Professor William Omaha Mackelroy luxuriated under the hot running water of his morning shower. This was one of the few times during the day that the terms of his court-ordered probation allowed him to remove that accursed helmet.
He felt quite silly, wearing a helmet while teaching classes in Egyptology to graduate students. His unusual problem, however, rather than being a detriment to his academic career, had made him one of the most sought-after teachers in the country. He was a bit embarrassed over the bidding war that broke out over him when Yale tried to regain his services. Several prestigious West coast universities had also tried to recruit him, but the offer of the Department Chairmanship, along with the financing for a dig in the Valley of the Kings, convinced him to stay at Gotham State University.
He realized, of course, that it was not his knowledge, teaching and research skills alone, as vast as they were, that accounted for his popularity. Dr. Mackelroy was, however, able to rationalize his situation. "Why shouldn't my problem, for which I am entirely blameless, that has caused me so much misery, finally result in something good?"
If only he didn't have to wear that stupid helmet! "Ah, well," he thought, "time to get ready for the day ahead." Lost in contemplation about what he was going to say at the departmental meeting that morning, he failed to notice that the soap, which he had blindly put precariously in the soap dish, had tumbled to the floor of the shower.
The rotund scholar stepped to leave the shower. His foot landed squarely on the soap and his legs went out from under his large body. BANG! His head sharply struck the tiled floor. Everything went black for Professor William Omaha Mackelroy.
The reincarnation of King Tutankhamon slowly came to his senses. "Drat," he said to himself, as he realized that he had once again been trapped in the body of a 20th century scholar. He sat on the shower floor as he tried to remember recent events.
The last thing he remembered was fighting Batman, Robin and Batgirl in the dark after being released from prison by Dr. Cassandra and Cabala. He, along with the Joker, Penguin, Riddler, Catwoman, Egghead, Cassandra and Cabala, while invisible, were having a great time knocking the Terrific Trio senseless, until Batman shot out the lights.
Before that he remembered waking up in the cafeteria of the Gotham City Jail, with the Joker standing over him holding a tray. Apparently the Clown Prince of Crime had summoned his Royal Presence by striking him with it, while both their cases were awaiting disposition.
Now, what had happened before that? Ah, yes! YES! He remembered. He had discovered proof-positive that Batman WAS Bruce Wayne, as he had claimed before. The Bat-cave. Yes! He had found it under Wayne Manor. The last thing he remembered from that occasion was that he was about to proclaim his findings to Batgirl, Commissioner Gordon and Chief O'Hara. "Did they already know?" he wondered.
Now, he remembered clearly. He had decided not to announce his discovery without proof to back them up. The existence of the Bat-cave under Wayne Manor was the proof he needed. He had to be free to pursue the unmasking of Batman. Now, he was!
But, should he go that route? Perhaps it would be better to hold that information over Batman, to keep him out of his way? "Well, time enough to decide that later," he concluded. "First, to vacate this Professor's humble abode for surroundings more fitting of my royal status. Then, to summon my loyal subjects!" The Boy King in the extra-large 29 year-old body forced himself to dress in Mackelroy's clothes. He then drove the Professor's car to one of his hidden palaces.
Two days later, Commissioner Gordon was working at his desk, when his intercom buzzed.
"Yes, Bonnie, what is it?"
"There's a man on line one, Commissioner, who demands to be put through to Batman!" answered the Commissioner's loyal receptionist.
"What! Who is it? Let me speak to him!" The Commissioner heard the clicking of the call being put through. "This is Commissioner James Gordon. Who is this?"
"This is your Royal Master, you petty civil servant. King of the Upper and Lower Nile, Successor to Menes, God on Earth, Pharaoh Tutankhamon. Put me through to the Bat-Creep, knave, and no listening in!"
"King Tut! Why, you . . . " Commissioner Gordon thought of all sorts of insulting things to say to the Faux Pharaoh, but decided the best course would be to let Batman handle this nuttiest of all of Gotham City's super-villains. "All right, hold on."
This had happened often enough before that the Commissioner finally had the phone company come in and make the connections necessary for calls to be directly routed through to the Hot Line, once someone had picked up on the other end. The Commissioner walked over to the Red Phone and stabbed the button.
Bruce Wayne was taking advantage of a rare opportunity to sleep in after a hard night of crime fighting. Dick Grayson was already away at school for the day. Alfred walked into his employer's bed chamber and announced clearly, "The Bat-Phone, sir."
Bruce had trained himself to be able to become fully alert in seconds. "Aunt Harriet?" he questioned the Englishman.
"Gone to a garden-club breakfast meeting. You may proceed directly to the study," Alfred answered.
The master of Wayne Manor threw on a robe and strode smartly to his private study. He picked up the phone and said, "Yes, Commissioner?"
"I have a call for you. It's King Tut!" answered Gordon.
"Put him through," said Bruce Wayne, grimly.
"Hello, Bat-dope. I've got a message for you!" crowed King Tut.
"What is it, Professor?" Wayne replied.
"Don't call me that. Ever!" hissed the Criminal King. "You know that I know that you are really Bruce Wayne and that the Bird Boy is your ward, Dick Grayson. I didn't have proof before, but you know now I can reveal your identity to the world, if I so choose."
"Go on," said Batman.
"I won't reveal your secret as long as you stay out of my affairs. I realize that you won't become a criminal yourself to protect your secret, but I'm betting you will stay out of my way! To test my theory, here's a tip - I'm going to reclaim the Sleepy Hippopotamus from the Gotham Metropolitan Museum of Art at precisely 1:00 A.M. tomorrow morning. You can tell Gordon's people in blue if you want. They've never been able to stop me before. But if you or Mr. Grayson show up, the whole world will learn who you really are!" - click -
Bruce Wayne grimly put the receiver of the red phone back in its cradle. Then Batman reached a decision. He pushed the Hot-Line button.
Commissioner Gordon was waiting by the phone. "Yes, Batman?"
"Commissioner, King Tut is going to strike at the Metropolitan Museum of Art tomorrow morning at 1 o'clock. He's after the blue Sleepy Hippopotamus statue. You, Chief O'Hara and your officers need to take every precaution to protect it. Unfortunately, Robin and I may not be able to be of much assistance for a while."
"Jim," Batman continued, "do you have any way of getting in touch with Batgirl?"
Commissioner Gordon was almost as surprised at this question as he was by the fact that Batman had called him by his first name. "Why, no, Batman. She just seems to turn up when we need her. Don't you have some means of contacting her?"
"No, Commissioner," replied the Caped Crusader. "I wish I did. Please keep me advised. Good-bye."
Alfred had been paying close attention to his master's side of this conversation. "Sir, shall I lay out your clothes? Make your breakfast?"
"No, thank you, Alfred," replied Bruce. "I'm going down to the Batcave and see if I can come up with some information that will help the police guard the museum. If you could bring something down there, later?"
"Very good, sir," answered the gentleman's gentleman. He watched his employer go through the ritual he had observed so many times before. As Bruce Wayne dropped out of sight down the Batpole, Alfred turned to the regular phone in the study. He dialed the number of the Gotham City Public Library. "May I speak to Barbara Gordon, please? Thank you."
A few moments later, the dark-haired librarian answered, "Hello, this is Barbara Gordon."
"Miss Gordon, this is Alfred. I just overheard a conversation between Mr. Wayne and your father." Alfred Pennyworth disliked the secret he had promised to keep from Mister Wayne and Master Dick. He also didn't enjoy misleading Barbara Gordon, who he had come to respect very much. At least this statement to her wasn't a lie. "Evidently, Batman is trying to reach Batgirl."
"Thank you Alfred!" Barbara said excitedly. She quickly got a dial tone and called James Gordon's work number. It was rare indeed that Batman was looking for her. This must be something big!
She concentrated on changing her voice so that her father wouldn't recognize her. "Commissioner, this is Batgirl. I understand Batman is trying to contact me."
"How did you . . ?" Commissioner Gordon began, but he knew it was no use. He had long since given up trying to figure out how any of his caped allies came up with their information. "Yes, he is. Here, I'll put you through."
The thought struck the Gotham City Police Commissioner that perhaps he should take lessons from Bonnie on how to be a telephone operator! On further reflection, though, Jim Gordon realized he was glad to have all the help he could to battle the likes of King Tut. After connecting Batgirl with Batman, he and Chief O'Hara returned to the task of designing a defense of the Gotham Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Batman knew, too, better than to ask Batgirl how she could have known that he wished to speak to her. "Batgirl, King Tut is going to strike tonight at the Gotham Museum. Robin and I will be unable to be there. The police department can handle any regular criminal, but against the likes of King Tut, I'm sure they would appreciate your assistance. I suggest you coordinate plans with Commissioner Gordon."
"Right, Batman," answered the Dark Knight Damsel.
Shortly after midnight that evening, the police had cordoned off every entrance to the museum. Commissioner Gordon and Chief O'Hara were stationed with patrols at the two main entrances. It had been decided that Batgirl would keep guard over the statue itself, inside the "Ancient Egypt" section of the museum.
Squwaaakkk! Chief O'Hara's walkie-talkie came to life. "O'Hara, here," Gotham City's Chief of Police answered.
"Gordon, calling," replied Mayor Linseed's choice to head the police department. "The north entrance to the museum is completely sealed off. How are things on the south side, Chief?"
"Sure'n it's locked up tighter than a Scotsman's purse," O'Hara said, his Irish brogue distinct even over the walkie-talkie. "If King Tut tries to get in this way, we'll nab him!"
"Good," was Gordon's response. "I'm going to go check the perimeter."
Meanwhile, in the basement cafeteria of the museum, a section of the stone wall was carefully being removed. Two more pieces were set aside. Finally, King Tut stepped through this subterranean entrance to the museum, followed by four members of his entourage.
"That mining experience you and the boys gained on your last caper has sure come in handy, your Majesty," remarked Tut's second in command.
"Yes, indeed, Grand Vizier," replied the Over-Stuffed Monarch. "We'll wait here until General Ramses arrives with our insurance policy. Then will proceed to the Ancient Egyptian gallery, to claim the Sleepy Hippopotamus . . . along with a couple of other treasures I have in mind!"
Less than an hour later, King Tut was standing over the glass exhibit case containing the small, blue statuette. "This piece has always been one of my favorites. Even though it's from Dynasty 12, six before mine, who else alive today has any claim to it? Open the case!" he commanded one of his men.
Using a glass cutter, the henchman cut a large circle out of the display case. He stood aside as his Pharaoh reached inside. "Come back to your rightful owner," Tut cooed to the statue.
"That's far enough, Tut!" Batgirl announced, as she suddenly appeared from behind a display of mummy cases. "It's back to the doctors for you!"
"Ah, Bat-Babe! I was hoping the Dynamic Dummies would send you in their place. Tutlings, attack!!" King Tut ordered.
Two of Tut's henchmen lunged at Batgirl from opposite sides. Spryly, she back flipped out of their way, landing on top of one of the sarcophaguses. The two goons ran headlong into each other, their helmets making a satisfying GONG! as they collided.
The remaining henchman rushed at the Female Fury. One of Batgirl's famous Las Vegas-style chorus line kicks sent him flying in the opposite direction.
"Well, your Majesty, unless you or your assistant want to take me on, I guess that's about it," crowed the Purple-Clad Warrior.
"Not so fast, my little chickadee," came back Tut, in his best W.C. Fields' voice. "My army has out-maneuvered you. General Ramses!"
At that moment, a hairless, shirtless man in ancient Egyptian shorts and sandals appeared. With both hands he held one end of a five-foot pole. The pole extended in front of him. At the lead end of the pole was a tight hoop . . . around Commissioner Gordon's neck!
"Dad . . . Commissioner!" Batgirl cried.
"Hold it right there, Bat-Broad. That is an Egyptian garrotte," King Tut explained. "A twist of the hands by the General will instantly snap Gordon's neck in two!"
Batgirl's gaze darted back and forth, between the sight of Commissioner Gordon in peril and the rotund super-criminal. Gordon clutched at the loop around his throat, his eyes half-closed in agony. Even if the Commissioner wasn't her father, she wouldn't risk his life. She hopped down off her perch, her arms dropping listlessly to her side.
"All right, Vizier. Roust my Tutlings and have them remove the lid of yonder sarcophagus," indicating the one right behind Batgirl with the wave of a pudgy hand.
Moments later, the task completed by his hired help, Tut flatly commanded, "O.K. Batgirl. Get in . . . but first, give your girdle to my Grand Vizier."
With a venomous glare in her eyes, Batgirl handed her utility belt to King Tut's second in command. She then climbed into the sarcophagus and laid down in it.
"Seal it up!" shouted King Tut. His three brawny helpers closed the lid over the Curvaceous Crime-Fighter.
Batgirl was now in complete darkness. She heard the men outside securing the lid overhead. "What was Tut's plan?" she wondered. "Was this ancient artifact airtight?" Would she suffocate before anyone discovered her?
Her helplessness led her to second-guess herself. Should she have called for back-up immediately? Would an attack on General Ramses have been worth the risk? If she was to die, what would her father's fate be, anyway?
A partial answer came, as she could tell that her tomb was being lifted. She felt it being carried a short distance, then placed on some sort of rollers. "Now's as good a time as any!" she decided. First, she pushed with both hands against the lid of her coffin. It didn't budge. Next, she tried some chops and kicks, trying to break out. No good. Finally, she lifted her legs in concert with her arms in an attempt to pop off the sarcophagus lid. Despite the best efforts of her muscular, ballet-toughened legs, the sarcophagus remained tightly sealed.
Failing to escape, she concentrated on conserving oxygen. She pictured a calm, blue sea. Her respiration and pulse slowed. Relax . . . relax . . .
A bright light brought Batgirl back to full attention. The lid of the sarcophagus had just been thrown back. How long she had been sealed inside, she wasn't sure, but she had survived . . . so far.
"Come on out, my little Bat-Beauty," King Tut practically sang. "Time to find out what your Sovereign Liege has in store for you!"
Batgirl climbed out of the sarcophagus. She was in what appeared to be a large subterranean room, decorated like some sort of ancient Egyptian temple. Stone tables with canopic jars and mummy wrappings were set against the walls. Built into the middle of the ceiling, she noticed what appeared to be a gigantic funnel, with a long tube extending from the point of the cone, that ended not far above an altar. In the room with her were King Tut, the Grand Vizier, two bald men in long white robes and General Ramses, still holding Commissioner Gordon captive in the garrotte.
Barbara had never seen her father look so awful. His hair was a mess. The Commissioner's clothes were drenched in sweat. His eyes seemed to have sunk back into his head. She could stand it no longer. "Let the Commissioner go!" Batgirl screamed.
"You're in no position to make demands . . . however," Tut went on, cunningly, "if you cooperate, I promise I will let him out of the garrotte."
"What do you want me to do?" Batgirl asked, suspiciously.
"Why, nothing much. Just let my Royal Embalmers wrap you up like a mummy." As Batgirl started to object, Tut went on, "I assure you they won't vivisect you. You won't be cut or stabbed . . . and your head will remain unwrapped."
"Don't . . . do it, Batgirl," Commissioner Gordon rasped.
Barbara was deeply moved by her father's concern for Batgirl. He was barely able to speak. Batgirl responded, "I must, Commissioner . . . I have no choice." She nodded her head in resignation towards the two robed men.
One of the robed figures spoke, "I am the Chief Embalmer, Batgirl. Please stand up straight, put your legs together and cross your arms across your chest, with your breasts in the crooks of your arms." Batgirl did as she was told.
The embalmers started by wrapping Batgirl's legs together at the ankles. Round and round they went with the wrapping, up her legs. When a role of wrap was used up, the assistant quickly brought forth another.
Layer after layer was put on her knees, locking them in place. Batgirl noticed that the linen wrap had a sticky quality, almost like adhesive tape. The two men advanced up her body, wrapping her pelvis. Soon her abdomen disappeared, transformed from purple to white. Then her arms and chest were enveloped by the bandages.
True to their monarch's word, the embalmers stopped at Batgirl's neck. Soon, however, the rest of her did look like a mummy. More and more tape was layered onto Batgirl, up and down the length of her body. The two men wrapped her breasts in such away that two shapely mounds stuck out of the otherwise formless Bat-mummy. All other features below the neck of the Costumed Crime Fighter disappeared under mountains of cloth.
Batgirl discovered that she was completely immobilized underneath the wrappings. Not only that, the wrapping seemed to be getting tighter!
"You will notice," the Chief Embalmer explained, "that the linen does shrink a bit, beyond the compression of the subsequent layers. It is treated with an ancient formula, so that the cloth adheres to the body or, in your case, to your costume. You may find that breathing becomes difficult, but don't worry. It won't become impossible."
"Can she move?" King Tut demanded to know.
"I am certain she cannot," replied the Chief Embalmer.
"Good. Continue with your work, anyway, just to be sure.
"All right, Batgirl, before we go any further, I'll keep my word.
"General Ramses, release Commissioner Gordon from the garrotte!"
Commissioner Gordon slumped to the floor as he was released from instrument choking him. Batgirl was gratified that her present predicament had, at least, bought her father some relief.
"General, take the Commissioner to a cell," Tut commanded. The muscular Ramses grabbed James Gordon by the arm and led him out of the room.
While this was going on, the assistant embalmer had left the room and returned with a lidless sarcophagus on a gurney. He rolled it up behind Batgirl. The Chief Embalmer was putting the finishing touches on the mummy-like heroine.
Now the two men lifted their creation. The assistant grabbed the area where Batgirl's shoulders were encased, while the Chief Embalmer carried the other end. The two men then laid her flat inside the open sarcophagus!
"Tut, what is the meaning of this?!?" yelled Batgirl.
"You'll soon see, my dear," he responded coolly. "You are so smart, so beautiful, so feisty. I've come to believe that you are the re-incarnation of my beloved wife, Ankhesenamun!"
"What!?!" Batgirl couldn't believe what she had just heard!
"Yes," the Mad Monarch continued tenderly. "Just as my true-self was submerged, so I believe it to be with you. I've determined that the only way to free my true love is to drive the identity of Batgirl from your brain . . . and so . . ."
Inside one end of the sarcophagus was a clamp. The top and sides of Batgirl's skull were positioned inside the vice, which was then tightened. Now, not only could Batgirl not move under the wrappings, her head was held motionless, too!
Next, the gurney was wheeled over to the altar. The embalmers slid the sarcophagus off the gurney and onto the stone slab. They positioned Batgirl's forehead directly under the tube protruding from the funnel.
"Batgirl, I'm sure you're familiar with the dreaded Ancient Theban Pebble Torture. My hope is that once the mind of Batgirl is destroyed, your persona of Ankhesenamun will emerge!
"Of course, if I'm wrong and you're just some Costumed Cut-up . . . well, at least I will have taken care of the final member of the Terrific Trio!"
"Professor, don't do this! I'm sure you can still be helped!" pleaded Batgirl.
Once again Tut became enraged at the mention of his alter-ego. He shouted up above, "Chief Torturer . . . BEGIN!"
One by one, at five second intervals, pebbles shot out of the bottom of the funnel and bounced on Batgirl's black-masked forehead. Plink . . . . plink . . . . plink . . . .
"I'd gag you so I wouldn't have to listen to your blasphemy, but I am going to enjoy listening to your Bat-Bitch personality beg and whimper as it is erased!
"Royal Embalmers, Chief Torturer, leave us. I want to greet Ankhesenamun . . . alone."
Plink . . . . plink . . . . plink . . . . After striking Batgirl's forehead, some of the pebbles landed in the sarcophagus next to her head. Others cleared the sides of the coffin, hit the altar and bounced onto the floor.
Batman had taught Batgirl how to keep her sanity during the Ancient Theban Pebble Torture, the Chinese Water Torture, the Zalamar Torture Test or any other similar ordeal. The trick was to keep the mind occupied, so that one didn't focus on the repetitive impacts. He had recommended mentally reciting the multiplication tables, backwards.
"Nine times nine is eighty-one. Nine times eight is seventy-two. Nine times seven is sixty-three . . ."
One thought was nagging at Batgirl. She spoke to her tormentor, "What did you mean that, once I'm destroyed, you will have taken care of the final member of the Terrific Trio? Why were Batman and Robin unable to be at the Museum?"
"Well," King Tut began, "it's because I can prove what you probably already know."
Plink . . . . plink . . . . plink . . . . Batgirl tried to concentrate. "Which is?"
"That Bat-Boob is really Bruce Wayne . . . and that the Boy Buffoon is his ward, Dick Grayson!"
"What!?!" Batgirl exclaimed. As she thought about it, though, through the maddening effects of the Pebble Torture, that explained a lot! No wonder Alfred always seemed to know so much!
She thought fondly of the only human being to know her secret. "Good old Alfred. He's even kept my identity from his employers, Batman and Robin! . . . but I must get back to the multiplication tables . . .
"Nine times six is fifty-four. Nine times five is forty-five. Nine times four in thirty-six . . .
Plink . . . . plink . . . . plink . . . . After completing several trips through the multiplication tables, Batgirl felt anxious and uneasy, but still in command of her faculties. "I don't dare try to pass myself off as Ankhesenamun," she thought. "The Professor knows far too many details about her for me to pull that off. No, I'll have to pretend to be a mindless zombie."
Batgirl tried to remember and recreate the blank expression she had on her face when she was exposed to the Paralyzing Fog in England . . . or when she received a face full from Louie the Lilac's boutonniere and was stood in Lotus's Oil Vat.
Once she accomplished that, she returned her attention to the multiplication tables.
Plink . . . . plink . . . . plink . . . .
Finally, Batgirl was relieved to discover that the pebbles had stopped. She strove to keep her face a complete blank.
King Tut leaned over and peered closely into Batgirl's eyes. "I guess you weren't Ankhesenamun after all. What a pity! Ah, well . . ."
He took a curved horn from his belt and blew into it. A low bellow issued forth. "Royal Embalmers! Chief Torturer! Attend!"
The two embalmers rushed into the room, while the torturer scrambled across the floor above. "Cut my mindless slave out of her mummy!" King Tut commanded.
"Thank goodness!" Batgirl thought. "The worst is over. Now, all I have to do is bide my time . . . and when they least expect it . . ."
The Chief Embalmer had a knife in his hand. He was about to make an incision into the linen, just below Batgirl's neck, when King Tut shouted, "Wait!!!"
"I've been fooled by these Bat-people once before," King Tut slyly explained. "Chief Torturer . . . just to make sure . . .
"LOAD A QUARTER OF A MILLION PEBBLES INTO THE CHUTE!"
Batgirl tried to retain her composure . . . tried to maintain a blank expression . . . but she was horrified. She felt a pit of despair form in her stomach.
A quarter of a million pebbles! 250,000 pebbles, with one every five seconds, that came out to . . . MORE THAN TWO WEEKS OF NON-STOP TORTURE!!!!
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