Flight of the Bluebird

by Kara LaReau

  “We really should go,” urged Kale, pulling her sister along. “Do you see the stand with the mummies?”

  “It should be just around this corner,” said Jaundice. But when they turned the corner, they didn’t see any mummies. Instead, they saw one of the Daughters. She was blond and blue-eyed, and she was holding a very large, curved sword, which she looked like she knew how to use. A crowd gathered to watch the “show.”

  “Surrender to Daughter Betty,” the woman informed the Bland Sisters, flashing a lipsticked smile. “Or else.”

  “What do we do?” Kale asked. “We don’t have any weapons.”

  “Hmm,” said Jaundice. She removed her canteen. Quickly, she patted her smock pockets.

  Betty tossed her sword from hand to hand, grinning and playing to the crowd. She laughed heartily.

  “I guess this is it,” said Kale, closing her eyes and grimacing.

  “Aha!” said Jaundice, looking down at her canteen. “Yes, it is.”

  She grabbed the canteen, swung it around her head a few times, and tossed it. It hit Daughter Betty in the head. She fell over backward, knocking over a nearby candy stand.

  The crowd cheered. Jaundice merely shrugged.

  “Time for a new plan, then,” said Kale. She and her sister reversed course, and ended up back in the labyrinth of market stands. One of them was selling rugs.

  “I have an idea,” said Jaundice. She looked around to make sure the stand’s owner wasn’t around, and then unrolled a particularly large and ornate rug. “Lie down.”

  “Lie down?” said Kale. “Shouldn’t we be running?”

  “That’s what they’ll expect,” said Jaundice.

  “Ah,” said Kale. Jaundice was almost always right.

  The Bland Sisters lay down at each end of the rug, then rolled until they were both completely covered and secure inside.

  “They’ll never find us now,” Jaundice said, her voice muffled in the folds of carpet. “We’ll just stay here until they go away.”

  “It’s actually quite cozy,” said Kale. “If only it weren’t so hot. And musty. And I can’t seem to find my hat or my sunglasses.”

  “Shh,” said Jaundice.

  Within a few moments, they heard a rumbling. Then the rumbling stopped, and they heard whispering. Then it grew quiet.

  “I think your idea is working!” said Kale.

  “Shh!” said Jaundice.

  A few minutes later, the Bland Sisters heard the rumbling again.

  “They must be leaving,” said Jaundice.

  “The sound isn’t getting any softer,” noted her sister.

  The Bland Sisters poked their heads out. They were in the back of a truck with one of the Daughters of Sekhmet. Two more were up front, and the other two were behind the truck on a rumbling motorcycle-with-sidecar.

  “What now?” said Kale.

  “I don’t know,” said Jaundice. “I’ve never been trapped in a rug on a moving truck, surrounded by assassins.”

  Daughter Fan began arguing with her cohorts in the front of the truck and pointing out the back. Jaundice and Kale were able to wriggle their heads and shoulders out of the rolled-out carpet just enough to see what was going on.

  Beatrix was on a horse, galloping toward the truck. She was gaining on them.

  “She can ride a horse, too?” said Kale. “Is there nothing she can’t do?”

  Once Beatrix caught up to Daughter Dot and Daughter Yasmin’s motorcycle, she dispensed both with a swift kick and a jackknife wedged in the spokes.

  “What a shame,” she said, watching the motorcycle and its riders tumble off the road. “My grandmother gave me that knife.”

  As Beatrix approached the truck, she jumped off the horse and into the back, and was soon engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Daughter Fan. Amidst this impressive display, Daughter Fan flipped around expertly, delivering a kick that left Beatrix groaning in a crumpled heap.

  “Oh, no,” said Kale.

  Daughter Fan smirked, then made the mistake of turning her back. As she did, Beatrix reached out and pulled the assassin’s legs out from under her, then swung her off the back of the truck altogether.

  “Are you two all right?” she asked the Bland Sisters breathlessly.

  “Aside from being surrounded by assassins on a careering truck?” said Kale.

  “Well, we need to get you out,” said Beatrix, unfurling the rug and freeing them. “I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

  “We were sitting tight. Until you unrolled us,” noted Kale. But Beatrix was already making her way to the cab of the truck. With a few swift blows, she subdued Daughter Cosette in the passenger seat.

  “Au revoir,” said Beatrix, tossing her out.

  The one at the wheel, Daughter Ivanka, was a bit more of a challenge. She and Beatrix wrestled with the wheel, making the truck swerve all over the road, nearly colliding with an oncoming car.

  “It’s funny,” Jaundice said. “Being on an airplane for only a moment makes me feel like I’m going to die. But this experience doesn’t bother me at all.”

  “It bothers me a little bit,” Kale admitted, her face paler than usual. “Actually, more than a little.”

  Finally, Beatrix banged Daughter Ivanka’s head against the steering wheel and knocked her out. But when she took control of the wheel and looked outside, she realized that the truck was headed for the embankment.

  “Jump, girls! Now!” she shouted.

  The Bland Sisters did as they were told. Kale was surprised by how much less she enjoyed being airborne without the benefit of being in an airplane, while Jaundice was too busy screaming to feel fully aviophobic. Thankfully, the rug flew out of the truck with them, allowing them a relatively soft landing.

  “Oof,” said Jaundice, spitting out sand.

  “Ouch,” said Kale, rubbing her knee where she’d received an unfortunate rug burn.

  They looked down at the Nile, and at the truck quickly submerging.

  “Whoa,” said Jaundice. “Good thing we escaped at the last minute.”

  “But what about Beatrix?” Kale asked.

  The sisters looked down at the river again. Then they looked at each other.

  “Beatrix,” they both said quietly, taking off their hats. The Bland Sisters observed a moment of silence.

  “She was a decent pilot,” Jaundice said, finally. “Even if I wanted to throw up each time I boarded her plane.”

  “What will we do without her?” asked Kale.

  “She will be missed,” said Jaundice, wiping away a tear.

  “Sorely,” said Kale, sniffling as she touched her rug burn.

  “Who are we eulogizing?” a voice asked behind them.

  “A heroic person,” explained Kale. “And a good friend.”

  “I wish I had a chance to know her. She sounds amazing,” said the voice. The Bland Sisters turned around.

  “Beatrix!” they cried.

  “I told you girls to jump,” she explained. “I find it’s wise to take my own advice.”

  “Now what?” asked Jaundice.

  “Now we ride,” said Beatrix, giving a whistle. In a matter of moments, her horse was galloping toward them. “Good girl, Cleo.”

  “Where did she come from?” asked Kale.

  “I told you: Omar knows how to get everywhere. And anything,” Beatrix reminded her.

  “Why don’t you tell us what you dreamed about in the garden?” Jaundice asked.

  Kale did her best to remember. So much had happened since her dream, it seemed so long ago.

  “I was in the desert,” she began. “And I saw a mean-looking man. He was standing on the steps of a weird structure. It had eight sides, and it had a roof, but the rest of it was open.”

  Beatrix thought for a moment. “Sounds like . . . a gazebo. I bet the man you saw was Victor. And that means two things.”

  “What?” asked Kale.

  “One: He has the other scarab now,” Beatrix said.

  “And two
?” asked Jaundice.

  “Your parents are in trouble,” said the pilot. “What else happened in your dream?”

  “Oh!” said Kale. “He said something about us having something he wanted, and him having something we wanted. And then something about a tomb that’s larger than large, and meeting up with ‘a queen who was a king,’ and ‘twins who aren’t really twins.’”

  “Sounds like a lot of nonsense again,” Jaundice said.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Kale. “But now I’m thinking the queen is Hatshepsut, meaning our mother. And the not-really-twins are us. We’re supposed to trade him the scarab for our parents!”

  “At a tomb that’s larger than large?” Beatrix repeated. She thought for a moment. Then her face brightened. “The largest tomb in the Valley of the Kings is the tomb of Seti I.”

  “That’s where Nehy and Nefret were buried,” Kale remembered, flipping through her mother’s journal. “There’s a secret chamber at the end of a long tunnel.”

  “We’ll have to get across the Nile to the West Bank. I hope Omar’s cousin doesn’t mind transporting a horse on his barge,” Beatrix said. She jumped up onto Cleo’s saddle, then extended a hand down to the Bland Sisters. “Giddy up, girls!”

  “We’re supposed to ride on that thing, too?” Jaundice asked.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” said Kale.

  Neeeeeigh, whinnied Cleo, shaking her mane.

  WHEN YOU TURN, DO IT SMOOTHLY AND CAREFULLY, SO YOU DON’T DISTURB ANYONE IN THE PLANE. YOUR PASSENGERS SHOULD ALWAYS COME FIRST.

  TAKING OFF! with Trip Winger

  The Bland Sisters managed not to fall off the horse during their trip over the Nile via Ahmed’s barge and across the sands of the West Bank. Also, they seemed to be managing without their sunglasses. Jaundice and Kale considered these major achievements.

  The sun was setting as Beatrix and Cleo and the Bland Sisters arrived at the tomb of Seti I, though even in the dusky shadows, the ruins were imposing. A NO TRESPASSING sign hung across the chained gate at the tomb’s entry, which was surrounded by all manner of excavating equipment. Beatrix shrugged.

  “I’ve never been one for rules,” she said, picking up the handle of a nearby broken shovel. She wrapped the chain around it, then twisted with all her might. Eventually, the chain snapped.

  Inside, the tomb was pitch-black.

  “Now what?” asked Kale.

  “I could make a torch out of this shovel handle, if I had something to light it,” said Beatrix.

  A small flame illuminated their faces. It was coming from Jaundice, who held out a book of matches she’d pulled from one of her smock pockets.

  “They were in a bowl at Ricky’s, next to the mints,” she explained.

  “Brilliant,” said Beatrix. “Literally.”

  “Where do we go now?” asked Jaundice.

  Kale took out Hattie’s notebook and leafed through it. “Our mother drew this diagram of the tomb, from when she was working with Victor.”

  Beatrix looked over her shoulder. “I guess we go down these stairs. And keep going down, for a while.”

  Jaundice held the makeshift torch and Kale held the notebook as Beatrix led the Bland Sisters through the tomb’s many corridors and chambers. The walls and columns were covered with beautiful paintings and innumerable hieroglyphs.

  “I suppose this is their version of wallpaper,” Kale noted, fondly remembering the wallpaper in their bedroom at home—or what was left of their home.

  “This ‘wallpaper’ tells a story,” said Beatrix, motioning to one of the walls. “These images are meant to guide the pharaoh safely though the underworld.”

  “I hope they lead us somewhere safe,” said Kale, though she had a Feeling it was unlikely.

  “So Seti I was the father of Nehy and Nefret?” Jaundice asked.

  “That’s what our mother’s journal says,” said Kale. “The twins were supposed to assume the throne, but they died when they were very young, of influenza.”

  “You mean, they died from the flu?” said Jaundice.

  Kale nodded. “They should have just taken some medicine,” she said. When the Bland Sisters were sick, they consulted their Dullsville Hospital Home Health Handbook, and had medicine delivered in their sundries basket from the Dullsville Grocery.

  “It wasn’t so simple, back then,” said Beatrix. “But at least they had the scarabs, so they’d always be able to visit each other in their dreams. Even after death.”

  “That’s a lovely story,” a familiar voice said behind them.

  Beatrix and the Bland Sisters turned. They saw a very large and very sharp knife held by a familiar bug-eyed foe.

  “Uggo,” Jaundice and Kale said at the same time.

  “Greetings, ladies,” he said. “Fancy meeting you again.”

  “I knew I should have handed you over to the authorities back in Casablanca,” Beatrix grumbled.

  “That’s the problem with you heroes,” Uggo said. “You’re too kind.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again,” said Beatrix.

  “You’re right. I doubt you will live long enough,” said Uggo. “Now, move it!”

  WHEN TWO AIRPLANES ARE APPROACHING EACH OTHER, BOTH MUST TURN RIGHT TO AVOID A HEAD-ON COLLISION.

  TAKING OFF! with Trip Winger

  Using his own torch, Uggo directed them down, down, down into the tomb.

  “It’s quite beautiful,” said Kale, until she noticed a vivid mural of twisting snakes.

  “I should hope so,” said Jaundice. “As it’s the last view we might ever see.”

  Finally, the tunnel opened up into a chamber with two square columns—one featured the image of a boy, and the other featured a girl, both wearing white robes and bejeweled necklaces. They looked more than familiar.

  “Nehy,” whispered Kale.

  “And Nefret,” Jaundice added.

  Between the columns stood a diminutive man wearing jeans, a denim shirt, and a red bandanna tied around his neck. He was tan, with very white hair, a very pointy nose, and very small, dark eyes, which seemed to glitter as he observed the Bland Sisters.

  “That’s the man from my dream!” Kale exclaimed.

  “Victor Gazebo,” said Jaundice.

  “Ah,” he said. “Smart girls. I’d say you take after your parents, but it turns out they weren’t quite as clever as they thought.”

  He motioned to a shadowy corner. Jaundice and Kale squinted.

  At first, the Bland Sisters thought they were seeing another set of hieroglyphs, of a woman and a man with their backs to each other, their hands and feet bound with rope and their mouths gagged. The woman was beautiful, with tawny skin and dark hair, and the man was pale with less distinctive features, though it was clear that he had a determined set to his jaw.

  “What does that symbol mean?” Jaundice asked.

  “I know I’ve seen it before,” said Kale. “Somewhere.”

  As she tried to consult her mother’s journal in the dimness, the man and woman turned and looked at the Bland Sisters, both of their eyes wide.

  “Wait,” said Jaundice.

  “What?” said Kale.

  “The symbol. It just moved,” said Jaundice.

  Kale looked up from the journal. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Mother?” said Jaundice.

  “Father?” said Kale.

  Despite the gags in their mouths, Hatshepsut Umm and Albertus Magnus Jr. tried to respond.

  Jaundice and Kale ran to their parents and embraced them; they smelled of sweat, and of spices. Unfortunately, Hattie and Bert could not reciprocate, as their hands were still bound. But this reunion still managed to bring back another flood of memories for the Bland Sisters.

  Jaundice remembered reaching into one of her father’s vest pockets and pulling out a thimble. Her father had made the thimble disappear, and then magically pulled it out of her ear, and she had laughed and clapped her hands.

  Kale remembered c
urling up in her mother’s lap while her mother read a book. Kale herself could not read at that point, but being in her mother’s lap was enough.

  And then Jaundice and Kale shared the same memory, of sitting at the breakfast table while their parents fed them spoonfuls of perfectly plain oatmeal and sips of perfectly tepid tea.

  It all felt so right, being back together again, the Bland Sisters thought. Even if everything else in the current situation felt very, very wrong.

  “What a lovely family reunion,” said Victor, smirking. “And how serendipitous that you’re all here together, in the burial chamber of Seti I’s forgotten children.”

  “We know all about serendipity,” Kale informed him. “This is not a good example.”

  Gazebo laughed. “Not for you, perhaps. Though this can all end well for everyone, as long as you’ve brought what I’m after. Do you have the scarab?”

  The Bland Sisters’ parents started shouting, though what they were saying was muffled. Kale leaned in.

  “I think they’re saying, ‘Don’t give it to him!’” she determined. “Though it also sounds a bit like, ‘No, isn’t it swim!’”

  “Once I have both scarabs, I can sell them to a certain very interested and very wealthy buyer. Do you know how much some men will pay for the ability to enter other people’s dreams?” Gazebo explained. When he smiled, his teeth were small and yellow, like niblets of corn.

  “Is that all you care about?” Beatrix asked. “Money?”

  “No,” said Gazebo. “I care about power, too.” He gestured around. “Consider these pharaohs. For their brief time on Earth, each held the world in the palm of their hand—a world they built on the backs of the weak, the poor, and the servile. I prefer benefiting from someone else’s labors, instead of the other way around.”

  “You’re a monster,” said Beatrix.

  “Well, I’m about to be a very rich monster,” said Gazebo. He opened his hand and glared at the Bland Sisters. “Now, enough small talk. Hand it over.”