Jagger Jones and the Mummy's Ankh

by Malayna Evans

  Jagger wiped his clammy hands on his kilt, eyes glued to the back of Aria’s head. What if Herihor wouldn’t see them? Or saw them but wouldn’t help them? For all they knew, the guy was on vacation.

  “Where are you taking us?” Aria must have felt as bad as she looked—she didn’t even try her you-gotta-love-me smile on the priests.

  It wouldn’t have made a difference. Neither man uttered a word. The sound of their sandals slapping against the floor was joined by a creaking noise when the priest, who was holding his sister’s arm, shoved open a door, pushed Aria inside, and slammed it shut. It happened so fast Jagger didn’t have time to react.

  “No!” His yell echoed down the stone hallway. “My sister …”

  The priest’s fingers dug deeper into his arm. The other guy opened a door, across the hall from the one Aria disappeared into, and tossed Jagger in. He was strong for a priest.

  “No!” Jagger banged on the door that had crashed shut behind him. “Aria!”

  “I’m here,” she called back. “I’m fine. Chill!”

  He should have done something to keep them together. Now they were trapped in a gigantic, stone prison, separated, and at the mercy of men who could be the General’s biggest fans for all he knew!

  He was yanking uselessly at his door when it flew open, and a different priest stomped in.

  “My sister—”

  The large priest hushed him. He pushed him gently toward a stone basin, filled with water. The small tub sat on a slab of stone at the far end of the room, simply furnished with cedar stools and chests and a few chairs covered with leather throws.

  The man nodded at the basin, then pointed at an alabaster vase, sitting on a wooden stool next to it.

  “You want me to clean up?” Jagger shook his head, mystified.

  The man smiled, revealing three missing teeth.

  “But my sister …” Jagger argued.

  The man pointed again.

  Jagger eyeballed the water. “If I do this can I see my sister?”

  The man’s gap toothed smile grew wider.

  Jagger rushed back to the door. “Aria. Are you still there?”

  The pause felt eternal. “I’m fine. I think they want me to take a bath … or a shower … or somehow get clean. I’m goin’ in. You need to relax. It’s fine. I’m sure Herihor is just finishing up a meeting or something.”

  With a sigh, Jagger dipped his head at the priest.

  The water was lukewarm—it felt good. When every bit of dust and sweat was removed, the bald priest handed him a clean, white kilt then led him to a cushy stool with golden, lion’s paw feet. Another priest entered and laid platters of food on a small chest. Okay, it may be a prison, but at least it was a clean one, with food that smelled like Heaven on a plate. He was beyond famished and surprised he had any appetite at all.

  “You said I could see my sister if I scrubbed off the grime.” He glanced at the food, stomach rumbling. He ached to dig into the spread, but first he needed to make sure Aria was safe.

  The large priest held up a finger then walked out.

  A few seconds later, the door opened, and Aria rushed in. She was clean, dressed in a simple, white, linen shift. Her wet curls were pulled back into a fresh, fat braid. Her purple purse hung from her shoulder.

  “Food,” she squeaked when she saw him surrounded by a feast that rivaled the god’s.

  Jagger almost smiled. His sister’s appetite was as mysterious to him as her mood swings. She actually enjoyed trying new things, often opting for sushi or tandoor even when burgers were an option. At the moment, Jagger was too hungry to care. He dug into the fruit, smelly white cheese, and aromatic stew with abandon.

  Casting a glance at the nearby priest, Aria whispered with a mouthful of food. “Did they say anything about Herihor?”

  “No,” Jagger replied. “They didn’t say anything at all. But we’re here now. We’ll just have to see what they do.” He glanced at the priest, wondering if he sounded cooler than he felt, or if his sister saw right through him.

  The truth was, Jagger usually felt superior to his sister. He was used to being the smart one, always annoyed by his needy, little sis. But he was grudgingly impressed by Aria’s quick thinking since they got here. He felt a little intimidated. He wanted to prove he was up to this challenge. But what if he wasn’t? Did Aria wonder too? She would soon, if she didn’t already. Why on earth had the gods chosen him?

  “Why do you look like someone just stole your A+ homework assignment?” she whispered.

  Jagger sniffed a mystery-meat kabob. It smelled delightful, but his appetite died.

  Aria considered him over pursed lips. “You know we’re going to do this, right? It’ll be fine.”

  He dropped his head back, sighing. “What exactly makes you so confident? Fighting with giant crocodiles? Having an asthma attack when you’re stuck inside an ancient float, maybe?”

  A red fruit was lifted for examination. She plopped it in her mouth and shrugged. “For a genius, you’re really not that bright. We already succeeded. Don’t you see?”

  Jagger shook his head. What was she talking about now?

  “The gemstones were in the tomb. On the ankh! If they were there in the future, that means we succeeded.” She smiled, obviously proud of her powers of deduction.

  Jagger moaned. “Wrong. Did you see them? They weren’t real. They were like ghost stones. If you were right, real stones would have been there … if that’s even how this stuff works.”

  Aria narrowed her eyes and bit her lips. “But … Why?”

  “I don’t know!” He stood up, and the piece of cheese resting on his knee dropped to the floor. “Maybe it was a hint from the gods, like Tatia said.” Jagger fidgeted with the hem of his kilt—he couldn’t believe this stuff was coming out of his mouth. “Or maybe they represented the possibility. You know, like it’s possible Kevin Durant will suddenly appear, scoop us up, take us home, and give me a basketball contract.”

  “That’s not possible—”

  “Exactly!”

  Creak.

  The door shot open, and the old man they’d seen when they tumbled out of the float walked in. Without a word, the priest pulled up a nearby stool and eyed the siblings from head to toe. He crossed his arms and sat up straight.

  “Much better.” He nodded. “This is how one dresses to appear before the High Priest of Amun-Ra.”

  HOLY HERIHOR

  “So you are Herihor?” Aria dropped the fig she was about to eat.

  “I am.” He leaned forward, dark eyes sparkling under gray-speckled eyebrows. He shifted his gaze to Jagger. “And you would be wise to remember that I am no fool, as if I would not recognize the true voice of a god I have served my entire life. Now, having agreed on who I am, let us discuss the two of you. How did you get the princess’s amulet?”

  The amulet! Jagger took it off when he cleaned himself. And worse, he’d set his phone down.

  There! His sweat-drenched, old kilt, neatly folded, was on a stool near the stone basin. The priest standing next to it handed Jagger a small stack: phone, kilt, gold armbands, amulet. It was all there. Jagger nodded as he took it, shoving his phone in his new kilt’s pocket, and stringing the amulet back around his neck.

  “Tatia … I mean, Meretaten gave it to me,” Jagger finally responded, looking Herihor directly in the eye. The High Priest reminded Jagger of his second-grade teacher, Mr. Norton, who was mean to every kid in class but Jagger. The teacher’s-favorite-nerd treatment caused Jagger endless problems with the other kids. That was before the divorce, before homeschool, when things were normal.

  The old priest leaned back on his stool, staring at them over folded arms. “Why? Why would Meretaten give you her most prized possession? Who are you two?”

  The kids glanced at each other.

  To tell the truth or think up another lie?

  Jagger was sick of disguises. Besides, Tatia told t
hem this was their guy—if they wanted the High Priest’s help, they needed him to know the truth. Jagger exhaled, collecting his thoughts. The story erupted from his mouth like vomit. He left nothing out. He told him about Tatia’s voice in his head, about seeing Mek, barely clinging to life. He told him about the Death Spell the General was planning to cast—a spell that would doom the royal family. He told him he and Aria were related to the royal family, that they’d die along with their very distant relatives if the spell was cast. He told him about Smenkare rescuing them and Mut’s belief that the prince was working with the General. He told him of Mut’s faith in Babi. When he got to the part about the crocodiles, Herihor eyed Aria’s purse with curiosity. When the tale was done, the old man sat silently, rubbing his hands together like a villain in an old movie.

  “That story is simply too strange to be untrue,” he conceded. “You say the Seshep ny Netjer split in two before joining with you?” He shook his head. “Inexplicable, that is.” Herihor considered Jagger with pursed lips. “I believe you,” he announced.

  Jagger bowed his head, relieved. Okay, step one accomplished. Now they just needed this guy to figure out what to do … and help them do it.

  “Only those of us who have had the pleasure of watching the princess speak to the gods would believe in her ability to cast the Meseneh Rek spell,” Herihor said. “Remarkable magic, that is. Meretaten’s abilities are … unique. Now.” He set a rolled papyrus scroll on the table. “I have something for you.”

  Jagger picked it up. Aria leaned closer as he unrolled it. “Our letter of introduction.” Jagger scanned the cursive version of hieroglyphs. He couldn’t read it—that talent hadn’t magically been bestowed with their understanding of the language—but he recognized it instantly “How?” Jagger rubbed his stubbly head. He felt twitchy.

  “You are the second pair of children to visit me this morning,” Herihor explained. “The others came through the front door.” He glowered. “They said they were sent by Meretaten in order to gain my support in their efforts to thwart the General’s plans to cast a powerful spell. It seemed preposterous. The Heqa-oo Moot has not been cast in generations—it is a terribly dangerous spell, and only the most accomplished magician could successfully cast it.”

  Jagger realized he was holding his breath. The General really did know about them. Some battle-thirsty, old General was looking for him and his little sister, hoping to erase them from existence.

  “And did you give it to them? Your help?” Aria leaned forward, as if getting closer to the old priest would render him more willing to support them.

  The High Priest’s scowl deepened. “I have already explained that I am not easily fooled, young woman. Or should I say, princess?” His bushy brows crept up.

  Aria flashed him one of her I’m-so-cute-you-can’t-stay-annoyed-with-me smiles as she nodded her head.

  Jagger thought Herihor was going to smile back, but he must be one of the rare people immune to Aria’s charms. The High Priest shook his head and went on. “I called them liars and tossed them out. Now that I have heard your story, the incident makes more sense. The prince is, beyond question, the least talented person to be born into that family in generations, aside from Pharaoh, although that fact is for your ears only—I’ve long suspected Akhenaten’s hatred of the old gods stems from his lack of ability.” Herihor leaned forward. “Oh, Pharaoh and his unpopular son both know some magic. But frankly, I am surprised Smenkare managed to call Sobek’s crocs. The idea that he is going to cast the Heqa-oo Moot is astounding, especially with the gods in decline. Only Thebes, and perhaps Memphis, is left with enough magic for such a spell, thanks largely to me and my priests. Clearly sending some local kids with a half-baked story was the prince’s idea. The General, for all his flaws, is far too smart to think he can fool me so easily.”

  Jagger licked his lips. This was getting too real. “But you’ll help us, right?” His voice cracked.

  Herihor stood up. “I will do what I can.” He rested his hands on the high back of an empty chair. “In truth, I am not sure how much I can do for you. I suppose we should start by figuring out where the gemstones are.” The old man paused and stared down at Jagger.

  Jagger squirmed.

  “Helloooo.” Aria folded her arms and cocked her head to the side. “You have a magic amulet now, Brainy.”

  Duh. Outsmarted by his sister again. Great! Wondering if time travel had shaved off IQ points, he clutched the Isis Knot in his palm, focusing on the gemstones. There! He could feel them, as well as Mut and her two companions, across the Nile. Babi was still close, he realized. “The gemstones are on the West Bank, past the Workman’s Village.”

  The old man nodded to the nearby priest, and seconds later, a map was placed before them. It showed the West Bank of Thebes: the old palace complex, Malkata; the Valley of the Kings where the pharaohs were buried; and the Workmen’s Village where Mut and her sidekicks were creating a diversion.

  “Here.” Jagger pointed at the cliffs where he felt the stones. “Smenkare is there too. I can feel him.”

  “Of course.” The High Priest nodded. “They are in one of the kings’ tombs. That is the Valley of the Kings, where the pharaohs lie. The gemstones will be safe there until the spell is cast. They will select a family tomb. It will make Meketaten’s Ka even more powerful if an ancestor is near. Is the General with them?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never met him, so I can’t tell—”

  Whack!

  The door flew open.

  Jagger jumped to his feet and stepped in front of Aria. Two unfamiliar priests shoved another priest into the room. He fell at their feet while the two priests who brought him stood by the door, looking bruised and battered. And angry.

  “Don’t touch me!” The guy on the floor looked up.

  “Babi!” Aria ran to him.

  Now dressed as a priest, newly shaven head and all, the captain had a black eye and scratches down his chest. The two guys who’d captured him looked even worse.

  “You’re safe.” He jumped up, and brushed himself off, sending a vicious glance at the other priests.

  “The brave captain I presume?” Herihor lifted a fuzzy, gray brow. “Trusted intimate of the noble Mutbenret and the princess Meretaten?”

  Babi nodded, examining Jagger and Aria like they were goods bound for his hull.

  “Sit.” Herihor motioned to a nearby stool. “You seem to be making a habit of attempting to thwart my security to sneak into Amun-Ra’s temple. An unbeliever, I presume. For no one who believed in the gods would dare enter the sacred sanctuary so brazenly. And twice in one day.”

  Babi flashed a tired smile. “On the contrary, I simply believe the gods have more important things to worry about than silly rules, like who can and can’t enter their homes. Things like ensuring the success of these two kids, for example.”

  Herihor nodded, conceding the point.

  The captain looked at Jagger with a raised brow.

  “We told him everything,” Jagger admitted. “He says he’ll help us.”

  “I said I would try,” Herihor clarified.

  “I presume the kids spotted leaving the temple earlier had Meretaten’s letter of introduction?” Babi glanced at the High Priest.

  “Clever deduction.” Herihor nodded. “And accurate.”

  “The kids are in the Valley of the Kings now,” the captain continued.

  Herihor’s eyes widened. “That makes sense. The gemstones are there too. And the prince is with them, in one of the family tombs.” Herihor’s fluffy brows drew together. “But which one, and how you will get there unseen and retrieve them, I do not yet know.”

  “Amenhotep the Second’s tomb,” Babi said.

  Herihor’s brows crawled higher.

  “The two kids were followed,” Babi explained. “But there’s no way to approach the tomb unseen. Hopefully the General and Smenkare believe Jagger and Aria are in the Workmen’s Village
with Mut. No one has gone in or out of the Village since she and her two barrels went in.”

  “Hmmm.” Herihor nodded. “That tomb makes the approach a little easier.” He looked at Jagger and Aria, explaining, “The Valley is shaped like a crescent. Amenhotep the Second’s tomb is on the back, left quadrant.” The High Priest pointed to a location on the map. Clutching the amulet tight, Jagger confirmed the gemstones were there. “I can get you there,” Herihor continued. “The problem will be getting the gemstones and getting out without being captured.”

  “You think?” Aria whispered.

  The High Priest opened a cedar chest and retrieved a papyrus scroll and a long, wooden box. Jagger recognized the traditional scribal equipment: several holes filled with black and red pigment and a few reeds for writing. Quickly, Herihor mapped out the tomb. A long hall led downward, punctuated by steps, until reaching a larger antechamber supported by two pillars. A final staircase led off to the left into the main burial chamber, supported by six pillars with four small storerooms adjoining, two on each side.

  “Great.” Aria rolled her eyes. “Another tomb!”

  Jagger wracked his brain for ideas, wondering if they could tunnel in, or if there was some kind of hidden door they could sneak in and out of. “Any chance there’s a way in that doesn’t include going through the front door?”

  Herihor chuckled, deep in his throat, shaking his head as he stretched. “The pharaohs have gone to great lengths to ensure their tombs are secure from intruders.”

  Babi leaned back on his stool, rubbing his newly bald head as he studied the map.

  Taking his phone from his kilt pocket, Jagger snapped a picture of the tomb layout, thinking it might come in handy. The phone camera flashed in the dim light of the room.

  “Ah!” Herihor stepped back. The priest standing guard at the far end of the room squealed. “What is it?” The old priest pointed at the phone as if it were a creature of chaos.