Chapter 45 Shadows Will Protect Your Sleep

Sherlock Holmes has buried himself in Egyptian mythology and mysticism for several months. Ancient civilizations always have some kind of romantic fantasy about the afterlife.

"The first mummy in the legend was that Set killed his brother Osiris, cut it into seven pieces and threw it into the Nile River. Then his wife wrapped him in white cloth to revive him."

Resurrection from the dead, immortality.

There are too many such records in mythology, even Sherlock Holmes can't finish reading them all at once.

He picked up the kettle and poured coffee into his throat, ignoring the person sitting next to him.

"It's almost marinated, Sherlock, you're like a moving coffee pot now." Mycroft said, he picked up a book next to him, casually flipped through two pages and put it on his legs, "The autopsy report of the child is out."

"How's his brain." Holmes took the book back from Mycroft.

"It is indeed gone," said Mycroft succinctly. "I had the body sealed."

"Then do you know what happened?" he asked.

Holmes raised his light-colored eyes from the top of the page.

"The body ran away?" he asked.

Mycroft shook his head. "That's not the case."

"Curry has a lot of similar things." He said, "The British Museum seems to never lack a collection of mummies, no matter what type."

"I have written a letter to the scientific expedition team in Egypt." Mycroft said, and he took out a sealed letter from his bag slowly. "Perhaps you want to be the messenger yourself?"

"Where are they in Egypt?" Holmes asked, taking the letter.

"The Valley of the Kings, they are digging for mummies." Mycroft said, "If we talk about the kingdom of the gods, it is Egypt besides India."

"But the gods don't seem to protect their people." Holmes said, putting the letter in his bag.

"Human beliefs have nothing to do with the gods," said Mycroft, crossing his legs casually. "The gods may not be something we can easily understand and describe."

"Our poor imagination can only give them a human-like appearance, right?" he said.

When Sherlock Holmes arrived in Egypt, it was the hottest season of the year. He took off his hat and unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. The Nile River was shimmering not far away. The cruise ship he took when he came was moored on the shore. The bright paint was not in line with the ancient land.

The locals who were selling small commodities surrounded him at once.

"Sir," they switched languages ​​awkwardly, "English, French, or German?"

"You need a guide." They pointed at themselves fiercely, "I'm the cheapest here."

"I can take you to see the pyramids."

"To see what other guides don't know."

"Sir, you must be too hot and thirsty, come to our hotel to rest."

"Would you like to try the local clothes?"

"Want to buy souvenirs, sir? Here are papyrus paintings and encores."

"Excuse me, what do you mean by the pyramids that other guides don't know about?" The tall and thin young man with gray eyes held the luggage tightly in his hand, looked at the guide who was standing not far away, and asked in standard and bookish Arabic.

Many guides left in dismay, and the tightly wrapped woman smiled. She wore a pure gold ring on the ring finger of her fair and beautiful hand with a veil. Of course, this didn't mean anything, because Holmes knew that the people in many countries were so poor that they could only afford gems and precious metals that they couldn't eat or drink.

But this ring is very special. It is very plain, without any pattern representing faith or totem. Moreover, it only reflects a faint brilliance in the sun, but it is impossible to look away. Even the novel palm trees and the majestic buildings on the edge of the yellow sand are not as attractive as it.

She noticed his gaze, put down her hand, and the veil fell with it. The woman's fair skin and golden hair fell undisguisedly. She said in pure German without any accent, "Sir, it is something that mortals cannot see or describe."

Germans, this blond hair is indeed their characteristic, but Holmes's eyes fell on her eyes.

Red.

How can a human have a red iris?

What's more, there is a vertical pupil in this red eye.

Maybe his guess is conservative. This person is not only not Egyptian, but she is also very likely not human.

"My name is Gold," the woman said lightly, with a gentle and polite smile on her face, and stretched out a hand in front of him, "Although I don't live here much, I know some friends."

"Then where are you from?" Holmes lowered his head and kissed her hand in the air.

"I follow the crowd like a shadow." Gold replied, she shuttled through the maze-like terrain and entered a small hotel.

"Mirabeau, there are guests." She said, and a young man stood up, his face filled with a frivolous fake smile.

"Guests?" He asked with a smile, "Where are they from?"

"The world of human civilization." Gold replied lazily, "They call themselves."

"I want to go to the secret and dark unknown country." She said.

The smile on Mirabeau's face was restrained, turning into an inorganic indifference.

"Oh," he said, "Gold, you are such a troublemaker."

"More troublesome than Dolby?" Gold's face was still covered with a smile as bright as the sun. "Mirabeau, I'm really not playing this time. I'm working seriously."

Holmes looked at Mirabeau. He was not an Arab and was difficult to interpret. He could only read this message. All the characteristics of this young man seemed to be locked. There was no clue and he would not reveal any secrets.

His beautiful and narrow eyes looked at Holmes from top to bottom, then brought out a set of tea from behind the counter, skillfully sat cross-legged on the carpet, and poured tea from a large piece of rock sugar to make a sticky drink.

"Is that so." Mirabeau said lightly. Holmes noticed that the part of him facing away from him was a dark and thick shadow. It seemed that if it was not seen, it would not change into a specific shape.

He didn't know at that time that he would see his twin brother Riel many years later. Compared with Dolby's broken unknown object, Mirabeau was a group of gathered shadow-like unknown objects.

"In ancient Egypt," Gold sat down, picked up the teacup and took a sip, "they sometimes called Mirabeau the God of Shadows."

"You have the shadow of Mirabeau," Gold said, looking at Mirabeau with a pair of scarlet eyes, "You may have met before."

"I don't remember meeting this gentleman," Holmes said.

"Even if you have seen him, you will forget it." Gold said with a smile, poking Mirabeau, "Do you remember?"

"I've never seen it before." Mirabeau said calmly, "Aren't you worried that he'll go insane if you reveal your real name to him?"

Gold apologized earnestly, but she was obviously more interested in this tragic trend.

"But since he carries your shadow, it means that he has at least been exposed to events that cannot be explained by common sense in their civilized world, right?" Gold said briskly, "Isn't it better to get straight to the point?"

Sherlock Holmes didn't think they were playing tricks, although he had at least two chemical methods to produce this kind of magic effect, but he could clearly feel some strange logic from these two, people, no, creatures.

"If you believe in Mirabeau," Gold continued to suggest enthusiastically, "he will help you get rid of the shadow."

"Believe?" Holmes asked, "So what do I need to do?"

"It's very simple," Gold said, "You mix the mud of the Nile River with barley and wheat seeds on the night of the new moon in spring, and make a doll. Then worship it until the full moon, and the power of his will will be in this doll." "

But it's summer now." Holmes said calmly, "It's too long to wait."

"You can also ask him directly if there is a faster way." Gold suggested politely.

Holmes' eyes fell on Mirabeau, "If I remember correctly, this ceremony is the ceremony of the ancient Egyptians to resurrect Osiris. Since you are not the lord of the underworld, why do you use this ceremony?"

"Yes and no." Mirabeau said coldly, "The pharaoh they thought of at first was not me, and the god of shadows has always been me."

"Then where did Osiris go?" Holmes asked.

"Dead." Mirabeau replied calmly, "How can a human being be cut into seven pieces and thrown into the Nile and still be alive?"

"But I saw a person whose brain was taken out, and he still walked a long way." Holmes said, trying to see some clues from Mirabeau's face.

"That must have been done by Xina." Gold said, she opened her eyes again and searched Holmes' body, "But it's really hard to keep Xina's traces."

"Xina can indeed do it." Mirabeau said softly, looking at the tea in the cup, "Just reverse the matter of death due to taking out the brain to death because the brain was taken out."

He looked at the gray-eyed young man sitting on the other side, "Please tell us in detail what happened at that time."

"Okay." The gray-eyed young man nodded, "But I hope you can tell me about the secret pyramid and the friend named Xina first."

He also put on a smile on his face, "Otherwise I don't know how to tell the strange things I encountered."

Gold and Mirabeau exchanged glances.

"Okay." Mirabeau said calmly. He looked at the sky outside the door. "Let's wait until the sun sets." "

You've been on a long journey. Maybe it's better to get some sleep first." He said lightly. "The shadow will protect your sleep."

He stood up, took out a room key from the counter and handed it to the gray-eyed young man.

"What do you think of him?" Gold asked after Holmes' back disappeared on the stairs.

Mirabeau folded his hands without comment. "At least he is very courageous."