by P. J. Hoover
“What do we do?” I managed to ask.
Gil slammed his fist into the coffee table. The shabtis scattered.
“I don’t know what to do,” Gil said. “Tut shouldn’t even be in this situation.”
“Then maybe you should have told him about the knife in the first place,” Henry said. “Told him where it was. Maybe even given it to him yourself.”
I noticed the shabtis edge closer to Henry as he stood up for me. If I somehow actually died as a result of this stupidity, I vowed to do what I could from the afterworld to make his life easier.
Gil looked out the window, away from us. “Am I the only person in the world who understands? This is exactly why the knife had to stay hidden. Now Tut is dying and Horemheb has the knife. Things couldn’t be worse.”
When he put it that way, it did sound pretty bad. I guess I deserved my fate. I’d as good as let Horemheb go. Why had I even started listening to his lies? Now my side hurt like my liver was being pulled out. My future was as bright as a solar eclipse.
“Look, I’m sorry. I messed up. But isn’t there something we can do to fix it?” Each word worsened the pain in my side. I’d never in all my years been hurt this badly. Sure, I’d broken bones and even lost a couple fingers and toes before. But I’d always healed. I lay back on the futon, and a few of my lower-ranked shabtis fanned me with my ostrich fan collection. I was a failure. My life was going to end here in my town house, and I’d never get revenge.
Gil lifted my shirt again and grimaced when he saw the wound. “Maybe some antibiotics will help.”
To say his voice was unconvincing was a major understatement.
“What about Isis?” Henry said. He pulled the card Hapi had given him out of his back pocket. “Maybe she can help.”
That’s when the pain took over and I drifted off again.
* * *
I woke to the smell of incense so strong that I gagged. I opened my eyes.
I wasn’t in my town house anymore. Instead, I was in the basement of the funeral home, lying on one of the mummification beds. Isis’s face hovered inches from my side. Beaded necklaces fell on my stomach and chest, which the shabtis made a weak attempt to hold out of the way.
“Oh, the poor boy,” Isis said, pursing her bright red lips. “This is a nasty, nasty one.”
She poked at the wound with a long red fingernail.
“Ughhh!” I screamed in pain.
“Quiet!” Isis snapped. “You’ll wake the dead.”
I didn’t care anything about the dead except that I didn’t want to become one of them.
“Can you fix it?” Gil asked.
Isis whipped around to face him. “Some protector of the knife you turned out to be.”
Gil transformed from my cool big brother to someone who looked like his mother was scolding him for breaking her favorite alabaster vase.
“I had it hidden,” Gil said. “It was your son who set this whole thing into motion.”
“Nonsense,” Isis said. “It was the defiler Set who started the feud. Who, I might add, would never have been a threat if I still had the knife to begin with. It never should have been taken away from me.”
“Would you two please stop arguing?” Henry said. “Tut looks green.”
“He’s always looked green,” Isis said, patting me on the cheek. “It’s my husband’s blood. Good blood.”
“So green is good?” Henry asked.
“His body wants to heal,” Isis said. “It just needs some encouragement. It’s a very good thing you called Hapi when you did. Tut has chosen his friends wisely.”
Gil glowered, but at least Henry smiled.
“So can you help or not?” Gil asked.
“Of course I can help.”
Thank the gods. I wasn’t going to die.
“Hapi?” Isis said, and held out her hand.
Hapi moved into my circle of vision and handed Isis two things that made my heart skip about twenty beats: a long hook and a roll of Ace bandages.
“We’ve been experimenting with the latest in mummification techniques,” Isis said.
Hapi lifted a Canopic jar from a nearby table. I didn’t want to imagine what they were going to put inside it.
“I don’t want to be mummified,” I tried to say, but I’m not sure what came out.
“Silly boy,” Isis said. “We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
She leaned toward me with the hook, poising it over my scarab heart.
I tried to pass out, but Hapi held my eyelids open. I waited for the pain. The hook delved into my chest, toward my scarab heart. I let out a howl that everyone in Old Town must’ve heard. They twisted it a few times, making my toenails curl so much, they probably resembled Tootsie Rolls. When they pulled the hook free, I thought it was over. But then Hapi handed Isis a knife, which she proceeded to plunge into my scarab heart.
I slipped in and out of reality. I was back in my tomb, fighting with Horemheb over the Book of the Dead. I watched as our blood dripped onto the scrolls, sealing our immortality. I saw Osiris giving me my scarab heart. But instead of being a somewhat normal, although green guy, this time he was wrapped as a mummy. He was trying to talk, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying because the mummy wrappings were getting in the way so all it sounded like was mumbling. Energy channeled from him to me, filling my heart.
I slipped away from my tomb and Osiris and back to the funeral home and to the present.
“That should do it,” Isis said. She grabbed the roll of Ace bandages and started flipping me back and forth, wrapping my side.
Energy pumped through my scarab heart, restoring my strength. And as it was restored, my side began to heal. The pain disappeared.
I wasn’t going to die after all.
“He’ll be okay?” Gil said.
Isis threw the remaining bandages to Hapi. “As long as you protect him better than you did the knife. I believe that’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”
“I’ll protect him,” Gil said. “And I’ll get the knife back.”
“You do that,” Isis said, wagging a finger at him like a scolding teacher. “But trust me on this. If I ever find Ra, I will have a word with him about this knife situation. It should not be hidden away. It’s a gift to be used by all. Starting with me. I should be able to claim vengeance for the death of my husband.”
I didn’t disagree with her at all. But Gil obviously did.
Gil’s face hardened, and any signs of bowing down to Isis vanished. “If you ever do find Ra, that’s a conversation I’d love to hear.”
“Then we’re all done here,” Isis said. “Hapi, dear Grandson, would you please see our guests to the door?”
“My pleasure,” Hapi said. He bared his teeth at Gil. And then at Henry. And he led us upstairs.
Henry grabbed a cookie on the way out. How he could eat in a place like this was beyond me, but that wasn’t why I didn’t grab a cookie. I was too busy planning my future. I was alive. Horemheb hadn’t won. And there was still a chance for revenge.
16
WHERE I BURN DOWN THE MUSEUM
I slammed the door to our town house.
“Why you?” I demanded. I figured my best tactic to not have Gil lock me up for the rest of eternity would be to get him to change sides. To help me. Horus was still on his new moon exile, which was such an inconvenience. He could have helped me convince Gil.
The shabtis who had stayed at the town house rushed over the second I came through the door. I lifted my shirt and undid the bandages to show them my side. Colonel Cody almost collapsed with relief to see nothing but a thin, red scar.
“Why what?” Gil said.
“Why did the gods pick you to watch the knife?”
Gil paced the room. “Because I’m not a god.”
“I’m not a god, either,” Henry said. “But it’s not like I got put in charge of protecting some knife.”
“And I’m immortal,” Gil said.
“So
is Tut,” Henry said. “And he didn’t have the knife, either.”
It was nice to have someone over six inches tall sticking up for me.
“That’s because Tut has too much vengeance in his heart,” Gil said.
“And you don’t?” I said. “Even after everything that happened?”
It’s not like Gil’s background and mine were that different. We both had people we cared about die because of the gods. Sure, Gil had started off as a pretty rotten king, unlike me. I’d always been a good pharaoh. But Gil had changed. And that didn’t make the gods happy. He was no longer their puppet. So a bunch of petty Sumerian gods like Enlil and Anu got upset with Gil and cursed him. And they made his best friend, Enkidu, die.
“No, I don’t carry any more vengeance,” Gil said. “I put my past behind me.”
I believed that like I believed in the existence of unicorns.
“Did you become immortal the same time Tut did?” Henry asked.
“Hardly,” Gil said. “Tut’s a baby compared to me.”
“And a heathen,” Colonel Cody added, nodding his head emphatically.
Gil gritted his teeth but went on. “After Enkidu died, I went looking for immortality. I chose not to get revenge on the gods for what they did, but I also wanted to live forever. To become their equal. It was ridiculous, the things I had to go through. I died nearly one hundred times over. But finally…”
“Finally,” I continued, “Gil ate this funny plant, and then the Sumerian god of war gave him a scarab heart.”
“What kind of plant?” Henry asked. “What did it taste like?”
Gil actually cracked a grin. “Seaweed.” He looked down at Colonel Cody. “And for the record, I’m not a heathen. I got my scarab heart from Nergal, who’s every bit as powerful as your Egyptian gods.”
I cringed, even though Horus wasn’t home to hear. Horus had his own opinions of the Sumerian gods. And the Greek gods. And the Norse gods. And … well, you get the idea.
“Of course, Great Heathen Master,” Colonel Cody said.
Have I mentioned that I love my shabtis?
“So you’ve had the knife all this time?” I asked.
“For thousands of years,” Gil said. “I hid it each time we moved, keeping it from the gods and other immortals.”
“There are no other immortals,” I said.
“Are you sure?” Gil asked. “There’s Horemheb.”
“Besides him.”
“How do you know there aren’t any more?” Gil asked. “There could be others. The gods gave me the knife to protect and keep away from all immortals.”
“And we all know how that turned out,” Henry said.
Which brought back Gil’s foul mood. Maybe Henry didn’t have my back after all.
“You should have told me,” I said.
“No, I shouldn’t have,” Gil said. “I was doing my job. And now my job is completely fouled up. This is the worst mess ever.”
I couldn’t really disagree. I didn’t have the knife. My immortal enemy did.
“We’ll get it back,” I said.
“No, Tut,” Gil said. “I’ll get it back. You’ll have no part in the knife from here on out. You never should have even known about it, not to mention tried to find it. It should have remained a thing of legend, not some prize in a scavenger hunt. Pretend it doesn’t exist. Pretend you never even heard about it.”
I crossed my arms, preparing to stare him down.
“Am I making myself clear here?” he asked. “Or do we need to go over this again? Because this is important. The knife is not to be used. Ever. Got it?”
So Gil wasn’t going to help me. That’s what I got.
“Got it,” I said.
“Good. And please listen this time, for once.” Gil climbed the stairs to the loft and stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him.
“I think he’s upset,” Henry said.
“You think?” I said, fighting to keep from running up the steps, tearing Gil’s door open, and snapping back a response.
“Maybe you should give him a little space,” Henry said. “He may just need a good nap.”
Gil needed more than a nap. Gil needed an attitude adjustment.
Henry pulled my sword with the teeth off the wall, clasping it way too hard.
“You’re holding it wrong,” I said.
He shifted it in his hands and made a swipe through the air. His glasses slid all the way down his nose from the effort. “This better?”
“You look like you’re trying to hack up firewood,” I said. “Let your body do the work.”
Henry backed up and slashed the air a few more times. I figured he was a lost cause and clicked on the television, letting the news stream through. With all the lightning and stuff last night at the cemetery, I wondered if anything had been caught on video. But all the newscaster was talking about was some Chihuahua that could walk on its front legs.
“Horus is going to freak when he gets back, isn’t he?” Henry said.
“That’s putting it mildly. It’s a good thing I’m immortal, because Horus will want to kill me.” I changed to a different channel. This one had one of those “breaking news” banners at the bottom, and the skyline of D.C. was in the background.
Henry swung the sword around until the blade pointed down at the coffee table. Ten shabtis moved out from under it and stood ready to attack Henry if I so much as raised my pinkie.
“Should we work on our project?” Henry said.
At least he had the sense to look sheepish about asking.
“Please don’t mention the project again until tomorrow,” I said. “I get a day off. I’ve earned it.”
Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “Then fill me in on a couple details so I can work on it.”
“You can’t wait twenty-four hours?”
“I’m making such great progress,” Henry said. “But these four heads on the Canopic jars … they’re Horus’s sons, right?”
“Right,” I said, focusing more on the TV than on Henry and our project.
“And Horus is the god of what?”
“Horus is basically chief god,” I said. “Since Set killed Horus’s father, Osiris.”
“That’s who your auntie Isis was married to, right?” Henry said.
“Right.” I shuddered at the thought of Isis and her hooks and bandages.
Henry replaced the sword and grabbed another one. Instead of teeth, this one had feathers hanging all over it. The feathers fluttered when he swung it, and a couple fell off when the sword stuck in the wall.
“Oops,” Henry said, and tried to yank it out.
The sword wouldn’t budge.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. The shabtis made a ladder out of themselves, standing on one another’s shoulders, until they could reach it. With the tiniest of tugs, it came free from the wall.
Henry scowled as they handed it to him. “So Set’s not chief god?”
“Great Amun, no!” I said. “In fact, that’s the whole problem. Both he and Horus think they should rule the throne of Egypt.”
“There is no throne of Egypt,” Henry said.
“Don’t remind Horus of that,” I said. “He still has these grand dreams of restoring the Egyptian empire to the world. Set probably does, too.”
“That would be interesting,” Henry said.
But I wasn’t listening anymore.
“Can you turn up the TV?” I asked Captain Otto.
He bowed and nodded to Captain Otis, who pushed the button on the remote control a few times.
“Reports are still coming in about the fire,” the news reporter said. “But from what we know now, the modern art wing of the Smithsonian National Gallery of Art has burned. Five people are in critical condition from burns. Never before have we seen such damage at any national museum.”
“The art museum burned down?” Henry said.
“Shhhh…,” I said.
“And
what of the engravings found on the site?” the anchorwoman asked.
“Yes, experts are working on the translation as we speak,” the news reporter said, “but there are what look like Egyptian hieroglyphics scratched into the marble above the entryway.”
The image flashed to the engravings being talked about. I stopped breathing.
“Those look familiar,” Henry said.
They should. We’d just seen them last week on our field trip. They were the same hieroglyphics that had been carved above the entrance to the King Tut treasures exhibit. The same ones that had been engraved above the entrance to my tomb.
DEATH SHALL COME ON SWIFT WINGS TO HIM WHO DISTURBS THE PEACE OF THE KING.
On the television, black mist curled around the hieroglyphics like a thick fog.
The curse had struck again. And this time it wasn’t just a warning. People had been seriously hurt. Incalculable amounts of art and history had burned.
I had to find a way to stop it. I had to save the world before the curse destroyed it. And the only option was killing Horemheb. I had to put an end to everything.
17
WHERE I TAKE THE SUBWAY STOP TO THE UNDERWORLD
“I have to find out where the Cult of Set is based,” I said.
Henry looked at me like I’d just told him I wanted to scale the Great Pyramid upside down. “You almost died. You’re not really going running off after them, are you?”
“Of course I am,” I said. “Don’t you see how this is all connected? The curse exists because of us. Because of Horemheb and me. As long as we’re both still alive, the curse is going to chew its way through D.C. And when it’s done with D.C., it’s going to attack the rest of the world. People are getting sick everywhere. And in that fire … people got hurt. They’re going to die next. I can’t let that happen. That museum thing? That’s just the start. And don’t forget that this is Horemheb we’re talking about. If you were in my shoes, you’d want revenge the same way I do.”
“I wouldn’t,” Henry said. But he got really interested in cleaning his glasses, which he’d just cleaned.
“Not even if they were responsible for killing your entire family? They even killed my mother,” I said. “Do you have any idea what that feels like? To lose everyone? And then I was all alone. And the only person I thought I could trust—Horemheb—turned out to be the worst of all. He was my top advisor. I listened to everything he said. I knew him since I was a baby. And he betrayed me in the worst way possible. So yes, I think you would do the exact same thing.”
