SECRET OF THE EGYPTIAN CURSE: Kids of Ancient Mythology

by Scott Peters

  A voice growled, "Boy!"

  Everyone turned to see Flatnose and Scar-Eye lumbering toward Ramses, each holding their glittering, sharpened scythes.

  "You! Boy!" Flatnose said again. He sounded like an angry, confused rhinoceros. It was the first time Ramses had heard him speak, and the effect was frightening,

  Aunt Zalika tottered back. "Who are you?"

  Flatnose ignored her. "We waited. In the field. You didn’t come." He stated the obvious as if it were the strangest thing in the world.

  "Um, sorry?" Ramses inched into their protective shadow. Still, it felt like jumping out of the cobra’s path and into the lion’s den.

  "You come now," Flatnose said.

  "Excuse me," Aunt Zalika sputtered. "But I’m speaking to the boy!"

  Flatnose aimed his scythe at Ramses’ chest. "You come now. Everyone waits."

  Scar-Eye nodded, his blade dangling in his meaty fist.

  "This is outrageous!" Aunt Zalika said.

  Weris stepped in. "A lady mustn’t let such things rattle her beautiful composure."

  Her cheeks colored. "But I . . ."

  He took her arm. "The exam is tomorrow. There’s much to do. Shall we go inside?"

  "Oh. I suppose. Yes, that’s a good idea."

  He shepherded her away. Ramses watched them go.

  Last night, he’d entered Maat’s temple without punishment. But only because she’d been saving it for a fate much crueler. Today, she’d destroyed him completely.

  Ramses had nothing now. No entry. No papyrus. No brush or ink to his name.

  The gods had had the last laugh.

  He was a slave and nothing more.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  There had once been a time when the fields had seemed a wonderful place. Full of changing colors, bright with the cycle of seasons. But that had been a lifetime ago. Now Ramses moved like the living dead. No longer leading, he cut in Flatnose and Scar-Eye’s wake, mind empty to everything.

  "Always working, aren’t you my friend," Weris said.

  Ramses turned slowly.

  The tutor looked as if he’d just stepped out from giving a lesson in a royal classroom in Memphis. It was hard to believe he was a complete farce.

  "What do you want?"

  "No polite greeting then?" Weris held a dripping cup in one hand. "Right to the point, I see."

  "Are you going to tell me what you want?"

  He offered the cup. "Water?"

  "I don’t drink jackal spit."

  The tutor made a show of letting the comment pass. "So, how do you like my friends?"

  "Is that what they are?"

  "Look around. In case you’ve forgotten, I gave you a big hand here. So don’t go sounding ungrateful."

  "Just tell me what you want."

  Without warning, Weris’s fist shot out and slammed Ramses in the jaw. The ground rose up fast. Razored stems broke his fall.

  He spit a mouthful of wheat chaff at Weris’s foot. "A coward’s shot."

  Weris leaned back with a bark of laughter. "I like your spirit, boy! Too bad you don’t have the sense to match it."

  Flatnose stopped what he was doing—helping Scar-Eye shove wheat ears into a large net sack—and glanced over.

  "I’m fine," Weris told him.

  He grunted and went back to helping Scar-Eye. Scar-Eye had his foot on the bag and was tromping it down. Grabbing the drawstring, Flatnose yanked it tight. Ramses wiped the grit and sweat from his face and stood.

  "Now. Are you ready to accept my offer?" Weris asked.

  "What offer?"

  "Don’t play dumb with me. Look at you, all crushed and forlorn because you were stupid enough to lose your papyrus."

  "What, so you came to give me some? Is that it?"

  "Unfortunately, I’m not in the business of giving gifts. On the other hand, you do have talent."

  Ramses scowled, cursing himself for wanting to hear more. He should walk away.

  "And I’m not talking business now. You have a real gift. I’ve seen what you can do with a paintbrush. I don’t know where that magic comes from—but I do know you don’t belong on this farm. And that’s the truth."

  Ramses shrugged. "Thanks."

  "So how about it? We do each other a favor. I give you some papyrus, and you help me out?"

  "How? I don’t have anything you want."

  "A piece of information, that’s all—would you be willing to do that?"

  Flatnose and Scar-Eye had set to work cramming ears into a second bag. Chaff rose skyward in a cloud of gold.

  "What information?"

  "Nothing complicated. Nothing that won’t be common knowledge to an apprentice."

  "What? A technique or something?"

  "Actually, I’m interested in learning a little about the Great Place."

  "The Great Place? You mean the Valley of the Kings?" Suspicion furrowed Ramses’ forehead. "Why?"

  "Don’t look so upset now. A minute ago you looked ready to sell your soul for my papyrus. It’s just curiosity on my part. Nothing more."

  "Curiosity?" Ramses glanced toward the horizon, where the red mountains shrouded the Valley of the Kings in mystery. He was just able to make out the pyramid shaped peak where Meretseger, the snake-goddess, kept her terrifying watch over the craftsmen’s work. It struck him that weeks had passed since he’d seen the deadly, turquoise-eyed cobra.

  "There’s only one thing you’d want to know about the Great Place," he said.

  Weris remained silent.

  "The hidden entrance to the tomb they’re building for Pharaoh Tutankhamen."

  "Well now. I think anyone would find that interesting. Don’t you?"

  Ramses stared at him. "You’re insane."

  "Insane enough to know how good Pharaoh’s treasures will look in a boat headed north—instead of rotting with the bones of a dead man."

  "The bones of a dead man?" Ramses took a few steps back. "Are you an idiot? Do you have any idea what happens to tomb-robbers? For the rest of your life, you’ll start decaying in disgusting ways, your flesh will drop off. And you won’t be able to stop it. And when you want to die, because it’s so horrible, you won’t be able to. You’ll just go on living. A walking plague. You’re not going to care about treasures when you’re cursed for eternity."

  Weris shrugged. "We’ll deal with that issue when we come to it."

  Ramses stared. "You’ll what? . . . Oh, I get it. You’ll make me and your ‘friends’ do your dirty work. So we’ll be the ones who are cursed. Is that it? Is that what you think?" He thought of Maat tearing out the man’s heart. "That’s not how it works. Already it’s too late for you, just talking like this. Don’t you understand?"

  "A farm boy lecturing me about the gods?" Weris laughed. "Relax. You’re my inside-boy. You won’t be doing the ‘dirty work’."

  "I won’t be doing any work. I’m not helping you."

  "Ah, Denger," Weris said. "There you are, just on time. I think our boy here needs a little convincing."

  The sentry from the Place of Truth stepped into view.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Ramses watched Denger cover the last few steps.

  So this is how a person looked when he was betraying the people he’d sworn to protect. Like just another person. A son, a brother, a traitor no one really knew. What could make him turn his back on them?

  "He needs convincing, does he?" Denger squeezed his dagger’s hilt. "Well, that should be easy."

  "Really? What, are you going kill me?" Ramses laughed. "Go ahead. Like that’s going to help your cause."

  "Why such nasty talk?" Weris said with dismay. "There are riches to be made." He spread his hands wide to encompass the fields and wrinkled his nose. "Look at you, slaving away on some old farm that stinks of cow manure and Nile fish."

  "This farm is my home," Ramses said. "And it’s where I belong."

  "There’s a whole life ahead of you. A real life to be made. Not like this, but in there,
in that village. As a craftsman. You could be one of them—and not just any one. You could be the best."

  Ramses stared at the dirt.

  "I’m right. You know I’m right. Think of it. Your drawings would live on forever, long after you’re gone, carrying Pharaoh through all eternity."

  "Eternity? Who’s lying now? What do you care about eternity? I belong here. That’s it. That’s all."

  "That’s ridiculous," Weris said. "As your Aunt and Uncle’s slave?"

  "I’m carrying on my parents’ work."

  "On a farm that’s been stolen from you? I’m sure your parents would really appreciate that."

  Ramses opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  "Don’t be a fool! Look at your hands." He turned up Ramses’ palms. The slashes from Aunt Zalika’s whip were still there; red, angry welts, caked with dirt. "Is this what your parents wanted? Is this what your gift was meant for?"

  Ramses wrenched his hands away. "Leave me alone."

  Smoke rose from cooking fires in the workers’ camp; a smell of burnt vegetables choked his nostrils. Two men started yelling. Their angry voices carried across the field.

  Weris said. "I guess I was wrong. Stay here, if that’s what you want."

  Ramses nodded, but he felt sick. That wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was to take Weris’s papyrus; to risk everything in the hope of finding a place where he belonged.

  "I guess there’s no point in carrying on, is there?" Weris said.

  "No, there isn’t," Ramses replied in a low voice.

  Weris turned away.

  Denger scowled. "I can make the boy draw. Just watch me."

  "No. I’m packing my supplies. I’m leaving this wretched place. Now. This afternoon."

  "But the plan," said Denger, his face reddening.

  Weris took the sentry’s arm. Whatever he said sounded frustrated but resigned. After a moment, Denger stomped away. Weris sighed. "Don’t look so glum," he said to Ramses. "I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities. Don’t you think?"

  Of course there wouldn’t, and they both knew it.

  Ramses felt ill, off balance. Like a chance had come and he’d failed.

  Weris’s harsh laugh stopped him cold. The tutor wore a grin so twisted, Ramses wanted to tear it from his face.

  "I played you like a game of Senet. You made up your mind, didn’t you? You do want to help me."

  Ramses said nothing.

  "I’ll leave everything you in your room. Take your time. Make it good."

  Maybe he should do it. What would stop him from reporting Weris and Denger once he got in? He’d be a craftsman, and they’d be arrested.

  "You need to hide your thoughts better than that, boy," Weris said.

  "You have no idea what I’m thinking."

  "If it’s of double-crossing me, I do. You’re a little too transparent for your own good. You wouldn’t win. Not against the honor of a trusted guard like Denger. Especially since his brother is head sentry." The tutor smiled. "And then there’s your cousin."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I have so many ways to play you, don’t you see? You lost a long time ago." He rubbed Ramses’ head. "Come now, behave yourself. Do what’s right for all of us."

  Ramses smacked his hand away.

  Weris laughed. "Sepi’s not very healthy, is he? He’s a nice boy. And a good friend to you. It would be a shame if he died in his sleep."

  With that, Weris sauntered off.

  Ramses sagged against a thick palm tree. Late afternoon light filtered through clumps of dates overhead. At the sound of the end of day gong, Flatnose and Scar-Eye stopped working and glanced his way.

  "Leave me alone," Ramses shouted at them. "Just leave me alone!" He smashed his fist into the tree.

  Of course he’d protect Sepi. He’d do anything to keep Sepi safe—even if it meant becoming a traitor to Egypt.

  A sick realization hit: Weris’s plan was the only way in now, and deep down he was glad he’d been forced to accept it; glad the decision had been made so easy; glad Weris had the means to blackmail him. Even if the means was Ramses’ own best friend.

  The truth was disgusting.

  His face a cold mask, he straightened and headed home.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  "There you are, Ramses," cried Hebony, her eyes shining. "Hurry, come and sit down." He was surprised when she dragged him around back, toward the garden.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Just come on."

  Next to a tumble of blue cornflowers and gently waving spikes of larkspur lay a large, clean reed mat. Cushions were piled high around the mat’s edges. Bastet dozed on one, curled into a ball of fur. In the center lay a feast fit for a festival.

  "Who’s this for?"

  "Guess."

  "Aunt Zalika?"

  "You."

  He smiled. "You’re funny. Come on, I don’t feel much like joking." Rich, spicy smells wafted from clay dishes. Honey-scented loaves studded with dates and sesame seeds were mounded high in a basket. "Where’s Aunt Zalika? What’s going on?"

  "I told you, it’s for you." She glanced past him. "Sobek, there you are, tell him."

  "Whatever it is, she’s right. She’s always right." Sobek laughed as he came down the grassy path with an overflowing jug of ale. "So help me here and find some cups."

  Still not quite believing, Ramses climbed over the cushions and grabbed the cups. "I don’t understand. What about the others? We have to bring them dinner! Aunt Zalika’s going to—"

  "Whoa, there," Sobek said, grinning. "It’s all arranged. Your friend Weris—"

  "Wait, Weris? He’s not my friend."

  "All right, Snappy. Not friends then, but I know how you admire him. And he’s a better man than I thought."

  "What did he do?"

  "Nothing suspicious! What’s got into you tonight?" Sobek laughed. "He just got Zalika to hire some serving girls so we could take the night off."

  "And musicians too," Hebony said. "Listen, they’re tuning the harps. I love harps!" She flopped onto the pile of cushions, laughing. "Watch out, I told Weris I could get used to this."

  Ramses bit his lip.

  He now knew that there were ways of getting anything you wanted.

  You just had to be willing to sell your soul in return.

  He knelt, not wanting her to read the blackness in his heart. The slippery reed carpet brought back memories of a picnic along the river with his parents. He squinted, remembering their faces, trying to remember how he’d felt. But it had been too long ago now. He pulled Bastet into his lap; the cat stretched her claws, turned once, curled in the crook of his knee, and fell asleep.

  "Let’s eat," Sobek said. "I don’t know about you, but I’m starved."

  Ramses own stomach was clenched like a fist. "Me too," he lied.

  "Can you believe it?" Hebony said, lifting the lid on a stew pot. It held roast meat with onions and vegetables, all baked and caramelized and crisp around the edges. She spooned some onto Ramses’ plate. "Tomorrow’s the big day!"

  "It is." That’s for sure.

  "Now, no need to be nervous," she said. "You’ll do fine." She reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

  He nodded. For a moment, he almost confessed everything.

  He looked at his two friends.

  This was the last night they’d spend together. The last time Sobek and Hebony would ever want to see his face. If they knew the evil thing he was about to do, he’d be dead to them already. He couldn’t tell them. Not now. Tonight he’d hold tight to the people he cared about. Just for these few hours. He’d pretend everything was perfect, everything was what he’d dreamed it would be.

  "Everything ready for tomorrow?" Sobek said.

  He thought of Weris’s papyrus. "Almost."

  Inside, the musicians started in on a pretty tune.

  "Good." Sobek swallowed a sip of beer, wiped his mouth on his muscled forearm, and grinned. "Then you won’t mi
nd us adding a few things to help our apprentice-in-training?"

  "You’ve given me too much already. And I don’t have anything for you!"

  "You’re more than enough," Hebony said with a gentle cuff to his head. She got up and retrieved a big sackcloth bundle, nestled amongst the far cushions. "Anyway, it’s just a small gift. For luck. We’re so proud of you."

  Proud? He wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry.

  Hebony scooted next to him. "Open it," she urged. Already she was pulling on the ties, helping him pull the contents out.

  Fabric, white and soft and smelling of the herbs Hebony stored with her clothing, spilled into his hands. He started to unfold it, and a pair of magnificent sandals fell into his lap. The braided reed soles were tough and of the highest quality.

  "They’re amazing," he said, running his hands over them.

  "There’s more," she urged.

  He unfolded the fabric all the way. "A brand new kilt, and a tunic too? Look at this linen, it’s so soft. But it must have cost a fortune."

  Hebony flushed. "You’ll look like a noble young man."

  "I’ll never forget this," he mumbled.

  Sobek clapped him on the back. His grey eyes were solemn. Proud. "Now let’s get this celebration underway!"

  "Can I join you?" someone asked.

  They all turned to see Sepi coming down the grassy path.

  Ramses leapt up to meet his friend. "Yes, are you kidding? Come on. But what about your mother?"

  "I told her I needed to rest up for tomorrow. Like she’d ever come here to check?"

  "Good point."

  "Find a seat," Sobek said, filling a cup and handing it to Sepi.

  Hebony fluffed up a pile of cushions, and waved him over.

  The festive mood soon swept them all up. Ramses listened to Hebony’s long-winded stories, Sepi told some of his own, and the two of them laughed with Hebony at Sobek’s jokes. Music floated through the garden. The sky turned to purple and then to black. Sitting under the river of stars, Ramses felt safe and protected. He wished he could stay with them forever.

  Only when he approached his dark cell did he face the truth.

  The door was slightly ajar. Despite the darkness, he could just make out the thick roll of papyrus that lay on his wooden chest.