“Aw, look,” Cheryl said, stepping forward. “Del, buddy, we’re on a clock here. Can you help us out? Or, at least, if you can’t do that … can you at least just stay out of our way?”
Delmer frowned and looked over his shoulder at the tent door. But when he turned back, there was a glint of determination in his eyes. “He’s gonna kill me dead when he finds out I helped you, and then he’ll have no one to kick around any more and that’ll serve him right. Not you, Princess. And not me!” Delmer clapped his hands together and rolled up his sleeves as though he was getting ready for a fight. “I’ll help you however I can. What’s your plan?”
They told him the plan and he got a little less feisty.
“Dang,” he said. “That’s a crazy plan.”
Cheryl and Tweed nodded in agreement, as Zahara and Artie went back to loading up the Moviemobile’s trunk. It was a crazy plan. The craziest part of it was that the one thing they needed most to make it work was hanging from a chain around the neck of the one person who would do anything possible to stop them. But, with Delmer’s help, they might just be able to do it. With his new powers—mostly scales and teeth, but he could also move pretty darn fast—Artie could get close enough to snatch the amulet if Delmer were to, say, distract the Colonel in some way. No offence to Artie, the girls said, but his current appearance was pretty much enough to shock anyone out of their socks. A crucial moment of surprise seemed to be their best bet, and—
“Surprise!”
The twins nearly jumped out of their skins again as, for the second time in just a few minutes, a flap door flew wide—this time at the front of the tent—and in strode an unwelcome figure.
“Blimey,” Colonel Dudley sneered in his ridiculous, snooty British accent. “What do we have here?”
Delmer spun on his heel. There was an awkward pause. And then, “I caught ‘em!” he crowed. “I caught ‘em red-handed, sir!”
Cheryl and Tweed stood there, left speechless by Delmer’s duplicity. How dare he? They had really thought they’d gotten through to him, but it seemed he was nothing more than Dudley’s henchman.
Delmer glanced at Artie-croc where he was standing, still hidden from the Colonel’s view, and gave him a nudge with his boot that sent him stumbling even farther back into the shadows. Then Delmer stepped in front of the half-open tent flap, past which the Princess was still out loading stuff into the car, and said, “I found these two little girls, Colonel—just these two girls, no one else, no sign of the mummy, and definitely no mutant lizard boys—just these two sneakin around and trying to pocket some of the jewels and stuff on display.” He grabbed them each by a wrist and started shouting strange, random words and phrases. Things like “water jug!” and “baboon!” and “wheat-sheaf dung-beetle!”
Cheryl and Tweed glanced at each other in confusion as Delmer dragged them toward the Colonel, who was staring at his henchman, utterly mystified.
“Sorry, sir,” Delmer said. “These little sneaks just make me so mad I wanna cuss but—young ears!—so I think it best I substitute non-cussin’ words in this situation. Ink pot!”
Dudley’s jaw drifted open and he raised an eyebrow.
“Um …” Delmer’s face screwed up in a look of intense concentration as he continued to advance on his boss, dragging the girls along with him. “River lotus! Scorpion! Breadbasket!”
Suddenly, the twins realized what was happening. Delmer was speakingin hieroglyphics! He really was on their side—and trying to tell Artie what to do! The girls caught on to his strategy just as Delmer let go of their wrists and shouted, “Now, Croc-boy! Now!” The twins gasped in tandem as Artie, who’d clearly been listening to Delmer’s cryptic spoken pictograms—and, more to the point, seemed to have understood them—came scurrying out on all fours to crouch directly behind the Colonel’s legs, right at knee level.
Delmer lunged forward, arms outstretched, and shoved the Colonel right in the lapels of his fancy jacket. Dudley backpedalled as he collided with Artie, and tumbled, heels over head, landing on his back with a wooff! Then Artie pounced, closing his elongated reptilian snout around the amulet. One sharp tug and the chain snapped. The Colonel howled in momentary terror as he realized he was being attacked by a strange swamp creature, but that howl soon turned to a roar of rage as Artie scampered away, out of the tent and into the midway, with the mystical Eye of Horus talisman gripped delicately between his snaggleteeth!
Shrieks of fear, and then gales of amused laughter and chatter billowed back into the tent as the Colonel tore through the flaps, wild-eyed and in hot pursuit, and Cheryl and Tweed figured that the Wiggins folk just assumed it was all still part of the act! The girls stuck their heads out for a quick peek to see if they could determine where Artie and the amulet had gone … and were instantly spotted by Mr. Bottoms.
“Girls!” He waved a corndog at them. “Have you seen—?”
“Sure have, Mr. B!” Cheryl cut him off. The last thing they needed in that moment was a panicked search for missing tots. “Just a few minutes ago. Safe and sound, over by the Tilt-A-Whirl. Having the time of their lives. Happy as clams. Boy, they’ll sleep tonight. Really gotta run!” And she ducked back inside the tent, hauling Tweed with her.
“What are we going to do?” Tweed asked, her grey eyes wide with worry. “No amulet, no portal! And Dudley’s gonna sound the alarm on us for stealing his stuff any minute now, and then what’ll we do? If anyone even knew Zahara existed, they’d probably call the government and have her taken away and locked in some kind of diabolical testing facility forever! That’s what always happens in the movies!”
Cheryl frowned worriedly. Tweed was right. Amulet or no amulet, they had to get the Princess out of there. She’d been a prisoner long enough. She looked back to find that Zahara had come out from hiding and was staring at them all with her solemn, sad eyes.
But then Delmer stepped forward and pointed at the walkie-talkie clipped to Tweed’s utility belt. “Your pilot buddy got the other one of those?” he asked.
The girls nodded.
“Then gimme that one.” He gestured at the Princess. “Get her outta here. I’ll help your little alligator pal.”
“Hey! That’sh little crocodile pal there, buddy,” Artie corrected him.
“All right. Okay. Don’t get your tail in a twist,” Delmer said. “Look, we can stay in touch with these here radios and find a way to meet back up. You’ll get your amulet back, Princess, I promise, but right this second you gotta get outta here.”
He held out his hand for the walkie-talkie.
Tweed hesitated, wondering if they could really trust the carny after all. But he’d gone out on a limb for them already and, when she looked back at Zahara, it was to see her nod decisively. She trusted Delmer. Tweed decided she would too. She passed it over, but not before calling Pilot and giving him a heads-up.
Delmer took off to go find Artie. The girls packed up the last of the stuff in the trunk of the car and piled in. Cheryl threw the Moviemobile into reverse and burned rubber blasting out of the field, Tweed standing on the seat and barking out directions. As they turned onto the dirt track leading to the highway, the sudden, sharp swerve made Tweed’s knee slam up against the “Play” button on the VCR the girls had hooked up to the TV and plugged into the car’s old cigarette-lighter power outlet. As the car surged blindly down the track and hit the ditch at the side of the highway, absurdly coincidental strains of car chase music from the last movie they’d been watching blared out of the speakers.
The Moviemobile surged up the embankment, tires biting the asphalt with a cacophony of squealing and plumes of rubber-scented smoke launching the old bucket of bolts into the night like it was the star of the film. The crazy chase soundtrack of the movie rolled ahead of them like a battle cry! The only problem was that Cheryl was finding it really hard not to steer in the direction of the dirt road scenery that spooled out in front of her on the TV screen.
“Left!” Tweed shouted suddenly when Chery
l started to veer distinctly right. “The other left!”
“I’m trying! This is like playing pinball on a roller coaster! I can’t tell which way’s which! Can’t you turn that thing off?”
“It’s jammed!” Tweed said.
She hazarded a glance over her shoulder to see how the Princess was doing. Zahara-Safiya sat in the middle of the back seat, sandwiched between the Bottoms-filled pet cages, her elbows resting on them like the arms of a throne. It was the first time she’d travelled anywhere in a vehicle when she could actually see the passing sights— not cooped up in an ancient crate in the back of a truck. Her braids whipped madly around her face, which was set in an impassive, regal expression.
But then Zahara’s gaze locked on Tweed for an instant. Her wide, dark eyes glittered with the kind of excitement that told Tweed she thought bombing down a road in the middle of the night in a top-down convertible with music blasting and a trunk full of ancient artifacts on a race against evildoers was, well, pretty cool. Tweed grinned, gave the Princess a quick thumbs-up and turned back to fulfill her navigator duties just in time to shout directions for Cheryl to avoid taking out a row of mailboxes.
Cheryl cranked the wheel and the Moviemobile tilted perilously. And then she cranked it back again as Tweed frantically called out the turnoff to the dirt road that led to the town’s airfield. The Moviemobile careened around the hangar that housed Mrs. Armbruster’s crop-duster and Pilot’s own plane—the old crate his father had loved to tinker with as a hobby project before he disappeared. For a second, as she thought about it, Cheryl knew exactly what Zee had to be feeling. There was a pang in her chest and she blinked her eyes rapidly, suddenly missing the family that existed now only in her hazy memory. She exchanged a glance with Tweed and knew that her cousin was feeling exactly the same way. They both knew that what they were doing for the Princess—regardless of the amount of sheer blazing heck they were all most likely going to be in come the morning—was the right thing.
At least, Cheryl thought, after this experience she could legitimately add “stunt driving” as a skill to her future stunt-double resumé …
Pilot had rolled out the plane and guided it to the edge of the short strip of runway in the middle of the field. It sat there now, engine idling, beside an orange windsock hanging limply on a pole. He jogged toward the car as Cheryl slammed it to a skidding stop, glancing up at the sky as he ran. At least it was a calm, cloudless night. So calm that when the walkie-talkie in Pilot’s hand suddenly crackled to life, it scared the heck out of them.
“This is CrocPot calling FlyBoy and FlickChicks! Come in Flyboy and FlickChicks … this is CrocPot calling.”
Cheryl blinked at Tweed. “Does he mean ‘CrackPot’?” Tweed shrugged.
The walkie-talkie crackled again. “Do you read, over? I said do you—?”
Tweed grabbed the walkie-talkie out of Pilot’s hand. “FlickChick-Tee here, CrocPot,” she said, pressing the “Talk” button and trying to cover for her momentary fluster. “We read you, over.”
“We have a situation, over,” Artie said. He was panting heavily as if he’d been running a race, and his voice, in between wheezy gasps, sounded anxious.
Cheryl grabbed the walkie-talkie from Tweed. “No kidding, ov—uh, not over! We need that amulet, Shrimpcake!” She handed the walkie-talkie back to Pilot. Then she grabbed it back again and pressed the button and said, “Over.” Even in times of peril, one couldn’t neglect standard operating procedure.
“Dang it, FlickChick, it’sh call-sign ‘CrocPot’ or I’m hangin’ up!” Artie protested, his voice crackling with static and anxiety. And huffing with exertion. “Put Zee on the horn,” he said.
Cheryl held the handset up to the Princess’s ear.
“How near do you have to be to the amulet to make the magic work?” Artie asked Zahara.
Zahara responded with a rapid-fire string of words, although Pilot and the girls couldn’t understand a thing she said. When she was finished, Cheryl said “Over” for her, in keeping with communications protocol. Then she let go of the button.
There was no immediate answer, but Artie must have been holding the “Talk” button down because they could hear background sounds—carnival ride music and crowds, the sounds of scuffling and a yelp of pain, a muffled Artie exclaiming “Glaack!”—and then the noise cut out. Pilot and the girls frowned down at the handset. They waited, tense, as the silence stretched out. Then a burst of static crackle clawed at the air again and they heard Delmer’s frantic voice.
“Get that plane up in the air!” he said. “Get her up and over carnival airspace ASAP!”
“What?” Pilot blinked, grabbing the walkie-talkie back from Cheryl and fumbling for the “Talk” button.
“Why—?”
“No time! Watch for the signal!”
“Sig—”
“Just do it!”
“Okay! Okay,” Pilot said. Then he tried to give the walkie-talkie back to Tweed, but she just blinked at him. “Oh. Right … sorry.” Pilot rolled his eyes and hit the button one last time. “Over.”
With that word, the girls leaped to work. Together, the three of them formed the same kind of “bucket brigade” they’d used for the kitty crates. Cheryl unloaded stuff from the trunk and handed it to Zahara, who handed it to Tweed, who handed it to Pilot, who loaded it into the plane. Within minutes, the Moviemobile was empty, the plane was full and the twins were ready to boost the Princess up through the cargo hatch door. Cheryl retrieved Isis from the Moviemobile’s back seat and handed the bundle over. Then she held her hands out, fingers laced to make a stirrup, to help Zahara make the jump up into the plane. But in the midst of all that frenzied action, suddenly the Princess became very still. Her eyes were huge and gleaming in the darkness.
She reached out and touched a finger to Cheryl’s chest, just above her heart, and said, “Cee.” Then she did the same with Tweed and said, “Tee.” The twins nodded. Lastly, she pointed to herself and said, very solemnly, “Zee.”
Then she broke into a huge grin and, laughing delightedly, lunged forward to grab both girls in a fierce hug. Cheryl and Tweed stood there, a bit stunned at the sudden display of affection. Zahara spun on the heel of her sandal and leaped nimbly through the plane’s door without the need of a boost, pulling it shut behind.
“I’m gonna miss that little spitfire,” Cheryl said.
“Yup,” said Tweed. “All except for the ‘fire’ bits, of course …”
With that, the girls turned and ran for the car, leaping in, movie-style, without opening the doors. Zahara wasn’t the only one with the cool moves.
“We’ll follow you on the ground!” Tweed yelled as Pilot strapped into the cockpit and revved the engine. The propeller clawed at the air, pulling the plane forward as it began to roll down the runway.
Through the plane’s side window, Cheryl and Tweed saw Pilot twist his hat around backward and thrust out his jaw. His shoulders rolled forward as he worked the throttle, and then the plane began to pick up speed. Tweed glanced at Cheryl, remembering what Pilot had said about the plane having picked up a shimmy. A hiccupy flying machine wasn’t exactly an ideal situation, all things considered. Still, if anyone could get Zahara to the place where she could open her portal and go home, Pilot could. Of that the twins were absolutely certain.
Getting the amulet that would let her do that … less certain.
Clearly, Delmer and Artie were working on a plan. But Cheryl and Tweed were utterly mystified as to what that plan could possibly be. Well, there was only one way to find out. The girls hit the gas and took off, heading back the way they’d come.
Driving parallel to the runway, the Moviemobile seemed almost as if it were racing the plane, roaring neck and neck with it across the field until the wheels of the plane lifted off the ground and it soared into the lead, drifting up into the moon-washed night sky. The old car roared down the road, accompanied by a dual soundtrack of chase music from the front speakers and delighted gig
gling from the bouncing pet carriers in the back seat. At least the Bottoms boys seemed to be enjoying the ride.
With any luck at all, the girls would soon be able to hand them back over to their parents, de-scaled and less toothy, with no one the wiser—even though this was a job that, under normal circumstances, would have demanded triple-time with a double Fudgsicle bonus.
13
LIGHTS … AMULET… ACTION!!
Not that they actually had a plan, Artie had been thinking, scampering for dear life in and out between the legs of carnival-goers, but if they had had a plan, he was fairly certain that present circumstances would have meant that it had gone horribly awry.
The Colonel, fuming and yelling, was hot on his heels, and Artie had an ancient amulet clenched between his jaws. As he ran, the carnival whipped by on either side—a swirly mess of bright colours, flashing lights and laughing faces looming above him. Up ahead, Artie could see the Ferris wheel spinning, and the brightly painted barrel of the Human Cannonball’s cannon, which was resting in a horizontal position since he was between shows. The memory of the man in the flame-bright jumpsuit soaring through the sky tweaked something in Artie’s brain.
Flying …
Like a bird. Or a plane.
Artie risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that Dudley was gaining on him. Fortunately, Delmer was gaining on him. And then Artie saw the walkie-talkie clenched tightly in Delmer’s fist. And, in a flash, the missing plan revealed itself. In all its crazy glory.
Artie zigzagged through the ankles of a pack of teenagers standing next to the Dunk Tank and, digging in with his hind claws and using his tail for leverage, executed a sharp ninety-degree turn. Colonel Dudley overshot him and crashed through the back wall of the Fortune Teller’s tent. The time it took for him to untangle himself from all the hanging strings of beads, twinkle lights and fringed scarves gave Artie enough of a breather to skitter back to Delmer and grab the walkie-talkie. He spat out the Eye of Horus into his other hand and hit the “Talk” button.
How to Curse in Hieroglyphics Page 13
