Her skirt was whipping in the wind, which was rising and getting stronger. Justine nodded and stood up beside her. Together, somehow, they would get to Mr. Holmes. Could they reach him in time?
“No!” shouted Isaac Mandelbaum, reaching toward her. “You must not. You will simply endanger yourself.”
Suddenly, Mary was blinded by a bright flash of light. It had come from the sarcophagus itself. She peered at it, blinking. Were those multicolored swirls the energic waves, or the aftereffect of that flash on her irises? She rubbed her eyes to try and clear them.
Something was rising from the sarcophagus, some form. She could see it, a shadow against the brightness. It stepped out of the sarcophagus and onto the platform. What in the world was happening? Mary rubbed her eyes again. They were tearing up from the light, and stung as though she had gotten some caustic substance into them. She blinked and tried to see as best she could. The shadow appeared to be the figure of a woman, wrapped like a mummy, as though Queen Tera had risen and stepped out of her tomb. But that was impossible—this must be another of Mrs. Raymond’s illusions. She was being mesmerized—but it seemed so real! The mummy stood in front of the sarcophagus, next to Margaret Trelawny, whose necklace was blazing like a red eye through the shifting waves. Mrs. Raymond was still conducting her orchestra of lights. Mary could see that the waves were rising in accordance with her gestures.
“Justine!” She clutched Justine’s arm. “Can you see—tell me what you see!”
“I do not know,” Justine shouted back, almost into her ear. “Is that—”
“It’s the mummy!” Diana’s voice was almost a shriek. So Diana could see it as well! Either it was not an illusion, or they were all being deluded at the same time.
“What are you doing? What’s happening?” shouted Moriarty. “This isn’t—”
“Priestess of Isis, Queen of Egypt, accept our sacrifice,” shouted Margaret.
The mummy turned and held out its left hand, which appeared to be unwrapped. Curiously, it seemed to have seven fingers. From those seven fingers came seven beams of light that spread to the seven lamps.
“Helen! Don’t do this!” That was the man they had called Dr. Raymond. The flame in his lamp sprang up, up, until it was as tall as the pillar. The light from the mummy augmented the flame, raising it higher and higher, like a giant candle. The flame began to dance in the wind that was still whipping around the room. And then it turned, bent down, and wrapped itself around Dr. Raymond. He threw back his head and screamed.
All of the flames were rising, all of them were dancing, all of them were reaching for and enveloping the men who stood behind the pillars. And now they were aflame! Moriarty and Moran, Godalming and Seward, Morris and Harker—all screaming and writhing as though they were on fire. They were human torches, surrounded by a blazing white light that shot multicolored specks, like a Catherine wheel. Mary heard a scream—was it Alice? It sounded like Alice. But the flames were nowhere near her, thank goodness. Around the platform, the seven men were being consumed by flames.
“Mój Boże!” shouted Isaac Mandelbaum. “What is happening?”
Mary could barely hear him over the sound of the wind. “Justine!” she cried. “Can we try to save them? How can we save them?” Those men might be her enemies, but they were dying in agony. She must do something.
“I do not know,” Justine shouted back. What could they do? The wind was swirling all around them. Now it carried the smoke of the burning men, a white smoke like fog, with multicolored glints in it. She could still hear their screams. This was terrible! It was the most terrible thing she had ever experienced. It was worse than the night in the warehouse when Adam Frankenstein had gone up in flames, because she had not been able to see him burn. But these men were dying right before her eyes. Through the smoke, she could see clothes disintegrating, flesh charring and melting. For a moment, she hid her eyes, sickened at the sight.
But she must not turn away. Perhaps she could not save those men, but Sherlock and Alice were still in there, in the noise and smoke. She must try to save her friends. She turned and grabbed Isaac Mandelbaum’s revolver. He stared at her, too stunned to resist.
“No,” shouted Justine. “You cannot go in there. It is too dangerous. I will go.”
Before Mary could protest, Justine had sprung up and rushed into the swirling fog. It seemed to be part smoke, part flames, part multicolored lights the colors of sunrise: blue and yellow and pink. It rose and fell around the platform, where she could still see the figure of the mummy—but now it too was bathed in a bright white light, with flames dancing around it. Those flames gave off no heat, only light, the brightest light she had ever seen, so that she had to cover her eyes again from the sheer pain of it. She squinted between her fingers to see Justine running toward the platform.
Suddenly, as though someone had turned down a Bunsen burner, the flames burned down, and there was only a low fog, rising and falling like waves, along the floor. On the platform stood Margaret Trelawny and Mrs. Raymond. Between them stood the mummy. But as Mary watched, its wrappings fell off, turned to dust, and blew away in the wind. The wind itself fell, so that for the first time since the waves of light had appeared, it was quiet.
Where the mummy had been stood a woman. She was entirely naked. Her skin shone like burnished copper in the light of the seven lamps, which now burned only with low, flickering flames. She was entirely hairless, even on her head. Mary was so astonished at the sight of her that for a moment she forgot entirely where she was or what she was doing. She just stared at this apparition—was this the mummy, somehow brought back to life? It must be an illusion. They must all simply be witnessing the same illusion. But could an illusion have killed all those men?
“Queen Tera,” said Isaac next to her. “They have resurrected Queen Tera from the dead. This is not what Moriarty planned.”
His statement brought her back to herself. What was happening now? Justine had almost made it to the platform. Where was Alice? Ah, there—crouched by Mr. Holmes! And he was sitting up, speaking with her. Thank goodness, at least he was no longer unconscious. If Justine could reach them…
The woman Isaac had called Queen Tera raised her left hand. Lightning sprang from it, as white as the light of the lamps, hitting Justine in the chest. The Giantess crumpled to the ground. Mary could see Alice raising her hand to her mouth, stifling another scream. Holmes reached toward her weakly, as though to comfort her. Mary almost screamed herself. What had happened to Justine?
As casually as though nothing had happened, Queen Tera turned to Margaret Trelawny and Helen Raymond. Margaret Trelawny unclasped the scarab necklace from her neck, knelt before Queen Tera, and held the necklace out to the naked woman. “Hail, Priestess of Isis, once Queen of Egypt, soon to be Queen of England. Your loyal subject greets you.”
Queen Tera took the scarab necklace and clasped it around her own neck, where it glowed briefly for a moment, then dimmed to a dull red hue. She said something that Mary could not understand. Was it in the same language Margaret had been reading from the scroll? Then she turned to Mrs. Raymond.
“Are you a loyal subject to me also, child of this new age?” Her voice was hoarse, like a rusted pulley. It sounded as though she had not used it in two thousand years. She spoke with a heavy accent. But how was she speaking English at all? Was she indeed Queen Tera? Or was this some sort of charlatan’s trick? Those men—they had truly burned in the flames. And Justine was truly lying on the floor. Mary rose, prepared to run forward to where she was lying.