Jagger Jones and the Mummy's Ankh

by Malayna Evans

  Jagger smiled as he flipped through his pictures, selecting the tomb shot and showing his screen to the old priest.

  Herihor’s eyes flew open wide. “What magic …” He shook his head.

  Jagger knew it was petty, but it made him feel good. He was out of his element here, just a nerdy kid suddenly running around with princesses and magicians and High Priests. It was intimidating to be the runt of the litter all the time. Even his little sister was outperforming him, fitting in like she was born in ancient Egypt, even though, unlike Jagger, she knew nothing about the country’s history.

  “We’ll just have to be prepared to deal with whatever we encounter.” Babi’s voice reclaimed Jagger’s attention. “It won’t be the first time I’ve gone into a battle with no plan.”

  Aria stared at him, legs crossed and sandaled toe bouncing. “And do you usually win?”

  Babi smiled. “I’m still here aren’t I?”

  “And this time, you’ll have a magician along as well,” Herihor added, smiling back at the captain.

  SNAKE HASTE

  Jagger wiped sleep from his eyes as Herihor led the three of them through twisting, temple hallways, a few hours before dawn. They were sneaking out the temple’s back door, like thieves in the night, in case the General had the temple under surveillance.

  Light from the old priest’s torch cast eerie shadows against the beige, stone walls. Aria stomped along in front of Jagger, who reviewed Herihor and Babi’s plan over and over in his head. At least someone had a plan. Jagger knew he was no match for an ancient General and his magical sidekick, even if Smenkare really was magically challenged. What was Jagger going to do? Read to them while Aria flashed her cute smile?

  His nerves buzzed as he followed the priest through twists and turns until they came to a dead end. “What …” Jagger banged a hand against the wall, then shook it—that hurt.

  “Patience.” Herihor’s voice was stern. Handing the torch to Babi, the High Priest faced the blank, stone wall. His hands traced shapes in the air as he mumbled.

  With a zap, the stone turned to mist. One second the wall was impenetrable. The next, it was a cloud of cool steam. A burst of red twinkled in the dim light, fading as Herihor led them through the mist and out into the dark night.

  The fresh air felt good against Jagger’s skin. He scanned the small, outdoor shrine, then stared back at the wall, which stood in the space he’d just walked through. He pushed his hand against it. Rock solid.

  “We just walked right through that wall.” Aria sighed, eyes wide.

  “Come.” Herihor pointed the way. Babi waved Jagger and Aria on, taking up a position in the rear as he peered around columns that peppered the shrine, which was built behind the temple’s soaring, back wall.

  Jagger’s stomach churned. To the right, he could see the edges of the sacred lake, glimmering in the moonlight. The temple wall was inscribed with colorful images of the gods. They looked alert, as if the starlight animated them.

  Crunch!

  “Sorry!” Aria’s hand flew to her mouth. She stared down at her sandal before leaning over to pick up two small pieces of pottery. Holding them together, she crinkled her forehead. “It’s an ear!”

  Jagger took the pieces from her hand and tossed them, grabbed her arm, and dragged her on. Babi looked tense behind them, now dressed as a sailor again, but bald, and with more weapons than any sailor would have carted around.

  “It’s a religious thing.” Jagger kept his voice low. “Regular folks, who didn’t have the clout to get inside the temple, could talk to the gods from outside the temple. Some people would donate clay ears … you know, to make sure they were heard.”

  “Because they didn’t think their gods had their own ears?”

  Jagger rolled his eyes. His sister had no appreciation for historical artifacts. He pushed Aria toward the High Priest, who led them away from the sacred lake. They flanked the long, high wall of the temple, weaving through columns and past inscriptions, any one of which, once translated, would wow the socks off any ivy towered dissertation committee.

  Jagger craned his neck back to see the tops of the columns. The scale of the temple was astounding. It wasn’t easy to impress a well-traveled kid from Chicago with big buildings, but this one definitely did the trick. And he’d thought the ruins that still existed in his time were impressive. The real thing was a stunner.

  Aria shifted closer to him as they spilled out of the temple complex. The Nile was just ahead. Jagger assumed Herihor was leading them to the quay, jutting into the river, and was surprised when the priest made a sharp right turn and headed into a nearby series of buildings that reeked of animals and, worse, animal waste. With all the creatures slaughtered in the temple, it made sense to keep them close. The smell also explained why they burned so much incense.

  “Wait here,” Herihor ordered. He disappeared behind a high, stone gate, returning moments later with four donkeys. With a quick nod, he led them back to the quay and whistled once, quietly. Two silent men in white kilts rowed up a flat boat, and they all, donkeys included, boarded the boat and crossed to the west bank.

  Herihor climbed gracefully onto a donkey as soon as they jumped off the boat. “Let’s go.”

  “On that?” Jagger pointed at the donkey, who shifted so its butt was in Jagger’s face.

  “What? You don’t have donkeys in the future?” Jagger couldn’t tell if Babi’s question was sincere or sarcastic.

  “Tell us nothing of your future,” the High Priest intoned before Jagger could respond. “Meretaten is messing with powerful forces, bringing you two back. It is essential you keep the future out of the past.” Herihor turned his donkey around and, somehow, made the beast jog into the night.

  “You’re a pretty girl.” Aria stared into her donkey’s eyes, petting its ears.

  “Boy,” Babi corrected her.

  She shrugged. With a boost from the captain, she scrambled onto Dino—because yes, his sister had named the beast—then followed the priest.

  “Keep the future out of the past,” Jagger mumbled as he pulled himself clumsily onto his donkey’s back. It took three tries, but he finally got up … without the help of Babi, who loitered, watching him with a bemused grin. “I’m fine,” Jagger insisted, right before his donkey turned the wrong way.

  “Come on, girl.” Babi caught Jagger’s donkey and led her toward Aria and Herihor. Jagger rolled his eyes and concentrated on not falling off.

  The ride was torture. An hour later, Jagger’s butt was sore, and sweat streamed down every part of his body. The heat increased by the minute—it was like the air itself was on fire. On the bright side, he and his donkey had made a truce—she walked placidly, and he rubbed her behind the ears every ten minutes or so, thanking her for the ride.

  Aria had, predictably, risen to the occasion. She flashed Jagger a smile as they trotted along. How could she smile knowing they were headed toward almost certain death, in temperatures that would make Satan himself uncomfortable, on beasts that probably wanted to eat their toes for dinner?

  “Your inhaler,” he began as his donkey shifted next to hers.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted. “You worry about you. And Sasha.”

  Jagger squeezed Sasha’s reins tighter. “I could have at least named my own donkey,” he sulked, annoyed by his sister’s levity. Jagger’s molecules were humming. It was as if his DNA could feel the doom riding to meet them. The closer they got, the sicker he felt. The idea of rescuing the gemstones, and the princess, and his own family, was beyond absurd. What was he going to do when they got there? Getting into the tomb was one thing. Getting out with the gemstones, alive, seemed impossible.

  He hated feeling so dependent on Herihor and, worse, Babi. He wished Tatia was here. Or at least Mut. What kind of Protector left them with a random ship captain as soon as things got tough? He glanced back at Babi, who winked annoyingly.

  Jagger grimaced. Mom would murde
r him if she knew he was letting Aria ride into danger … on an ancient Egyptian donkey … named Dino!

  After riding north, skimming the river, they’d turned west toward towering, red cliffs. Now, they were well up into the cliffs behind the Valley of the Kings, where Amenhotep and other Eighteenth Dynasty pharaohs were laid to rest. Pink sand filled the landscape everywhere Jagger looked as they rode higher and higher. He kept glancing at his sister, worried the heat would trigger her asthma.

  Finally, Herihor stopped and climbed gracefully down from his donkey. Aria and Babi dismounted, and Jagger half fell, half climbed off Sasha, then rubbed his painful arms and legs and tried to stretch. He’d give his favorite high tops for a small breeze.

  “We are here.” Herihor drew a half circle in the sand, placing them behind the arch, just above where twelve o’clock would be if it were a clock. “Amenhotep’s tomb is here.” He drew a small “x” at the ten o’clock spot. “We’ll come in right above the tomb, at the top of the cliff.” He’d led them around the Theban peak so they could approach the tomb from the mountain, rather than through the valley where they’d be easily seen. “It’s about a mile from here. We walk the rest of the way. You can’t trust these creatures to stay quiet. They bray at the worst possible moments.”

  “But …” Jagger’s mouth was as dry and parched as his imagination. “We …”

  “Are the priests and sailors at the Workman’s Village?” Babi asked.

  Jagger clutched the amulet and nodded. “With Mut.”

  “Good.” Babi had advised creating a ruckus at the Village to draw the General and Smenkare’s attention away from the tomb. Herihor sent a bunch of priests out, along with some townspeople, on some trumped-up pretense. A few of Babi’s sailors tagged along.

  “But isn’t the Village supposed to be empty now?” Jagger knew the Village traditionally housed hundreds of skilled artisans, the workmen who built the pharaohs’ tombs. But when Akhenaten moved the capital to Amarna, the people who lived there should have gone too.

  “Not entirely.” Babi shrugged. “Some people stayed put. There’s an old medji policeman there who refused to move. He’s fond of Mut.” The captain’s eyes twinkled—clearly he shared the sentiment. “He’ll let her stay as long as she likes. She’s delightful, after all, and Hemet and Mutef are useful to have around.”

  “But what if …” Jagger shook his head. “What if your idea didn’t work? The General might still be in the tomb.” His heart hammered against his chest. Jagger didn’t really buy the ruse idea, but he’d kept his mouth shut. It’s not like he had a better plan. Being annihilated along with half of his family wasn’t a great fallback option.

  “Where’s Smell-kare?” Aria asked.

  Jagger wrapped a sweaty palm around the amulet again. “Near the Village,” he acknowledged. “The gemstones are still in the tomb. But I don’t know where the General is. He might be there, waiting for us, snacking on crackers and sharpening a long knife.” He wiped sweat off his stubbly head. The sun was now high in a bright, blue sky, drenching them in its heat.

  “We’ll know soon enough.” Babi shared a tight grin.

  “Let’s go.” Herihor kicked up red dust as he twirled away and started climbing the slope.

  “Wait!” It took Jagger a second to realize the word came out of his own mouth. “Uh, I mean, now? Shouldn’t we make a plan or something? What about that long, sharp knife?” He knew he should make an effort to hide his fear, but, like the quest to get the stones, it seemed hopeless.

  Aria patted his back like he was her puppy. “We’ll just have to do our best.”

  How could she act so calm? Jagger knew, deep down, that his greatest fear wasn’t dying. Death would just be the same oblivion he had, or rather hadn’t, experienced before he was born. It wasn’t even that their family would cease to exist. He’d be dead too, so he’d be oblivious if that happened. His true fear was that he’d fail Mom. And Aria. The worst-case scenario was surviving and returning to Mom, and Grams and Gramps, without his sister.

  “We don’t have a choice, remember?” Aria pulled his mind back to the moment. “If we don’t at least try, we’re both gonna die, probably along with Mom and Grams, or maybe Gramps, and the princess, and a bunch of other people who are family, even if we don’t know them. And poor Mek will be extra dead. What could happen to us that would be worse than that? Besides, you’ll come up with something when you need to. Who knows? Maybe gum will save the day again.”

  “We’re out of gum,” Jagger grumbled.

  Her pep talk had done nothing to dispel the gloomy feeling that weighed him down, but he was too smart not to acknowledge the flawless logic. Jagger nodded to the priest to lead them on.

  The effort to merely breathe as they scaled the Theban peak—the high point of the cliffs behind the Valley of the Kings that looked like a natural pyramid—soon required all his attention. Aria stopped to suck from her asthma inhaler, pulling a small spray bottle out of her purse. She sprayed herself, then looked to Jagger, her eyebrows leapt up to question him, as if to say, hey want some of my perfume … because that really matters right now!

  Jagger shook his head. What on earth she was thinking?

  She shrugged and sprayed him anyway. He flinched as water, with a hint of mint, cooled him. She smiled and turned to catch up with Herihor.

  “She’s resourceful.” The captain grinned and waved Jagger on.

  Aria stopped suddenly, and Jagger bumped into her. “Who’s he talking to?” she asked.

  Herihor was at the top of the peak, waving his arms, talking animatedly.

  “Go.” The captain put a hand on Aria, pushing her forward for a better view.

  Jagger gasped when he saw a gargantuan cobra, facing the old priest.

  Jagger froze in his tracks. How many over-sized reptiles were they going to run into? This one wasn’t as humongous as the crocs or Apep, but it certainly wasn’t a run-of-the-mill snake. It was black with copper spots; red eyes pierced its flat, wide head.

  “So pretty,” Aria breathed.

  His sister was right. It was beautiful, in its own scaly way.

  It was also angry … if snakes could get angry. It seemed to be arguing with the priest, hissing and sticking out its tongue. The priest talked back, too quietly for Jagger to hear.

  “Stay silent,” Babi hissed as he cast his eyes down, grabbing a kid in each hand. “She likes silence.”

  “Who?” Aria whispered back. “Who’s she?”

  “Meretseger?” Jagger breathed the question. Could this snake actually be the goddess of the Theban peak? The goddess whose name meant “she who loves silence?” Was he supposed to believe this was the actual goddess? Or was it like the crocs, sent by some magician? And if so, who sent her? Smenkare? Did that mean he knew they were coming?

  Books really didn’t explain this stuff well—a disturbing, and new, thought.

  The snake reared back. And spit.

  The world slowed down as the spittle hurtled toward the priest’s head.

  Herihor must have known it was coming. He held up a hand, and the spit dissolved, turning to mist like the temple wall had hours earlier. Red lights twinkled above his head.

  “Smells sour,” Aria mumbled.

  The snake hissed. Then spun and slithered away, shrinking into a regular, old snake as she slid into a nearby hole.

  Jagger shook his head, wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe the heat was getting to him. Or the stress.

  “Come.” The High Priest waved them forward.

  Babi’s fingers tightened on Jagger’s arm. He looked stunned, eyeing the old man warily.

  Jagger sighed. He had no idea what that strange episode meant, but his sister was right: moving forward was their only option. He hung his head and led his sister toward danger.

  SEIZE THE … SPRAY?

  They stared down the cliff wall into the valley from their perch just above Amenhotep’s
tomb. Jagger’s legs felt like jelly. He wondered if the others could hear his knees knocking together.

  Aria slid her hand into his. He cringed, embarrassed she felt the need to comfort him. He glanced over at her: she was white as a sheet. She wasn’t doing it for him. She was doing it for her. If Aria was terrified, things were past bad.

  “We’re okay.” His voice was two octaves too high.

  “Breathe,” she whispered.

  This was it. They might not see the light of day again. But a whole lot of people were relying on him to do his part. And if Tatia was correct, he had no choice.

  “You were right. We have to try.” He squeezed her hand, and she flashed him her I’m-pretending-this-is-okay grin—the grin she usually reserved for their passing interactions with Dad.

  “Let’s go.” Babi tied a rope to a rock so they could drop to the valley floor. “Two guards. Over there.” He pointed.

  “I’ll handle them.” Herihor crouched at the cliff’s edge, hands raised. “Are you ready?”

  At Babi’s nod, the High Priest whispered into the wind, whipping his hands back and forth. Jagger couldn’t make out the words, but a stiff breeze kicked up immediately, blowing sand into the valley and creating a wall of dust in front of the cliff. Red lights glimmered as the sand rose higher, hiding them from the guards’ view. It looked natural, wafting left and right, then up and down.

  “Quickly. It won’t last long.” Herihor lowered himself onto the rope.

  Jagger wasn’t much of an athlete, and the private school he’d attended before the divorce hadn’t exactly taught rope scaling, but the old man got down it easily enough, and Babi motioned for Jagger to go next. The rope burned his palms as he eased himself down, using his legs to balance against the cliff wall, finding footholds where he could. It took him longer than Herihor, but he got to the ground in one piece, and his sister was just behind him.