SECRET OF THE EGYPTIAN CURSE: Kids of Ancient Mythology

by Scott Peters

  "He saved me! But father, listen, he’s an artist! An incredible artist!"

  "An artist?" He laughed.

  "Don’t laugh. Yes! He’d drawn this amazing . . ."

  "Stop right there. I see what happened. It was all planned! He watched you come out of the Place of Truth. He saved you to win your favor! For the apprenticeship."

  "But . . ." Neferet’s words trailed away. No. It couldn’t be. Could it? Ramses planned it? All of it, just an act, to get her favor?

  "We’ll find this lout," her father said, patting her dirty hair. "Don’t you worry. Bar him from the exam."

  No. She couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense! "No. He couldn’t have planned it! It’s not like he handed me a sheet of papyrus to give you. Nothing like that! He was just drawing in the sand. He didn’t tell me about it, I was the one who found it. He never tried to show me his drawing. He never even mentioned he’d been drawing. And on top of that, how would he know I’d go that way? I didn’t even know it myself."

  Her father stared at her. "He was drawing in the sand?"

  She nodded.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. "He’s not an artist. Artists don’t doodle in the sand."

  "He is!" She wrung her fingers.

  "We need a craftsman’s son. I’m surprised at you. Not a simple-minded farm boy who’s caught your fancy! We need someone from Thebes, the son of a jeweler, or a furniture-maker, a house-builder even. Someone who has at least a basic grasp of line and form!"

  A basic grasp? Ramses had more then a basic grasp! Her mind ran back to the clearing, and the amazing vision that stretched across the sand. "If you only saw what I saw. His drawing looked real."

  "Then he got lucky."

  "That was not luck," she said. "Not even close."

  He pressed his temples and groaned.

  "If you don’t believe me," she cried, "then think about this! What god have you been praying to? It was Ptah. He’d drawn Ptah!"

  Her father grew very still.

  "And when I looked down at the god’s face, the god looked right back up at me. Like he’d been waiting. This strange bolt shot down my spine. It was as if Ptah was saying he’d heard your prayers. That he’d led me there. To find him."

  Emotions crossed her father’s face. Finally he made a frustrated noise. "You infuriate me. I’ll admit, there’s something intriguing about this. But calm down. There’s no hurry. We’ll see him when he comes to the exam."

  "The thing is—" She fiddled with her dirty dress. "I don’t know that he’ll apply. I don’t think he will. I don’t think he’d even want to. He runs a farm."

  Now her father threw up his arms. "For the love of the gods!"

  "But he’s the one. I just know it. We have to convince him. I have to go back there."

  "Enough!" he roared. "If Ptah wants the boy, he’ll find a way. There will be no more leaving the village."

  She stared at the door in the fading light, and tried to muster a new argument.

  "I could go with someone. With Jabari."

  "The only place you’re going is to Layla’s," her father said.

  "Layla's," she gasped. "That’s not fair. You saw them out there! You know what they’ll do. Her and her mother are completely—"

  "Yes," he said. "And they’ll watch you like a jackal."

  "But we need to find Ramses!"

  He sighed. Deep worry lines cut into his face. The weight of the village, and worse, of Pharaoh, seemed to loom over him. She had to convince him. She knew Ptah had led her to Ramses for a reason.

  "Just once, with the guards . . ."

  "I’ve made my decision," he growled. "I won’t hear of it again."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ramses stood for a long time on the riverbank, holding Neferet’s amulet, watching the dust from her procession slowly disappear.

  Soon, the grassy bank felt immense and empty.

  Slipping the amulet’s leather cord over his head, he tucked the slender piece of turquoise into Sepi’s muddy tunic. He’d find her again. He had to. Kneeling, he marked the spot with stones, but then caught himself.

  What was he thinking? That he could just take off when he wanted?

  And what about when she learned the truth—that he wasn’t who she thought? He was no longer the son of a prosperous farm owner. He lived like a servant. A servant who couldn’t even afford the papyrus to enter her father’s examination.

  He’d led her on. But he hadn’t meant to.

  The hiss of a cobra brought him to life. He jumped back, searching for it amongst the stalks. The hiss came again. Heart slamming, he rotated around.

  Two feet away, the cobra’s hood rose from the ground like a muscled triangle of death.

  Ramses took a slow step back, raising his hands in submission. The snake darted toward him. Its powerful body snapped side-to-side. Primal terror rooted Ramses to the spot.

  Don’t look, he thought, don’t meet its eyes!

  But the creature’s gaze drew him in.

  What he saw turned his sweat cold. This was no ordinary cobra. Its eyes were blue. As blue as if they’d been carved from the turquoise in Neferet’s amulet.

  All strength drained from Ramses’ legs. There was no point in running. It was as if the old priest’s tattoo had come to life; as if it had uncoiled and slithered here to deliver its message once again. This time with deadly consequences.

  What he does is unholy! No god meant him to have that power.

  Ramses knew for certain that he was in the presence of Meretseger—the snake goddess who protected the craftsmen of the Valley of the Kings.

  Her pale throat flexed, and her forked tongue shot forward. But she made no move, only drilled into him with her eerie, turquoise eyes.

  "Then kill me," Ramses said.

  She snapped her tail.

  "If I’m cursed, kill me."

  Her tongue darted from her mouth. Her head nodded. Then she flicked away. Coiling back on herself, she turned and cut a path across the dry earth. She headed the way Neferet had gone. Back to the craftsmen’s village.

  Meretseger was following her people home.

  Ramses sagged with relief. But it was relief mixed with despair. Was this some kind of warning? Why did his drawings always bring him trouble? The midday heat seared his nostrils. He jolted from his reverie and glanced skyward.

  "I’m late!"

  Snatching his sledge, he ran along the Nile.

  He rounded a bend and spotted the barge. In a panic, he saw it move away from its moorings. The sledge bumped and jostled behind him. He sprinted harder. But he was too late. The barge was leaving. He’d never get the sacks.

  Terror drove him flying across the sands. How would he explain being away all morning if he came home empty handed?

  "Wait," Ramses shouted. "Wait!"

  The big captain hauling in the ropes glanced his way.

  "Stop! Stop, I need sacks!"

  The big man ignored him. He swung himself on board and barked out an order. Rowers on both sides dipped their oars into the current. The barge surged away from shore.

  "No!" Ramses let go of the sledge and threw himself into the water.

  River birds rose, startled and squawking.

  Something large brushed against his bare foot. Something enormous and rough skinned. Something that felt dangerously like a crocodile. He thrashed his arms and legs, desperate to get clear, struggling to propel himself across the swirling, murky surface to the safety of the boat.

  "Rowers, halt!" the man ordered.

  The rowers ceased rowing.

  "Can’t let this little water-rat drown." The captain reached over the side, got hold of Ramses and fished him out onto the deck.

  Ramses coughed up water. "Saved my neck," he gasped.

  "Next time, learn to swim."

  "I can swim." Ramses pointed overboard as the croc surfaced. "I was talking about that."

  The man threw back his head and laughed. "Serves you
right for holding up my boat."

  "I’d rather be crocodile-lunch than go home without some sacks."

  "And I’d rather make you crocodile-lunch than turn my boat around."

  "I’ll pay you well!"

  "Ha! I should throw you back in," he joked. "Men, row us ashore!"

  The bow slid up on the sand. Ramses avoided the crew’s angry stares and leapt down to grab his chickpeas and garlic to pay for the exchange. The captain took a few sacks from the stern. He tossed them down.

  "You know I can’t go back to my master with so few."

  Shaking his head he said, "What was all that about paying me well?" He grabbed a second armful and threw them over the stern. "Tell your master he was lucky."

  "Really lucky," Ramses said, grinning ear-to-ear.

  The captain pushed off. "Never seen a boy so happy to buy wheat sacks," he growled, and hauled the ropes in. "All clear!"

  The oars dug in and the boat moved off into the current.

  Ramses checked to make sure Neferet’s amulet was still safe. Then he tucked it back into Sepi’s tunic.

  He’d have to make sure never to let Aunt Zalika set her jealous eyes on it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  During the drowsy hour after lunch, Ramses arrived back at the farm. In the fields, the workers rested in what shade they could find. The house was silent. His aunt and uncle were most likely snoring in his parents’ room. He pulled the sledge across the courtyard and dragged it into the barn.

  Ignoring the warning in his head, he stole to his old bedroom window. Raising the heavy curtain, he climbed inside. His eyes took a moment to adjust.

  "Sepi?" he hissed, squinting in the dark room.

  "Thank the gods. I was dying of boredom," Sepi called from the bed.

  Ramses laughed, and then slapped a hand over his mouth.

  "Open the window," Sepi whispered. "I can’t breathe in here."

  "Yeah, and I can’t see." Ramses pulled back the curtain. Hot sunlight poured in. Flies, bright green in the light, buzzed through the opening. He struggled to keep his voice down. "You’re not going to believe what happened!"

  Sepi sat up. His heavy, elaborate neckpiece—as wide as Ramses’ hand and sewn with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny jewels and gold beads—made him look even thinner and paler than usual. "Shh," he warned. "I think someone’s in the hall."

  Ramses grasped his cousin’s narrow shoulders and whispered, "I met the daughter to the Scribe of the Place of Truth!"

  "Great, very funny," Sepi hissed. "Now get out, someone’s coming!"

  "No one’s coming. Everyone’s asleep. And I’m not joking. She gave me this. Look!" Quickly he removed the amulet from around his neck and flashed it at his cousin.

  Sepi’s eyes widened. "What in the name of the . . ." He struggled upright. Two feverish spots colored his cheeks. "She gave you that?"

  "So you believe me?"

  "Let me see it." Before Ramses could protest, Sepi had it in his pale fingers. "A girl gave you this?"

  "Yes. From the Place of Truth! Now give it back. I better go."

  "She just handed it over? What did you say to her?"

  "I saved her life," Ramses said.

  Sepi rolled his eyes. "I’m sure you thought so, anyway. A girl really gave you this? Or are you pulling my leg because I’m bored and can’t ever go out and meet girls?" He slipped it over his head and let it drop around his neck.

  "Give it back."

  Aunt Zalika’s voice pierced the hallway. "Sepi, my little artist-to-be, have you taken your tonic?"

  Sepi jolted at the sound. He grabbed the amulet’s cord and tried to pull it off.

  "Hurry up," Ramses said.

  "I’m trying, it’s stuck!"

  "Sepi?" Aunt Zalika called.

  "Yes!"

  "I said, did you take your tonic?"

  Ramses realized the amulet's cord was stuck on something behind Sepi's neck. He pushed his cousin forward. The cord was caught in the beadwork of Sepi’s elaborate neckpiece.

  "Why are you even wearing this ridiculous shirt?" Ramses whispered.

  "Mother gave it to me, I like it," Sepi hissed. Then shouted, "Yes I took it!" He scowled at Ramses’ filthy, mud-stained outfit. "Anyway, I see you’ve ruined my favorite tunic."

  Ramses yanked harder. The amulet wouldn’t come free.

  Aunt Zalika’s footsteps sounded outside the door. "What’s going on in there?"

  Sepi yanked the covers up to his chin. "Get out the window!"

  The doorknob rattled.

  "Get out!" Sepi mouthed.

  Cursing, Ramses made for the window. He turned to see the amulet’s thick leather cord peeking out above the covers. He flew to his cousin’s side as Aunt Zalika struggled with the door. After stuffing the cord under, he launched himself at the windowsill, and tumbled over the edge.

  From overhead, the acacia tree cast a tiny noonday shadow. He sensed a pair of watching eyes and looked up. Bastet crouched on a branch. The cat’s yellow eyes met his.

  In Sepi's room, Aunt Zalika sad, "It’s too hot for all those covers, isn’t it sweetness?"

  Please no. Don’t let her pull them off. Say something, Sepi! Stop her!

  "Mother, when I need you I’ll call you. Can’t you see I’m resting?"

  "You’re so flushed! Be a pet and let me turn them down."

  It’s over now, he thought. She’s going to find it. And what could Sepi say?

  The slap of sandals on paving stones sounded from outside the barn. Someone let out a huge belch. Bastet shot up the branch. Ramses launched away from the wall, right into Uncle Hay.

  "What are you doing, loitering around?" Uncle Hay asked in a sour voice.

  "Uh . . . looking for you. I’m back. With your sacks."

  "You just got back?" Uncle Hay said, suspicious.

  "I was last in line."

  "Well, you’re lucky you missed lunch." He belched again, then rubbed his belly as if it pained him.

  Lunch? Suddenly he was starving.

  From Sepi’s room, Aunt Zalika cried, "What’s this?"

  His hunger vanished as he pictured her holding his amulet like a prize. She’d probably think it belonged to Ramses’ mother, and that Sepi somehow found it. The next time he’d see Neferet’s gift would be around his aunt’s ugly neck.

  "Husband, where are you? Get in here, quickly!" she shouted.

  "Coming, dear!" Uncle Hay turned his bloodshot eyes on Ramses. "Don’t just stand there. Get to the fields!" Wiping the sweat from his greasy forehead, he trotted toward the house.

  Ramses shot one last glance at his old window. He wanted to leap through. He imagined ripping his amulet from Aunt Zalika’s fingers, and leaving this farm forever.

  Instead, he turned and headed for the waiting stands of wheat.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ramses, furious, tried to focus on his work. He slashed at the wheat; how could he have been so stupid? Worse than stupid, a coward! Why hadn’t he done something?

  Blood pulsed at his temples.

  He should do something now. Go take what was his.

  In the far distance, he could see Uncle Hay’s plump silhouette. Perched high on the mound where the plough shed stood, Uncle Hay gestured at half a dozen field workers. It looked like he was giving them incredibly important instructions, from the way he postured around. What could he be doing over there?

  Then Ramses saw a man paint a white streak down the plough shed's wall.

  Unbelievable. The men were whitewashing the building’s walls? Now? Could his uncle have chosen a more pointless exercise? He was a complete idiot!

  They needed to be cutting wheat!

  Shaking his head, Ramses got back to work. He didn't care about the shed. All he cared about was the amulet. The end of day gong rang out. Finally.

  Consumed by thoughts of Neferet’s gift, Ramses flung his scythe down, turned and ran for the house.

  "Wait," Sobek called.

  Against ever
y fiber in his being, Ramses forced himself to slow down.

  "How did it go?" Sobek said.

  Ramses glanced at the farm manager, frowning.

  "This morning?" Sobek said. "You did go draw, didn’t you?"

  "Oh, right." Ramses let out a huge breath. "Yes. Yes I did. Thank you."

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Fine. Sorry, I just . . . everything’s great." He forced a big smile. "Thank you for getting me the morning off. It was great."

  "Excellent." Sobek slapped him on the back.

  They reached the sprawling courtyard. Next to the kitchen door, a pile of vegetable peelings showed where Hebony had been sitting. Flies buzzed around. A bundle of wilted herbs reminded him of Neferet’s crushed reed basket. He cursed silently, thinking of her amulet around Aunt Zalika’s neck.

  A melody drifted from the kitchen; it was Hebony, humming a tune in time with the chopping of vegetables.

  In a low voice, Sobek said, "I’m glad it went well. All we need now is papyrus."

  Ramses nodded. But all he could think of was the priceless turquoise amulet of Maat. He couldn’t go to the examination without it. It would be an insult, the worst he could imagine—to Neferet and to her father.

  "This goose is like crocodile skin!" came the shriek of Aunt Zalika’s voice, echoing down the hall from the dining room. "Inedible!"

  In the kitchen, Ramses sat on the floor eating dinner with Hebony and Sobek. He gnawed on his own serving of goose, pretending to enjoy his dinner as Hebony looked up from her plate. He’d been chewing the same tough piece for several minutes and his jaw ached. He forced his bite down.

  "Leave it," she said. "I’ll fix you something else."

  "No, no!" he and Sobek cried at once. It might be something worse.

  A plate slammed in the dining room. "Ramses!" Aunt Zalika screamed.

  Ramses’ heart flip-flopped, Hebony jolted, and Sobek swore.

  "Bread! Now!" she screamed. "Get your spoiled hide out here, your Uncle’s fainting with hunger."

  Hebony leapt up. She filled a basket to the brim with thick pieces and passed them over. He was glad for the excuse to go in there. He’d been waiting all evening. Gritting his teeth, he made for the dining room.