by Lou Kuenzler
“Cute little guys, ain’t they?” said the man, in an American accent. He tapped the case as if the tiny blue stone figures were lizards sleeping at a zoo. “What do you suppose they are? Some kinda mummified pixies?”
“They’re called shabti actually,” I explained. I had read all about them in my Bumper Book of Ancient Egypt.
“I can see you’re a real smart cookie,” said the man, slapping me on the back. “A regular little Egypt-o-whatnot. You know, like a professor or something.”
“Egyptologist?” smiled Gran. “Violet did study the Ancient Egyptians for a project at school.”
“Well, ain’t that something. Pleased to meet you, Miss Violet.” The man stuck out his hand and I shook it.
“And what’s your name?” asked Gran, after she had introduced herself.
“Me? Er … Tutankhamun,” the man mumbled.
“Tutankhamun?” I tried not to giggle. “You mean like the famous Egyptian pharaoh?”
“No, Miss Violet. You must have misheard me.” He coughed. “The name’s … Moon. Mr Carl Moon.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr Moon,” said Gran – though I would have bet two hundred of my favourite bars he had said Tutankhamun the first time. Perhaps it was some kind of joke or something.
“Tell me, Miss Violet,” he said, waving a guidebook under my nose, “what else has this place got from Ancient Egypt that I ought to see?”
“There’s a brilliant mummified crocodile,” I said. “And I’m looking forward to the cats.”
“Cats?” Mr Moon twiddled the end of his moustache. “That does sound interesting.”
“Oh!” laughed Gran as Mr Moon took her arm. “Come on then, Violet … I mean, Miss Violet. You lead the way!”
“Cats were sacred in Ancient Egypt,” I said as we stood looking at a poor old puss that had been turned into a mummy thousands of years ago.
The bandages were brown and crispy looking, like a very old parcel. Even the cat’s little pointy ears had been wrapped up.
“Well, ain’t that extraordinary?” said Mr Moon, pressing his nose up against the glass. “Thank you for showing me these, Miss Violet.”
“No problem,” I nodded.
I was distracted by a notice next to the case. “How horrible,” I gasped. “Listen to this: Many mummified cats did not die a natural death. They were often sacrificed and offered as gifts for the gods.”
“Poor things. I wouldn’t have liked to be an Ancient Egyptian pussycat,” said Gran.
“It’s just awful,” I agreed. Even though it had happened so long ago, the thought of those poor cats gave me the creeps.
Mr Moon had tilted up the brim of his hat and was reading the notice for himself.
“Well, I never. Now that really is interesting,” he said. Then he clicked the heels of his cowboy boots and bowed. “Better get going, ladies. Have a nice day.”
And with that, he hurried off, leaving Gran and me to explore the rest of the exhibition by ourselves.
“What a funny man,” I whispered.
“But very friendly,” smiled Gran.
We had stopped in front of a brightly painted golden sarcophagus.
“Imagine how exciting it would be if you were an archaeologist and you dug up one of these magnificent treasures,” said Gran.
“If only we’d won the competition in Then we could’ve had a go at being archaeologists ourselves,” I sighed. “They said we’d be able to dig in a real Egyptian temple, remember?”
“We should forget all about that. We’d have heard by now if we’d won,” said Gran, shaking her head – though I knew she’d been thinking exactly the same thing. “Come on. Let’s go to the gift shop and I’ll buy you a souvenir.”
“As long as it’s not a I laughed.
We linked arms and walked across the huge marble entrance hall towards the shop.
“And I want to find a postcard to send to your cousin Anthony in Australia,” said Gran.
I’d only met my cousin Anthony once, when we were both babies. I know it makes Gran sad his family live so far away. They hardly ever get to visit.
“See if there’s a postcard of the mummified croc,” I suggested. “There are loads of crocodiles in Australia, so I bet Anthony would like that.”
I thought how brilliant it would be to have a boy cousin my own age to play with, instead of just Tiff. I’m sure Anthony wouldn’t think dressing up like a mummy was stupid.
“Great idea,” said Gran, flicking through the postcards. “You go and choose a little something for yourself. My treat.”
“Thank you,” I called as I hurried over to the Egyptian gift section.
I had just chosen a key ring of a mummy all wrapped up in bandages, when I spotted Mr Moon again. He was in the kid’s reading area, flicking through a copy of The Bumper Book of Ancient Egypt.
“I’ve got that one at home,” I said, walking over to him. “It’s great. It tells you everything you’ve ever wanted to know.”
“Perfect, Miss Violet. That’s exactly what I’m after,” said Mr Moon.
He clutched the book as if it was an ancient treasure and hurried towards the till.
An hour later Gran and I were on the train heading home to Swanchester.
I was reading a Fabulous Pharaoh Fact Sheet from the museum and Gran was doing a crossword. She’d picked up the latest copy of from the newsagent at the station before we caught the train.
Suddenly, I heard a weird noise. I looked up and saw Gran opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish.
“Quick. Chew this,” she said, flicking the lid off my pot of pickled gherkins and shoving a whole one into my mouth. “Keep calm, Violet. You must keep very calm.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a businessman on the table across the aisle looking over at us.
“What is it, Gran?” I mumbled, through a mouthful of gherkin. “I’m not excited, I promise.”
“Ah, but you will be.” Gran slid the copy of towards me.
I looked down at where she was pointing.
CONGRATULATIONS to the lucky winner of our Competition of the Week (Number 129), Mrs V. Short of the Sunset Retirement Centre, Swanchester…
“Mrs Short? But that’s you, Gran,” I spluttered, spurting vinegar all over the table. “I thought you said we hadn’t won…”
“Read on,” ordered Gran, tapping the page with her finger and waving another enormous gherkin in front of my mouth.
After answering the wordsearch correctly and sending in a hilarious tie-breaker, Mrs Short has won a family trip for four people to sail down the Nile and take part in a genuine, treasure-finding Ancient Egyptian archaeological dig.
“Pack your suncream, Violet,” cried Gran. “Because…”
“We’re off to Egypt!” I cheered as Gran leant across the table and threw her arms around my neck.
“Congratulations,” said the businessman. “That sounds like quite a trip.”
I must not shrink, I told myself, hugging Gran as tight as I could. If I did, the businessman would see me disappear in front of his eyes. But my heart was pounding with excitement.
“Who will you take with you, Gran?” I asked.
“My three grandchildren, of course,” she grinned. “You … because without you we’d never have won the prize … and Tiffany and Anthony as well.”
“Anthony?” I gasped. I was almost as excited that I’d get to meet my Australian cousin again as I was about the trip to Egypt. “Yippee!” I cried.
Luckily, the train pulled into the next station just at that moment, and the businessman got up to leave. If he had stayed for one second longer, he would have seen me to the size of a train ticket and cartwheel across the table in delight.
“Egypt here we come!” I squealed as Gran scooped me up and popped me in her pocket.
Mum was not at all sure that the trip was a good idea.
“What do you think?” she asked Nurse Bridget, who looks after Gran at the Sunset Retirement Centre.
“It just doesn’t seem sensible for an old lady to take three children on a crazy adventure up the River Nile.”
“I don’t see why not,” Nurse Bridget smiled. “Mrs Short has bags of energy and the doctor has given her the all-clear.”
“If she slips and twists her ankle, she can always borrow a bandage from one of the mummies,” laughed Dad.
“For goodness’ sake, Stuart, this is no joking matter,” sighed Mum.
“Gran’s so fit she could swim the River Nile, let alone travel up it in a boat,” I said.
“It’s all set anyway,” said Gran, before Mum could argue more. “I’ve organized the tickets with the competition department at Tiffany, Violet and I will meet Anthony at the airport in Cairo. His flight from Australia is due to land just half an hour after ours.”
“It seems a long way for him to come just to look at some dusty old ruins,” said Mum.
Gran raised her eyebrows.
“Honestly, Mum. We’re not just going to look at the ruins. We’re going to be actual archaeologists, digging in the desert sands,” I cried, clapping my hands.
“The only digging I’m going to do,” said Tiffany, “is to find fresh river mud for my face mask.”
Oh dear. Perhaps I should never have told Tiff that Nile is good for the skin. If it wasn’t for that, she probably wouldn’t even have wanted to come on the trip in the first place and she could have stayed home, brushing her hair in the mirror, where she’d be much happier anyway.
At least Anthony was going to be more fun. I’d emailed him as soon as Gran found out we’d won the trip and we’d been sending each other messages every day since, saying how excited we were.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hi Violet
The awesome croc postcard from the British Museum arrived today. I reckon the Ancient Egyptians mummified just about anything that moved…
Wouldn’t it be amazing if we found a real mummy on the dig?
Cousin Ant
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dear Ant
Six days to go! Can’t wait.
We’re going to visit all the big tourist sites. First, the pyramids and the Valley of the Kings – then we meet the rest of our tour group and catch a boat down the River Nile to our archaeological dig.
It is going to be TOTALLY, TOTALLY TERRIFIC!
Violet
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hi Violet
Five days to go!
I can’t wait for the dig. It’s going to be the best bit of the trip. I want to be an Egyptologist when I grow up. How about you?
From Ant
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dear Ant
Being an Egyptologist would be super cool. I would definitely like to do that – if I’m not a stunt rider or a lion tamer… Or a theme park ride designer.
Fingers crossed we find some real treasure … or something extra-specially gory. Woooo!
Four days to go!
From Violet
I waited for Anthony to reply. But his emails suddenly stopped coming. I kept on writing every day.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hey Ant
Are you there? Hope you haven’t been struck down by a mummy’s curse?
V.
But no answer came.
“He’s probably just nervous about flying on his own,” said Mum when I told her Anthony had been silent for so long.
Hmm. That still doesn’t explain why he is ignoring my emails, I thought. But at the mention of flying my heart started fluttering too. I’d been so busy thinking about Egypt and meeting Anthony I hadn’t thought much about the journey. I couldn’t wait to fly in a jumbo jet … but imagine if I shrank before we even left the airport?
This calls for desperate measures, I thought.
I clipped my mummy key ring to the little backpack I was going to take on board the plane, then I sneaked down to the kitchen and packed a jar of pickled gherkins.
“Better not shrink when I’m going through customs,” I shuddered to myself. “I’d show up on the X-ray machine as clearly as a smuggled diamond.”
In the end I had to survive without my pickled gherkins on the flight.
“No liquids in your hand luggage,” the lady at the check-in desk explained.
“You don’t even like gherkins. Or vinegar,” said Tiffany. “What did you want to do? Pickle your own Egyptian mummy?”
“That would be pretty cool.” I smiled, but I had to leave the pickles sitting on the top of a litter bin as we moved through customs.
I was so busy looking back at the abandoned jar, I almost forgot to wave goodbye to Mum and Dad, who were smiling anxiously through the glass.
“See you soon,” I called, a lurch in my stomach making me realize this was real. Tiffany, Gran and I were actually on our way.
All through the long flight to Egypt, I recited my seven times table and finally learned to spell hieroglyph. Forwards: H-I-E-R-O-G-L-Y-P-H … and backwards: H-P-Y-L-G-O-R-E-I-H. And sarcophagus too. Forwards: S-A-R-C-O-P-H-A-G-U-S … and backwards: S-U-G-A-H-P-O-C-R-A-S.
Tiffany filed her nails and chewed gum. She might as well have been sitting in the back of a car rather than flying on a plane for all the excitement she showed.
I looked out of the window and pinched myself as yellow desert sand came into view.
“Whatever happens I have to keep calm,” I murmured as the plane landed and we walked across the tarmac towards the airport building. A blast of warm air hit me like a hairdryer.
“You’re doing brilliantly,” said Gran, squeezing my arm as we headed to the arrivals area to collect our cases from the luggage belt.
Tiffany couldn’t hear us. She had headphones in and was paying no attention to what was going on around her.
As my ears from being back on the ground, I listened to excited voices calling out to each other in Arabic. Businessmen in long white robes were shouting into their mobile phones. Beyond the windows of the airport I could see the skyscrapers of the city but also palm trees and sandy rocks.
“I can’t believe it,” I cried. “I am actually abroad … for the very first time!” Before I could stop myself, I leapt in the air in a sort of crazy star jump.
“Swanchester does seem a very long way away,” beamed Gran.
“Y…” I tried to agree. But my throat was too tight. All I could do was nod. That familiar fizzy feeling was starting to tingle in my toes.
“We’ve landed half an hour late,” said Gran, looking up at the big clock above the luggage carousel. “Anthony will be here any minute now.”
The tingling feeling shot right to the top of my skull and like fireworks.
At the mention of Anthony, my last hope of staying calm was gone. I just had time to see Tiffany reach out to grab her big suitcase as it slid past her on the moving belt when…
“Whoa!”
I had shrunk to the size of a luggage label.
In an instant, I was down among people’s feet. The wheels of their trolleys past as they pushed towards the spinning carousel.
Tiffany had her back to me and hadn’t seen a thing. I don’t think Gran had noticed either. She was reaching out to grab my suitcase, which was just behind Tiffany’s.
“Yikes!”
I leapt sideways as someone’s foot flew towards me like a speeding car.
I jumped out of the way far enough not to be squashed flat but the edge of their sandal still caught me.
I was flicked up in the air like a spinning stone.
“Oh no!” I rolled myself into a ball, waiting for the terrible thud as I came back down and hit the hard floor beneath me.
Landing on something soft, I opened my eyes and saw that I was clinging to a red leather suitcase.
The suitcase was moving.
A pair of big black rubber curtains closed around me like giant bat wings and the arrivals hall, Gran and Tiff all disappeared from view.
It was dark on the other side of the curtains, in the back part of the luggage carousel. Three men were shouting to one another as they threw suitcases on to the belt.
A big metal trunk landed in front of me.
I was thrown upwards like a coin being flipped into the air.
I landed back on the belt with my arms and legs spread out like one of those little sticky men you throw at the wall then watch them slide down.
More suitcases crashed on to the belt beside me.
“Yikes!”
I rolled out of the way … but had to roll back again to the middle of the belt to stop myself from being sucked down over the edge of the plastic flaps and into the cogs of the machine.
Luckily the light was too dim and the men were too busy working to see me. But, as the belt rolled on, I knew any minute now I’d be back in the bright lights of the arrivals hall.
I tried to scramble to my feet.
“Whoa!”
My tiny legs shot out from underneath me and I landed flat on my back like a starfish.
“Whoops!” I giggled. This was fun. Trying to run on the moving belt was like being on one of those exercise machines Mum uses at the gym … except there was nothing to hold on to.
The black plastic curtains brushed over my head.
I looked up as rows of jostling passengers stared at the carousel, waiting for their luggage to come into view. I had to hide quickly or someone would see me now I was back in the light. I needed to reach one of the cases so I could duck underneath it. Running was hopeless.
The soft belt felt a bit like the mats we use in gym at school. I flung my legs up into a handstand, flipped over and managed a perfect teeny-tiny handspring towards a moving bag.
“Whee hee!” I cheered. I’d been practising handsprings for weeks. That tiny one was just about the best I’d ever done.
Now I was hidden at last.
I squinted at the black sports bag above me. A little blue and gold Egyptian pharaoh key ring was hanging from the handle. It was exactly the same size as I was. There was a luggage label too. A. Small was written across it in scruffy, wobbly handwriting a bit like mine. Then there was an address in Sydney, Australia.