The Incredible Shrinking Girl Absolutely Loves Ancient Egypt

by Lou Kuenzler

  “Whoops!” I giggled. This was fun. Trying to run on the moving belt was like being on one of those exercise machines Mum uses at the gym … except there was nothing to hold on to.

  The black plastic curtains brushed over my head.

  I looked up as rows of jostling passengers stared at the carousel, waiting for their luggage to come into view. I had to hide quickly or someone would see me now I was back in the light. I needed to reach one of the cases so I could duck underneath it. Running was hopeless.

  The soft belt felt a bit like the mats we use in gym at school. I flung my legs up into a handstand, flipped over and managed a perfect teeny-tiny handspring towards a moving bag.

  “Whee hee!” I cheered. I’d been practising handsprings for weeks. That tiny one was just about the best I’d ever done.

  Now I was hidden at last.

  I squinted at the black sports bag above me. A little blue and gold Egyptian pharaoh key ring was hanging from the handle. It was exactly the same size as I was. There was a luggage label too. A. Small was written across it in scruffy, wobbly handwriting a bit like mine. Then there was an address in Sydney, Australia.

  Crazy crocodiles! A. Small – this was Anthony’s bag I was hiding under! I should have known. With a key ring like that, this bag had to belong to my Egypt-crazy cousin. I couldn’t wait to show him my little Egyptian mummy key ring – they’d make a great pair.

  I saw Gran and Tiff hurrying towards the carousel. Gran was looking around frantically. I knew she must be searching for me. She’d guess that I’d But that only made things worse for her as she had no idea where I’d gone.

  Even Tiffany had taken her earphones out and was looking around as she chewed her gum. She probably thought I’d just gone to the toilet or something.

  “This is the luggage from the Australian flight,” said Gran, jogging alongside the belt. “The plane must have landed by now. I do wish I could find Violet.”

  “She’s so rude. She won’t even be here to meet Anthony,” sighed Tiff.

  “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” said Gran, still dashing along beside the belt. “We’ll just have to keep an eye out for both of them.”

  “Gran!” I raised my tiny arm and waved up at her. But it was no use. She was staring anxiously towards the arrivals door looking for Anthony one minute and down at the floor, searching hopelessly for me, the next.

  At least if I stay with Anthony’s luggage, I won’t get lost, I thought.

  I slipped under one of the handles, dangling next to the little key ring. The pharaoh’s green glass eyes sparkled in the darkness as we disappeared through the black curtains and round to the back of the carousel again.

  “Wherever you’re going, Ancient Majesty,” I giggled, holding tightly to the tiny Pharaoh’s hand, “I’m coming with you.” But there was a sudden rumbling in my stomach – a whooshing feeling like I was running flat out down a hill.

  “Uh oh, I know what this means,” I whispered.

  I shot back to full size.

  The three luggage workers were staring at me, their eyes with surprise, as I rode past them on the carousel. I suppose it’s not every day you see a ten-year-old girl sitting cross-legged in among the moving suitcases. Now I was full-size, I was clutching Anthony’s sports bag on my lap.

  “Good day, mates,” I said in what I hoped sounded like an Australian accent. “I’ve just come to get my things.”

  “You are not allowed back here,” shouted one of the luggage workers.

  “Sorry. No worries, mate.” I waved as I reached the curtain heading back out to the airport.

  “Ouch!” The thick rubber flaps hit me hard in the face.

  It wasn’t easy getting through now I was full size.

  “Oi! Give that case to me,” a real, proper-sounding Australian voice shouted as I came out into the light.

  “Get off,” I yelped, pulling the bag away before I could see who was on the other end.

  The small, skinny boy who had been tugging at the bag landed on the belt beside me.

  “Give me back my stuff!” he yelped.

  “Your stuff?” I said. “This is my cousin’s bag. Unless… Oh no. I’m sorry. Anthony? Is that you?”

  The skinny boy was about my age. He had sparkly blue eyes, freckles on his nose and short, spiky hair the same chocolatey brown colour as mine. Now I was looking at him properly, I recognized him from all the family photos I’d seen.

  “Er … sorry, Anthony.”

  I couldn’t think of any easy way to explain how I had ended up hugging his bag. Instead, I held up my hand and offered him a high five.

  “Nice to meet you, Cousin,” I grinned.

  Anthony folded his arms. “You shouldn’t have touched my things,” he said.

  What was he making such a fuss about? At least he was getting a ride on the carousel.

  “Violet?” Tiffany was staring at us, her eyes wide as make-up mirrors, as we passed by. “What are you doing on there?”

  “Children, get down.” A security guard raced towards us. “No riding on the belt. It is very dangerous.”

  “Violet … Anthony … thank goodness,” beamed Gran. “You found each other. Well done.”

  “What a cool ride, Ant,” I whooped as we climbed down from the belt.

  But Anthony just stared at the floor.

  Why was he being so grumpy? I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. This wasn’t the crazy, adventure-mad cousin I’d been hoping for. Surely he could see our spin on the carousel had been fun?

  Over the next four days, I fell ABSOLUTELY in love with Egypt.

  had arranged for us to visit all the tourist sites we could manage before it was time to join the archeological dig.

  We went to the pyramids first. They were like huge, pointy building bricks a giant baby had left in the middle of the desert. Then we took a train to the famous Valley of the Kings, where we got to see Tutankhamun’s mummy with its dry, cracked skin like crinkled leather.

  We rode camels and I scampered in among the huge ram-headed sphinxes, all lined up in a row like gigantic London buses.

  Everything we saw was and

  Thank goodness Gran had found me a jar of pickled walnuts in the hotel bar. They looked like tiny shrivelled-up mummy brains and tasted like vinegar – but at least I didn’t shrink.

  The best bit of all was still to come, though.

  The part of the trip I was most excited about was travelling up the River Nile in a boat to join our very own archaeological dig.

  “Imagine if we uncover a lost tomb,” I said, jiggling up and down in the taxi which had sent to take us to the dock. I was squashed in the back seat between Anthony and Tiff. “We might even dig up a headless mummy if we’re lucky.”

  “Ew, Violet! You’re so gross,” said Tiffany, who was trying to wrestle her hair into a pony tail. It had gone in the heat.

  “It’s not very likely we’d actually dig up a mummy, is it?” said Anthony, without even looking up from his smartphone. I glanced over his shoulder. As usual, he was playing his favourite game – some running, jumping, beeping thing called Maze of the Mummy. Every time he slid his fingers across the screen, a mini Egyptian pharaoh swerved through a ruined tomb, gathering scarab beetle jewels as he went.

  “You wouldn’t care if we did find a real mummy,” I sighed. “Not unless it earned you a thousand points and took you up to level ten of your stupid game.”

  Anthony moved his thumb, sliding back a door to open a virtual tomb, and ignored me.

  Typical! I longed for a cousin to play with … and he turned out to be just as bad as Tiff. The only thing she cares about is make-up and mirrors. With Anthony it’s Maze of the Mouldy Mummy! No imagination, either of them.

  It’s not that I don’t like playing computer games … I’m brilliant at t
hat one where you have to slice a zillion pizzas as quick as you can with a kung fu chop. But not when the real Egypt is all around us. Anthony even played while we were in the tummy-tinglingly creepy tombs at the Valley of the Kings.

  “I do think you should put your game away soon, Anthony,” said Gran, turning round in the front seat and smiling at both of us. “But don’t forget, Violet, it’s a very long flight from Australia. I expect Anthony’s just tired. All this sightseeing in the last few days must have been exhausting for him.”

  “I suppose so,” I mumbled.

  I knew Gran was trying to make peace between us but Anthony was not one little bit like I had hoped he would be. I remembered how desperate I’d been to meet him, especially after his excited emails. He’d sounded like he was about to pop when he said he wanted to be an Egyptologist and discover amazing ancient facts. Now he barely even smiled. It was almost as if a different boy had come along on the trip.

  But perhaps Gran was right. Australia was a long way away. He probably was just tired … maybe a little homesick too.

  “Hey, Ant,” I said, tapping his shoulder and trying to think of something nice to say, “wouldn’t it be cool if we saw crocodiles on the Nile? They might remind you of home.”

  “Look what you’ve done,” he snapped, madly tapping the screen. “You made me miss the Tomb of Treasure. That’s worth five hundred points. And my name’s not Ant; it’s Anthony.”

  “You signed your emails Ant…” I began.

  “There are no crocodiles on this part of the Nile anyway,” he interrupted, “and, even if there were, why would they remind me of home? I live in Sydney. It’s a big city – not the Australian Outback. I don’t see crocs driving round in taxis or playing on the swings when I go to the park, you know.”

  “Fine. I was just trying to be friendly,” I said.

  “Well, don’t.” Anthony hunched his shoulders and went back to his stupid game … yet again.

  I stared out of the window. A truck piled high with watermelons was blocking the street. Our taxi was honking furiously. Three men on scooters were shouting and waving their arms.

  A man with a donkey cart plodded calmly through the chaos. I smiled as the donkey twitched its ears and tried to poke its head through the taxi window. Anthony wasn’t going to ruin my holiday – no matter how grumpy he wanted to be.

  “This is stupid. We’re not even moving,” groaned Tiff.

  Then suddenly the watermelon lorry backed up, our taxi shot forward – and we could see the River Nile!

  “There’s your boat,” said our taxi driver. “She’s called the Cleopatra, after Egypt’s most beautiful queen.”

  “That’s the perfect name,” I cried, peering at the long wooden boat with two big white sails rippling in the breeze.

  When the taxi had parked, I open the door and scrambled out over Tiffany’s knee.

  “Those must be the cabins,” I said, pointing to a row of little windows just above the water. “I can’t believe I’m going to fall asleep tonight floating down the Nile.”

  I opened my jar of pickled walnuts and popped a whole one in my mouth.

  Even Anthony had climbed out of the taxi now. He was standing on tiptoe trying to get better a view of the Cleopatra. I spotted a flush of pink in his cheeks.

  “Wow!” he whispered.

  “Isn’t it exciting? We’re going to be real explorers,” I grinned.

  “Archaeologists…” Anthony almost smiled. Then a big dark cloud passed over his face as if he had remembered something.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, peering sideways at him from under the enormous sunhat I had promised Mum I would wear in the heat.

  “I’m fine.” Anthony pulled his own cap down over his eyes. “I’m just hot,” he snapped. “I’d be a whole lot better if you’d leave me alone and mind your own business for once.”

  He scrabbled in his bag and pulled out his phone again. I should have guessed. For a moment I had thought he had some deep, mysterious secret he wanted to share … but he was just a grizzly grumpy games nerd who was determined not to have a good time.

  Even Tiffany was livelier than him. She hadn’t bothered to take any pictures of the amazing ancient sights we had seen on the trip so far, but now she grabbed her phone out of her bag and started snapping pictures of the fancy-looking boat.

  “You can show off to all your friends your social-face-thingy page,” smiled Gran.

  “Monique is going to be so jealous,” beamed Tiff, actually jumping up and down as she spotted a row of gold-fringed sun loungers lined up on the deck. “As soon as the boat sails, I am not going to move from there,” she said.

  “Isn’t it glamorous?” whistled Gran, grabbing Tiffany’s hand. The three of us jumped up and down together. “It’s like something from a film.”

  I looked at the smooth wooden boat, her tall masts creaking in the wind. Gran was right. The Cleopatra was the poshest, most perfect-looking boat I had ever seen.

  I forward and ran up the sloping gangplank. “You can lie on a sun lounger if you like, Tiff,” I called, “but I’m all set for a real Egyptian adventure.”

  “Welcome aboard the Cleopatra. My name is Musa.”

  A young Egyptian man, not much older than Tiffany, stepped away from a small group of smartly dressed passengers, who all looked like fancy millionaires or movie stars.

  “You must be our four lucky prize winners,” he smiled. “I’ll be your guide for our journey along the Nile and also when we reach the site of the archaeological dig where you will help us discover lost treasures buried in the sand.”

  “Hi…” I stopped and looked down as something purred and wound itself around my ankles.

  “Meet Ozymandias, the ship’s cat,” chuckled Musa, as Tiffany snapped a picture.

  “He’s named after a famous poem about Egypt. But it’s a very big name for a little puss, so we just call him Ozzy.”

  As if he knew we were talking about him, Ozzy stuck his nose in the air and strutted up and down the sunny deck like a supermodel in a fashion show. Even the smartly dressed passengers glanced over at him.

  “I think he wants us all to admire him,” laughed Gran.

  “He’s beautiful,” I said as Ozzy wound himself around my ankles again. He didn’t look anything like the scruffy old moggies I help to look after at the centre in Swanchester. He was more like a miniature panther with his silver-grey fur, sharp pointy ears and bright emerald-green eyes.

  “He’s just like the statues of the ancient cats we saw at the British Museum,” said Gran.

  “He gives me the creeps a bit,” shuddered Tiff.

  “Only because he is even more vain than you are,” I laughed as Ozzy arched his back so that I could pat him more easily. “I think he’s gorgeous.”

  Ozzy gave a high-pitched miaow.

  “Sounds more like a baby crying than a cat,” frowned Anthony, looking up from his game.

  “Poor little guy. Perhaps he’s hungry,” said a plump old lady sitting at a table nearby. She had a strong American accent. “Here you go, puss,” she cooed, pouring a saucer of milk from a silver tea set and sliding it across the deck towards Ozzy. She looked up and smiled at me. “Howdy. My name’s Miss June Calendar and this is my sister, Miss July.”

  Another round, smiley little old lady raised her tea cup and waved at us. Tiffany was still snapping away with her camera.

  “We’re just crazy about cats,” said Miss June.

  “Me too. I work at a pet rescue centre in my spare time,” I explained.

  I was about to tell them how Nisha and I are always playing with the kittens, when the Cleopatra suddenly shuddered forward.

  “We’re moving,” I cried.

  I looked up and saw that the wind had filled the huge white sails.

  “Hooray!” I cheered, throwing my sun
hat high in the air. “We’re off to the archaeological site to dig in the ruins.”

  I really did feel like a proper pharaoh-finding explorer as we left the city and the crowds of tourists far behind. I lay on the deck, flat on my tummy, staring down at the water.

  “We’re going on a dig. We’re going on a dig,” I whispered in time to the waves as they splashed against the side of the boat.

  Gran had gone down to her cabin for an afternoon nap. Anthony was dozing on a cushion beside me. Tiffany, of course, was lying like a lizard on one of the sun loungers.

  Even Ozzy was ready for a snooze. He’d been sharing smoked salmon nibbles at the bar with a millionaire Italian businessman named Signor Sipperetto. But once the fish was all gone, he had padded over to the side of the boat and curled himself up on the open pages of my Bumper Book of Ancient Egypt.

  Signor Sipperetto waved at me.

  I’d spent most of the morning meeting people and making friends. There were the old, cat-loving Calendar sisters, of course. And Signora Sipperetto, the millionaire’s wife. She was the only person who seemed to have any energy left in the boiling hot sun. She was sprinting up and down the deck, dressed in a bright pink tracksuit, timing herself on a stop watch.

  The Sipperettos had the huge luxury cabin next door to the tiny one which Tiff and I shared. (I had got the top bunk, of course. Yippee!)

  The big posh cabin opposite us belonged a French couple who were in Egypt on honeymoon. Everywhere they went they were always holding hands and kissing.

  I thought, blushing red as a tomato as I spotted them standing at the front of the boat, staring into each other’s eyes like something from one of the slushy -mushy movies Tiffany always makes us watch when it’s her turn to choose a DVD.

  The only person I hadn’t met yet was in the little cabin next to Anthony and Gran.

  I glanced over at Anthony to ask if he’d seen anyone. But his baseball cap was pulled down over his eyes, so I guessed he was still asleep.