Jeremy Strong once worked in a bakery, putting the jam into three thousand doughnuts every night. Now he puts the jam in stories instead, which he finds much more exciting. At the age of three, he fell out of a first-floor bedroom window and landed on his head. His mother says that this damaged him for the rest of his life and refuses to take any responsibility. He loves writing stories because he says it is ‘the only time you alone have complete control and can make anything happen’. His ambition is to make you laugh (or at least snuffle). Jeremy Strong lives near Bath with his wife, Gillie, four cats and a flying cow.
Are you feeling silly enough to read more?
THE BATTLE FOR CHRISTMAS
THE BEAK SPEAKS
BEWARE! KILLER TOMATOES
CHICKEN SCHOOL
DINOSAUR POX
GIANT JIM AND THE HURRICANE
I’M TELLING YOU, THEY’RE ALIENS
THE INDOOR PIRATES
THE INDOOR PIRATES ON TREASURE ISLAND
INVASION OF THE CHRISTMAS PUDDINGS
THE KARATE PRINCESS
THE KARATE PRINCESS TO THE RESCUE
KRAZY COW SAVES THE WORLD – WELL, ALMOST
LET’S DO THE PHARAOH!
PANDEMONIUM AT SCHOOL
PIRATE PANDEMONIUM
THE SHOCKING ADVENTURES OF LIGHTNING LUCY
THERE’S A PHARAOH IN OUR BATH!
THERE’S A VIKING IN MY BED AND OTHER STORIES
TROUBLE WITH ANIMALS
Read about Streaker’s adventures:
THE HUNDRED-MILE-AN-HOUR DOG
RETURN OF THE HUNDRED-MILE-AN-HOUR DOG
WANTED! THE HUNDRED-MILE-AN-HOUR DOG
LOST! THE HUNDRED-MILE-AN-HOUR DOG
Read about Nicholas’s daft family:
MY DAD’S GOT AN ALLIGATOR!
MY GRANNY’S GREAT ESCAPE
MY MUM’S GOING TO EXPLODE!
MY BROTHER’S FAMOUS BOTTOM
MY BROTHER’S FAMOUS BOTTOM GETS PINCHED
MY BROTHER’S FAMOUS BOTTOM GOES CAMPING
MY BROTHER’S HOT CROSS BOTTOM
JEREMY STRONG’S LAUGH-YOUR-SOCKS-OFF JOKE BOOK
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Dutton 1995
Published in Puffin Books 1997
This edition published 2009
Text copyright © Jeremy Strong, 1995
Illustrations copyright © Nick Sharratt, 1995
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN: 978-0-14-190892-2
Contents
1 A Surprise from the Past
2 Roast Hippo and Chips
3 The Chase Begins
4 Burglars!
5 The Search Continues
6 Where’s the Asses’ Milk?
7 Sennapod the Champ
8 The Hunters Close In
9 All About Tiddles
10 Trapped!
11 Ye Gods!
12 Humans at Last?
1 A Surprise from the Past
The lid of the cobwebbed coffin was slowly pushed back and the two men laid it carefully on the museum floor. They stared inside at the beautifully painted Ancient Egyptian mummy-case, covered with picture-writing.
Daylight was already beginning to fade from the musty store-room. The other museum staff had long since gone home and the only company left with the two men now were stacks of old mummy-cases, ancient skeletons and a large, stuffed rhinoceros.
Professor Jelly pulled the lamp closer and inspected the hieroglyphs. The light shimmered across his moon-like face, making the pearls of sweat on his brow sparkle like tiny jewels.
‘What does it say?’ demanded Grimstone. The head of the museum’s Ancient Egyptian collection stared over Jelly’s shoulder. ‘Is it the mummy of the missing Pharaoh?’
Professor Jelly took a sweet from his jacket-pocket, popped it in his mouth and bent over the mummy-case. ‘Hmmmm, hazelnut crunch. Now, this squiggly bit here says MAY PERFUMED FLOWERS BE CRUSHED BENEATH HIS FEET. Very poetic.’
‘But who’s inside?’ Grimstone barked impatiently, and his great winged eyebrows crashed together over his hooded eyes and hawk-nose. He stabbed a thin finger at one side of the coffin. ‘What about here? What does this say? It looks important.’
Professor Jelly sucked noisily on his sweet. ‘That bit there?’
‘Yes!’
‘That says PLEASE KEEP THIS WAY UP AT ALL TIMES.’
‘What!’ yelled Grimstone.
‘And that bit,’ continued the professor, waving at some faded hieroglyphs with a pudgy hand, ‘that bit there says NOT TO BE OPENED BEFORE CHRISTMAS.’
For a few seconds Grimstone was stunned, then his eyes glinted dangerously. ‘You’re making this up, Jelly, aren’t you?’
The professor straightened his tubby frame. ‘Of course I’m making it up. Stop pestering me and let me study it properly. This mummy has been stuck here for seventy years already, ever since it was first brought to the museum from Ancient Egypt for the collection. A few more minutes’ wait won’t hurt.’
Once again, Professor Jelly bent his glistening bald head over the mummy-case, while Grimstone strode angrily around the cramped room, until he came face to face with the stuffed rhino. ‘And you can stop staring too!’ hissed Grimstone. ‘This could be the discovery of the century. It could make our fortunes. We could be millionaires. The clue to a fabulous treasure is in that coffin.’ He turned back to the professor. ‘Come on, Jelly, get a move on.’
The professor was still translating the hieroglyphs on the coffin’s side. ‘HE WHO OPENS THIS COFFIN WILL BE CURSED BY ANUBIS. There now, just our luck. We’re going to be cursed by Anubis.’
‘Who’s Anubis?’ demanded Grimstone.
‘He was the Ancient Egyptian God of the Dead – had a head like a jackal.’
‘And what kind of curses did he make?’
‘Oh, usual sort of thing – may your body be devoured by giant ants for a thousand years; may your heart be torn from your rib-cage by crocodiles…’ Jelly popped another sweet into his mouth.
Grimstone had turned pale. ‘Do the curses work?’
‘No idea,’ replied Jelly. ‘Nobody has ever lived to say. Ah, listen to this!’ his voice rose with excitement. ‘HERE
LIES THE MOST SACRED BODY OF THE ROYAL PHARAOH WHOSE NAME SHALL RUMBLE DOWN THE AGES. It’s him! It’s Sennapod, the missing Pharaoh from the Four-fifths Dynasty!’
The two men grinned madly, grasped each other by the hands and began to waltz around the room, crashing into old mummy-cases and sending clouds of dust into the eerie gloom. ‘We’ll be rich!’ yelled Grimstone.
‘We’ll be famous!’ cried Jelly.
‘Sennapod,’ panted Grimstone, coming to a halt. ‘Known to the Ancient Egyptians as He Whose Name Shall Rumble Down The Ages. We know from Ancient Egyptian writings that a massive treasure was buried near his tomb and a map showing its location was hidden in the coffin. Nobody has ever found the coffin – until now! Can you find the map, Jelly?’
‘We shall have to open the mummy-case. What about the curse?’
‘Curse the curse! What about the treasure?’ snapped Grimstone.
The two men gingerly levered open the lid, sweating with the effort. The cold silence was broken only by their grunts. From every side they were watched by the unblinking painted eyes of dead priests and Ancient Egyptian princes. They lifted the lid from the base and there he was – Sennapod, over four thousand years old and wrapped entirely in rather smelly, yellow bandages.
Grimstone clapped one hand across his face and staggered back. ‘Phew – he does pong.’
‘So would you if you’d been dead that long,’ Professor Jelly pointed out. ‘But look, Sennapod is holding some parchment. It must be the map!’ The professor gently pulled the ancient paper from between the mummy’s stiff, bandaged fingers. It crackled as it was unfolded and little pieces broke from the edge and drifted to the floor. Professor Jelly held it to the light, cleared his throat and began to read. ‘FROM THE LAND OF THE WEST, THE GREAT AND SERENE GODS OF ANCIENT EGYPT GREET SENNAPOD, KING OF THE NILE, LORD OF SERPENTS, MASTER OF HIPPOPOTAMUSES…’
‘Master of hippopotamuses?’ repeated Grimstone. ‘Are you making that up?’
Professor Jelly shook his head. ‘The Ancient Egyptians always put in things like that. It made them feel important.’ The professor scrutinized the centuries-old message. The room suddenly grew darker and much colder. The upright stacks of coffins seemed to close in around the two men. Jelly shuddered and went on. ‘Listen: FROM THE LAND OF THE WEST, THE GREAT GODS OF EGYPT SPIT UPON THE WORM WHO IS READING THE SECRET CURSE. THOU HAST BROKEN THE SEAL OF THE PHARAOH SENNAPOD AND LITTERED HIS SLEEPING PLACE WITH THINE WORM-LIKE PRESENCE. EVEN AS THINE WORM-EYES READ THIS CURSE, SENNAPOD WILL ARISE BEFORE YOU AND STRIKE YOU DOWN – THOU WORM -’
‘They didn’t like worms much, did they?’ put in Grimstone, but Professor Jelly carried on reading.
‘HE IS THE MIGHTY WARRIOR WHO MUST BE OBEYED. HIS IS THE NAME THAT SHALL RUMBLE DOWN THE AGES. HE IS THE RISEN OSIRIS AND HIS CAT IS THE…’
Jelly’s voice died in his throat. Something was gripping his arm fiercely. It was Grimstone, clinging to the professor with one hand and pointing, horror-struck, at the coffin with the other. Even as the two men trembled and stared, transfixed with terror, they saw the mummy in the case begin to twitch…
The yellow fingers moved.
The bandaged mouth struggled open and fresh air hissed into the ancient lungs as they began to breathe once more.
The head lifted with a jerk and the body sat up. One leg raised itself from the coffin and the mummy slowly rose to its feet, with bandages falling away and trailing to the floor.
Grimstone and Jelly tried to scream. They opened their mouths, but their voices had run so far away, they were impossible to find. The men tried to escape, but their feet were rooted to the ground. They stared at each other, stared back at the advancing mummy, tried to climb up each other and fell to the floor in a gibbering heap.
The Pharaoh Sennapod, Lord of Serpents, Master of Hippos and Crusher of Worms, stepped over the quaking bodies, crashed through the door and stumbled out into the dark and rainy night.
It just happened to be his 4,600th birthday.
2 Roast Hippo and Chips
Sennapod fumbled at the rain-soaked bandages round his face, trying to see where he was going. He had already walked into three lamp-posts and a litter-bin. At last, a pair of bottomless eyes, glistening like two frozen stones, stared despairingly into the gloom.
Sennapod was lost. This was hardly surprising. He had been asleep for the last four thousand or so years and the world had changed quite a lot. He seemed to remember being buried deep inside some pyramid, on the edge of a great desert, but this didn’t look like a desert at all. There was no sand, no sun, and it was raining.
A small tabby cat paused for a moment and watched the strange, pale figure stagger towards it. Instead of dashing for cover, the cat trotted over, gave a tiny mew and leaped lightly into Sennapod’s arms. The Pharaoh’s eyes glinted with pleasure. So, cats still came to him, even after all these centuries. He gently put the tabby down and stumbled on.
His head ached furiously, as if several gigantic pyramid blocks were being dragged around inside it. He felt weak and his legs wobbled. He had not eaten for forty centuries, and now he was starving.
Just then, he saw a white van parked by the roadside. There were pictures of food painted on the outside. Above the big side-window was a sign that said MISTER FREEZEE. Next to the window was a poster showing different ice-lollies, hot-dogs, burgers and chips.
Inside the van, Tony Lightspeed was snoring comfortably in the driver’s seat, blissfully unaware that a very wet Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh was slowly getting closer and closer. Sennapod stopped and tried to focus his four-thousand-year-old eyes on the poster. The pictures on it swam before him. His legs felt like damp towels and he knew they wouldn’t hold him up much longer. He needed food! The Pharaoh banged impatiently on the counter of the van.
Mr Lightspeed stirred in his seat and pushed back his battered baseball cap. Oh, sorry – didn’t hear you coming, what with all this rain we’re having. Dreadful isn’t it?’ He struggled through to the back of the van. ‘Now then, sir, what can I get you?’ Tony Lightspeed glanced at his customer for the first time and his eyes froze. He felt he was gazing at Death himself.
Sennapod struggled to speak the first words he had uttered since 2551 BC. A thin, dry, sand-blasted voice crackled inside his throat and his grey lips parted. ‘I want a roast hippopotamus stuffed with figs and dates, three lots of French fries, no ketchup –and a slice of birthday cake.’ He glared back at Mr Lightspeed’s astonished face. ‘You are nothing but a small worm,’ he added for good measure. Then his eyes rolled slowly upwards and he sank unconscious into a puddle.
‘Well, I never!’ exclaimed Mr Lightspeed, leaning right out of his van and gazing with concern down at the soggy Pharaoh. He hurried out and tried to lift Sennapod to his feet.
‘Urgh, you’re soaking. We’d better get you somewhere warm and dry. You’ll catch your death out here in this weather. Come on, into the van.’ Mr Lightspeed opened the passenger door and, with a good deal of grunting, somehow managed to heave, shove and poke the Pharaoh into the seat. He pulled the seat-belt round his ancient passenger and buckled it. A few moments later the van was on the move and Mr Lightspeed turned his cheerful, wrinkled face towards Sennapod.
‘As soon as we get you home, you’re going to change out of those wet things. Fancy going about dressed like that! We’ll run you a nice hot bath and find some dry clothes. Eve – that’s my wife – she’ll knock you up some grub. You mustn’t mind if the kids are a bit noisy – you know what kids are like. Carrie and Ben, that’s my two. Fourteen and nine. You’re very quiet, aren’t you?’
Sennapod’s head lolled forwards. ‘Oh, sorry! You’re still unconscious. Perhaps we ought to call a doctor? Look, here we are, 27 Templeton Terrace.’ As the van came to a halt, so did Mr Lightspeed’s one-way conversation. He undid the seat-belt, hoisted the Pharaoh over one broad shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried him up the path and into the narrow house.
‘Make way, make way,’ he
cried, barging into the cramped front room. ‘We’ve got a visitor, and he’s a bit out of sorts.’ Mr Lightspeed tipped Sennapod into an armchair, where he landed with a large squelch.
Mrs Lightspeed was so surprised she put the banana that she was about to peel straight into her mouth, skin and all. She was built on a big scale, and the banana made her look like a startled toucan. Ben and Carrie looked at each other and shrugged. Dad was always bringing something home. One week it was an injured owl. Another time it was a stray dog; now he’d somehow managed to rescue a whole person.
Eve Lightspeed quickly pulled the banana from her mouth. ‘He’s soaking, Tony, and why has he got all those bandages on?’
Carrie grunted. ‘That’s obvious, isn’t it? Ben’s been practising his First Aid again.’
‘Don’t be so silly, Carrie,’ said Mrs Lightspeed, pulling long strips from Sennapod’s head and wringing them out.
‘Well, he bandaged up next-door’s cat last week, didn’t he? And our goldfish.’
‘I never!’ yelled Ben. ‘You’re making it up! She’s making it up, Mum, honest.’
Carrie, who nearly always looked perfect because of the vast amount of time she spent preening herself, grinned at her mop-haired brother, delighted that she had managed to get him so worked up.
‘I bet he saw this poor man asleep,’ she went on relentlessly. ‘He whipped out his box of bandages – Ben’s Big Bumper Box of Bandages – that’s what he calls it…’
‘I don’t! I don’t!’ cried Ben, trying to smother his sister with two large cushions.
‘All right, you two,’ snapped Mr Lightspeed, anxiously watching his wife.
Mrs Lightspeed was fussing over the Pharaoh. She was very worried to see how grey and wrinkled Sennapod’s face was beneath the wrappings. ‘He’s got a dreadful skin complaint, Tony. I think I’ll get some moisturizing cream for him. And his hair needs a good wash. It’s all sticky and matted. He does look a bit gruesome, don’t you think?’
There's A Pharaoh In Our Bath! Page 1
