Going to the Museum
As we walked towards the museum after school, I realized for the first time just how grand it was. The old Victorian building was made of rust-red bricks with tall, white-framed windows, and beneath each window frame were draping garlands of flowers carved into the brickwork. I’d never noticed them before. On either side of the entrance were two orb-shaped lamp posts, welcoming visitors in on dark days.
“Look,” said Mason, pointing to a poster by the entrance.
LAST CHANCE TO SEE!
COME AND SAY GOODBYE TO OUR AMAZING ARTEFACTS FROM AROUND THE WORLD.
FREE ENTRY!
We walked up the steps and into the foyer. There was a welcome desk on one side, but nobody was behind it so we headed through the two carved wooden doors that led into the main hall of the museum. Mason gasped.
“Oh, wow,” he said.
The room was filled with glass cases containing every stuffed wild animal you could possibly think of: lions, crocodiles, otters, badgers, buffalo, foxes, rabbits. There was even a giraffe in a really tall case that stretched up to the roof. I remembered Mum saying that stuffing animals, or taxidermy, was really fashionable in Victorian times and people didn’t seem to think it was cruel back then. She said that there had been a debate about whether the displays should be destroyed, but it was decided that they should be kept for historic and scientific interest. Some of the stuffed animals were now extinct.
I remembered the smell from when I’d last visited. It was a musty and dusty smell – the kind that made your nose tickle.
“I remember this!” said Mason, stopping by an overstuffed rhinoceros. “Some thieves broke in years ago and sawed her horn off. They got in through a skylight. It was in the papers.”
The story of the stolen rhino horn rang a bell. I read her sign. Apparently, a rhino’s horn can be really valuable, and the thieves knew exactly what they were doing. In the article it said that her name was Rosie and that the people working in the museum at the time had replaced her stolen horn with a plastic one.
The museum was incredible. Why I had I left it so long to go back? And now it was all too late. The collection was going to be split up and sold, and the beautiful old building would probably end up being turned into posh apartments.
“I can’t see this famous painting anywhere,” said Mason, looking around.
“Come on, let’s go upstairs and see if we can find my mum or Dr Sabine,” I said. “But don’t say anything about us trying to solve ‘An Enigma in Oil’. I want it to be a surprise.”
The upstairs gallery was full of stuffed birds, thousands of them in glass cases. We stood in front of a large cabinet containing seabirds all perched on a rock that made it look like they were just gazing out on to the ocean. There was a tiny, meshed speaker by the floor which played the sounds of crashing waves and the cries of seagulls. I stared at a large gull with yellow eyes and a fierce-looking beak.
“Ah, Cole!” said a voice. “How very lovely to see you.”
Dr Sabine was walking towards us, carrying a large cardboard box. I hadn’t seen her for years. I waited for her to say something about how much I’d grown but she just smiled. I liked Dr Sabine.
“Your mum is in the office. Do you want me to get her for you?” she asked, putting the box on to a table.
I shook my head.
“No, it’s OK. Mason and I thought we’d come and have a look round,” I said. “Mum told me you’re closing down. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” said Mason.
Dr Sabine sighed. “Thank you. We tried our best, we really did. It just seems that people aren’t interested in museums any more. Well, not in this town, anyway.”
Mason and I fidgeted a little. We were those people.
Dr Sabine opened the flap of the box. It was full of old books.
“Are they from the museum?” I asked.
“No, these are my reference books,” said Dr Sabine. “I can’t leave them behind – it would be like abandoning friends.” She picked one up and gently wiped the cover with her hand.
“Did you know that this museum was famous?” she asked. “We made the front page of all the national papers once.” She put the book back and rummaged in the bottom of the box, taking out an old newspaper. It was yellowed with age and looked quite fragile. On the front was a drawing of the outside of the museum with the headline:
MUSEUM’S MYSTERIOUS PAINTING WAITING TO BE SOLVED
I heard Mason gasp.
“Is that the painting that contains some kind of riddle?” I asked. “Mum told me a bit about it.”
Dr Sabine smiled. “Yes, that’s right: ‘An Enigma in Oil’. The museum curator back then was very clever about publicizing its mysterious message. It caused an incredible amount of interest and people came here from all over the country to try and solve it. I guess it was the Victorian version of going viral.”
“What’s an enigma?” said Mason.
“An enigma means something that is mysterious or a puzzle,” she said. “Look, that’s the artist right there.”
Next to the article was a photograph of a man with a large moustache. Mason read a paragraph out loud.
“Artist Basil Warrington-Jones, 54, said of ‘An Enigma in Oil’: ‘One simply has to look for four clues in my painting that will lead them to the riches.’ There is much speculation about what treasures the painting will lead to, but Warrington-Jones has confirmed that the rewards are ‘substantial’.”
Mason looked up, his eyes wide.
“And nobody managed to do it?” I asked. “No one solved the painting and found the treasure?”
“No,” said Dr Sabine, folding up the newspaper and placing it on top of the books. “There was a great deal of fuss for a few months and lots of people tried. But over time, the riddle of the painting was forgotten.” She folded the lid of the cardboard box over the top of the books and unpicked the end of some brown parcel tape.
“Um, where is the painting?” said Mason.
“It’s downstairs, in the foyer. You must have passed it on your way up,” she said.
I nodded casually and then Mason started to do some kind of weird overacting thing.
“Oh no, is that the time?” he said as he looked at his posh watch. “We’d better get going, Cole.”
He nodded his head towards the exit door. I glared at him. He was really overdoing it.
“Thank you, Dr Sabine,” I said, as we edged away. We headed to the main stairs that led down to the foyer and began to walk down the carpeted steps.
“Substantial reward! Did you hear that?” I said to Mason. I knew this had been a good idea. A reward like that could change everything for my family!
When we got to the foyer we looked around.
“There it is!” said Mason, pointing to a wall. I stood and looked upwards. Hanging above the entrance doors was a very large oil painting in an ornately carved, rust-brown frame that must once have been shiny and golden. There was a small forest of trees on one side, and at the front was a stream, dotted with floating leaves. Standing on the right was a smart-looking man. He had a mop of brown hair and a large moustache, and he was wearing an old-fashioned suit and tie, with some strange, brightly coloured feathers pinned in a bunch on the lapel of his jacket. He stared out of the painting with dark eyes and a tight smile of amusement. I thought of my picture that Marika Loft now had back at her gallery in London. It hadn’t taken me long to paint that at all. The artist must have worked on this one for months, if not years. It was huge.
“Who’s he?” said Mason.
“I reckon that’s Basil Warrington-Jones, the artist,” I said. “He looks exactly like the man in the newspaper.”
As I stared at the portrait, I imagined his lips moving:
“Think you can solve my riddle, do you, young Cole? Go on, then. Let’s see what you can do…”
“I’ll take some photos,” said Mason, getting his phone out of his bag. He took three photographs fro
m different angles and then I heard my phone ping as he sent them to me.
We stood and stared at the painting for a little longer and then Mason turned to me.
“Now what?” he said.
I shrugged.
“We don’t really know what we’re meant to be looking for, do we?” said Mason. “No wonder no one has ever solved it. Where do we even start?”
I kept my eyes fixed on the man in the painting. Mason was right. What were we trying to find?
Mason sighed as he stared at the painting on his phone, expanding his fingertips as he zoomed in.
“Hang on,” he said. “There’s something in the grass.”
He turned his phone to me. There were two brown-coloured ears poking out of the undergrowth by the base of the trees.
“What is it?” I said, trying to zoom in closer. I looked up at the painting on the wall and squinted. It was so dark and murky it was hard to see from here, but it was much clearer on the phone.
“I think it’s some kind of dog, but the ears are too big,” said Mason. “It looks like a wolf!”
He handed the phone to me. He was right! It looked a bit like the coyote from the cartoons he’d shown me at his party.
We grinned at each other.
“So now what?” I said.
Mason frowned. “Basil said the clues were hidden in the painting and this wolf is hiding in the grass, so this could be the first clue! Let’s have a think. What do we know about wolves?”
“Um… Little Red Riding Hood?” I said. “Howling? Full moons?”
“That’s a werewolf!” said Mason, laughing.
I tried to think what else I knew about wolves, but that was it.
“Hang on. This museum might have a stuffed wolf in the natural history wing,” said Mason. “Could the clue in the painting be sending us to another part of the building?”
“Maybe…” I said, as his words sunk in. “We’ve got nothing to lose; let’s check it out!”
We both spun round and headed back to the hall full of the taxidermy animals. Mason was faster than me and he ran to the far end of the room.
“Look! This could be it,” he shouted. I joined him in front of a display of four wolves standing beside some artificial shrubs. Their dark, glassy eyes stared at nothing.
We looked all around the display but couldn’t find anything.
“There’s got to be something,” I said. “Let me have another look at the picture.”
Mason passed his phone to me.
“I don’t think it’s a wolf,” I said. “It doesn’t look quite like these.”
“Hello, Cole. Hi, Mason.” It was Mum. She came through a door marked PRIVATE carrying a huge bundle of papers. “Dr Sabine said that you were here.”
“Hi, Mum,” I said.
“Is everything OK?” she said. “I haven’t seen you in here for a long time.”
“Mrs Miller? We’re trying to find an animal like this one. Do you know where it might be?” said Mason, showing her the close-up photo.
Mum frowned as she examined it.
“Well, it’s definitely not a wolf. Its ears are too big,” she said. “It looks more like a jackal to me.”
Mason grinned. “Excellent!” he said, looking around. “So, where’s the stuffed jackal?”
Mum shifted the heavy bundle of papers to her other hip.
“There’s no taxidermy of a jackal in the museum,” she said. “What’s all this for?”
“Oh, we’re doing this school project,” said Mason. “We need to find it for … research. Is there anything else related to a jackal in here?”
She thought about it.
“Like a canopic jar, you mean?” she said. I remembered learning about canopic jars in primary school when we studied the Ancient Egyptians. We had a go at making one out of clay.
“What’s a canopic jar again?” said Mason.
“During the mummification process, all the major body organs were placed in canopic jars. There were four in all, for the stomach, intestines, lungs and liver. The jar with the head of a jackal represents a god called Duamutef. The stomach was placed in his jar,” said Mum. I grinned at her. That was a really cool thing to know.
“Urgh, that’s well gross,” said Mason.
Mum began to walk across the room towards the foyer.
“Right, I’ve got tons of paperwork to do. We’re closing up for the day now so you two better get yourselves home.”
“Are there any canopic jars in the museum?” I asked, quickly following her.
Mum pushed her way through the heavy doors and dumped the papers on to the desk.
“Yes, we have some in the Egyptian gallery,” she said.
My spine tingled. This was brilliant! All we needed to do was to find the jar with the jackal’s head and take a look inside.
“Come on! Let’s go!” said Mason.
“Whoa, hang on a minute,” said Mum. “I just told you! We’re closing for the day. You’ll have to come back another time.”
She looked fed up with us but I knew it was just because she was under so much stress. And she didn’t realize I was trying to help.
“But we’ll only be five minutes. Please?” I begged. Mum went to the wall and turned the lights off and the room went dark.
“Home, Cole. No more discussion,” she said. “I’ll be back after I’ve got through this lot. I’ll see you later.”
She went through the door marked PRIVATE as we made our way back to the glowing green exit sign. I shivered as we walked past the dead animals in the darkness.
“Mason?” I whispered, stopping to look at a tiger with its jaws open wide. “Do you think Basil’s treasure is in the museum somewhere?”
Mason shrugged. “Who knows? I don’t expect he thought anyone would actually solve the riddle. Let’s come back tomorrow and find the jackal jar and see if there’s anything there.”
I stared at the tiger’s teeth and at the muscles rippling on its shoulders. It was in a crouched position, as if it was just getting ready to pounce.
“No,” I said. “This can’t wait any longer. I need to find that treasure fast. Let’s go and look now. Be really quiet so my mum doesn’t catch us.”
When we got to the foyer I glanced up at the artist staring down from his own oil painting. His eyes twinkled in the gloom and I thought I saw his moustache twitch. I shuddered as we crept up the stairs to the Egyptian gallery. It felt like Basil Warrington-Jones was watching us.
The Canopic Jar
“Do you think this place is haunted?” whispered Mason, as we walked along the top gallery that overlooked the natural history room. I could see the dark shape of the large giraffe, its head nearly reaching us.
“Definitely,” I said. “I reckon the ghost of Basil Warrington-Jones is lurking behind us right now, don’t you? He’s probably really angry that we’re about to solve his riddle.”
Mason laughed nervously. It was almost pitch black but there was a sliver of light shining from beneath a door straight ahead of us. We went through it and along another corridor, past an Iron-Age display and through some more doors towards the back of the museum. It was so still and quiet everywhere. We turned a corner but it was a dead end, filled with a large model ship in a glass case.
“Look!” said Mason, pointing at a sign leading to the Egyptian gallery. We hurried along the corridor but abruptly stopped when we spotted a figure ahead of us.
“It’s Dr Sabine,” I whispered. We both watched as she turned through the doors into the Egyptian gallery.
“That’s it then,” said Mason. “We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
Just then a mobile phone began to ring. Dr Sabine emerged back through the doors.
“Dr Sabine speaking,” she said. “Yes, yes … hang on, I’ll just move where there’s a better signal.” She walked further down the corridor and through a door, which clicked softly closed behind her.
“Come on!” I said, grabbing Mason’s arm. We ran into t
he Egyptian gallery, jumping as the sounds of a busy, bustling market surrounded us. Our movements must have triggered a sound effect. We walked past a few cases filled with old tools. On top of one was a clipboard and a bunch of keys that must have belonged to Dr Sabine.
“We’d better be quick,” said Mason, checking the other cabinets. “Look! Here it is!” I went and joined him. Inside the cabinet were four dusty canopic jars, one with the head of a hawk, one with a baboon’s, one with the head of a man and one with a jackal’s.
“That’s it!” I said. “That’s exactly like the one hiding in the painting!” I read the small white card that was positioned below it.
“A jar with the jackal head of Duamutef who guarded the stomach. How are we going to look inside it?” I said.
“Let’s see if we can open the cabinet,” said Mason, checking the front.
I knelt down and looked around the back. There was a small silver latch with a keyhole.
“We need a key!” I said, crawling back out. I ran over to Dr Sabine’s bunch. “There’s hundreds on this!” I said, fumbling through them. Mason grabbed them off me.
“It must be this one,” he said. He held up a little key with a number five embossed on it and then pointed to a silver sticker with the number five in the corner of the cabinet. I hadn’t even spotted that.
“What about the alarms?” I said. “They might be linked to the police station or something.”
“If we set off an alarm we just take a quick look in the jar, lock the case, throw the keys back down and say that you accidentally nudged the glass or something.”
I was about to object to it being me who would take the blame for nudging the glass when he dived on to the floor, crawled to the back of the cabinet and undid the lock. He slowly opened the side and we both stared at each other, waiting for an alarm to go off. Nothing happened.
“Get the jar!” I said. “Dr Sabine might be back any second!”
“But what if it’s still got some dead guy’s guts in it?” he said, kneeling by the cabinet.
The Boy Who Fooled the World Page 5
