Flight of the Bluebird

by Kara LaReau

  DAY TWENTY-FIVE

  We’ve been working in the secret burial chamber of Nehy and Nefret (Victor calls it “Project N”) for about a week now.

  As ever, the work is slow. All manner of artifacts have been uncovered, including musical instruments, pieces of pottery, statue fragments, jewelry and beads, games, toys, and several dolls. It’s as if the playroom of these twins was packed up and re-created in their tomb, for eternity. It’s sad, but in a way, kind of nice. And it is satisfying to know that all of the antiquities we’ve excavated will soon be on display in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, so we can observe and admire and learn from our past. This is why I became an archaeologist, to share the lessons of history with my country, and the world.

  Unfortunately, Victor is not satisfied, as the playroom has not revealed his most sought-after treasure: a pair of scarabs, made specially for Nehy and Nefret.

  “According to my research, they were created by one of the greatest craftsmen in all of ancient Egypt—a man named Huya,” Victor explained. “It was said that the gods bestowed him with special powers, and that he used those powers in his work. When placed beneath the children’s heads, the scarabs allowed them to communicate with each other in their dreams.”

  “So, you believe in this myth, about the scarabs’ magic?” I asked.

  “I prefer to leave my mind open to any and all possibilities, Miss Umm,” he informed me. I resolved to do the same.

  Aside from the security detail, the rest of the staff was dismissed tonight, and I was hoping to get ahead on itemizing the day’s discoveries. I was crouched behind an assemblage of shabti figurines when Victor came in. I could tell he didn’t know I was there, but for some reason, I didn’t move or make any noise; I just waited and watched. That’s when I saw him pick up one of the dolls and put it in his jacket pocket.

  Finally, I revealed myself. “What are you doing with that doll?” I asked.

  At first, Victor seemed surprised to see me there, then he laughed and patted his pocket.

  “Bringing her back to my office,” he explained. “This one deserves closer examination.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right, Miss Umm. You have an inquisitive mind. That’s one of the reasons I hired you,” Victor said.

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that,” I said.

  “Just remember what they say about curiosity,” Victor said, smiling. At this, he pointed at a mummified cat.

  Writing about it now, I feel so silly. Did I really think that my mentor was trying to steal one of his own discoveries? Next time, think before you speak, Hattie!

  P.S. The name of the young man at the café is Albertus Magnus Jr., but he prefers that I call him Bert. I see him every afternoon now, when I arrive for Victor’s lunch order. He has a very unassuming way about him, though I do like his sense of humor, and the way he really seems to listen to me. And I like his traveling vest, which seems to have an infinite number of pockets—he’s always pulling one thing or another from them, like a handkerchief when I sneeze, or an umbrella when it’s raining, or a handful of the date candy I like.

  It turns out Bert is from a place called Dullsville, which doesn’t sound very promising, but he tells me he comes from a long line of magicians.

  “That’s funny,” I said when he told me. “You don’t look like a magician.”

  “That’s because I’m not,” he said. “My father, Albertus Magnus Sr., wanted me to become a magician, too. But my heart just wasn’t in it. So he threw me out of the house. I’ve been traveling all over the world since then, trying to find my purpose.”

  “And have you?” I asked.

  Bert took my hand.

  “I think so,” he said, smiling.

  DAY THIRTY-FIVE

  Finally, we have catalogued all of the artifacts in the chamber—well, not all of them. We saved the best for last—the sarcophagi of Nehy and Nefret, the Lost Twins of Seti I.

  I have never been present at the opening of an ancient Egyptian stone coffin; it is, as one might imagine, a sensitive and time-consuming process, ultimately involving quite a few ropes and pulleys and heave-ho. But eventually, the lid was lifted. Inside the alabaster outer box was the beautifully wrapped mummy of Nehy, son of Seti I and twin brother of Nefret. Unfortunately, we could not remove the gold-painted shroud covering his face, but Victor found something remarkable hidden in the wrappings behind the mummy’s head: one of the legendary scarabs.

  I held it in my hand for just a moment. It was green and intricately carved, and surprisingly warm. Within a few moments, Victor took it back from me.

  “The value of this is incomprehensible,” he muttered.

  “To the museum, you mean,” I said. “And to Egypt.”

  “Of course,” Victor said, sniffing. “But we’ll need both of them. We’ll only know if they work when we have the set. Then we’ll really be in business. When we open Nefret’s sarcophagus tomorrow, I can only hope we’ll find the other scarab.”

  Everyone has gone off to celebrate, and I am just about to wrap things up here. One way or another, tomorrow will be a big day for Project N!

  DAY THIRTY-SIX

  Well, I was right. It’s been a big day for Project N, but not in any way I could have imagined. It all started last night.

  I went to deliver Victor’s mail to his office, but the door was locked. Fortunately, I know where he keeps the key: behind the statue of Sekhmet that guards his office door. When I got inside, the place was a mess—boxes and packing materials were everywhere. I put the mail on his desk, and that’s when I saw the clipboard. On it was a list. In one column, it catalogued many of the artifacts unearthed during the Project N dig. In the second column, it listed names and addresses. In the third, it listed numbers. They were large numbers with many zeroes at the end. It dawned on me that they were dollar amounts.

  I looked around the room again as it all began to sink in.

  I saw musical instruments, pieces of pottery, statue fragments, jewelry and beads, games, toys, and a familiar doll—the one I caught Victor slipping into his pocket that day. Then I saw the scarab we’d just unearthed that morning. He was planning on selling it all!

  “I locked this door for a reason,” Victor said. He stood in the doorway, his satchel slung over one shoulder. It seemed heavy. I wondered what other stolen treasures it might contain.

  “I was just . . . delivering your mail,” I explained.

  “You are a diligent assistant, Miss Umm,” he said, smiling. “Perhaps too diligent.”

  “That’s why you hired me,” I reminded him. “You asked me if I was a hard worker.”

  “And I asked you if you could be obedient, loyal, and above all . . . discreet,” he reminded me.

  “I have been. And I will be,” I said.

  He took the clipboard from me.

  “We have to please our patrons,” he explained. “How else do you think we can afford our work? The pittance we receive from the government does not begin to cover what we need.”

  I looked at Victor’s diamond ankh pinkie ring, and at the box of fine cigars on his desk. His shiny new car was probably parked right out front. It’s clear that his “needs” are much different than mine.

  “Our patrons are very important people. Some are even very dangerous people. There’s no telling what they might do if we don’t give them what they want,” he said. “And most of these things are just trifles, really.”

  “But the scarabs are special,” I said.

  “You’re right. They are special,” he said. “And they will fetch a special price. I already have more than a few interested buyers. As long as we have the set, and we can prove they work, my financial situation should be improving tremendously.”

  “They are priceless,” I argued. “They belong with Nehy and Nefret.”

  “Nehy and Nefret have been dead for thousands of years. It’s time for the living to benefit from the value of these treasures
,” Victor said.

  “You are an archaeologist. An Egyptologist. It’s your job to preserve these antiquities for the people of Egypt, not sell them off to the highest bidder!” I said.

  “Just think of the work we could do together with that kind of money,” Victor said.

  “Together?” I said.

  “I’ve been thinking about promoting you for some time now,” he said. “Your intellect and your potential are more than clear. But I’d need to know that you’re truly ready to invest in our work. OUR work, Hattie. We could be . . . partners.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

  “Say yes,” Victor said. “When everyone does what they’re told, everyone wins. Believe me.”

  Something in his tone of voice scared me—and made me realize I should just play along.

  “Then, yes,” I said. “I accept.”

  “Good girl,” he said. Victor put his hands on my shoulders. His fingers squeezed a little too hard as he looked into my eyes.

  “If I didn’t think I could trust you, it would be a shame,” he said. “For you.”

  I was so shaken after my meeting with Victor, I could barely dial my phone to call Bert. We met at the café that night, and I told him everything.

  “You need to turn him in,” he said. “He’s nothing but a rotten thief!”

  “If I turn him in, there’s no telling what might happen to me,” I said. “Victor made that painfully clear.”

  Bert finished his drink. He looked at me.

  “You should just run away, then,” he said. “That’s what I did, when my father threw me out.”

  I laughed. “You can’t be serious,” I said.

  “I’m almost always serious,” he said.

  “I’m not going to leave my life here,” I said. “Besides, where would I go?”

  “Anywhere. Everywhere,” Bert said.

  The thought did sound enticing. I’ve never been anywhere other than Egypt. All my life, I’ve dreamed of exploring other lands and discovering other cultures.

  “But my work is here,” I reminded him.

  “As long as you’re working for Victor Gazebo, you’ll never be free,” said Bert.

  I stared down at my own empty glass. I knew he was right.

  I left Bert and went straight to the police station, determined to do the right thing and tell the authorities everything I knew. When I got there, several uniformed officers were on duty. I was about to approach one of them when I realized he looked familiar. In fact, more than a few of them looked familiar—they’d been part of Victor’s security detail, the ones he’d laughed and joked with. One of them made eye contact with me; he smiled and made the V sign with his fingers. I made one in return, then hurried out.

  As I rushed home, I thought about what Bert said. As long as I work for Victor, I will never be free. Maybe I could just quit, and find another archaeology job somewhere else. I could promise Victor I’d never reveal his scheme. But then I’d have to watch him sell off those priceless treasures, like the scarabs, and deny the people of Egypt their legacy. I couldn’t live with myself.

  I was just about to turn the corner onto my street when I saw him: another one of the members of Victor’s security detail, standing across the street from my apartment. He kept looking over at the door to my building and arguing with someone on his walkie-talkie.

  In my surprise, I let out a little cry. He turned his head, and our eyes met.

  And then I began to run.

  Thankfully, he didn’t seem to know the streets of my neighborhood as well as I do, because I was able to duck into an alley and evade him. I waited a few minutes to make sure the coast was clear, and then I called Bert. He told me where he was staying, at the Winter Palace. By the time I got there, I’d made up my mind.

  “I am going to run away,” I said. “If I don’t, there’s no telling what might happen to me.”

  Bert picked up a suitcase. “I had a feeling you might say that,” he said. “I’ve already packed.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because I’m coming with you,” he said.

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because I love you,” he said.

  I blinked.

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  Bert took my hand.

  “Then let’s do it,” he said.

  “There’s something I have to do first,” I said. “I’ll meet you at the airport in an hour.”

  “I’ll buy the tickets,” he said.

  “You’ll have to change our names,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because what I’m about to do is going to make Victor very, very angry.”

  I left Bert and went back to Victor’s office, where I unlocked the door again and crept inside. The clipboard I’d hoped to take, which held Victor’s list of buyers, was gone. I panicked . . . and then I saw the scarab. I held it in my hand again, feeling its warmth.

  “Someday, I will find your twin, Nehy,” I said. “I will wait until Victor has his guard down. If it takes my whole life, I will reunite you and Nefret.”

  I put the scarab in my pocket.

  I might not be able to expose his illegal scheme, but as long as I have one scarab, I know Victor can never sell them as a set. I know that as long as I have it, he will always be searching for it, and me. But I also know it’s a risk I have to take.

  Bert was waiting for me at the airport. When I saw him sitting at the gate, I realized I didn’t have anything but my satchel, containing the scarab and my journal. Everything else I owned was back at my apartment. But I couldn’t go back. Ever.

  “I was worried you weren’t going to show up,” he said. “Our plane is just about to board.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked. I thought about my mother, who wanted me to stay close to home after my father died. Now that she’s gone, too, I have no family, no one who cares where I go or what I do.

  “First stop: Peru. I have friends all over the world now. I can’t wait for them to meet you,” he said. “And if we really need to disappear, we can go to Dullsville, the town where I grew up. Believe me, Gazebo will never find us there,” he said.

  Maybe I’ve made a big mistake, I thought. I should never have taken the scarab. I should never have brought Bert into this.

  “I changed our names, just like you asked. We’re now ‘John and Mary Bland,’” he said. He took a little box out of one of his vest pockets and opened it up. Inside was a silver ring. “And I bought this at the bazaar. It’s all I could get, for now. But I figure if we’re going to spend the foreseeable future running from danger together, we may as well make it official. Will you marry me, Hattie—I mean, Mary?”

  I looked at the ring, and at Bert. Could we make a life together, always looking over our shoulders, waiting for Victor to exact his revenge?

  “Is everything all right?” he said.

  I nodded. I slipped the ring on my finger. Then I took his hand.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  PUSH THE THROTTLE FOREWARD SMOOTHLY TO ACHIEVE FULL POWER. WHEN AIRSPEED IS AT OR ABOVE ROTATION SPEED, PULL BACK ON THE STICK. CONGRATULATIONS—YOU’RE FLYING.

  TAKING OFF! with Trip Winger

  “It’s incredible,” Kale said, after reading about Hattie and Bert’s daring escape from Luxor. “I really felt as if I was right there with them. Didn’t you?”

  Jaundice nodded. Though her eyes were still shut, and her skin was still clammy and vaguely green, Kale’s narration of the events was a comfort. “Is there more?” she managed.

  Kale flipped through the remaining pages. Most of them were blank, until the very end of the journal. On the inside cover, two little envelopes were taped to the page, along with what looked like a ticket.

  “One of the envelopes is labeled, Kale, for the salad that brought us together. The other is labeled, Jaundice, for the symptom of the malaria that almost killed us on our second honeymoon to Madagascar.”

  Kale open
ed the envelopes. Inside each was a tiny lock of hair in an all-too-familiar brown shade.

  “I guess that explains how they named us,” she said.

  Then she read the fine print on the envelopes.

  “Jaundice?” Kale said.

  “Mmm?” Jaundice moaned.

  “These numbers on the envelopes look like birth dates,” Kale said.

  “Well, that’s handy,” said Jaundice. “We’ll finally know when to celebrate.”

  Up to now, the Bland Sisters couldn’t remember when their birthdays were, and had no parents to tell them, so they decided it might as well be February 29, Leap Day. That way they’d only need to worry about it once every four years.

  “Right,” said Kale. “Well, the good news is that our birthdays aren’t on Leap Day.”

  “What’s the bad news?” asked Jaundice.

  “Our birthdays . . . aren’t on the same day. They’re not even in the same year,” said Kale, rubbing her temples. Anything but the simplest mathematics gave her a headache.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jaundice, opening one eye so she could see for herself.

  But there it was.

  One envelope read, KALE BLAND, born December 31, 11:58 P.M.

  The other read, JAUNDICE BLAND, born January 1, 12:15 A.M.

  “So I’m seventeen minutes younger than you, but because I was born after midnight, my birthday’s a whole year later?” said Jaundice. She was very good at numbers, even through her aviophobic nausea.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Kale, shaking her head. “I always thought we’d have the same birthday, like real twins.”

  “I always thought I was born first,” Jaundice admitted.

  “We’re just outside Luxor,” Beatrix announced from the cockpit. “Does anyone back there want to help me land this thing?”

  “Oh, me-me-me!” said Kale, waving her hand. She was surprised by her own enthusiasm—but then, she remembered, she was the older sister. Perhaps she was supposed to be more take-charge.

  “Landing on water can be tricky, but I know you can do it,” Beatrix said. “There’s nothing like being on the Nile.”