Cows in Action 2

by Steve Cole

  “I’ll bet Tooting Car Horn is in there!” Bo said, trotting towards it.

  “Be careful, Bo,” McMoo warned her.

  “Oh, come on, what’s it going to do to me?” she protested.

  “He’s more worried about what you are going to do to it!” said Pat.

  But suddenly, as Bo approached, the front of the case wobbled. Then it started to topple forward …

  “Hey!” Bo backed away. “Professor, we’re under attack!”

  “Get behind me,” said McMoo bravely as the front of the case hit the ground with a deafening crash. To reveal …

  … There was nothing inside at all!

  The professor stepped forward to investigate. “The vibrations of our hoofsteps on the floor must have made the lid of the mummy case tip over.”

  “But where’s the mummy?” asked Bo.

  “I want my mummy!” joked Pat shakily. “This place is scary!”

  “It’s certainly very strange,” said McMoo, holding up the lamp and looking about. “The mummy was here in 1922 when the tomb was rediscovered. So where’s it gone?”

  “Ugh,” Little Bo groaned. “Look what I just stepped in.”

  Professor McMoo held up the lamp, and he and Pat peered to see.

  A fresh cowpat lay on the floor, gently steaming.

  “Was that you, Pat?” said Bo sternly. “I know you were scared, but—”

  “I went in the field before we left!” Pat protested.

  “Then perhaps the ter-moo-nator made this,” said McMoo. He produced some tweezers and started to poke about in the muck. Then he jumped up in triumph. “Yes, just as I thought – iron filings!” He thrust the tweezers in Pat’s face. “Look!”

  Pat turned up his nose. “I’ll take your word for it, Professor.”

  “So the ter-moo-nator has been here recently,” Bo realized.

  “And he might not be alone,” said Professor McMoo. “Yak said there were other F.B.I. agents about, remember?”

  Suddenly a muffled, terrifying groan rang out around the tomb.

  “What was that?” whispered Pat fearfully.

  Bo gulped. “I don’t know. Didn’t sound like a ter-moo-nator.”

  Then they heard the CLOMP … CLOMP … of heavy footsteps on the stone floor. Getting louder. Closer. Thumping towards them in the thick darkness.

  “Whatever it is,” said Professor McMoo gravely, “it looks like we’re going to find out!”

  Chapter Three

  THE MUMMY, THE MOON AND THE MEDJAY

  Suddenly, a large, lumbering shape came stamping out of the shadows. It was wrapped in dirty bandages, the loose ends trailing behind it like streamers. The glint of gold showed on its face. Dark eyes burned into the cows’ own as the bandaged monster lifted a huge urn above its head and got ready to throw it.

  “Aha!” cried Professor McMoo. “There’s the mummy!”

  “Duck!” Pat shouted.

  “No, it’s definitely a mummy,” said McMoo.

  “Mooo-ve!” Little Bo shoved them both out of the way as the mummy threw the urn. It smashed into pieces right where they had been standing.

  “That thing’s alive!” Bo said as the mummy started to stalk towards them. “Thought you said Tooting-thingummy was dead?”

  “Dead scary,” said Pat. “RUN!”

  “This way,” McMoo exclaimed, bundling them ahead of him. The mummy bellowed and snorted with rage, and started to run after them.

  They charged out through a large door and into the next pitch-black chamber. Pat felt his heart racing. The light of the lamp was flickering and it was hard to see which way to go.

  “Why are we running?” asked Bo. “I’ll soon sort that mummy-dummy out. He’ll need bandages by the time I’m through with him.”

  McMoo skidded to a stop at a shadowy crossroads. “We’re running, Bo,” he panted, “because whatever is going on here, Tutankhamen’s mummy is a priceless piece of history. You can’t just beat it up!”

  Another bellowing roar echoed eerily from behind them, and Pat quivered. “Sounds like he agrees!”

  “Quick, down here,” said McMoo, charging off along the passage to their left. Pat and Bo ran after him. The clatter of their hooves on the stone sounded like machine-gun fire. Sinister shadows shook and danced along the stone walls and ceiling in the flickering light of the lamp. And still the monstrous, heavy footsteps pounded after them.

  “But if we can’t fight that thing, what are we going to do?” Bo demanded.

  “Use our eyes instead of our fists,” said McMoo. “And watch what it does.”

  “It chases us!” Pat gasped. “What more do we need to know?”

  The stone tunnel wound round to the right. McMoo ducked inside a dark doorway on the left. “I wonder where this leads,” he said.

  WHAMMMM!

  The professor crashed into something so hard it nearly knocked his nose inside out! Bo bashed into the back of him, and Pat bundled into the back of her. All three of them ended up in a squashed heap.

  Pat struggled up, panting for breath. “What happened?”

  “I think we ran into a wall,” Bo told him. “The passage is a dead end!”

  “Oh, my head,” groaned McMoo. “I’m seeing stars!”

  “Are you badly hurt, Professor?” Pat asked anxiously.

  “No, I mean I’m really seeing stars. Look.” McMoo pointed up to a large square gap in the wall above them. “I must have whacked into the wall so hard it knocked out a loose brick.”

  Bo jumped up. “Where’s that mummy? Is it coming after us?”

  They listened. But the tomb was as quiet as … a tomb.

  A wave of relief washed over Pat. “We must have given the mummy the slip!”

  “But how come it’s running about in the first place?” asked Bo. “And what happened to the ter-moo-nator who left that smelly present behind on the floor?”

  “Perhaps the mummy scared him too,” McMoo suggested, rubbing his sore nose. “A ter-moo-nator would certainly have the strength to charge his way out and block the hole behind him.” He scrambled up to the hole in the wall. “Shall we see what’s on the other side?”

  “Go for it, Prof!” said Bo eagerly. McMoo poked his head out through the gap. It was night-time in the Valley of the Kings. The big, full moon and twinkling stars shone down on an eerie stretch of cliffs and sand dunes and enormous statues. Impressive entrances had been carved into sides of the sandy mountains, to mark the tombs of other great pharaohs.

  “Coast is clear,” McMoo hissed back, and jumped down for a soft, sandy landing. Pat and Bo plopped down beside him.

  But then suddenly ten big, burly men in skimpy red uniforms came into sight from behind a sand dune!

  Bo glared at the professor. “Doesn’t look a very clear coast to me!”

  “Oh dear,” said McMoo. “I recognize those uniforms. Bo, Pat, meet the Medjay – the Egyptian police. They keep law and order.”

  “And very big swords by their sides!” Pat noted nervously.

  “Well, well,” said the Medjay chief. “Looks like we’ve found some tomb robbers, trying to sneak out the back of Tutankhamen’s place!”

  “That’s not true,” said Bo fiercely.

  But the chief ignored her. “The penalty is death!”

  The Medjay drew their scary swords and closed in on the cows …

  Bo put up her hooves in a kung-moo pose, and Pat lowered his head, ready to charge. But Professor McMoo just stood there, looking at his wristwatch.

  “Don’t mind me,” he said. “Just checking the time.”

  “It’s time for a quick getaway, Professor,” Pat hissed. “What are you up to?”

  McMoo just smiled. “Drop those swords,” he told the Medjay chief firmly. “We are not robbers. We are cows— er, people – from a far-off land, and we have great powers.”

  The chief sneered. “Prove it!”

  Pat held his breath. What was Professor McMoo going to do?

  “Very
well,” said McMoo calmly. “I shall make the moon vanish from the sky.”

  “As if!” scoffed the chief.

  But McMoo just smiled and pointed to the sky – and a gasp went up from the Medjay. The chief’s jaw dropped so far he almost got a mouthful of sand.

  Because the moon was disappearing! It was as if a great dark red shadow was sweeping over it.

  Bo gulped. “How are you doing that, Professor?”

  “I’m not,” he murmured. “I simply remembered the date – about three o’clock in the morning on September 3rd, 1250 BC. I told you in the Time Shed we would find quite a sight outside, and this is what I meant – an eclipse of the moon!”

  Pat gazed awestruck at the professor. “But how did you know there would be one now?”

  McMoo grinned. “I enjoy reading old astronomical charts when I’m having my breakfast.”

  “If this magician can make the moon disappear, what will he do to us?” wailed a frantic Medjay.

  “Don’t make us disappear,” the chief pleaded. He and his men threw down their swords. “Please!”

  “Oh, all right then,” said Professor McMoo – just as the eclipse began to end. “Tell you what, I’ll even bring the moon back.”

  The Medjay chief fell to his knees. “Such powers can only be granted by the gods. Which of them sent you, strangers?”

  “Er … Ra, the sun god,” McMoo pretended. “You can tell by our sunny natures.”

  “And if you don’t believe us, we’ll knock your heads together!” Bo added.

  Pat sighed. “Ask the Medjay if they have seen the ter-moo-nator, Professor,” he hissed. “Or a mad mummy on the loose!”

  McMoo nodded. “Tell me, Chief – have you seen any big grey bulls coming out of this tomb recently?”

  “We have seen no bulls anywhere, Great Professor,” said the chief. “Nor are we likely to.”

  “What are you on about?” said Bo.

  “It is very mysterious,” said the chief. “Every last cow, bull and calf has disappeared from this land. Not a single one remains!”

  Chapter Four

  ENTER … THE MOO-MY!

  “No cattle in the whole country?” Pat frowned. “What’s happened to them all?”

  “It began two months ago,” the chief explained. “Cows went missing in the night. Calves cleared off. Bulls disappeared.”

  “Freaky,” said Bo.

  “I bet it’s got something to do with the F.B.I.,” said Pat in a low voice. “But what? Why?”

  McMoo nodded. “Not forgetting How, When and Where?”

  Bo couldn’t hear them. “What?”

  “We’ve already had that one,” said Pat.

  “What?” Bo frowned. “When?”

  Pat groaned. “Shut up!”

  “Why?” Bo demanded.

  “OK, that’s enough of that,” said McMoo firmly.

  “Enough of what, Great Professor?” asked the chief.

  “Yes, more than enough!” he agreed. “Don’t you start. Instead, please tell me – have you heard any strange noises coming from the tomb of Tutankhamen? Any groaning mummies running about?”

  “Of course not, Great Professor,” said the chief, bowing down so low his hair tickled McMoo’s hooves. “Now, please, Great Professor and those who serve you. We must take you to the palace. Pharaoh Ramses will want to meet you.”

  “Goodness moo – Ramses the Great!” said McMoo excitedly. He turned to Pat and Bo. “He ruled Egypt for sixty-six years, you know.”

  Bo yawned. “Shouldn’t we be doing more to stop the F.B.I. than meeting some old king?”

  “ ‘Some old king’?!” echoed the professor, with a face like he’d sat on a nettle. But before he could give her a lecture on Ramses’ importance, there was a loud shout from somewhere far away.

  “OI! GET TO THE ENTRANCE OF TUTANKHAMEN’S TOMB, EVERYONE! NOOOOOOOW!”

  Pat froze. “Uh-oh,” he said. “I recognize that voice.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Little Bo cried. “It sounds like … Bessie Barmer!”

  Professor McMoo groaned. “It must be that ancestor she talked about!”

  “COME ON, THEN!” the wailing went on. “THE GODS HAVE TOLD ME – SHEBA UM-BARMER – TO GET EVERYONE DOWN HERE AT DAWN. SO DO AS I SAY OR YOU’RE FOR IT!”

  “What is she on about?” Bo frowned.

  “We’ll soon find out,” said McMoo, checking his watch again. “Dawn isn’t far away.”

  “She’s making enough noise to wake the pharaoh himself,” said the chief. “Come, Great Professor. We shall shut this loopy woman up.”

  “Sounds good to me!” McMoo smiled at Pat and Bo. “And then we’ll meet and greet the pharaoh. If we can get him on our side it will make our mission much easier.”

  It was a long trudge round to the other side of the cliffs to where the entrance to the tomb stood – and it took even longer because the Medjay kept insisting on smoothing out the sand in front of McMoo so his holy hooves didn’t sink into it.

  By the time they got near, the sun was starting to rise over the valley. In the thin dawn light, Pat saw that hundreds of people had gathered round – all on the say-so of the very large, very ugly woman who was standing on a huge block of sandstone in front of the tomb. Her hair was black and she was wearing a big white tent instead of mucky dungarees – but otherwise, Sheba Um-Barmer and Bessie Barmer looked exactly the same: totally disgusting!

  “ROLL UP, ROLL UP,” Sheba bawled like a circus ringmaster. “IT’S A TOMB WITH A VIEW! YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE YOUR EYES …”

  And then, McMoo couldn’t believe his eyes as the crowds parted for an impressive figure in a big white hat, carried in a portable throne by four sweaty men.

  “Who’s that bloke in the silly headgear, Professor?” asked Bo.

  “That’s Pharaoh Ramses,” said Professor McMoo, looking as happy as a calf with a cart full of clover. “To think I’m actually seeing him with my own eyes!”

  Ramses stood up in his chair. “Who dares disturb the pharaoh?” he yelled.

  Sheba Um-Barmer looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, Great King,” she said, more quietly. “But the gods came to me last night! They appeared in a cloud of black smoke, and told me to bring as many people here as I could. How could I refuse? I am only a poor embalmer – I just stuff dead things for a living.” She gave the pharaoh a wonky curtsey. “Is there anything you would like stuffed, Your Worship?” “There is indeed, madam – you!” cried the pharaoh. He turned to the Medjay chief. “Deal with this disturbance, please.”

  “At once, Your Majesty,” said the chief. He clapped his hands. “Everyone go home! Move along, there is nothing to see here—”

  “OH, YES THERE IS!” came a commanding voice from the tomb of Tutankhamen.

  The crowd gasped. Sheba smiled. The sweating men dropped the pharaoh’s chair and he landed with a shout on his royal bum.

  Pat stared in amazement as a huge stone block tumbled out from the front of the tomb to reveal a familiar figure just behind. Jewels were pressed into its dirty bandages, its face was painted gold, and its eyes seemed to glow with a dull light.

  It was the mummy!

  “Great gods!” gasped the chief. “Tutankhamen lives again! He has risen from his tomb!”

  “He looks a bit of a funny shape,” Bo observed. “I didn’t notice in the dark.”

  “Nor did I,” the professor admitted. “But it’s a very familiar shape …”

  Suddenly, the burly figure started pulling off its bandages in front of the incredulous crowd. The wrappings fell away to reveal …

  … A bullock standing on his hind legs, hardly any older than Pat!

  “I don’t believe it,” Pat gasped as the people cried out in awe, or fainted, or fell to their knees.

  “So it wasn’t a mummy that chased us around – it was a moo-my!” said Professor McMoo. “And I’ll bet you a trough full of tea he’s working for the F.B.I.!”

  Chapter Five

  A SHOP FULL O
F SECRETS

  Pat looked between his sister and Professor McMoo in dismay as the crowd roared their approval of the mysterious moo-my.

  “The boy king has returned in the shape of a cow!” a man shouted.

  “This must be why all our cattle disappeared,” cried another. “No earthly cow can compare with his splendour.”

  “He’s not all that great,” said Bo, bristling. “In fact, I think he looked better with the bandages on!”

  But Ramses’ voice rose above them all. “Who are you, strange creature?”

  The bullock mooed loudly. “Hear me, my people!” he cried, ignoring poor Ramses. “Seventy years ago, I was your pharaoh. Now the gods have sent me back from the afterlife in the form of a cow, to rule over you again.” He cast off the last of the bandages. “Once, you knew me as Tutankhamen. Now you shall know me as Tutankha-moo-oooooo – and follow me again!”

  “Yayyyyy!” cried the crowd.

  “The people understand what that bullock’s saying, Professor,” said Pat anxiously. “How come?”

  “He must be using a special translator,” said Professor McMoo.

  “That explains how they can hear him,” Bo agreed. “But why do they believe him? They must be bonkers!”

  McMoo shook his head. “The Ancient Egyptians believed their gods could visit the Earth in the form of a bull,” he explained. “So a king coming back as a bullock would actually make sense.”

  “No wonder the F.B.I. chose this time to break through,” said Bo.

  But Pat could see that one Egyptian was not convinced – the real pharaoh, Ramses. “Wait, my people,” Ramses shouted, struggling to be heard over the noise of the cheering crowd. “I am your king – not some bullock in bandages!”

  But the people ignored him, bowing down to the young bull. “Hail our new pharaoh!” a man cried.

  “He’s an old pharaoh,” someone else pointed out.

  “Hail our new old pharaoh!” came the cry. “Tutankha-mooooooooo!”

  Pat felt sorry for Ramses, who looked like he was going to start crying. But then sour old Sheba burst out of the crowd and barged right past them, with a face like she’d just swallowed a cowpat.