The Incredible Shrinking Girl Absolutely Loves Ancient Egypt

by Lou Kuenzler

  “Never mind,” I whispered to Ozzy. “I want to find out more about Ancient Egypt anyway. Then I’ll know what to look out for when we reach the dig… If only you’d move over a little!”

  I lifted Ozzy’s paw and began to read all about shabti. There was a brilliant picture of them, little figures just like the ones Gran and I had seen at the British Museum.

  “Enjoying your book?” said a voice above me. A wide shadow fell across the page.

  I looked up to see a big fat man with pink cheeks and little round glasses.

  “Hello,” I smiled.

  This must be the last passenger.

  “Good gracious, it’s you!” The man, who had the loudest, poshest English voice I had ever heard, let out a gasp of surprise. Then he shook himself as if he’d seen a ghost. “Forgive me. I thought for a moment we had met someplace … somewhere … before. But we haven’t…”

  “No,” I agreed, “I don’t think so.”

  “Definitely not.” He held out his hand. “My name’s Professor Gus. Delighted to meet you, my dear. I’m an Egyptologist.”

  “Wow!” I grinned, shaking his hand. “You must have the best job in the whole wide world. I wish my cousin was awake.”

  Finding out we had a real Egyptologist on the boat might actually make Anthony excited about the trip at long last.

  “I bet you know zillions of amazing things about Ancient Egypt,” I said. “I’ve only done a school project but I’d love to know more.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right person. I’m a world-famous expert,” boomed the professor, rocking back on his heels and looking very pleased with himself. He seemed to have recovered from whatever had surprised him a few moments earlier. “Shall I tell you something really, really gory about Ancient Egypt?” he asked.

  “Yes, please – the gorier the better,” I grinned, leaning forward and hoping the professor was about to reveal some hideous, horrible secret he had discovered from a long-lost hieroglyph.

  “The mummy-makers used to remove people’s brains,” he whispered.

  “…That is horrible,” I said, trying my best to sound surprised. But I had learnt all about it for my school project, of course.

  “You’ll never ever guess how they did it,” said the professor.

  “They poked a hook up the dead person’s nose and pulled the brains out through their nostrils,” I said, before I could stop myself.

  “Well, I see you have no need for me,” huffed the professor, turning away.

  “Sorry…” I blushed, scrambling to my feet. “I didn’t mean to … to interrupt you. It’s just I wrote a diary of a mummy-maker. And I read all about it in here too.” I pointed to where Ozzy was still curled up fast asleep on my Bumper Book of Ancient Egypt. There was a really gory drawing of how mummification worked.

  “Of course. You have that book. How silly of me.” The professor stuck out his bottom lip.

  “It really is a fact,” I said. I hadn’t meant to offend the professor. After all, he must have studied the Ancient Egyptians for years and years. I was just talking about something I’d read in a children’s book.

  “I’ll have you know, I’m one of the five most famous Egyptologists in the world,” he boomed.

  “That’s strange,” said a voice beside me.

  It was Anthony. I spun round and saw that he was wide awake. His nap obviously hadn’t improved his mood. Instead of looking pleased to meet the professor he was frowning at him.

  “If you’re such an expert on Egypt, what are you doing on a tourist boat like this?” he asked.

  “Anthony,” I hissed. What was he thinking of, talking to the famous Egyptologist like that?

  “Ignore my cousin, Professor,” I apologized. “He fell asleep so he hasn’t played on his electronic game for at least twenty minutes. It makes him grumpy, I’m afraid.”

  But Professor Gus just smiled and shook his head. “Young man,” he said, pointing up the Nile in the direction we were sailing. “I have come to join your archaeological quest. I am as eager as you are to see what we will discover at the Temple of the Cats.”

  “The Temple of the Cats?” I gasped. A shiver ran down my spine. The name sounded so exciting and mysterious. “Is that the place where we’re going to dig?”

  “Didn’t you know, my dear?” The professor bent down and scooped up Ozzy as if he were an ancient treasure lying in the sand. “Our little group is set to explore a long-lost burial site dedicated to the Egyptian worship of cats.”

  Ozzy yowled and leapt out of the professor’s arms.

  Dinner that night was delicious.

  We ate honey chicken with rice and giant slices of watermelon, all sitting round a long table up on deck.

  It was super fancy – with gold cutlery and little bowls of water, which I thought we were meant to drink.

  “Violet,” hissed Gran, nudging me in the ribs. “You’re only supposed to wash your fingers in those.”

  “Whoops!” I said, but nobody seemed to have noticed.

  I glanced around, sneaking another good look at everyone now we were all in the same place.

  “It’s a bit like one of those whodunit mysteries, isn’t it?” whispered Gran from behind her napkin. I knew she fancied herself as Miss Marple, a little-old-lady detective she often watches on the telly. “Everyone’s gathered together,” she said, winking mysteriously. “And we have to guess who the baddy is.”

  “Except nobody’s done anything wrong … as far as we know,” I giggled.

  The only person who even looked slightly guilty was Signor Sipperetto – and that was only because he was having an extra-big second helping of sticky chicken. Professor Gus was sitting next to him, busily explaining something to the Calendar sisters. He was waving his arms in the air. The two old ladies were leaning forward, their heads bent close together, looking worried.

  “Oh dear! I hope he’s not telling them how the Ancient Egyptians used to sacrifice cats,” I murmured to Gran, remembering the horrible things we’d read about at the British Museum.

  “I suppose we’ll find out more about that sort of thing at the temple,” said Gran.

  I shuddered, nearly knocking over Tiffany’s glass. She didn’t even notice. She was too busy staring at the young French honeymooners, Lola and Louis L’Amour. She hadn’t taken her eyes off them all through dinner and had even managed a couple of sneaky photos on her phone.

  “Don’t they make a beautiful couple?” Tiff sighed. “Louis is as handsome as a movie star. And I’ve seen a picture of Lola in a magazine. She’s some sort of model, I think. Just look at her little black dress. It is so classic.”

  “Really?” I said. The dress just looked short and black to me. Although, I had to admit, everyone did seem to be wearing their fanciest clothes. The men had bow ties and most of the women wore glittery diamonds, which twinkled in the lantern light like Christmas decorations. Even Gran had put on a rainbow-coloured shirt and Tiffany had chosen her teeniest tiniest mini skirt (which she thinks is really smart – although Dad says it’s so short it looks like she’s forgotten to get dressed at all!).

  For one supersonic second, I almost wished I’d brought the frilly pink party dress Mum had tried to make me pack. Almost… But my favourite purple trousers were far more comfortable and a zillion times more cool!

  “Yuck!” I gulped, nudging Tiffany in the ribs as Lola and Louis actually kissed right there at the table!

  “Honestly, Violet, you’re so immature,” sniffed Tiff, sipping her orange juice with her little finger raised. “I think it’s romantic.”

  I glanced over at Anthony. Surely he’d agree all this lovey-dovey stuff was enough to put you off your dinner. But he’d hardly said a word all evening. He was sitting opposite me, staring down at his lap.

  “Hopeless!” I sighed. He must be playing Maze of the Mumm
y under the tablecloth. He probably hadn’t even noticed that the sky had turned black and there was a huge moon above us now.

  But just as I was about to flick a watermelon pip at him, he suddenly looked up.

  “Wouldn’t it be incredible if we really did find a cat mummy at the temple?” he said, as if he had been listening to my conversation with Gran five minutes ago.

  “It would be completely and utterly tomb-tremblingly amazing, Ant,” I agreed.

  For the first time on the whole trip, he had a smile as big as a crocodile on his face. He didn’t even correct me for not calling him Anthony.

  “Imagine if we discovered something really rare or precious,” he grinned. For a moment he seemed like the boy who had sent me all those emails – the one who was totally mummy-mad and Ancient Egypt-crazy. “When Tutankhamun was a young pharaoh, he would have sailed along the Nile, looking at the stars, just like we are now,” he said. I could hear the excitement rising in his voice.

  “I know.” I nodded and my heart began to pound too as we both stared up at the zillions of dots above our heads. I dug in my pocket and popped an emergency pickled walnut into my mouth.

  “I can’t believe we’re actually here,” I gulped, “on our way to the dig…” But as I glanced across the table, I saw that Anthony’s chair was empty.

  “Ant…?” I called. “Anthony…? Where’ve you gone?”

  “I expect he’s slipped down to the cabin,” said Gran, who was chattering like the best of friends with Miss June and Miss July.

  “Typical!” I groaned, staring at Anthony’s empty chair. Just when I thought he was going to be more fun! He must have sloped off to play mind-numbing Maze of the Mummy as usual.

  It’s strange though, I thought, as I helped myself to the big juicy slice of watermelon Anthony had left on his plate. He was here literally one second ago…

  This time tomorrow we’ll arrive at the dig, I thought as I bounded out on deck early next morning, expecting to be the first person awake.

  I was wrong.

  The Calendar sisters were already up. They were tiptoeing between the sun loungers, calling to Ozzy.

  “Here, puss,” they cooed, holding out a tin of sardines. They were obviously desperate to spoil him with a delicious breakfast.

  But Ozzy was being far too snooty. He was balancing on the ship’s rail, with his tail curled in the air, as if he had much more interesting things to do than jump down and eat fish.

  “Careful,” I cried, thinking for one terrible moment he might overbalance and fall the wrong way – into the Nile.

  But Ozzy was too clever for that. He leapt down in one bound and curled himself around my ankles.

  “Good morning, Violet, dear,” cried the old ladies, turning as they saw me. Miss June was wearing an orange stripy shirt and Miss July, who was just as round as her sister, was wearing a bright flowery skirt. Standing side by side, the two smiling old ladies reminded me of a pair of comfy old arm chairs.

  “Did you sleep well?” asked Miss July.

  “Brilliantly,” I said. The Cleopatra had rocked me to sleep like a baby in a cradle. Poor Tiff hadn’t been so lucky – the rocking didn’t agree with her and she had felt horribly seasick (or riversick to be precise). I’d left her moaning and groaning in our cabin with her face the same green colour as one of Mum’s most disgusting spinach bakes.

  “I bet you’re looking forward to the dig at the Temple of the Cats,” said Miss June, sitting herself down at one of the little wicker tables.

  “I can’t wait,” I smiled, flopping down in the chair beside her and swinging my legs with excitement.

  “I’m desperate to see the cute kitties myself,” said Miss June.

  “Adorable pussycats,” agreed Miss July.

  “Er…” I thought the two cat-loving old ladies would be a little upset to find they were heading to a temple where they might discover a two-thousand-year-old mummified moggy all wrapped up in bandages. Not exactly what I’d call cute or adorable…

  “We’ll have to bring plenty of milk,” said Miss June.

  “And some lovely fishy treats too,” smiled Miss July, pointing to the tin of sardines, which Ozzy was finally eating.

  “Miss June … Miss July,” I said carefully. “You do know the cats at the temple are dead, don’t you? I mean very dead. Thousands of years dead.”

  “Gracious me, yes,” laughed Miss June.

  “We’re not talking about ancient cats,” said Miss July. “We shan’t be digging for relics with the rest of you. We’ll be far too busy with the poor modern kitties, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Wherever there are ancient ruins to shelter in from the heat, there are always stray cats who need feeding,” said Miss June.

  “We run an organization called Cat Lovers of the Ancient World. for short,” explained Miss July.

  “We’ve travelled the world helping to rescue kitties. First Greece, then the Colosseum in Rome – it’s famous for its stray cats – and now here in Egypt,” said Miss June. “It’s our mission at to help save all the poor pussycats we can.”

  “Like an animal charity?” I asked. I told the old ladies how Uncle Max had got our dog Chip from the Centre.

  “Then you understand how important our work is,” said Miss July. “We were very poor when we were growing up back home in the United States. There were twelve of us Calendar children, eleven girls and one boy…”

  “We were all named after a different month of the year,” interrupted Miss June. “Even our dear brother, August.”

  “But no matter how poor we were, we always had a cat,” went on Miss July. “To help catch the mice and the rats.”

  While we’d been talking, Ozzy had finished his sardines. He’d jumped on to Miss June’s lap and was cleaning his whiskers.

  is our way of saying thank you,” Miss June said, into a handkerchief as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  She was loudly.

  “Those cats are lucky to have you,” I said.

  To look at the two little old ladies, you’d think a game of bingo would be an adventure for them. Instead, they travelled the world, helping strays in ancient ruins… No wonder they’d got on so well with Gran at dinner – they were just about as crazy as she was.

  “We do so love the poor little kitty-cats,” sniffed Miss June, dabbing her red eyes. “But I’m afraid this handsome fellow is hurting my bad knee. Run along now. Shoo!” She pushed Ozzy firmly off her lap.

  Hiss! Ozzy arched his back and spat at her.

  “Don’t be so cross,” I scolded him. Miss June’s poor old knees must be really sore for her to push him off her like that.

  “Gorgeous creatures, but moody,” said Miss July, shaking her head as Ozzy strutted away.

  “If only we didn’t need to raise so much money to care for them,” Miss June, blowing her nose.

  “So very much money,” agreed Miss July. “Milk and fish and vets’ bills. It never ends.”

  “Mum gave me some spending money for the trip,” I said. “I was saving it to buy the perfect souvenir. It’s not much but you can have that.”

  “Darling child.” Miss June heaved herself out of her chair and grabbed hold of my hands. “You are an angel.”

  “A gem,” agreed Miss July. I blushed pink as bubble gum. “Even a little pocket money can help save an abandoned cat. Though we need so very much more than that…”

  As Miss July gathered me into a hug, I spotted Anthony coming up the stairs from his cabin. He raised his eyebrows and sighed loudly.

  There’s no need to be rude, I thought, scowling at him. Just because the Calendar sisters were old and … well, a little enthusiastic. Here they were doing their very best to help the poor abandoned cats of the world.

  “Where did you disappear to last night?�
�� I asked him as we went to the side of the boat and looked down at the river. “One minute you were staring at the stars, the next you were gone.”

  “I wanted to reach level ten on Maze of the Mummy,” shrugged Anthony. “I could see you were going to keep talking. I went down to my cabin to play in peace.”

  “That is SO unfair. You were talking just as much as I was,” I cried. “All about Tutankhamun and what we might find on the dig…” I was so furious I had a good mind to push Anthony into the Nile and hope a stray crocodile would swim along and him up.

  Luckily for him, Musa, our guide, appeared from the kitchen. That’s strange, I thought. He was waving Anthony’s phone in the air.

  “I found this under the table when I cleared up after dinner,” Musa called.

  “Hold on a mini moment. You told me you were playing Maze of the Mummy in your cabin,” I said, turning to Anthony, who was shuffling from one foot to the other like a fidgeting flea. “But you can’t have been. You didn’t even have your phone.”

  “Just keep your freckly nose out of my business, will you?” Anthony hissed. His hands were shaking as he grabbed his phone and stormed away.

  “Wait,” I called. “What’s going on?”

  But Anthony had already run back downstairs.

  When Gran came up for breakfast, the Calendar sisters told her all about their work for too.

  I wasn’t really listening any more. I was too busy wondering what Anthony was up to. I asked Gran if she had seen him since he stormed away.

  “He’s in our cabin, playing that silly computer game again,” she sighed. “I hate to be a strict grandma, but I’ll have to take it from him if this goes on. He’s missing half the holiday, staring at that screen.”

  “Exactly,” I said, triumphantly.

  But then a thought struck me. Perhaps that wasn’t what Anthony was doing in his cabin at all. He had certainly lied to me about having his phone last night.

  “Any idea where Tiffany’s got to?” said Gran, interrupting my thoughts.