“Gross,” said Ren.
A small tremor shook the room.
“I think we need to get out of here,” said Alex.
The other two helped him up. Alex winced from the pain in his ribs and gut.
Ren emptied the three lights from the backpack and stuck the ancient spell back inside. She looked around the room in the failing light. “The Crown Jewels,” she said.
“Yes,” said Alex.
A larger tremor nearly knocked them all down, but they were both museum kids, and they wouldn’t leave such priceless pieces behind. Robbie and Ren raced around, plucking the jewels from the wall and stuffing them in Alex’s pack. Ren wrestled a heavy purple crown ringed with a galaxy of multicolored jewels from its perch as Robbie grabbed a scepter topped with a diamond the size of a baby’s fist.
“Hurry,” said Alex, training his flashlight beam on the ceiling. Like the rest of the underground labyrinth, it had no supports, no crossbeams, and Alex now understood that the force holding it all up was the same thing that had been keeping it lit: Willoughby. Alex shone his flashlight back that way. The flow of dark liquid had intensified and was beginning to pool around the body.
Suddenly, the entire room shuddered and shifted. Dirt and clay rained down in chunks from the ceiling and the plaster on the walls began to crack loudly.
“This whole thing is going to come down!” shouted Ren.
They got out fast. Ren and Robbie helped Alex over the Liam-shaped lump at the entrance. The tomb where the mummies were created would now be their grave. The tunnel was pitch-dark, the green glow gone. They pointed their flashlights straight ahead.
“I’m okay,” said Alex. Adrenaline was flooding his system, and if he bent over at just the right angle, he could manage a decent jog. “I’ll follow as fast as I can.”
They both shook their heads, and Alex was in no condition to argue. He pushed harder, ignoring the pain. All he could do now was hope it was fast enough to stay ahead of the crumbling walls. The air in the tunnels filled with a sickening coppery smell — the scent of Willoughby’s blood.
“This way!” said Ren, one hand wrapped around her amulet. Reservations or not, this was no time for wrong turns.
A voice called out from the next intersection. “Is that you guys?”
Alex and Ren leveled their flashlights to be sure: Luke!
Alex couldn’t manage more than a smile, but Ren called out: “Where were you? Are you okay?”
“That stupid thing was chasing me,” said Luke as they caught up with him. “Then it just keeled over!”
“You’ve been running this whole time?” said Ren as the flashlights revealed large sweat stains on his T-shirt.
Luke shrugged. “Probably only four, five miles. We were going in kind of a loop.”
“Alex is hurt,” said Ren. “Help him, okay?”
“Sure.” Luke nodded toward Robbie as he wrapped a strong arm around Alex. “Some people are looking for you,” he said.
They hustled up the dark tunnel. There was no sign of Ta-mesah on the way up, his chamber off in a collapsing side tunnel, and the outcome of the catfight unclear. But there were other dangers. Lumps of dirt and clay continued to peel off and fall from the walls and ceiling around them.
“We need to hurry,” said Ren.
The fear of being buried alive beneath the old cemetery was on all of their minds. But none of them, not even Robbie, rushed on ahead. They would all make it out, or none of them would.
They were close now.
A two-foot chunk of dirt and stone broke loose from the top of the tunnel and landed with a thud in front of them. They had to scramble around it, and hope the next one wouldn’t land on their heads or bring the whole tunnel down. A deep rumble rose up behind them as the entire system began to collapse. Dirt and mud and clay were everywhere: raining down from above and rising up from below.
“We’re not going to make it!” yelped Robbie.
But Alex couldn’t accept that. After relying on only himself this entire time, after pushing relentlessly forward without really caring who came along, he realized something. Every single one of these people had saved his life. Now it was his turn.
“Yes, we are,” he said. His head hurt as much as his ribs, but he reached up and wrapped his hand around his amulet. He envisioned a perfect, round tunnel in front of them and pushed his hand forward, fingers spread, to make it so.
Eyes closed, teeth clenched, Alex gave it everything he had left.
His feet moved mechanically forward, and he went where Luke led. With all his strength, he used his amulet to create a wind tunnel around them. He could only hope the outward pressure would be enough to keep the walls and ceiling from collapsing in and burying them alive.
He was on the edge of unconsciousness, his strength spent, when he felt the wind blast back at him. His eyes edged open to reveal the stone door at the back of the crypt, slid halfway open to the Highgate night beyond.
The taxi pulled up at the Campbell, and they all pooled their money to pay the man. Ren unlocked the main door with the skeleton key, and they stumbled inside. Alex limped in last, all but drooling at the thought of the aspirin in his room. He was kind of looking forward to seeing Somers’s wrinkly old face, too. But that wasn’t the face that greeted them.
“Hello, children,” he heard.
He immediately recognized the crisp German accent. Alex looked up and there he was: Todtman, smiling his froggy smile and leaning on a sleek black cane.
“Boy, am I glad to see you,” said Ren, rushing up and giving him a hug.
Alex wasn’t rushing anywhere at the moment, but he gave his old mentor the biggest smile he could muster — and the biggest news he could imagine: “They don’t have my mom!”
A few minutes later, they were scattered around the little reception area of the closed museum: Alex and Ren on a battered old couch, Todtman on a wooden chair across from them, Robbie standing by the door, and Luke stretching on the floor, “post-workout.” Alex did most of the talking, slowly and carefully telling Todtman what they’d found.
When he was done, he sat back and tried to catch up on his breathing. His injured ribs made it hard to take deep breaths, so he had to make do with short, shallow ones.
“The Black Land?” repeated Todtman. His leg was stretched out in front of him, as straight as his new cane.
As Alex gathered his breath to respond, he glanced at the jet-black walking stick: a lasting souvenir of their battle with the Stung Man. These battles were taking a toll. But now, at last, he felt like they were making progress. “They think she’s in Egypt,” he said, before repeating his top story. “They don’t have her!”
He broke into a smile, despite his aches and pains.
“But where is she, then?” said Ren. “If she’s not a prisoner, if they’re looking for her, too …”
Todtman said what they were all thinking: “Why would she hide from us?”
The smile faded from Alex’s face. Why would she hide from me? “She must have a good reason,” he said. “She wouldn’t just —” His eyes got wide and he swung toward Ren. “Use your thing! Ask it!”
“It’s not a Magic 8 Ball, Alex,” she said, glancing down at the ibis. And then, quieter: “And anyway, I already did. No response.”
“Are you sure you’re using it right?” he said, his voice more accusatory than he’d intended.
“I’m not sure I’m using it at all!” she said, her voice more defensive than she’d intended. “I think it might be the other way around.”
Alex backed off. “Okay, sorry,” he said. “I just thought, maybe …”
Ren relented, too. “I know,” she said softly.
Alex looked at her. She was still his best friend. They’d had a fight, they’d failed each other and put each other in danger, but they’d also bailed each other out. Their friendship had changed in some way that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, but he had learned one thing clearly: He couldn’t do
this without her.
“Ta-mesah — the crocodile guy — said something else, too,” said Ren, turning back toward Todtman. “He said we didn’t really get rid of the Stung Man. Or that’s what it seemed like he was saying, anyway.”
Todtman thought briefly before speaking. “I think he might be right. I’ve been thinking about it. The Book of the Dead and the scarab can send the Death Walkers back to the afterlife … but that’s where they just came from —”
Alex got it now. “They could cling to the edge between life and death again, avoiding final judgment.”
“And waiting for another chance to escape,” finished Todtman. “In fact, they might even be stronger now, recharged by their time in this world.”
“You’re kidding me,” said Ren. “You mean they could come back?”
“They must be judged. They need to go through the weighing of the heart ceremony. That is what they fear. They know their hearts would be found to be full of guilt, and instead of entering the afterlife, they’d be lost forever.”
“But how do we do that?” Ren began.
“The Lost Spells,” said Alex.
“Precisely,” said Todtman. “It was the Lost Spells that brought them back. They are more powerful than the known spells, and the last one, I believe, deals directly with the weighing of the heart. I think that may be what this is all about.”
Somers ambled into the room with a fresh ice pack for Alex.
“Thanks, Somers,” he said.
The old caretaker had sat through Alex’s recap, right up until the part where Dr. Aditi’s fate was confirmed. Then he’d gotten up and left the room. He was too old for grand quests. His part was done.
Alex handed Somers the melted pack and pressed the new one to his side. A shiver went through him. “There’s a lot I still don’t understand,” he said, leaning back into the couch. “Like why did Willoughby look like his statue and not his photo?”
Todtman considered it. “The ancient Egyptians had those statues made because they believed they could inhabit the images in the afterlife,” he said. “Tell me, on the way out of the crypt, did the statue still have its hand?”
“I was too out of it to notice,” said Alex.
“I didn’t check,” said Ren. “It was dark.”
They all looked over at Luke. He had both legs stretched out in front of him and was reaching down and grabbing his sneakers. “Don’t look at me,” he said without looking up. “I was out the door in about point-four seconds.”
A few quick knocks drifted in from the next room. Someone was at the front door, and there was a muffled exchange of voices as Somers let them in.
“They’re here!” cried Robbie, rushing out of the room.
Alex looked over and saw Ren take one last look at the flyer in her lap before folding it in half. Of course she’d kept the thing.
Luke sprang to his feet. “Family reunion time,” he said. “You guys coming?”
But he was already gone, after a reward or just a happy ending.
Alex and Todtman labored to stand, and Ren waited politely for them.
“We’re going to Egypt, aren’t we?” said Alex, once they were all up.
“Of course,” said Todtman. “All those questions you still have. I am sure the answers are to be found in the Black Land.”
“The answers, and my mom,” said Alex.
“And the Lost Spells,” said Ren.
“And another Death Walker,” said Todtman. “Maybe more than one.”
The three joined Luke in the next room. There was the old couple, with wraparound smiles on their faces and eyes full of tears. And those eyes were on a lovely woman with light brown hair and one eyebrow just slightly higher than the other, currently hugging the heck out of her son.
The others hung back a bit, giving Robbie and his family a little space.
“They’re getting stronger,” said Ren. “The Death Walkers are getting stronger.”
Alex was mesmerized by the sight of the mother-and-son reunion, but he finally peeled his eyes away when Ren spoke. He knew she was right. He’d noticed it, too, but he knew something else. He looked around at three amulets and one future Olympian and a tearful reunion that they’d made possible. “The Walkers are getting stronger,” he said. “But so are we.”
The others nodded and hugged, respectively, and for a few moments, the old museum fell silent. The only sound: the delicate rhythm of small footsteps on the fourth floor.
But Walkers and Keepers and cats were not the only parties involved. And far away from the English night, deep under shifting Egyptian sands, the death cult was making strides of its own.
Night or day made no difference in the ancient headquarters of The Order. A large false door stood in the center of one wall, and it was changing. The red-orange paint covering the vertical gash in its center began to shimmer. A man emerged from the once-solid stone, stepping into the room in one assured stride.
On his head, a heavy iron mask, looking no less fearsome for the rows of fresh, deep scratches.
Another man, in another mask, turned to look.
They didn’t bother with pleasantries. “The Englishman has been defeated, for now,” said Ta-mesah. “It was the boy again, and there’s another. No matter: The portals work.”
The gash in the false door turned back to dull stone. The leader nodded, the brutal beak of his Egyptian vulture mask dipping up and down. “The Amulet Keepers can’t stop what is coming,” he said. “I will tell him that it is all going according to plan.”
Michael Northrop has written short fiction for Weird Tales, the Notre Dame Review, and McSweeney’s. His first young adult novel, Gentlemen, earned him a Publishers Weekly Flying Start citation for a notable debut, and his second, Trapped, was an Indie Next List selection. NPR picked Michael’s middle-grade novel Plunked for their Backseat Book Club. He has also written about a rescued Rottweiler in Rotten and, most recently, some treacherous seas in Surrounded By Sharks. An editor at Sports Illustrated Kids for many years, Michael now writes full-time from his home in New York City. Visit him online at www.michaelnorthrop.net.
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Book 3
Valley of Kings
By Michael Northrop
His name was Abdel. Once, he had been Mr. Shahin, the boss of ten men. But like so many in Cairo, he had fallen on hard times. Now, he was a proud man in a cheap suit — a good man in bad company. Desperation had brought him here, but he was worried.
“What’s this job you have for me?” he said, trying hard to hold his voice steady.
The towering man next to him answered with the same three words as last time: “You will see.”
Abdel glanced over at him. Was this man truly the leader of The Order, the criminal cult that had haunted Egypt for thousands of years? He certainly looked the part, tall and strong and wearing a suit more expensive than Abdel’s car. Under his arm was a large, elegant leather bag.
“Nothing illegal,” Abdel added. “You promised me …”
“Of course not,” said the man, a hint of amusement slipping into his flat, cold voice. “As I said, you are here to help.”
Abdel nodded, forcing himself to think of the food he would buy his family, maybe even long-overdue birthday gifts for his children. Still, he wondered what sort of help he could offer in a drafty warehouse on the edge of the city. Their footsteps echoed in the massive space as they approached a heavy steel door. “Here we are,” said the cult leader.
Abdel eyed the thick bar holding the door closed as the man slipped the heavy bag from under his arm and began unzipping it. “You will excuse my new appearance,” he said, removing a heavy golden mask and letting the bag fall to the floor
. “But as you know, we are a very old organization, and we have certain … traditions.”
Abdel had hoped those “traditions” were rumors or exaggerations, but now he knew better. He gaped at the Egyptian vulture mask. It was made of finely wrought gold, showing every fold and pockmark of the vulture’s skin. The beak was forged of sharp iron. The leader slipped it on carefully, and his words echoed out from underneath: “Open the door!”
Abdel suddenly understood that he had made a deal with the devil. He knew that he should refuse, that he should run. And yet the powerful voice thundered in his head, robbed him of his will. With fear-widened eyes, he watched his own hand pull the handle of the bar up and back. The door began to rattle against its hinges, and fresh voices reached his ears. A chorus of sinister whispers buzzed around him, and his warm skin went cold.
The bar slid aside with a loud thunk.
Suddenly, the door opened inward, releasing a rush of stinking air and a swarm of dark whispers so strong that Abdel could feel them, like snake tongues on his skin. And for a moment — one brief, horrible moment — he saw it.
An abomination.
“That … should not … be,” he managed.
Two powerful hands pushed him, strong palms slapping his back. “Ooof!” he gasped as he stumbled forward into the room. The door slammed shut behind him, and in the sudden darkness, he heard the bar slide shut.
Ten thousand whispers combined into one word — “Welcome” — before shattering back into pieces. Unleashed, the heavy whispers cut into him, no longer tongues but teeth! Each one grabbed a piece, tore it off, gobbled it down. It wasn’t his body they were devouring; it was his soul. The effect was the same. His pulse revved for a moment from fear and pain.
And then it thickened.
Amulet Keepers Page 13
