by R. L. Stine
Instead, I heard silence. A click.
Then a man’s voice purred in my ear: “Yes, Excellency? Did you wish to make a call?”
I groaned. “Are you the … operator?”
“Yes, I am your operator,” he replied.
“Well … I’d like to call Long Island, New York,” I told him, trying to sound calm.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I cannot make that call.”
“Excuse me?” I cried. “You mean—”
“I have certain orders, Excellency.”
“But—but—”
“I’m really sorry, sir. Do you wish to call somewhere else?”
“Uh … yes,” I replied, thinking quickly. “I’d like to call Orlando. Orlando, Florida.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Excellency. I cannot do that.”
“But I need to speak to my aunt!” I shouted angrily, losing it.
“I’m so sorry,” he purred. “My orders, sir.”
“Orders?” I shrieked. “What exactly are your orders?”
“From the general,” he replied, softly, calmly. “You’re not allowed to make any calls. Until the general gives permission.”
I slammed down the receiver.
I glanced quickly around the room. Now what?
I have to get out of the palace, I decided. If I can get away from here and get into town, I can use a pay phone, a phone without a personal operator!
It shouldn’t be too hard to sneak away, I told myself. I just have to avoid the guards.
I took a deep breath and trotted to the door.
My hand trembled as I grabbed the shiny brass knob. Turned it. Pulled.
The door wouldn’t move.
I tried pushing. Then pulling.
“Excellency?” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Is there anything I can get you?”
A guard.
I was locked inside. And the door was guarded.
General Rameer wasn’t taking any chances.
“Doesn’t he trust me?” I murmured out loud.
I’m trapped here, I realized. I’m supposed to be their ruler—but I’m a prisoner until I lead them to Pukrah’s mummy.
With a heavy sigh, I threw myself onto one of the red velvet couches. I sank into the cushion and buried my face in my hands.
A few seconds later, I heard a cough.
The rustle of a curtain.
A footstep.
I’m not alone in here, I realized.
I lowered my hands from my face and spun around.
“Who’s there?”
A girl about my age stepped out from behind the silk curtains.
She was tall and thin, dressed in a white polo shirt tucked into white shorts. She had short red-brown hair parted in the middle, with bangs that came down to her olive-colored eyes.
“Who are you?” I cried, jumping to my feet.
She raised a finger to her lips. “Shhh.” Her green eyes flashed. She motioned to the door. “They will hear,” she whispered.
She tiptoed over the thick carpet, studying me as she walked. “Are you the prince?”
“I—I guess,” I stammered. “But who are you?”
She returned her finger to her lips. “Shhh. The guards don’t know I’m in here. I’m Megan Kerr.”
“Michael Clarke,” I told her. “At least, I thought I was Michael Clarke until this morning. Now I’m not really sure what my name is.”
She studied me some more. “Is it okay to call you Michael?”
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Should I call you Excellency?”
“No—please!” I begged.
Her eyes went to the door. We could hear two guards talking on the other side.
“Well, who are you?” I demanded. “What are you doing in here? You don’t sound like you’re from here. Are you an American?”
She pulled me over to the red velvet couch. I sat down next to her.
“Yes, I’m American,” she whispered. Her expression turned solemn. “My parents were the American advisers to General Rameer. They were both killed in a bomb explosion.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She twisted a strand of her bangs between her fingers, then let go and dropped her hand to her lap. She sighed. “I had no relatives back home. Nowhere to go. No one to take me. So General Rameer adopted me.”
“You live in the palace?” I asked.
She nodded.
“What’s it like?” I whispered.
“It’s horrible!” she replied. “I miss my friends. There are no other kids here. I miss my school. I miss everything! And look at this place.”
She swept her hand around. “It’s all so fancy. Everything is gold and silver. Jeweled this and velvet that and silk that! Nothing is normal! I can’t put a poster up in my room. I can’t get any good CD’S. I can’t—”
She realized she had raised her voice. She gasped. We both turned to the door.
“I’m sorry. Why are we talking about me?” she whispered. “You are the one who is in trouble.”
Her words sent a chill down the back of my neck. “Yes, I know. I’m in major trouble.”
She leaned closer. Her eyes burned into mine. “You don’t know, Michael. You don’t have any idea how much trouble you’re in.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“These are bad men,” Megan whispered.
“But, Megan, General Rameer is your father now. He adopted you—” I protested.
She shut her eyes. “I don’t care. He is the most evil of all of them. They are bad men, Michael.”
She opened her eyes and turned to me. Her chin trembled. “Do you really think General Rameer is going to let you rule the kingdom?”
I swallowed. “I don’t understand. …”
“General Rameer has fought a war for twelve years,” she explained. “Now that he has nearly won, he will not give up his power to a twelve-year-old.”
“But he calls me Excellency,” I argued. “And he said that once I have showed him the hiding place of the mummy—”
“After you lead them to the mummy, they plan to kill you!” Megan cried.
My mouth dropped open in horror.
“That is why I sneaked in here,” Megan whispered. “To warn you.”
“But I don’t even know where the mummy is!” I exclaimed.
Megan’s eyes narrowed. “Then you are in even bigger trouble,” she said. “They will torture you. They—”
The door burst open.
Two brown-uniformed guards leaped into the room.
Megan and I jumped to our feet.
Before Megan could take a step, the guards grabbed her.
“Let go of me!” she screamed, trying to twist free. “Let go!”
They dragged her to the door.
“Where are you taking her?” I cried. “What are you going to do to her?”
The door slammed behind them.
I could hear Megan arguing with the guards, telling them to let her go, all the way down the long hall.
I froze in place, waiting for my heart to stop racing. I stared at the door, as if expecting it to burst open again, for the guards to return and drag me away too.
“What am I going to do?” I asked myself out loud.
Megan’s frightening words repeated in my ears. They are evil men. … They plan to kill you. … They will torture you.
But if they have the wrong kid … I told myself, my thoughts whirring frantically through my mind.
If they have the wrong kid, they’ll have to let me go—right?
They can’t keep me here if I’m not the baby that was sent to America twelve years ago.
Maybe I am that baby, I argued with myself.
But if I am that baby and the memory chip was planted in my brain … why don’t I remember?
Stop! I ordered myself. I shook my head hard, trying to stop all these desperate thoughts.
I stared at the door.
“Whoa.”
I realized the two guards weren’t out there. They had dragged Megan away.
Was it possible? Did they leave the door unlocked?
I took off. Leaped over a red armchair and flew to the door. I grabbed the knob. Turned it—and pulled.
Yes!
The door swung open.
I poked my head into the hall, expecting to see guards.
I peered in both directions. Empty. The long golden-walled hallway stood empty as far as I could see.
I stepped out, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it against my ribs.
I carefully closed the door behind me.
Which way? Which way?
I had to find the back of the palace. Maybe there were fewer guards there, I decided. Maybe if I could get to the back, I stood a chance of escaping.
Shafts of yellow sunlight streamed through the tall windows that lined the hall. It was still morning, so the sun was still in the east, I figured.
But what direction did the palace face?
I didn’t have a clue.
Get going, Michael, I ordered myself. The important thing is to get out of here!
Keeping against the wall, I began jogging to my right. My shoes thudded softly over the thick red carpet.
Sunlight flooded the hall. The tall windows stretched nearly from floor to ceiling. Between the windows, big oil portraits of my ancestors—or somebody’s ancestors —stared down at me, watching me run.
Near the end of the hall, silky gold curtains billowed in a soft breeze, making a scraping sound over the carpet.
I was nearly to the curtains when I heard another sound. The thud of footsteps.
“Oh!” A sharp cry escaped my throat.
I dove behind the curtains. Pulled them around me. Dropped to my knees. Peered out the side.
Several guards marched past, rifles held stiffly in front of them. They moved in a tight formation, eyes straight ahead, swinging their free arms in a steady rhythm, not saying a word.
I held my breath until they turned a corner. Then, slowly, shakily, I climbed to my feet.
A close call, I told myself.
Now what? Which direction do I go?
My legs trembled as I stepped out from behind the curtains. Silence in the hall now.
And then I heard a PING PING.
What’s making that sound?
I turned and saw an enormous insect—some kind of giant horsefly maybe—flying into a windowpane.
PING … PING …
The insect kept flying at the window, wings fluttering furiously, battering its fat black body against the glass.
What a waste of time, I thought. It’ll never get out the window that way.
PING PING.
I watched the big insect try again, again.
Out the window, I thought. Out the window …
Yes!
Maybe I can escape out the window.
I dove across the hall. I brushed the big, buzzing insect away with one hand. And stepped up to the window.
It was a double window with a handle on each pane.
I peered out, into a large, grassy courtyard. Empty. Guarded only by a tall granite statue of some kind of winged person.
No human guards.
Excellent!
I grabbed the window handles, one in each hand. And I tugged.
The windows were heavier than I thought. They didn’t budge.
I squeezed the metal handles and tugged harder.
Please open, I prayed. Please … please …
Yes! The windows began to move. As I pulled, they slid toward me, creaking heavily.
Yes!
I pulled them open just wide enough to slip through.
Warm, fresh air from the courtyard greeted me.
I leaned out. Pressed my hands on the window ledge. Started to lift myself up. Up and out …
And felt strong hands grab my shoulders.
“Yaaaaii!” A startled scream burst from my throat.
The hands tightened, pulled me back in.
I turned to face two grim-looking guards.
“General Rameer will not like this,” one of them said, frowning.
“Come with us,” his partner ordered. And then he added with a sneer, “Excellency.”
The two guards led me down a flight of marble stairs. We passed several meeting rooms with long mahogany tables. Then a library with bookshelves covering the walls and a pool table in the middle of the room.
We passed a kitchen where several white-uniformed cooks busily prepared lunch. The smell of fried onions followed us down the hall.
We turned a corner and entered a small room. As I stepped inside, I saw that all four walls were covered with maps. Most of them, I guessed, were close-up, detailed maps of Jezekiah and its neighbors.
Some of the maps were covered with red and blue pins. Some maps had been scrawled on, with lines and circles drawn in red and blue ink.
General Rameer sat at a desk at the back of the room. He had a large map unrolled on the desktop. He leaned over it, scowling and murmuring to himself, drawing a line on the map with one finger.
He glanced up quickly when he heard the guards and me enter. “Michael?” His features twisted in confusion.
“He was trying to escape from the palace,” one of the guards reported.
General Rameer narrowed his eyes at me. “Where?” he asked the guards. “How was he trying to escape?”
“Through windows leading to the east portico,” a guard reported.
General Rameer scowled at me, furrowing his white brows sternly. “You may leave us,” he told the guards, waving both hands, motioning for them to go. “Wait outside the door.”
The guards turned and walked out stiffly. They closed the door behind them.
General Rameer squinted at me, tapping his big green ring on top of the map on his desk.
I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, clasping and unclasping my fists. My heart thudded in my chest. It felt like that big horsefly was inside me—PING PING— banging against my insides, trying to break out.
“You know the palace is heavily guarded?” the general asked finally.
I nodded. “Yeah. I know,” I murmured in a hoarse, frightened voice.
“And you still tried to escape through a window?”
“Yeah,” I confessed. “I tried.”
His laugh startled me, made me jump.
“That’s just the kind of bravery we expect from our leader!” he declared. He stepped around the desk and clapped me hard on the back. He shook my hand, squeezing it till my knuckles cracked.
“I knew you were the right boy, Michael,” he said, smiling warmly, his white teeth gleaming under the low ceiling lights. “The ruler of this kingdom has to have that kind of reckless courage.”
“Uh … yeah. I guess,” I replied weakly.
My legs were shaking. I didn’t know what to say. I could barely think straight!
He rested a hand heavily on my shoulder and guided me to the wall across from the desk. “Come look at this map,” he said, still smiling.
He pointed his walking stick over a large color map of Jezekiah, mostly oranges and yellows. Across the desert in black were crude line drawings of structures. Maybe caves or lakes or something.
“This is your kingdom,” General Rameer said. He stabbed a finger onto a black star near the southern border. “This is the palace right here. We are in the capital city of Ramenn.”
He pulled his finger away, and I stared at the star as if I could actually see the palace and the town.
“Did you study Jezekiah in school?” he asked.
“Well … no,” I replied honestly.
He frowned. “We will have to make the kingdom more well known, won’t we?” he declared. “We will have to put Jezekiah on the map, so to speak.”
“I guess,” I replied weakly.
“Here is the desert,” the general continued, sliding his stick over the large orange-yellow area. “As you can see, most of
the kingdom is desert. And the desert is filled with many tall rock structures. And cut into these tall rocks are many caves.”
He turned to make sure I was concentrating. I stared straight ahead at the map.
“Go ahead, Michael. Take a good look at the caves,” he urged, lowering his voice. He took a step back so that I could see the entire map.
“Go ahead,” he repeated, his hand heavily on my shoulder again.
My eyes swept over the drawings on the yellow map. I saw dozens of caves, some big, some little.
Why is he showing me this? I asked myself. Why is he making me study the caves?
Of course, I knew the answer.
I knew what was coming next. And it filled me with cold dread.
“Which cave is it, Michael?” General Rameer asked softly, tightening his hand on my shoulder. “Which cave is Pukrah’s mummy hidden in?”
I stared straight ahead at the map.
I realized I was breathing hard, my chest heaving up and down.
“Which cave?” General Rameer repeated. “You have the information in your brain, Michael. Point to it now. Show me the hiding place of Pukrah’s mummy.”
“I … I …”
My knees were trembling so hard, they were knocking together.
I turned to the general. “I can’t remember!” I cried. “Really. I’m telling you the truth, General Rameer! I really can’t remember!”
General Rameer’s smile didn’t fade. “That’s no problem, Michael,” he said softly. “No problem at all.”
“Which-what do you mean?” I stammered.
“Well … the memory chip is in your brain, right?” He tightened his grip on my shoulder. “We’ll just have our doctors cut open your brain and remove the chip.”
The guards ushered me back to my room. They practically had to carry me. My legs felt weak and wobbly and I could barely force them to move.
I slumped into the room and they closed the door behind me. I heard a key turn the lock and knew I was a prisoner once again.
“Aaaagh!” I uttered an angry cry and heaved a velvet throw pillow across the room. It bounced off a silky window curtain and dropped to the carpet.
I lifted a glass vase off the desk and raised it over my head. I felt like smashing everything. I wanted to trash the room, break everything, destroy it all.
I set the vase back down and started to pace the room furiously. I felt angry and terrified at the same time.
