Storms and Scarabs

by H. R. Hobbs

  His breath caught when he saw what was inside. Jewels of every size and shape lay nestled together in the box. The jewels ranged in colour, from red to green—but unfortunately no lapis-lazuli blue. Mitch carefully moved the ones on top to the side to look at what lay beneath them. The bottom was lined with black scarabs carved out of obsidian—but again, nothing was the dark blue they were looking for.

  His shoulders slumped in defeat. The box contained none of the blue stones they were looking for. But, just in case, he pulled the spyglass out of his pocket. Maybe any jewel would make it work. Laying the spyglass on top of the jewels, he waited for something to happen. But the spyglass didn’t change. With a sigh of frustration, he put the spyglass back in his pocket.

  Mitch closed the box and made sure that it looked just as it had when Jabari first brought it in. Back outside, Brock continued his sick performance and Jabari continued to exclaim its severity to his men. When he peered up and saw that Mitch had returned, he lifted his eyebrows in question.

  Mitch shook his head and Brock’s face screwed up—not in pain from his stomach, but from the knowledge that they were still stuck here.

  “I’ll sit with him,” Mitch offered.

  Metjen spoke rapidly, gesticulating wildly.

  Jabari translated, reluctantly: “He thinks we should take Brock to the healer.”

  At the mention of the healer, Brock sat up straighter and gave Metjen a placating smile. “I think I’m feeling better. The water helped a lot.”

  Good thinking! Mitch thought. There were already too many people who were aware of their existence. They didn’t want to draw any more attention to themselves.

  Metjen looked at Brock in confusion. Jabari said, “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll be fine. Really. Thanks for the water, Metjen.”

  Jabari translated. Metjen reluctantly got up and followed the other men into the shop. When he was sure they were out of hearing range, Jabari frowned at the boys and said, “Next time, please let me know what you have planned before it is happening. If one of the men had caught you, it would put me in a horrible situation. Next time we might not be so lucky.”

  “Sorry, Jabari. We didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. It’s just that we really need to find an amulet.”

  Jabari sighed and nodded.

  Brock turned to Mitch. “No luck?”

  Mitch sat down beside Brock. “Nope. There were lots of jewels, but no lapis lazuli.”

  Brock banged the back of his head against the wall of the shop. “We’re never going to get home!” he cried.

  Mitch was as frustrated as Brock, but he was also determined not to give up. “It’s a setback. But we’re going to find what we need. We’re going to get back home, Brock.”

  He held up his fist. Brock bumped it unenthusiastically.

  That night Mitch lay on his mat, wide awake. He envied Brock’s soft snores.

  He had been so hopeful that the chest would have the stone they needed to get home. Now what? It wasn’t like they could go looking through the city to find another one. If what Jabari said was true, only wealthy people would have the stone. It wasn’t like they could knock on a door and ask for one. Even with Jabari as their translator. No way.

  What were they going to do now?

  Chapter 14

  Weeks went by and Mitch and Brock settled into a routine.

  Every day they were up early, while it was cool, ready to accompany Jabari to work. They no longer got strange stares as they walked through the streets. The robes Rehema had given them let them blend into the crowds of people making their way to work each day. Mitch still wore his clothes underneath. For some reason, it gave him the feeling they were only here temporarily. Brock couldn’t stand the heat, so he wore as little as he could under his robes. They’d had to ditch their shoes for sandals made out of reeds. Nikes were just too strange, and they couldn’t chance drawing attention to themselves. The sandals were made like flip-flops and gave the boys blisters between their toes. Mitch hated them. The first thing he did every night when they got home was to put on his sneakers.

  At the embalming shop they learned more about the ritual of mummification. They’d watched how bodies were washed with wine and spices. Mitch now associated the smell of spices with the removal of the organs, which usually resulted in him running out of the shop to get some fresh air.

  After washing, the body was dried. This involved stuffing the body in salt, along with the internal organs. This step lasted forty days. They then packed the head and body with linen soaked in scented oils—another smell that made Mitch want to lose his lunch.

  Finally, the body was covered in necklaces and rings made of gold and gems. Twenty layers of linen covered the body and then was coated with a tar-like substance. Mitch now understood why they needed so many strips of linen.

  Mitch and Brock worked side by side most days. It gave them a chance to talk about home and how they were going to get back there. It also gave the boys a chance to get to know each other better. Brock explained the various rodeo events he liked attending. Mitch learned about mutton busting (riding sheep) and the difference between a steer and a heifer (steers used to be boys—Mitch still cringed every time he thought about how that happened—and heifers were girls). Mitch told Brock about his friend Matt and their early-morning games of basketball, and how much he missed them.

  It felt good to talk about home. But some days he was so homesick, he could’ve cried.

  The men in the shop ignored them for the most part. Metjen was the only one who seemed to be interested in them at all. Mitch had to admit, he’d never seen anyone handle a hammer and chisel like Metjen could. The detail he put into carving a sarcophagus was amazing. Metjen had told Jabari that he would teach them carving once they’d mastered tearing linen. As the days and the piles of linen grew, Mitch looked forward to it more and more. One of their favourite pastimes was to teach Metjen some words in English. He could never manage any of the words. His attempts usually left them in stitches. When they told him they had peanut butter sandwiches for lunch at home, he called it beanut putter. He couldn’t understand why the boys thought it was so funny.

  After lunch each day, everyone in the shop would rest to avoid the heat. The courtyard was shaded and cool, so the men would find a spot in the shade and rest for an hour. Mitch and Brock both had trouble with this tradition. It felt as if they were back in kindergarten. So at first, to pass the time, they would talk to each other—until one of the men told them to be quiet.

  After a day in the shop, they would meet Rehema and Sara back at the house. They enjoyed supper. Or at least Mitch did. Brock was having a hard time adjusting to the food. He mentioned cheeseburgers at least once a day.

  When they’d finished their meal, Rehema would teach them as much about her language as she could in the short time they had. These sessions were often filled with Rehema’s laughter at their attempts to master a few words of her language.

  Jabari was curious about their lives. They tried their best to teach him about cell phones, rodeos, and life on the farm. He often just shook his head, unable to believe the things they were telling him.

  They’d managed to blend into their new surroundings, but getting home was always on Mitch’s mind. Every night they’d come up with a list of things they’d missed, scratching them on a piece of papyrus. So far, they’d come up with:

  parents

  siblings

  being called “pipsqueak”

  ice-cold sodas

  basketball

  books

  candy

  toilet paper

  They also talked about ways to get home. It still amazed Mitch that his great-grandpa had been here all alone. Mitch was thankful to have Brock with him, but he was also determined to make it home like George did.

  They hadn’t come up with any new ways to find a scarab. The spyglass was no help either. They spent time twisting it this wa
y and that, hoping it would come back to life, but nothing ever happened.

  As the days passed, Mitch worried that they’d be stuck here forever. They didn’t talk about it, but he was pretty sure Brock felt the same way. There would be times that Brock would get quiet—not many, but it happened—and Mitch knew he was thinking about home by the sad expression on his face. It was probably for the best that they didn’t talk about it, because Mitch was certain he’d break down in tears if they did.

  If this adventure had taught him anything, it was how important his family was to him. Family was everything.

  Each night, he would silently say “Good night” to his mom and dad—and, sometimes, Alyssa—with the hope that he would see them again, before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

  Chapter 15

  Once the merchant had been buried—a process that took over two months—things at the shop were quiet. So quiet, in fact, that Jabari decided it was time for the boys to learn a little about the city. They knew their way around the market and Jabari’s neighbourhood, but today he was taking them to see the temples and palaces of the pharaoh. The palace of Khufu was over three kilometres from Jabari’s home, so they struck out early in the morning, before the heat of the day.

  The boys hadn’t realized how large the city was. The boys repeated “Wow!” so many times that Jabari started to laugh, which led to them teaching him “cool” and “awesome.” Mitch and Brock would collapse with laughter any time he used them. They especially enjoyed when he’d use them while talking to Sara and Rehema. The strange looks his wife and daughter gave him were priceless.

  After walking through the heart of the city, the palace finally came into view. They’d never seen anything like it. The palace was on the edge of the city and stretched as far as the eye could see. The entrance stretched more than fifty steps, along which ten pillars held up the roof of the majestic building. Two stone sphinxes lay on each side of the entrance. Guards with shields and spears stood in groups of five, barring the entrance.

  Jabari stopped and considered the palace. “The palace was built by Khufu’s father more than a hundred years ago, when the capital moved to Men-nefer. Khufu has since added on to it, making it the grandest palace of all time.”

  “Oh!” Brock said as he stared at the palace in awe. “I remember something about this from the museum exhibit. Its original name was Men-nefer, but later it was referred to as Memphis.”

  “Memphis?” Mitch said, shocked.

  “Ah, so you know it?” Jabari asked.

  “It’s just that we have a city named Memphis back home.”

  “You do?”

  They both nodded.

  “That is very strange.”

  “You got that right,” Mitch heard Brock mumble.

  “It is wonderful that my city lives on to this day. Come! Let me show you more.”

  They heard the pride in his voice. As he pointed to the statues carved into the walls, shouting voices came from behind them. Eight men carried what looked like a box on their shoulders. But it wasn’t any box. This one was made of wood, with ornate designs carved into the frame. Each side was like an open window, but a red curtain prevented anyone from the outside to see in. They quickly moved out of the way.

  “What’s that?” Brock asked as the group went by.

  “It is called a litter,” Jabari said. “That is how important people are transported through the city.”

  Mitch looked at the group as they went by.

  “So, who do you think is inside there?”

  “It could be a governor or merchant. It could be a priest. Let us stand here. We should be able to see who gets out.”

  The men carrying the litter came to a halt at the bottom of the staircase. A moment later a bald man wearing white robes and a gold neckpiece descended from the litter and started up the stairs. He towered over the men accompanying him.

  “It is Ammon,” Jabari told them.

  As if hearing his voice, the man stopped on the stairs, turned slowly, and scanned the courtyard before his gaze landed on them. His piercing eyes paused on Mitch. The distance between them melted away. Suddenly, Mitch was able to see up close the darkness of the man’s eyes. Ammon’s eyes flared as if in recognition. Mitch felt invisible restraints bind him where he stood. He tried to lift his arm, but nothing happened. It was as if he were hypnotised and the priest was in control of his body.

  Unaware, Jabari continued. “He is the high priest of all of Egypt.”

  Mitch felt the bands tighten.

  “He is Pharaoh’s confidante and counsel. He is most revered by the people.”

  A man appeared at the top of the stairs, waiting for Ammon, who turned and continued up. Mitch gulped in a huge breath as the bands that had been holding him released. What had happened? It was as if the priest were able to control him with his mind. Was that even possible? Afraid of what Jabari and Brock would think, he kept the feelings to himself. Besides, it was probably his imagination or the stress of trying to find a way to get home.

  Once he was out of view, Brock said, “So, this Ammon guy. He has a lot of power?”

  You can say that again, Mitch thought. If what just happened was real and not my imagination, we could be in trouble.

  Jabari gestured for them to walk back along the path they had come.

  “Yes. He is most trusted advisor to the Pharaoh.”

  Still trying to figure out what had happened in front of the palace, Mitch asked, “And he’s been the high priest for how long?”

  “Let me see . . .” Jabari paused in thought. “He has been the high priest for as long as I can remember.”

  Mitch figured Jabari to be about the same age as his parents, so that was close to forty years. Add another twenty years for childhood and training . . . Ammon had to be at least sixty. He sure didn’t look that old. In fact, he looked younger than Jabari.

  “How do you become a high priest?”

  “It is usually passed down from father to son.”

  As they walked through a marketplace, Mitch wondered if Ammon’s father had been the high priest when Great-Grandpa George had been here.

  Jabari stopped at one of the vendors selling kebabs. The skewered meat was the only thing Brock would eat. He gave the man a couple coins and handed one kebab to each boy. Jabari led them back through the city as they ate.

  “Besides being an advisor to the pharaoh, what else does he do?” Brock bit into his kebab.

  “High Priest Ammon presides over the funereal celebrations for anyone in Pharaoh’s family.”

  “He’s like a minister, then?” Mitch asked.

  “I am not sure. What does a minister do?”

  “He marries people, holds funerals, gives sermons on Sunday, that kind of stuff.”

  Mitch knew there was more to it than that, but he tried to keep it simple. He wanted to know more about the guy with the scary eyes. He didn’t want to spend time explaining how religion worked thousands of years from now and thousands of miles from here.

  “But only for your rulers, yes?” Jabari clarified.

  “No, just everyone who belongs to their church, I think.”

  Jabari nodded. “Other than two celebrations a year, Ammon presides over the royal family only.” He stopped where the street intersected another. “Enough talk about the high priest. You will probably never see him again while you are here. Come, let me show you one of the temples. This is where we celebrate and pay tribute to Ra.”

  “Rah, rah, rah,” Brock repeated, pumping his half-eaten kabab in the air. At Jabari’s confused look, he explained, “It’s how we cheer people on back at home.”

  Jabari said nothing, frowning in confusion.

  Rather than go into it any more, Mitch asked, “How do you celebrate Ra?”

  “We bring offerings of food to the temple.”

  “This sounds great,” Brock said excitedly, apparently already having forgotten his distas
te of most of the food here. He took another bite of his kebab and asked through a mouthful of food, “Then you get to eat?”

  “No,” Jabari answered, horrified. “We leave it there and ask for Ra’s blessing.”

  “Oh. So who eats the food?”

  By the time Jabari had finished explaining the celebration, they stood at the steps to the temple. Mitch and Brock were speechless. Smaller than the pharaoh’s palace, the temple was still a large building. Jabari led them up the stone steps and inside. Murals covered the walls and statues stood majestically around the edge of the room. A large stone altar sat at the front. Fires burned in braziers along the aisle leading to the altar.

  Jabari showed the boys a statue of Tefnut, the goddess of moisture and rain. Offerings surrounded the base of the statue.

  “How come she has so many offerings when the other statues have hardly any?” Mitch asked.

  “As I mentioned, we have been experiencing a drought. They hope the offerings will bring rain.”

  They moved farther inside. The cool air of the temple was a welcome relief. Mitch walked over to one of the murals. He recognized the falcon and dog heads from the jars at the shop. But they weren’t on top of jars. They were on top of people.

  “Anubis and Ra.” Jabari pointed to the figures. “This mural depicts Pharaoh Djoser as he is about to pass through judgement.”

  “Look!” Brock was pointing to the pharaoh in the mural. “Is this lapis lazuli?”

  Jabari and Mitch looked at the necklace the pharaoh wore. Brock was right. Mitch thought it was painted on, but the stone was actually set into the mural.

  “It is the eye of Ra,” Jabari said, peering at the mural. “A symbol all pharaohs wear.”

  Mitch reached into his robes to see if the stone had any effect on the spyglass he had hidden there. There was no movement. It was cold to the touch, useless, just like always. Brock raised his eyebrows in question as he saw what Mitch was doing. Mitch shook his head.