Clang! Clang! Cling! Clang!
Horus winced at every earsplitting whack, but after twenty minutes there was no sign of the watchman. Every minute that passed was another minute Tunie was in the hands of that vile man. Horus blinked sepia tears from his eyes, setting the bowl and spoon on the floor and picking up the sketch and his stone.
He peered through the small window in the doorway to the hall. George was up the stairs. Horus need only go down the hall and up the stairs to find him.
Just the thought of opening the door made Horus tremble. He knew what would happen. One never forgot that kind of pain. He had to do it, though, and not just because Tunie had brought him books. He had to do it because he’d been a bad boy when he’d lived, and a bad mummy afterward, and here, finally, was his chance to be good. He had to do it for all the people he’d hurt before. Most especially, he had to do it because he cared about her. He had to do it for Tunie.
His small, bandaged hand reached for the doorknob.
“Kindness travels,” he whispered. Then: “For Tunie!”
Saying it aloud made him feel braver, so he said it again. “For Tunie!”
He shouted it as he flung open the door.
“For Tunie!” He shouldered his way through, and instantly the pain licked up his calves, the soles of his feet searing with each step down the tile hallway. He gripped the carved stone and the drawing.
“FOR TUNIE!” Horus cried as the burning sensation traveled up his spine and down each of his arms. He staggered to the stairwell.
“FOR…TUNIE!” the frail little mummy shouted. As he rose up each step, his entire body shivered with pain.
“FOR! TUNIE!” he shrieked. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Horus could no longer walk. He fell to his knees and crawled into George’s office. Horus’s vision was beginning to dim, and dense flocks of black dots obscured his vision. He felt like his whole skeleton was on fire. Through the haze of pain, Horus made out the bulk of the night watchman at his desk, his back to the door through which Horus dragged himself.
“FOR…TUNIE…,” Horus gasped out one last time. He reached up and slammed the drawing onto the watchman’s desk. He’d done it! He’d defied the curse! Tunie had a chance! It was Horus’s last thought before, at last, the pain of the curse overwhelmed him, and he collapsed to the floor.
George’s chair creaked as he turned his head slightly to one side.
“What’s this?” he said, reaching for the paper on his desk. “Where did this come from?”
He looked over the pen drawing—a quite good one, really—and a feeling of dread fell over him. He read the accompanying note.
Who could have written this? Was it a joke? He’d heard Tunie come in at the end of his last shift, in the early morning. She hadn’t come in this evening, though— she always made a point of calling up to George when she did.
George decided to make sure she wasn’t in the museum. He descended the stairs and checked every exhibit.
“Tunie?” he called. His voice sounded hollow in the tiled rooms.
After making certain Tunie was not around, George returned to his office. He reached for the phone and dialed the police.
A gruff man’s voice answered. “Harbortown Police Station, Officer Hill speaking. What’s your emergency?”
George cleared his throat. “I think I need to report a kidnapping.”
He described the man to Officer Hill, who arranged for an officer to come by the museum right away and pick up the drawing. Speaking to the policeman made George feel more anxious. Tunie could be in real danger.
“You’ve got to find her,” George said to the police officer on the line, thinking of the earnest girl who was always looking out for him and his mother, not to mention her own sick father.
“Tunie’s a friend,” Officer Hill said through the receiver. “I’d do anything for Tunie.”
For Tunie, George thought as he hung up the phone. Now why did those words seem to be hovering in the air?
“This is useless,” Tunie said. The tips of her fingers were chafed red from pulling at the rope around Dorothy’s wrists. “The knots are just too tight.”
Peter spit out tiny fibers onto the floor. He’d been chewing at his bonds, with discouraging results.
“I’m only making these soggy.”
There wasn’t much else to do.
After a long stretch, Perch finally flitted into the attic through the small square window. He dropped his treasures into Tunie’s hands: a nail file, a pen, and a scrap of paper.
“Perch,” Tunie said, smiling, with tears in her eyes. “You are a most exceptional bat.”
Dorothy was watching Perch with wonder.
“That’s an understatement,” she said.
Peter laughed. “Nice work, Perch.”
Perch landed on a rafter and strutted, upside down, looking quite satisfied. Tunie handed the file to Dorothy.
“You and Peter try to cut through each other’s ropes. I’ll write a note for Perch to deliver to Officer Hill.”
“Okeydokey.” Dorothy accepted the file and scooted over near Peter. She began sawing away at the ropes binding his hands. Tunie thought that for someone who could have been a delicate, pampered girl, Dorothy was surprisingly tough. If they got out of this mess, they might even be friends.
Tunie did the best she could with her hands bound tightly together. Her fingers cramped from holding the pen at an uncomfortable slant, and lettering was arduous and slow. She was aware of every passing moment as she wrote out their situation.
Dear Officer Hill,
Peter Bartholomew, Dorothy James, and I are being held captive in the attic of Billowing Sails Shipping on Franklin Street, near the harbor.
All at once she heard clumping and indistinguishable voices drawing near. Tunie rushed to jot down as much as she could.
Detective Shade and a man named Curtis R
Before she could finish, the trapdoor flung open with a bang. She stuffed the pen and paper into her sock, and saw Peter do the same with the metal file.
Reid’s greasy head appeared first, followed by his lanky frame. He held handkerchiefs in his hands. Detective Shade followed him up the ladder.
Detective Shade eyed them coldly with his close-set eyes, while Reid stuffed a rag in Peter’s mouth and secured it with a handkerchief.
Detective Shade spoke sternly. “We’re moving you out of here. These gags ought to keep you quiet, but if you get any ideas—if you decide, for example, to make knocking sounds with your knuckles or something of that nature—I will make you quiet, permanently.” He looked over at the open window. “What’s that doing open?”
Dorothy answered. “It’s hot in here. I just wanted some air.”
Shade strode over and slammed the window shut.
Oh no! Tunie thought. Now Perch is stuck in here! She looked at Peter, but he had his eyes cast down.
Reid gagged Tunie and Dorothy. Then he and Shade hauled Peter away. The ropes around his ankles made descending the ladder impossible, so they slung Peter around like a sack of flour. Tunie prayed they wouldn’t notice the half-sawed ropes around his wrists.
While the two men were busy carrying Peter downstairs, Tunie pulled the crumpled note out of her sock, and Perch swooped down and snatched it in his tiny claws, flying rapidly back up to the ceiling and disappearing behind an exposed wooden beam.
The men returned and carried Dorothy away.
Maybe they would leave the attic entrance open, and Perch could fly out that way, Tunie hoped. Alas, when Shade and Reid carried her down, Reid reached up and pulled the trapdoor shut behind them.
Perch was trapped.
Hanging upside down over Reid’s shoulder, Tunie spied three large black traveling trunks on the floor: two closed, one ajar. Tunie just had time to read the words stenciled on the open trunk—LIVE CARGO—and see the breathing holes punched in its sides before Reid and Shade dropped her inside it roughly.
She could see
a little bit of the wall through the breathing hole closest to her face. She tried to pull the gag from her mouth, but it was too tight, and she couldn’t reach behind her head in the tight quarters. Suddenly the box lurched up, and Tunie felt she was being carried. She bumped and jostled along for several minutes, feeling cool air that smelled of the ocean coming in through the small holes. Then up, up, up. Finally her trunk landed with a thud. She heard voices and a seagull squawking. She was moving up and down gently. Rocking. She was on a boat.
Poor Perch was locked in the attic, Tunie thought despairingly. Her father and Peter’s parents didn’t know where they were. Horus was the only one who had a clue what was happening, and he couldn’t communicate with anyone! Even if Perch somehow managed to get out and take that note to Officer Hill, they were no longer in the attic where she’d said. She hadn’t even signed her name. The police weren’t aware Detective Shade was involved in Dorothy’s kidnapping.
There was no way anyone would find them.
Officer Hill took one look at the sketch his colleague had brought in from the museum—the drawing showed a curled mustache, a narrow face—and recognized him.
“This fellow was in to see Detective Shade earlier today!” Officer Hill said to his partner, Officer Lovejoy. Hill shook his head admiringly. “Shade must be onto him. I bet he called this phony in for questioning. Let’s show Shade the sketch.”
Hill and Lovejoy hurried to Detective Shade’s office and were surprised to find it empty.
Officer Hill frowned. “That’s odd. These are his office hours.” He turned to Lovejoy. “Well, let’s see if we can track down this rat ourselves.”
They returned to the front desk, and Officer Hill showed the sketch to the gray-haired attendant.
“Doris, this man came in to see Detective Shade today. I don’t suppose you caught his name?”
Doris looked at the sketch over the top of her bifocals. “I remember him. Curtis Reid. Detective Shade told me to send him on back to his office when he arrived.”
“Terrific,” said Officer Hill. “Can you get on the horn to the post office? Let’s see if we can get an address for Curtis Reid.”
“You got it.” Doris lifted the receiver.
A familiar, disheveled-looking man wearing spectacles and holding a toy robot shoved open the station door.
“Sir,” the man said to Officer Hill a little wildly, “I believe my son might be missing.” He straightened his glasses, which were slipping off his nose. “He was meant to be in the house all day, but he snuck out and we can’t find him. I’ve been searching for hours. I came to see if anyone had reported seeing him, and I found this right outside—this is his favorite robot, WindUp. Peter would never leave him anywhere! I know it sounds trivial, but I’m very worried.”
Officer Hill came forward to show him a seat.
“I remember you, Mr. Bartholomew, and your son, Peter. Something is going on. We believe Peter’s friend Tunie has been kidnapped,” Officer Hill said.
“Kidnapped?” Mr. Bartholomew grew pale and sank down into the chair, clutching the robot. “Why? Could Peter have been with her? Does it have something to do with the mugging they witnessed last night?”
“Mugging?” Officer Hill blinked. “Sir, they came in with information about the kidnapper in the Dorothy James case.”
Mr. Bartholomew looked baffled. “The Dorothy James case? My son said nothing about that. He said they’d seen a mugger attack an old man.”
This didn’t add up. Why would the boy lie?
“We’ll figure out why he told you that. Right now we have a lead on the kidnapper.” Officer Hill placed a hand on Mr. Bartholomew’s shoulder. “We’re following up on it now. You can wait here if you like.”
“Yes,” Peter’s father said. He sat tensely in the chair. “I can’t leave until I know Peter’s safe.”
Meanwhile, Doris was jotting down an address on a notepad, the receiver tucked under her ear. “Down by the wharf, you say? Billowing Sails Shipping? Got it. Thanks, Randy.”
She hung up the phone and handed the address to Officer Hill. “He lives down near the wharf, in a room above Billowing Sails Shipping, Inc. Here’s the street address.”
“Right,” said Officer Hill, all business. “Lovejoy and I will head out. Doris, call a couple patrol cars down to the wharf, would you?”
In a lower voice, so that Peter’s father wouldn’t hear, Hill said grimly, “Let’s hope we’re not too late to save those kids.”
Horus blinked his golden eyes. The unfamiliar ceiling wavered, as if underwater. He carefully sat up, bandages crinkling, and looked around.
“Why, I’m in that fellow George’s office on the second floor!” Horus said with excitement. “I’m still here and—and it doesn’t hurt!”
The mummy gave a tiny hop, and that felt so good he did a little twirl. Delighted, Horus stood up and began surveying the shelves, touching a clock, a framed photo, a stapler. So many new things! He spied a note stuck to the window of the door. He pulled it off and flipped it over.
“Back in 20 minutes,” it read.
Then Horus remembered what had happened. Tunie’d been kidnapped….Had the night watchman left to find her? Or was he off to see the police? Horus scanned the neat desk. The sketch was gone. Horus was standing here, so obviously he’d accomplished his task.
Then he thought of something else. “Am I trapped here now? In this little space?”
The urge to dance drained away. The exhibit was cavernous compared with this narrow room. It was hardly bigger than a closet. Would this be his new prison? There was only one way to find out.
Horus took a step toward the door and reached for the dull metal knob. He took a deep, unnecessary breath and yanked the door open. Cautiously he placed one small, bandaged foot over the threshold.
Nothing.
Horus gingerly stepped out into the hallway.
Nothing.
“Skittering scarabs!” Horus shouted. “I’m free! Am I free? I might be…free!”
He skipped down the hallway linoleum. He sprinted and skidded back and forth for joy on his little stick legs. Then, at the end of the dim hall, he spied the night watchman, George, returning to his office.
“George!” Horus called. He pattered down the hallway to the lit office. He could hear a phone ringing inside.
George answered.
“Mm-hmm. Yes. Billowing Sails Shipping. I’ve heard of it,” said George. He sat down in his desk chair. “No, no, I won’t go after them. No, I certainly won’t do anything rash. Thanks for letting me know.”
George set the receiver back on its hook and stood staring into space.
Horus danced around before him. “Is that where Tunie and Peter are? Go after them! What if the police need help? Go! You must go!”
George didn’t seem to see Horus, but he muttered to himself, “What if the police need help?” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “It’s Tunie, after all. I must go.”
George hastily left his office, and Horus padded after him.
The front entrance to the museum was one of the few doors locked with a dead bolt from the inside. George fumbled for his keys, giving Horus time to become nervous and exhilarated. Would he be able to leave the building? What was happening to his curse?
Finally, with a clink of metal on metal, George found the key on the circular ring and opened the door.
Outside, the evening was warm but breezy. The streetlamps glowed, and the stars overhead glimmered. Horus, who had not seen the sky in thousands of years, was struck silent. Those twinkling, everlasting lights, and his old friend, the moon, were still there. He inhaled the fresh air and the smell of trees and grass. A rush of feeling rose in his chest, a tremendous, nameless emotion, as strong and untouchable as a storm.
George descended the steps at a clip.
Horus followed, his feet on the concrete still warm from the day’s sun, and walked out into the night.
Good grief. Was this
dull file really the best the bat could find? Inside the trunk, Peter was dripping sweat from the effort of sawing his bindings one-handed at an awkward angle. It had taken ages to cut the rope down to just a strand or two. Peter tugged with all his might, and his hands came free with a snap.
Finally! He plucked away the rope and rubbed at his chafed wrists. Then he immediately pulled the gag from his mouth. His lips and tongue felt unspeakably dry. He swallowed as best he could.
Now for the feet.
To reach his ankles, he had to press his face up against the perforated side of the trunk. The box was rocking back and forth, making things difficult. He sweated all the more, his stomach and back muscles trembling as his fingers worked at the unseen knots. Done!
And now to get himself out.
The trunk was locked, but loosely. The lid opened a crack. Peter slid the file into the gap and pried until he heard something snap. He shoved open the lid, struggled out, and landed with a thud. He was on the deck of a large ship. Peter looked around. The boat was big enough that three train cars would have fit on it, end to end. He could see the moon shining on the water below. Suddenly the whole craft lurched, and Peter grabbed the railing to keep from falling.
Footsteps thudded along the deck, the sailors calling to one another. Peter saw, with dismay, why the boat had pitched like that.
It was pulling away from the dock.
There were about ten men working on the deck by the glow of lanterns and the stars. Peter saw movement and lights on the receding dock. He and the others had been stashed in the shadows, away from the rest of the cargo. He heard Reid’s distinctive voice calling out now and then.
Peter crouched beside one of the other trunks.
“Tunie?” he whispered, before realizing she and Dorothy were gagged and unable to respond. He saw the shine of an eye pressed up against an airhole, and instantly got to work.
Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret Page 10
