“My pleasure,” he replies.
Then she turns to look at me. “Mr Loveheart. You’re a wicked, wonderful hero.” She turns away and strides out of my kingdom.
Goodbye, Lady Mirror. If I stare into you for too long I see my face. I see the colour of my eyes.
“Do come back and visit,” I shout, kicking a severed hand from the table. I stare down at Death, who is surrounded by pieces of corpses.
“Please help yourself to the buffet.”
And he does.
“The jam tarts are excellent,” says Death.
October 1888
Mirror & Goliath
We are back in Cairo with Goliath’s father. We sit drinking coffee in the shade and eating honey cakes, the sun lemon-hot outside.
Goliath’s father has given me a present: a copy of the Brothers Grimm fairy tales with hand-drawn illustrations. They are dark and beautiful. Children hiding in the woods, wolf eyes peering through trees, water flowers drifting lazily on the stream and gingerbread houses. All in my hands. All in my hands.
I feel safe in Egypt. I feel as though I am home. The excavation of the tomb of the princess is now complete. We went to visit it, so many months work, but Goliath’s father has restored and uncovered so much beauty. Above the ceiling of her tomb are tiny stars; the sarcophagus is made of gold with turquoise jewels. I stroke it with my hand; it is cool and familiar. Why do I feel so comfortable in this place? I try to imagine what the princess was like. Was she beautiful? Was she full of deep magic? Goliath’s father tells us she had her own temple and hundreds of priests. He has started to uncover her temple, his new project. I am not allowed to visit this site, as it is too dangerous, beams are holding up parts of the temple and Goliath fears for my safety and the baby, so I must wait. I must wait to see her temple.
A postcard arrives for me. It has a silken embroidery of a big red heart stuck to one side.
* * *
Dear Miss Mirror,
I wanted to say how terribly sorry I am that you were nearly eaten in my house. I have been thinking about you a great deal. Mr Fingers has been thinking about you too – he’s still stuck in the mirror and I’m not letting him out. Bad Daddy! I suppose I am bored without you – if I had any servants I would give them a good thrashing. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Your devoted servant
Mr Loveheart ?
* * *
I decide to send Mr Loveheart a photograph of the excavation of the tomb of the princess. I look at the heaps of photographs and sketches Goliath’s father has made. There are sketches of the pots, frogs leaping over water, dragonflies darting over reeds and a crocodile lazily sleeping in the sun. There are photographs of the walls of her tomb; one shows the moon hanging over the Nile while black dogs stare up at it, transfixed and howling. Another shows the red flowers bursting from the princess’s mouth, spewing out like flames. I then examine photographs of the people excavating the tombs, men with shovels and lanterns. Sweat, dust and machinery. One of Goliath’s father with bright, curious eyes and a big beaming smile as he finds the entrance to the tomb. Another shows him deciphering the hieroglyphics on the tomb wall, which depicts frogs leaping into the air and turning into stars. Then at the bottom of the pile I see a picture of the sarcophagus of the princess, and Goliath’s father and another man standing by it. This other man has stark white hair and a face pitted like the moon. In his hands is a little pot. Goliath’s father and he are shaking hands. The name at the bottom reads Tumbletee. This is the photograph I choose to send Mr Loveheart and I am not sure why I have chosen it.
* * *
Dear Mr Loveheart,
I forgive you. Please keep Mr Fingers in the mirror. Wave at him often and send my fondest regards. I send you this picture of the tomb of the princess. There is a man called Tumbletee in the picture, and for some reason I keep thinking you should know him.
I don’t think we will ever meet again, Mr Loveheart, so I hope you find happiness.
Love,
Mirror
* * *
I send it straight away. And I know I will never hear from him again.
The moon this evening is enormous. The three of us sit round the table eating honeyed lamb and drinking wine. Goliath is helping his father excavate the temple of the princess. They are both so excited as they have already found a secret chamber and a sacrificial alter. Goliath touches my face with his great hand and he tells me tomorrow he will take me to see outside the temple and see the artefacts they have retrieved.
“What sort of sacrifices were made in her temple?” I ask.
Goliath’s father replies very animatedly, “It looks as though it was human sacrifice. Mirrors were used. We found fragments of them with black obsidian handles. Very beautiful. Her priests wore long robes with masks that looked like insects.”
“Insects?” I say.
“Yes. They looked like ladybirds.”
October 1888
Icabod Tiddle