“Time for work,” he said with a gasp.
“I’ve got it tonight, Dad,” Tunie said, as she had every night for weeks. He didn’t always remember.
“You need to focus on school,” he argued.
“It just so happens,” said Tunie, gently pushing him back into the bed and pulling up the sheet, “that summer recess began today. I can help out all summer and not miss a thing.”
Her father’s eyes were already fluttering closed. “All right. Maybe I will…get a little…shut-eye….”
Tunie waited until he was gently snoring, and then left, whistling for Perch.
Tunie could have done the walk through the woods to the museum with her eyes closed. Some nights on her way back, it was dark enough that it felt like she was doing just that. Now the golden setting sun made the tree branches look as if they were aflame.
Out of the woods, she crossed the small, grassy field to the side entrance of the museum and used one of the iron keys to get in the door.
The door opened to a stairwell. She heard a familiar voice calling down from the floor above.
“That you, Tunie?” said her neighbor, the night watchman.
“Hello, George. It’s me,” said Tunie. “Just stepping in for my dad again.”
George’s affable face appeared at the railing on the floor above. He smiled, showing crooked teeth.
“I’m sorry your dad’s not better, but I’m glad to see you,” he said.
“Thanks, George,” said Tunie warmly. George was as sweet and sympathetic as his mother. Tunie wondered what he’d do if he ever did encounter a burglar in the museum—invite him over for dinner, probably.
George cleared his throat. “The museum manager said he’d be coming by later tonight, something about checking on a third-floor installation. I’ll try to keep him upstairs, but just wanted to let you know.”
“Gotcha. Thanks for the warning.”
“Sure thing.”
The museum manager, Mr. Narfgau, had caught Tunie cleaning once and was terribly angry about it. He said he wasn’t paying for child labor, he’d hired a professional, and he’d give her dad the boot if he found out Tunie was doing his work again.
Tunie went about her business, filling the bucket with Lin-X and warm water, and hauling it down the hall. She opened the door to the Ancient Egypt exhibit.
Of all the exhibits in the museum, Tunie liked this one best. She felt a kind of energy about the space, the same strange, humming sensation she’d experienced when she first spied Perch hanging from a bare branch in her mother’s graveyard.
On that wet day, by herself among the gloomy tombstones, Tunie had felt unafraid. She noticed the bat clinging to a damp tree near her mother’s grave. She knew bats weren’t usually awake in the afternoon, as this one was. He watched her with large, almost childlike eyes. Tunie’s skin was vibrating all over, like a tuning fork. She placed all but one of the wildflowers she’d brought on her mother’s grave. She held out the remaining single bloom to the bat. He swooped down, grabbed the flower, and perched on Tunie’s satchel. Tunie lifted her bag with the bat atop it so she could see the little animal eye to eye.
“Hello. I like the looks of you. What should I call you?” Tunie said. She thought for a moment. “How about…Perch?”
The bat clutched the flower. He swayed a little from left to right, almost like he was dancing. His head was round and furry. It seemed he ought to go home with her, and he did.
Now Perch flew into the Ancient Egypt exhibit and hung from a statue’s carved scythe. Tunie started mopping, feeling the familiar prickling on her skin.
The exhibit was belowground, a long, boxlike room that was perpetually shadowy, even during the day. The air inside was cool. It was like breathing in a cavern, and it always smelled of a peculiar, smoky incense. In the center of the room were three stone sarcophagi, one of which was heartbreakingly small. Tunie could have fit inside.
The walls were lined with shelves of statuary depicting various Egyptian gods, many with animal heads, and pieces of stone with carved writing taken from temples. Brass plaques explained the history of each item. There were also displays of canopic jars and pottery, and glass cases containing ancient daggers and weapons. Sound echoed a bit in this chamber; more than once Tunie had heard people say the place was ghostly. It was difficult to identify its appeal, but Tunie felt drawn to the exhibit far more than any other.
This night, however, after swabbing the tile floor for a few moments, Tunie paused. She had the unnerving feeling someone was watching.
“Perch?” she called. Tunie realized the lights had been on when she came into the room. Usually she had to turn them on herself. She held still, listening. Was that the sound of someone breathing?
“Perch!” Tunie shouted. A cough made her whirl in fright, and she tripped over the feet of a young boy who was tucked up and hiding behind a canopic jar. Tunie staggered, barely keeping her balance. Then she brandished her mop, threatening the intruder with its soggy end.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” she demanded.
The boy raised both hands as if Tunie held a pistol, not a mop. His brown eyes were wide.
“I’m Peter. Last time I was here, I found a window with a busted latch. I was just…I was only looking around, I swear! I wasn’t going to take anything,” he said.
Perch flew in and whapped his black, rubbery wings around the boy’s face a few times, until Peter ducked down with his arms over his head. Perch landed on Tunie’s shoulder and gave his best menacing hiss, eyeing the intruder.
Tunie lowered the mop a bit. The boy looked about her age, nine or ten, and he spoke politely. His brown hair was trimmed, and his kneesocks and knickers were fairly neat, if not fancy. He didn’t look like a vagrant.
Tunie straightened her back, feeling slightly more courageous. “My bat bites, and I know the night watchman. He can hear me, you know.”
Peter dropped his hands. “Please, don’t tell on me.”
“The museum’s closed. What are you doing here?” Tunie frowned. “Tell me the truth straightaway, or I’m shouting for help.”
The boy sighed. “I’m looking for clues. A girl went missing from this exhibit at the fair. I figured if the coppers are still searching the fairgrounds, I’d look over the exhibit and maybe find something that could help them.”
Tunie lowered the mophead to the floor. She understood. “You want the reward.”
“Yes.” The boy looked a little embarrassed. “But I’d like to help the girl, too.”
Tunie gestured at the exhibit. “The police already sifted through everything, you know, as did every single person who read about the kidnapping. What makes you think you could do something they can’t?”
The boy bent down to pick up a canvas knapsack from the floor. He seemed less afraid now. He had freckles and a small nose. Tunie thought his face was friendly.
“I’m…” The boy’s cheeks went pink. “I’m pretty smart, I guess. I mean at problem solving, particularly. And building things.”
“Uh-huh,” Tunie said, doubtful.
“Look, I’ll show you,” Peter said. He opened his knapsack and took out a small mechanical robot. He patted the top of the robot, and it made a sweet sound like a music box note.
Perch narrowed his eyes at the strange creature. Tunie raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to use your toy?”
Realizing the robot wasn’t alive, Perch made a soft snickering sound.
“I built this. His name is WindUp. Say hi, WindUp,” Peter said. He turned a key on WindUp’s back. The robot waved jerkily, then took a bow.
Tunie had to smile. “That’s cute as a bug’s ear. You really made him?”
“I sure did. I found—”
A bang sounded from an adjacent room. Tunie startled and, turning, saw that the door on the far wall was ajar.
She eyed the door. “That’s the employee kitchen, but George never uses it, not ever.”
Tunie and Peter ex
changed a fearful glance. Peter stuffed WindUp back into his bag, and together they tiptoed past a sarcophagus and a glass display case of handmade bowls until they reached the open door. Tunie felt that humming sensation again, more forcefully than before.
They peered into the kitchen. There, rifling through the cupboards, was a diminutive figure, bound head to toe in filthy bandages. It moved stiffly, one wrapped hand holding a mug with a picture of a red cardinal on it.
The thing turned its bandaged face toward them. Suddenly Tunie recognized it. She’d seen the child’s corpse lying still in its sarcophagus many times. A strip of linen, resting where its eyebrows might have been, lifted. Beneath gleamed two enormous golden eyes.
“Hullo!” the mummy said delightedly. Two linen strips smiled, as if they were lips. He gestured to the kettle.
“Tea?”
Tunie and Peter and Perch screamed.
The children kept shrieking with terror as the mummy took a sip from his mug. Amber liquid dripped through his partially exposed rib cage and down a few loose bandages into puddles on the floor.
“I’m parched,” said the mummy in a scratchy voice.
Suddenly they heard a man’s voice and running footsteps.
Tunie managed to stop screaming and turned, expecting to see George looking goofy in his oversized uniform. Instead, bald Mr. Narfgau, the museum manager, stood in the doorway, glaring.
“You again!” he said, narrowing his eyes at Tunie. “What did I tell you? Now you’re sneaking your friends in here?” He waved a hand at Peter. He didn’t even glance at the mummy. The mummy edged closer and closer. Tunie stood still, petrified.
Mr. Narfgau was turning a shade of strawberry. He raised his voice. “I knew that night watchman was up to something! He was trying to keep me upstairs—he knew you were down here, didn’t he?”
“Sir,” said Peter. “We saw this mummy and…”
He stopped. The mummy had wiggled in between Tunie and Peter, slinging one bony arm around each of their shoulders. Tunie was too terrified to move. Mr. Narfgau, who had been glaring at the two of them, stopped and glanced around the kitchen, confused. He touched his thick mustache and then took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket to wipe his shiny scalp.
“Now, what was I doing down here?” he muttered to himself.
“I can explain—” Tunie said, but the mummy interrupted.
“Shhh,” he said. His breath smelled like smoky incense. Tunie hushed.
Mr. Narfgau sighed. He continued to look puzzled, but when he spoke, he sounded calmer.
“Hmm. I must have been getting some water for myself and that nice George. That’s it,” he said. He pottered around for a moment. He filled two glasses with water and then slowly walked out.
“Strange…,” he said. “I must be really tired.”
It was as if Mr. Narfgau could no longer see them; he looked directly at them but seemed to register nothing. They watched him walk across the floor and exit through the door to the exhibit.
Tunie had to take several deep breaths before she could talk.
“H-how did you do that?” she asked the mummy.
The mummy lowered his skinny arms and stepped back.
“I suppose it was the magic of my curse. I wasn’t sure it would work, really,” he said.
“Well, that was aces. Thanks. I’m Tunie, and this is my bat, Perch,” she said in a trembling voice. “Nice to meet you, Parched.”
The mummy chuckled merrily.
Peter said, “That isn’t what he meant when he said he was parched. ‘Parched’ means ‘thirsty.’ ”
Tunie flushed. “Oh, right.”
“I’m Peter,” he said to the mummy. He’d been clenching his knapsack tightly in both hands, but now he loosened his grip and slung it over his shoulder.
The mummy bowed. “I’m Horus. It is my great pleasure to meet you.”
Tunie’s fear began to dissipate. The mummy wasn’t much bigger than they were, and seemed pretty fragile. The linen strips around his stomach had loosened, giving him a rather adorable potbellied look.
Horus cleared his throat. “You can repay me, you know. I’m dying for some company—no pun intended. Please join me for some tea.”
Tunie carefully set aside her mop. She hadn’t noticed she was still clutching it. “All right. Thanks again. Mr. Narfgau’s the big boss around here; he would have fired my father for sure.”
“I’m glad I could help!” Horus said. “Please, sit down. This is already the best luck I’ve had in a millennium.”
Tunie pulled out a chair, and so did Peter.
In possibly the oddest tea party ever arranged, Peter, Tunie, Perch, and Horus the mummy sat elbow to elbow around the undersized table. They passed a packet of stale Hydrox cookies with the teapot. Tunie noticed that Horus was holding something in his hand. When he set it down to lift the teapot, she saw what it was—a smooth rock with a worn, carved symbol. She recognized it from a display in the exhibit that was near Horus’s sarcophagus—it was a projectile for an ancient sling weapon. Tunie poured a small saucer of cream for Perch. She hoped they wouldn’t get in trouble for taking these things, but Horus said they were provided by the museum for its employees and no one had ever minded when he’d helped himself—or perhaps the curse kept them from noticing; he wasn’t sure.
Tunie sipped her tea and carefully examined the mummy. “Why do you look like a kid but talk like a British grandpa? Won’t that tea make your bandages all soggy? What curse? And I thought you were an unknown mummy.”
Horus managed to look intensely pleased. Instead of covering his face, the bandages somehow seemed to move like facial muscles, and the weird glow of his eyes was surprisingly warm. He smiled as he ticked off responses to Tunie’s questions on his fingers.
“One: I died when I was only ten. I spent more than a century in a British museum and learned to speak English from the stuffy curator there, developing this accent and an incredible thirst for tea, which, two, doesn’t do a thing to me. The enchantment of my curse must keep it from damaging me so I can continue to suffer an eternity of regret. And lastly: just because the archaeologists who dug me up didn’t know me doesn’t mean I’m not Horus, the lesser-known little brother of pharaoh Taharqa. I never lived out my childhood, but I’ve been around for ages.”
Tunie let out a breath. “So now you’re an ancient…kid mummy…who talks like a tweedy professor.”
“Murder, that’s a story,” said Peter. His eyes were wide. He studied the mummy with interest.
Horus propped his chin on one bandaged hand and wistfully watched Perch lap up the cream. “I’ve often wished for a familiar, someone to keep me company. Eternity, as you might imagine, is an awfully long time.”
Peter said with a tone of slight skepticism, “So you are animated by magic? How did it happen?”
Horus gave a dry cough. “I’ll try to keep it short. Let’s see, this was about 701 BC or thereabouts. Our kingdom was in conflict with Assyria. My older brother wasn’t pharaoh yet, but he was a commander at the time. He fought proudly, and I…didn’t. I did more…” He paused, as if uncertain about saying it aloud. Then he said all at once, “Uh, destroying our enemies’ belongings. Looting. All right, robbing, really.”
Tunie’s uneasiness at this personal history must have shown on her face.
Horus leaned forward and rushed to say, “Oh, believe me, I wish I could take it all back! I’ve had ages to learn how horrible I was. At any rate, in one home as I was, uh, smashing a set of figurines—statues depicting Nephthys, protector of the dead—an old grandmother cursed me to ‘an eternity of regret in the house of death’ for my ‘destructive nature.’ A heavy figurine fell on my head and killed me, right then, so I died days after my tenth birthday. She fumbled the words a bit, so I’m not stuck in a tomb anymore, now that I’ve been unearthed. I can move, but only at night. I have found, though, that I cannot leave the rooms of the exhibit in which I am kept. Yet traveling between museums
seems to work, and this small kitchen is accessible. I’d bet something about the curse drew you to me, too, since you can see me when most can’t.” Horus made a rustling noise as he shrugged. “Curses. Who understands them?”
“I’d never believe it if I weren’t sitting here, talking to you.” Peter sounded bewildered. He absentmindedly handed his cookie over to Tunie. She accepted it with a smile.
“One thing I don’t get,” Tunie said, “is why I can see you tonight. I’ve cleaned this place a bunch of times. Why couldn’t I see you before?”
Horus glanced back and forth from Tunie to Peter and raised his palms. “Perhaps you both had to be here in order for me to be revealed?”
Tunie considered this. “Does everything you touch turn invisible to others, the way Mr. Narfgau couldn’t see us when you put your arms around us?”
“Not exactly,” Horus said. “People don’t see things related to me. For example”—he hefted the rock in his hand—“every day, I smash a display case to take out this rock. Did you notice the broken glass?” he asked Tunie.
Tunie shook her head, eyes wide.
Horus continued. “Neither did anyone at the British Museum when this exhibit was there. If I stand in someone’s path, he or she will usually walk around me. People don’t sense me in any way, even if they bump into me. I’ve tried leaping on people’s backs, and they don’t stumble or even seem to feel it. When I make a mess, no one notices. Sometimes, if I’m doing something directly in front of a person, he or she will grow confused and turn away, like your Mr. Narfgau. I’ve never turned anyone invisible before, but then, no one else has interacted with me the way you did tonight.”
Peter was listening intently to Horus.
“It makes sense, if the curse keeps people from seeing things that would draw attention to you,” Peter said. “If a person saw us interacting with something invisible, that would be strange and attract interest. It could be the curse sort of…clouded us in front of Mr. Narfgau because of that.”
Horus agreed. “Precisely. Of course, I haven’t had much opportunity to test the curse. Very few people visit the exhibit after hours—usually only the cleaning crew, or a night watchman, or a museum curator. For the most part, I am on my own.”
Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret Page 3
