Jagger Jones and the Mummy's Ankh

by Malayna Evans

  “Wait.” Jagger stepped back when she whirled toward him. “Maybe Babi should go with Mutef and Hemet, and we should stay with you.”

  Mut and Babi exchanged a glance.

  “Good grief, Brainy,” Aria moaned. “We’ve gone over this a hundred times. Smell-kare and the General will assume we’ll stick to Mut like glue. Because she’s the Protector. And the magician. That’s why we’re going with Babi. Do we need to say it slower so your big brain can process it?”

  Jagger shifted his weight back and forth. What if Babi took them straight to the General? Arguments thundered through his head. Too slowly. His sister jumped into a rowboat with Babi and two sailors. With a heavy sigh, Jagger followed her. He pouted as the sailors sped them toward the shore.

  Babi sat across from Jagger on the boat’s small bench, tapping his fingers on his knees. His eyes stuck to Jagger like a magnet to ferromagnetic material. “You’ll see, kid.” He shrugged. “I never abandon my friends.”

  Jagger’s spine stiffened. “We’re not friends.” He rubbed his almost-bald head as a smile spread across the captain’s face. Babi glanced over at an annoyed looking Aria and winked. She rolled her eyes at him conspiratorially then stared down at the river as if she could spear a fish with her gaze.

  A few minutes later, they landed on the outskirts of town. The sailors pulled the rowboat into a nearby field and hid it under stalky, yellow vegetation, then Babi led them through farms toward the city center. They plodded past hovels of mud brick and dirty kids carrying vegetables from a field.

  “So the gods need rides, and the priests are like Chicago cabbies?” Aria quizzed Jagger as they reached the city outskirts and trekked past small homes and vendors and busy people.

  Jagger curled his hands into fists, exhausted by his sister’s cluelessness. “Not sure I’ve ever heard a ride with a Chicago cabbie described as religious experience, but sort of. I guess. Gold statues of the gods are hidden in small huts on top of floats. The priests pull them from temple to temple so the gods can visit each other.” Jagger couldn’t ignore the stirring of intellectual curiosity. He’d read about the festivals. And now he was going to see one!

  “The gods have playdates at each other’s houses,” Aria said as if it were the most logical thing ever. “And they need a ride. That tracks.”

  Jagger scowled, but Babi laughed, deep in his belly.

  Jagger was formulating a riveting history-laden response in his head, when the view transformed. An enormous temple loomed before them, stretching to the sky. Jagger stopped in his tracks, gazing up at the white, sandstone walls that surrounded the temple. The walls were covered in vibrant reliefs. Images of larger-than-life gods were besieged by colorful hieroglyphs. Tall, crimson flags flapped in the wind at the temple’s towering, front entrance.

  “Come on.” Babi ushered them toward the back of the crowd.

  Aria rubbed sweat off her face with a corner of her cloak. She and Babi hid their costumes under linen cloaks. Jagger and the sailors fit right in—they looked like all the other priests roaming around.

  Jagger followed, clutching the amulet. “Mut, Mutef, and Hemet are on the shore.”

  “Good.” The captain nodded. “They’ll be at the dock. Now, we go this way.” Babi led them behind the crowd, walking parallel to the wide boulevard toward the larger temple barely visible at the far end of a long, sphinx-lined avenue. “Most people will stay near the two larger temples to see the god, Amun-Ra, his wife, Mut, and their son, Khonsu. The kid has his own float, and that’s the one we want. The way-stations between the temples will be less crowded. The free bread and beer are at the temples, not to mention the dancers and acrobats.”

  Jagger’s stomach did a somersault at the smell of meat and spices mingling in the air.

  They approached a stone sphinx, larger than the others, surrounded by a scattering of people. An old woman in rags, missing most of her teeth, was selling fertility amulets. The words flying from her mouth made Jagger want to cover Aria’s ears.

  “Khonsu’s float will stop here,” Babi whispered before directing the two soldiers to take up positions in the sparse crowd. “Be ready.”

  One by one, the first two large floats—made of gold, Lebanese cedar, and precious stones—passed by, accompanied by priests and priestesses. A priest wearing a ram’s head led the procession. The huts, hiding the gods inside, jiggled with each step as the priestesses rattled loud instruments. Each float paused briefly as it reached the sphinx, and the priests set their heavy burden down on nearby brackets that held the float about a foot above ground, protecting it from the dirt. As the float rested, the sparse crowd fell to their knees in adoration. The priests performed some kind of ritual that involved a lot of noise and some very smelly incense, but Jagger guessed they really just needed a rest from carrying the heavy floats.

  The two floats, and their entourages, moved on after the ceremonies were done, and another float appeared. Although every bit as flashy as the first two, with a huge, golden crescent moon affixed to the top, Khonsu’s float had fewer priests accompanying it. A mere eight men carried the float, accompanied by a scattering of priestesses.

  As with Amun-Ra and Mut’s floats, the priests set Khonsu’s float down on the nearby brackets, and the crowd fell to its collective knees.

  “It’s time,” Babi whispered to Jagger and Aria.

  Jagger ground his teeth, waiting.

  Pop!

  He blew out a puff of air.

  Pop! Pop!

  The crowd gasped. People turned in circles, searching for the source of the unfamiliar sound.

  Pop. Pop. Pop!

  Babi tossed off his cloak and shouted commands. “Take cover. Get to the temple.”

  People started running, scared. More Chinese poppers, left over from the kids’ last visit to Chicago’s Chinatown and mined from Aria’s purse, burst. Babi’s soldiers were dropping them as they ran along with the crowd, herding people away from the float.

  “You too,” Babi yelled at the priests. “Get to the temple.”

  Most did as bid, but a few brave souls stayed to protect their god, as Babi had predicted.

  “Now,” he whispered to Aria.

  Jagger’s stomach was in knots as she wiggled out of her cloak and walked toward the remaining priests. Her lips were pursed in her I-mean-business look. Jagger rushed to keep up.

  “Bow for your princess.” Babi’s voice carried authority.

  A few of the priests dropped instantly, but several stood gawking.

  “I said bow,” Babi repeated.

  All but one hit the ground.

  Aria turned to face the man who stayed on his feet. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I’ve come a very long way, from the city of Amarna, to meet your god, Khons-who. I’m sure you can understand.” She added her I’m-so-sweet smile and batted her lashes. “That it’s difficult for me to show myself, under the circumstances.”

  “You’re the princess?” the priest stammered. “Our princess? From Amarna? And you want to talk to Khonsu?”

  “Our princess insisted we accompany her here for the festival.” Babi leaned toward the priest, speaking lowly. “She adores the old gods, but she’s dedicated to Khonsu above all. This must remain secret. Her life would be in danger if the Aten’s forces learned of her loyalty. We trust you to keep this to yourselves, but she begs a moment alone with your god. This loyal priest of Amun-Ra,” he said as he motioned toward Jagger. “Has accompanied her from Amarna. He’ll attend her as she devotes herself to Khonsu. Privately.”

  “A priest of Amun-Ra? From Amarna?” The priest’s eyes bulged like a cartoon character as he stared at Jagger. “I didn’t think … How is that …”

  Jagger cleared his throat. He was amazed at Aria’s brazenness. She played the part like a Hollywood starlet. This princess thing must be going to her head! Determined not to be outdone by his little sister again, he stood taller. “It’s dangerous. But we … w
e keep the worship of the old gods strong in the new city. The princess is … is one of our most devoted believers.”

  “Truly?” The priest’s eye softened.

  Jagger almost felt sorry for the guy. He looked genuinely touched as he wiped wet eyes and motioned the others to stand. “Of course, we’ll give her a moment. Bless you, princess.”

  “Your loyalty is appreciated,” Babi soothed him as he gestured for the priest and his men to turn away, steering them down the street and nodding at Jagger to move quickly.

  Adrenaline coursed through Jagger as he waited for the priests to leave. A few feet away, the priest turned back and stared at Aria. “Did you make that awful noise?”

  Aria froze. She glanced at Jagger. He shook his head, pointing slyly at the float.

  “No,” she replied smoothly. “That was Khons-who, helping me in my quest.”

  “Khonsu,” Jagger whispered under his breath.

  The guy fanned himself. At Babi’s prompting, he turned and waddled away.

  Jagger jerked back the float’s curtain, revealing the god’s statue: a solid gold child, dressed in a linen kilt with gems hanging from his ears and neck and a silver moon atop his head. Khonsu sat on a plush bench, filling the hut’s space. No room there. And the statue was too heavy to move. Where would they hide a statue worth a fortune anyway? Not exactly a plan designed to avoid attention.

  Jagger yanked the curtain back in place and dropped to the ground, wriggling under the float. “Be here,” he mumbled to himself.

  Yes! A false door, just as he’d hoped. Babi and Mut were surprised when Jagger told them the floats had hidden compartments, designed for a priest to hide in so they could speak to the crowd in the god’s voice. He heaved a sigh of relief. Their entire plan had rested on his book knowledge of ancient float construction. And over the past few days, Jagger had learned that the facts he’d gathered from books weren’t as reliable as he’d always assumed.

  Opening the small trap door, Jagger flashed his phone light around the human-sized space. He pulled out a bag, and Aria pushed it behind the stone sphinx.

  “Hurry.” He helped his sister in first, then crawled in behind her and wiggled the door shut. It was a tight fit. He and Aria were shoved together like sardines in the cans Grams kept in the back of her cupboard. When he turned off his flashlight, it was pitch black. Aria’s breathing sounded thunderous.

  “You okay?” he whispered, cursing himself for not keeping her inhaler handy.

  “Sshh,” she shot back.

  The next few minutes dragged on. Babi and the priests finally returned, and Jagger heard the clinking sounds of the captain handing over Mut’s gold. Then, the float was lifted, and they began moving. Something sharp dug into Jagger’s side as the float swayed back and forth.

  Jagger bit his lip, holding in the moan that threatened to escape. This was going to be a long, hard, jet-black ride.

  TEMPLE RUN

  Jagger and Aria bumped along in the dark for what seemed like hours. Her skin felt wet and clammy against his. Worse, her breath was ragged. What if her asthma was reaching the danger zone? He wanted to ask her, but the priests carrying the float were so close he could hear them panting from exertion.

  Jagger tried to distract himself, tracking the whereabouts of Mut and Babi with his amulet: she was across the Nile with Hemet and Mutef, but the captain was sticking by the float as the procession moved to the small temple then headed back the way it had come, toward the larger temple of Amun-Ra.

  Mostly, Jagger fretted. What if Aria’s asthma spiraled? What would happen if they didn’t find Herihor? What would Jagger say if they did find the High Priest? He concocted speeches in his mind, designed to convince the priest to help them. Jagger could only hope Herihor would know what to do … if they managed to find the guy.

  Finally, the sounds of the crowd faded. They must be entering the large temple. Egyptian temples were built like long corridors. The large, front areas were open to all worshippers, but the holy of holies, the deepest part of the temple, was only accessible to the highest-ranking members of the priesthood. That’s where the god’s statue would rest.

  He flinched when the float finally sank to the floor with a thunk—a thunk followed by the sounds of receding footsteps. The silence was all encompassing after the roar of the crowds and musicians. The smells of sweat and livestock were replaced by the smells of incense and cooked meat.

  Aria’s fingers found his. She was slick with sweat, sniffling softly. Was she trying not to cry? That thought terrified him—Aria only cried when she was feeling sorry for someone else, like a stray dog or a bullied friend. “Can we get out now?” she moaned lowly.

  “I’m trying.” He shoved the door, harder, but it didn’t budge. “I think the float is on the ground.” His heart was racing. He needed to get his sister out of here, but the door was stuck. The float must not be on stilts like it had been at the way-station when they crawled into the trapdoor on the bottom of the float.

  Their plan had been to sneak out when the holy of holies was empty and find Herihor. But now they were trapped.

  Aria squirmed, shoving a hard elbow into his stomach. Jagger was relieved to hear the hiss of her inhaler.

  “I’ll live.” The sound Aria made was part laugh, part sob. “Unless we’re about to run out of oxygen.”

  “No,” Jagger whispered back. “There’s a tube connecting this space to the god’s mouth. It’s for—”

  “Please, no history lessons now, Brainy.”

  Jagger sighed. Right.

  “Shhhh,” she hissed. “Someone’s coming.”

  Jagger froze. Soft footsteps shuffled their way. They stopped just in front of the float. A man’s voice began chanting melodiously. “Hail to thee, Khonsu, Mighty Traveler, Protector …”

  Jagger’s mind whirled. On one hand, he was worried about his sister. Maybe he should scream at the top of his lungs so the priest would get them out. But what if the guy was working with the General and Smenkare? For all he knew, the chanting guy was the General’s favorite uncle. Mut thought that they’d be taken to Herihor if they were discovered in the temple. But what if she was wrong?

  Aria’s breath grew loud enough to drown out the chanting. She couldn’t take much more. He knew what he had to do. But it wouldn’t do her any good to be rescued then dragged back into danger.

  Jagger wiggled his hand into the pocket sewn neatly into his kilt and pulled out his phone. Clicking it on, he aimed it at Aria. Black smudges marred her cheeks, the kohl so carefully drawn around her eyes now dripped from her chin. She clutched her inhaler to her cheek.

  Scrolling frantically through apps, Jagger selected one he’d downloaded for a Halloween party he and Andrew hosted a few years ago. It recorded anything you said and played it back in a spooky voice. Thinking briefly, Jagger whispered into his phone. Then he held it close to the tube that was connected to the god’s mouth. He hiked up the volume and pushed play.

  “To whoooom are yooouu loooyaaal?” The spooky app voice was amplified by the tube.

  Silence.

  Jagger pushed the play button again. “To whooom are yooouu loooyaaal?”

  The man cleared his throat. “I am loyal to you, my god, Khonsu. And to your parents, the illustrious Amun-Ra and your mother, Mut. My loyalty to the old gods is assured.” The voice was that of an old man, but still a rich baritone.

  Jagger whispered into the phone again, then pushed play.

  “Aaand theee Geeeneraaaal? Can weeee cooouunt on yooouur looooyalty to the Generaalaaaalllll and theee roooyal priiiiiince?”

  More silence.

  Then, footsteps walked away, followed moments later by the sound of more footsteps coming back toward them. Aria’s breath was so loud it was difficult to hear what was going on outside of the float.

  Jagger jerked as the float was lifted. The trap door flew open, and they tumbled onto a cold, marble floor in a heap. He squinted at Ar
ia. Sweat dripped off her as she shoved her inhaler in her mouth and gulped in a blast of albuterol. Her princess gown was destroyed, gems dangling by threads. The rich cloth that had covered her hair was a wet rag, stuck to her sandal, and dark blond curls were pasted to her face.

  “Who are you?” The old man leaned down and peered at him.

  Jagger recognized the voice: it was the man he’d been talking to. He wore a white kilt, and his chest was bare. In spite of his age, his body looked strong and healthy. He was bald with fuzzy eyebrows, speckled with gray.

  “I asked you a question, young man.” The old man stood tall and crossed his arms.

  Jagger sagged. Being sneaky was exhausting. He glanced at his sister. Her breathing was normalizing. He turned back to the old man, ticking through options in his mind. Grams’ voice trickled into his head: truth is less fuss.

  “We’re looking for Herihor.” Jagger fidgeted. “Meretaten sent us. Our letter of introduction was, uh, lost.”

  The man’s mouth hung open. He looked like one of the fishes Gramps mined from the Chicago River. He leaned toward Jagger menacingly and grabbed the amulet that still hung from his neck, now sticky with sweat. After giving it a good look, the old man stood, gave Jagger a quick stare, and strode out of the room, whispering to a nearby priest before he pushed through the elaborate, golden double doors at the far end of the small chamber.

  Aria and Jagger stared at each other.

  Now what?

  Jagger glanced around the room. It was small and white with a bright, marble floor and a gilded, gold ceiling. Khonsu’s gold statue was exposed. Bowls of food sat in front of the god—the smell of food crept up Jagger’s nose, triggering hunger pains.

  The gold door opened with a click, and two priests stormed toward them. One grabbed Aria’s arm, pulling her up. The other took hold of Jagger. The priests herded them toward the gold door. Aria threw a longing glance at the food sitting at the statue’s feet, pining for the god’s feast, no doubt.

  The clickety-clack of their footsteps bounced off the walls as the silent priests led them through an elaborate, stone corridor. It was high and narrow, stark white. Cedar doors peppered the long stretch of pale stone. The cloying smell of incense was nearly overwhelming in the enclosed space.