The Stung Man tilted his head. “Oh yes?”
“I know that if it wasn’t for the pharaoh, you would’ve been planting crops not stealing jewels. I know you mostly stole from him.”
A familiar rattling noise started up. The four canopic jars were nestled in the corners of the room.
“And you think that makes me a hero?”
“I don’t think it makes you a villain.”
The Stung Man let out a quick, sharp breath, amused. He was around the pool now. “You misunderstand me, little boy.”
“I read it …” Alex began, but the towering figure paid him no mind.
“This world took everything from me!” the Stung Man shouted. Alex jumped at the sudden volume. “Everything! And now, I intend to take it back!”
Alex heard four loud pops and turned in time to see the alabaster lid hop off the nearest canopic jar. As it fell to the floor, a stream of scorpions — ten, twenty, a hundred — began pouring from the jar’s open neck. Around the room, the same thing was happening with the other jars. The rattling was quickly replaced by the clicking and clacking of scorpions.
Alex’s mouth fell open in horror as Ren’s opened to scream.
“Don’t worry about my little friends,” said the Stung Man.
The scorpions spread out in a thick, writhing line along the sides of the room. They spilled out into the passageway but didn’t advance inward. They climbed over each other, claws out, stingers poised: a living border to prevent any attempt at escape.
“You see?” said the Stung Man. “They’re just here to do a job. I’m the one you have to worry about.”
He was closer now, too close.
“Use the Book of the Dead!” called Ren.
But Alex had another plan. He tried the move he’d used before with the amulet. Squeezing the scarab with his left hand, he pushed his right hand forward. A phantom wind rose up and the tapestries against the far wall flapped wildly as the water in the pool formed waves that slopped over the sides. But the Stung Man kept coming. His movement was slowed a little but not nearly enough. He smiled.
“I am awake now, child.” He pulled his left hand back inside the heavy crimson sleeve of his robe. “And I have all kinds of tricks up my sleeve.”
When his hand slid back out, it had transformed into a massive scorpion stinger. The barb was as long and sharp as a carving knife. A large drop of amber venom glistened on the tip.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Ren shouted.
Unable to step backward because of the skittering line of scorpions, she took a few hops to the side.
Alex’s stomach twisted with fear. He scanned the room for some small projectile to launch and redoubled the wind, but the Stung Man continued to advance.
“Alex, the Book!” Ren shouted again. She yanked the backpack off of him.
“Okay, okay!” said Alex. His voice shook. He hadn’t forgotten the plan. He just didn’t think it was a very good one. He’d counted on the amulet, but it wasn’t enough. Alex had led them — led Ren! — to their deaths, and there was very little he could do about it. Twin jets of fear and adrenaline coursed through him. There was only one thing left to try. He pulled out a round plastic container that held the scrolls.
The Stung Man stopped in his tracks. “You have the Prayers?”
“That’s right, tomb breath!” called Alex, trying to sound brave.
The Stung Man gave Alex a wolfish grin. “I see I am not the only thief here.”
Alex ignored the jab. With the exhibition closed, Todtman was in charge of the Book’s safekeeping. They were just borrowing the scrolls.
The question, the Big Question: Had they borrowed the right one?
There were over two hundred spells, many dealing with obscure aspects of the afterlife. The spell for “Not Being Scalded by Hot Water in the Afterlife” wasn’t going to do them much good. And it seemed a little late for the famous “Declaration of the Soul’s Innocence,” too. Todtman believed that the right spell would send the Stung Man back. Alex had brought three, and he now realized just how ridiculous that was. They didn’t have time for three spells! What was the Stung Man going to do, watch a movie while he tried them all?
He would get one chance. One. His fingers trembling, he reached for the ancient scrolls.
“Oh, but it’s just a few of them,” said the Stung Man, clearly disappointed. He circled toward the friends and they circled away. He was clearly enjoying toying with them.
“Yeah, guess which one,” said Alex, pulling the first roll free from the canister, his unsteady fingers nearly tearing what looked to be very old papyrus. He willed his mind to slow down and consider his choices. His first choice: “To help the soul rejoin the body in the afterlife.”
No, he thought.
The Stung Man took a step closer.
He threw the scroll down. This soul had already rejoined its corpse — and not in the afterlife. He tugged the second scroll free.
No time to hesitate, no margin for error.
He filled his lungs, preparing for the chant.
“I’d love to hear your choice,” said the Stung Man. “I’m quite sure it’s wrong. But I can’t take that chance. I just got back, you see.”
And with that, he flicked his hand. The scroll yanked free from Alex’s grasp and flew across the room. The first syllable of the chant — a long, resonant “Hemmm” — died on his lips.
The scroll hit the wall and fell into the corner, landing on the backs of a few dozen angry scorpions. “I’ll get it!” called Ren, not sounding at all convinced.
Alex was amazed: She’s acting. At a time like this: full of fear, in over her head, unarmed, understanding nothing that was being said, she was doing her part.
“There’s another spell, you know,” the Stung Man said to him. “It is for ‘Washing the Mouth of Foolish Words.’ Perhaps I’ll recite it for you. Of course, I’ll kill you first — it is for the dead.”
The Stung Man struck out with his left hand. The stinger flew toward Alex on the end of a long, segmented tail. Alex ducked, bad dodgeball memories filling his mind. The stinger shot over his shoulder and slammed into the wall behind him.
Alex turned in time to see the stinger draw back toward him. He squawked and ducked again, touching a hand down for balance and missing a scorpion by inches.
“Impressive reflexes,” said the Stung Man. “But it doesn’t matter.” He reached out with his right hand and slowly raised it. Across the room, what felt like invisible metal bands tightened around Alex’s body, locking him in place. It was the same thing Al-Dab’u had done to Todtman. But Todtman had spent years preparing for this sort of thing. Alex had spent days. All he could do was watch as his body was slowly lifted off the floor. His feet dangled in the air, his heart raced, his lungs pressed inward, and he struggled for breath. He felt his mind flicker on the edge of collapse.
The ancient menace walked slowly toward him. His right hand was stretched out in front of him, holding Alex in the air. His stinger was cocked back, ready for the death blow.
The bands around him tightened and Alex’s vision began to narrow. He viewed his last seconds as if through a tunnel.
“Got it!” yelled Ren, standing on tiptoes and shaking the last few scorpions off the scroll.
The Stung Man’s head whipped around.
“How do you read this, anyway?” said Ren, squinting at the odd symbols. “This one looks like a snake.”
“Give that to me, little girl!” said the Stung Man. He dropped his right hand and Alex fell to the ground with a thump.
“Oh, wait, I remember now,” said Ren. “Doctor Todtman said something about …”
Alex recognized her bluff, but the Stung Man didn’t know her so well. He took a few long steps toward her and pointed the stinger at her stomach. “Give the scroll to me and I promise to kill you quickly.” It was probably lucky Ren couldn’t understand his words.
“Hemmm!” she chanted, imitating Alex.
Her imitation was so good that it took the Stung Man a moment to realize that Alex was chanting again, too. It wasn’t until the second word — “Nesoot” — that he spun back around.
Ren echoed him: “Nesoot!” The Stung Man turned again. Alex and Ren both had scrolls now.
The Stung Man gave a great bellow of rage.
Alex’s voice cracked, but he couldn’t stop chanting.
“For the Tilling of the Rich Soil of the Afterlife …”
A farmer’s prayer.
Even in the afterlife — especially in the afterlife — the Stung Man couldn’t escape who he really was.
The Stung Man growled like an animal. “Say no more!” he commanded, but his voice, so oily before, grew thicker with each word.
The stinger shot out again, flying through the air toward Ren. Her eyes wide with fear, she scanned the floor for a safe spot to step as time ran out. The barb struck not her but the scroll, punching a hole straight through and leaving Ren frozen with shock. The Stung Man pulled the stinger back toward him, but the yellow paper ripped in half as he did. He didn’t know exactly what paper was — the modern form hadn’t been invented when he was entombed. Nor, for that matter, had museum gift shops that sold reproduction scrolls. But he knew something wasn’t right. He knew that wasn’t brittle papyrus his stinger had just torn through.
He turned to face Alex, who continued to steadily chant each word and symbol from the real scroll that had been hidden in his backpack the whole time.
“Treachery!” called the Stung Man. He rushed toward Alex, but his muscles aged and tightened with each step. He kept going, driven by the indomitable will that had allowed him to cling to the edge of the afterlife for millennia. He pointed the stinger at Alex. The point was still sharp, but the bulb had dried and hollowed.
As Alex chanted, the writing seemed to come alive on the page. The lines glowed and the symbols danced, and he watched transfixed as his mouth gave voice to the glittering text. The Stung Man was five feet away, four feet. The skin pulled tight on his skull, threatening to split. Three feet away. The hand that reached out for the scroll was shriveled and leathery.
The Stung Man was two feet away when Alex finished the chant. The dried corpse toppled and fell. Alex stepped back and let it, the glowing text fading in his hands.
All around them, the scorpions were sucked back into their jars like so much click-clacking smoke. The alabaster lids were pulled on last, closing tight. The light from the pool began to fade. Out in the passageway, the light began to fade as well.
Ren rushed over. “Are you okay?”
Alex nodded. He was getting a major headache, but it didn’t seem worth mentioning. They both stared down at the Stung Man, laid out before them, a mummy once more.
“We’re alive,” said Alex.
Standing in the growing dark, Ren paused to consider the sheer improbability of the statement.
“For the moment,” she said, clicking on her flashlight. The remains of a smashed scorpion were smeared on the lens, casting on odd sort of bat signal on the ceiling of the chamber.
“The doctor …” she said.
Alex nodded. The last time they’d seen Todtman, he was wounded and outnumbered.
The two friends headed back down the passageway as fast as they dared, their eyes still wide, their pulses still racing. They knew there was danger in the darkness.
They made it back through the passage intact. The traps were the same on the way out, and Ren hadn’t grown any taller. The leap over the pit was a little scary in the dark, but now she knew what to expect. Once they landed on the other side, their worries immediately shifted back to Todtman.
Their worries were misplaced.
They emerged from the tomb to find someone hopelessly outnumbered, but it wasn’t Todtman. The scorpion sting had dropped him to the floor — he was kneeling, right knee up and left knee down — but everything else was going quite well.
One of the construction workers was closing in on Al-Dab’u from the left with a raised hammer. Another approached from the right with a power drill.
Todtman watched them like a proud papa. The other workers formed a circle around the action: reinforcements. From a distance, Alex thought it had the look of a school-yard fight. Well, except for the power tools.
“They switched sides,” said Ren. “All of them.”
“He’s controlling them,” said Alex. He understood now. “Remember what he said, ‘A watcher can also be a boss, an overseer’?”
“That’s pretty boss,” agreed Ren.
Al-Dab’u extended his hand menacingly as the workers closed in, first twisting one to the floor, then crushing the breath from another, but he was surrounded and couldn’t take them all at once. His mask pivoted around, its permanent grin now looking comically optimistic. The hollow eyes swept over Alex and Ren. He didn’t know how they had returned from the tomb alive, but he knew what it meant.
He swung back, his ratty robe briefly whirling into a bell shape. With one final wave of his hand, the worker closest to him was sent reeling. Todtman sent what looked like the fastest of the construction crew after him, but Al-Dab’u was too quick. He leapt through the heavy curtain. Alex wondered if he remembered that the edge of the old subway platform was right on the other side. A loud thump told him he had not.
Alex and Ren ran over to Todtman. “Are you okay?” asked Ren.
“I’ve been better,” said Todtman.
Alex was surprised to see that, despite the pain he must be feeling, Todtman was wearing a weary smile. “Well,” he said, looking down modestly. “It is more exciting than cataloging pottery.” He let his hand fall from his amulet.
He tried to stand, but his left leg wouldn’t hold him. Alex and Ren got on either side of him and pulled him up. A fog seemed to lift from the construction workers, and they milled around the platform in confusion.
“Manny, is that you?” said one.
“Yeah, it’s me, Rich,” said Manny. “But where are we?”
“Hey,” said Rich. “Look at that. It’s the library lion!”
The workers all turned to look, seeing it for the first time with wide, startled eyes.
“The library is going to want that back,” said Ren.
“I think we will be able to arrange that,” said Todtman. “Eventually, anyway. For now, it may be a little … overdue.”
Ren shook her head. “Imagine the fine …”
“Hey, who are you guys?” said Manny, zeroing in on the trio. “What are you doing here? What are we doing here?”
“I hate to do this,” said Todtman, reaching up and grasping his amulet.
“Do what?” said Manny. A moment later, his eyes went blank again.
Alex and Ren looked around. All the workers had the placid expressions and drooping posture of sleepwalkers. Todtman whispered a few words in what Alex now recognized as an ancient Egyptian dialect. One by one, the construction workers wandered toward the flap of the heavy gray curtain.
“They will return to the surface with a few days missing and vague memories of a trip to Philadelphia,” said Todtman. “I hope it doesn’t cause them too much trouble.”
Alex watched the last one slip through the curtain, relieved not to hear any loud thumps on the other side this time. Something occurred to him.
“Is that what you did to the detective?” said Alex. “He’s been kind of sleepwalking through the investigation, too.”
“I may have had a little talk with him,” admitted Todtman. He looked over at Alex and now he noticed something: “You’re hurt.”
Alex reached up and touched the long, thin cut left by the razor wire. A few flecks of dried blood flaked off on his fingertips. “Trust me,” he said, “my head feels a lot worse on the inside.”
Todtman turned to Ren: “You’re cut, too.”
“Nothing major,” she said, looking down at the cut on her arm.
“The scroll worked, then?” said Todtman. “Was it the first
one?”
“The second,” said Alex, but there was no triumph in his voice. Something was still troubling him.
“Yes, a farmer, after all,” said Todtman, attempting a step and nearly falling.
“You need to get to a hospital,” said Ren.
“I know a good one,” said Alex. “But we can’t … I mean …” He forced himself to take a breath. All the adrenaline, the rush of all that fear, it all poured out of him in two quick words. “My mom!”
“You saw no sign of her?” asked Todtman.
“No,” said Alex. “But there was another direction, another tunnel.”
Ren nodded emphatically.
“We must have a look, then,” said Todtman.
Alex wanted to run back inside. Instead, he had to walk — and slowly. He propped himself under Todtman’s right arm as Ren supported his left, and they headed through the open mouth of the tomb. Todtman reached up to his amulet and turned the “lights” back on.
“You’re good with lights,” said Ren.
“A watcher needs to see.”
Alex and Ren warned him about the traps they’d encountered in the left passage. They moved slowly as they entered the passage on their right, and Todtman focused his senses with his amulet. But they encountered nothing.
“It feels too easy,” said Todtman, but Alex and Ren weren’t going to complain about that.
As they neared the end of the tunnel, they saw dim light coming from an open doorway.
“I don’t like it,” said Todtman, his eyes scanning the floor and ceiling ahead. “Let’s stop here for a second.”
“Good idea,” said Ren. “This place is trap central.”
Alex couldn’t believe this. The traps were the other way, just like the scorpions had been. This was the last room left. His mom had to be in there.
They can wait if they want to, he thought, I’ve waited enough.
“She’s in there,” said Alex. “She has to be!”
And then another thought hit him, the one that was never far away: What if she’s suffering?
He wriggled out from under Todtman’s arm and took off at a run. “Come on!” he shouted.
“Wait!” called Todtman.
Book of the Dead Page 12
