. Alive and well, yet with aged eyes of wisdom, Princess Anotepiana did awaken from centuries of slumber. George aimed and fired again, but the eruption of locusts from the royal’s being caused the shot to fly wide. Drowning in a plague, I flailed my arms about and stepped cautiously back, until, my blind searching found the door, and escape.

As I shut and secured the portal, I witnessed solemnly as George was stripped to the bone by the ferocious insects. I considered stepping back, moving along the train to warn others, but the mummy merely waved her hand as if dismissing me from her presence, and I felt my legs slip sideways. Upon the train’s coupling did my head collide, and then upon the track I bounced. Lucky was I not to feel the great wheels of the locomotion toss me about as would adog a ragdoll. Thrown to safety I counted my blessings as I did my wounds, gladdened to not have suffered as George, the soldier, even the Egyptian girl had done. Gladdened, too, was I, to be spared the suffering of those still aboard as Princess Anotepiana exacted her revenge.

I wondered then if the train would ever arrive at its destination, and if it did, what chaos would be unleashed upon the unsuspecting populous. Emperor Ming was certainly to receive far more than he had paid for. I, for one, on this occasion, was gladdened to be receiving far less than I had been promised. A life, for a life, under the present circumstances, seemed like a very fair exchange indeed.

I sighed before picking myself up and heading in the opposite direction to the train. Now seemed like the right time to lay low for a while.

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Tim Law is a writer of fantasy, horror, and oftentimes both. He loves to discover how a story will unfold, especially his own which he never ever plots. He is aloving husband, father of three, and fur-father of four. Family is everything to him. He resides in a small town in Southern Australia where he gets to be in charge of the local library. Tim jumps from idea to idea, never knowing what will enthrall him next. You can find his stories, poetry, and art in various anthologies, and online.