The Amulet of Amon-Ra

by Leslie Carmichael

  To travel—somewhere—break the beetle? Did that mean, break the scarab itself?

  Jennifer slouched in the seat and stared at the amulet. It had warmed up now, and felt almost hot to the touch. Perhaps the “X” meant “open,” not “break.” She turned it over, but didn’t see any opening. Along the edge, though, where the lines that indicated the legs were scored, there seemed to be an extra line. It was so thin, she hadn’t noticed it before. It went all the way around the amulet.

  Jennifer wriggled a thumbnail into it. The line widened. Several tiny amber grains fell into her hand.

  “What’s that smell?” asked Grandma Jo, pulling ahead to pass the slow vehicle in front of her.

  “My feet?” Jennifer suggested, wriggling her toes under the blast of warm air from the heater.

  “No, it’s sharp, and a little bitter, but pleasant.”

  “Can’t be my feet, then,” said Jennifer. She could smell it now, too. She lifted her hand and the scent increased. Was it coming from the scarab? She sniffed at it.

  Grandma Jo chuckled, then frowned. “We’re going to be late. Look at the time!”

  “Time?”

  “Yes—oh, no! Brace yourself!”

  “What?”

  The car hit another pothole. The amulet, which Jennifer held close to her face, popped open. She gasped as the lid swung back. Dust puffed out, filling her nose and mouth. As she breathed it in, she was struck with a sickening dizziness.

  Her mind swirled—and was sucked down into a glittering, black velvet nothing.

  Jennifer opened her eyes. Dust particles glimmered in the bright sunlight that poured in from a high, barred window.

  For a moment, confusing images of a sparkling darkness, an insect and a man wearing a crown floated through her mind. Then they were gone, like the memory of a dream.

  A heavy weight pressed down on her ribs. She lifted her head and peered blearily into a pair of bright yellow eyes.

  “Mrr?” a skinny spotted cat with ears too large for its head had its forelegs braced on her chest. Jennifer blinked. The little cat hissed at her, then leaped away and skittered through an open doorway, as fast as its legs would take it.

  Jennifer took a startled breath as the small room came into better focus. One of the walls was a woven brown curtain, but the other three were solid. All of them, including the curtain, were decorated with bright Egyptian-style drawings of plants, animals and people. The vivid colors glowed in the light from the window.

  “Where am I?” Jennifer mumbled. Her mind felt fuzzy. She’d been at the museum, and…and what? There had been a mummy. That was all she could remember.

  She struggled to sit upright, but her body didn’t want to obey her. It didn’t feel quite right. It was like wearing a shirt that was too tight in some places and too loose in others. Her arms trembled as she pushed against the mattress. At last, she managed to maneuver herself upright, with her back against the wall. Her legs, half-off the mattress, were tangled in a thin white sheet. In her struggle, she knocked over a crescent-shaped clay brick that had been at the head of her bed. She set it straight with a shaky hand—and froze.

  The hand had dark brown skin. Both her hands were dark, with paler skin on the palms. She reached up to feel her face. Her nose and lips and ears felt the same, but there was something wrong with her hair. She pulled a long strand around in front of her eyes and stared at it. Her own hair was straight, a light brown. This stuff was thick, black and wavy. She tugged on it, hard.

  “Ow!” she said at the sharp pain in her scalp. “Okay. Not a wig. This is weird.” Her voice was hoarse.

  Jennifer wobbled to her feet, holding the wall for support, and looked around. The only other items in the room were two red clay pots, polished smooth. The wooden floor creaked as she stumbled towards them. One of them held a collection of beads and fabric dolls. The other was empty, but she thought she could guess what it was for. She wrinkled her nose at the faint acrid smell.

  With one hand still on the wall, Jennifer staggered through the doorway through which the little cat had run. It turned out to be a larger room, furnished with more items. A thick mattress covered a low bed, wider than her own. It had sturdy wooden legs and a raised lip at the bottom. It was tilted slightly upwards at the head, where two leather-covered crescent shapes rested. Beside the bed was a small, spindly-legged wooden table with one large drawer and a graceful low chair with a curved seat and wooden legs that ended in beast paws.

  Another doorway led from the room into what looked like a garden. Jennifer glimpsed a bright blue sky and the flat sides of other buildings over a fence of tall, waving plants.

  For a moment, her vision blurred, as though she was seeing through a lens that wasn’t quite focused. Then it cleared again.

  “Dje-Nefer?” someone called.

  “Eep!” said Jennifer. She’d thought she was alone!

  “Dje-Nefer, are you up?” It was a woman’s voice. It seemed to be coming from the rooftop garden.

  Jennifer crept through the door and looked around, but there was no one there.

  “Dje-Nefer! Come and have your breakfast.”

  Jennifer padded down the narrow path, between the tall staked vegetables. There was a foot-high wall of bricks in the middle, outlining what looked to be a hole in the roof. Jennifer peered into it. A black-haired, dark-skinned woman smiled up at her from the floor below. Her eyes were outlined with thick black lines. It was no one Jennifer knew.

  “Ah, there you are,” she said. “Are you awake yet?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Jennifer.

  The woman laughed. “Come eat, dear one. I let you sleep in today, but that’s long enough.”

  “C-coming,” said Jennifer. Her voice was hoarse.

  She looked for stairs, but there weren’t any on the rooftop. Jennifer returned through the doorway to the large room, then stopped and stared. The wall above and beside the door to the smaller room where she had awoken was covered in more bright paintings. A beautiful woman spread her protecting wings over the door, framing it on one side, while another woman with long curved horns on her head reached from the other. Isis and Hathor. Whoever had painted them was a wonderful artist.

  Beside the door was another hole in the floor, like the one in the garden. Stairs jutted out from the wall, descending to the floor below. Jennifer braced one palm against the wall as she took the stairs one at a time, trying not to trip on the hem of her dress. The stairs led to a large room with a tiled floor that was cool under her feet. The room was dim, a small barred window like the one upstairs being the only source of light. She thought she could make out a few pieces of delicate furniture.

  “Hurry up, please, Dje-Nefer,” said the woman.

  “How does she know my name?” Jennifer whispered. “Even if she is saying it wrong.”

  She followed the voice into another room, this one obviously a cooking area, though not like any kitchen that Jennifer had ever seen. There were no tables or counters, and the only furniture was a set of wooden shelves laden with pots and bowls. Thanks to the hole in the roof, this room was full of sunlight, illuminating the woman. She had pulled up the hem of her long white dress and was kneeling on the floor, rolling a smooth round rock on top of a flat stone that had been laid between the tiles. She looked up, and Jennifer realized who the model for Hathor had been.

  “Here is your breakfast,” she said, pointing to a small bowl and mug on a striped mat laid out on the floor. Jennifer sat. The bowl was full of a warm, grainy porridge, dotted with glossy black morsels. Jennifer sniffed. It didn’t smell too bad, and she was hungry. She looked for a spoon, but there wasn’t one. She opened her mouth to ask for one, but some inner caution told her not to. Shrugging, she dipped her fingers into the bowl and scooped some of the mush into her mouth.

  Jennifer’s eyebrows rose in appreciation. The black bits turned out to be sweet and juicy, the grains crunchy and tart. She ate it all, then reached for the mug. Spicy, hot tea cleare
d her mouth and her mind.

  Beside her, the woman lifted some grains out of a clay pot and sprinkled them on the flat stone. Jennifer watched her roll the rock over the grains, crushing them in quick, practiced strokes.

  “Finished?” the woman asked. “Good, you can help me with the bread then.”

  The woman now had a respectable pile of fine brown powder, ground from the grains. She scooped it up with both hands and poured it into a terra cotta bowl. After making a small indentation in the center of the powder, she dribbled a bit of liquid into the bowl from a small pot decorated with a hippopotamus on the lid.

  “Here, knead this for me while I stoke up the fire,” she said, handing the bowl to Jennifer.

  The dough inside was sticky and smelled of yeast. Jennifer rolled and punched the dough, using her shoulders the way Grandma Jo had taught her. She stopped, her eyes widening. Grandma Jo—was she here, too? Wherever ‘here’ was. Grandma Jo had been with her when…Jennifer frowned, then shook her head. She couldn’t remember.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the woman.

  “Uh,” said Jennifer. “Nothing.” She started kneading again.

  The kitchen, already quite warm, was getting hotter as the woman raked up coals in a brick-lined fireplace in a corner of the room. When the coals were bright red, she wedged two round-bottomed clay pots well into the pile.

  “Done?” she asked Jennifer. “Good job. We’ll let it rise while the ovens heat up.”

  Jennifer nodded. The woman gave her a puzzled look.

  “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” she said.

  “Uh, just tired, I guess,” said Jennifer.

  The woman laughed as she covered the dough with a cloth. “I’m not surprised. You were up very late last night, watching the sky-goddess. Ramose found you asleep in the garden, with only Nut’s stars for company, and carried you to your bed. You didn’t wake even when Mentmose got up this morning.”

  “Oh,” said Jennifer, wondering who Ramose and Mentmose were.

  “Now pick up your dishes, dear, and put them in the washing bowl.” The woman pointed vaguely at a corner of the room where several large bowls rested on the floor. “Don’t forget to pour some water over them this time, or they will dry. You remember how hard you had to scrub yesterday.”

  Jennifer carried her dishes to the corner and peeked in each bowl. One of them already had mugs and bowls in it, soaking in water. She dutifully scooped up some of the dirty water with her mug and poured it in her bowl, then put both items in with the rest.

  “We’ll have to get more water today,” said the woman. “Our jug is nearly empty.”

  A tall teenage boy, wearing only a dusty, stained kilt flung himself into the room. His chest was bare, except for a necklace of red and black beads. He grinned when he saw Jennifer.

  “About time you were up, minnow,” he said. His black hair was almost as long as Jennifer’s, but it was tied back in a ponytail. The lines around his eyes were smudged. “I wish I could get away with sleeping in.”

  “Mentmose, you are fifteen now, and since you insist that you are a man, you must also hold to a man’s work and a man’s hours,” said the woman. “If Ramose rises early, then so must you.”

  Mentmose grimaced. “I know.” But his smiled returned quickly. “The minnow will have to hold to a woman’s hours soon enough.”

  “She is not yet fourteen, nor is she betrothed, as you are.”

  Mentmose grunted and rolled his eyes.

  “Was there something you wanted?” the woman asked.

  “Oh! Yes. Father asks me to ask you to buy him some polishing powder next time you go to the market.”

  “Why? He usually does that himself,” the woman protested.

  “I do,” said a man who came striding through the doorway. He was dressed almost identically to Mentmose, except that his kilt was cleaner and his eye makeup tidy. “But I have a commission to complete as soon as possible. And Meryt-Re, you are so much better than I at charming old Hapu. He is sure to give you a lower price than he does for me.”

  The woman—Meryt-Re—chuckled. “Flatterer. All right, husband, I will do your shopping for you.”

  “Thank you. Oh—has my brother come by yet?” asked her husband. “He said he was going to.”

  “No, Ramose,” Meryt-Re began. She stopped, as they all heard a knock. “That may be him.”

  “I’ll check,” said Ramose, and left the room. A moment later, he returned, another man beside him.

  Jennifer blinked in surprise. She had expected to see someone just like Ramose, but this man was completely hairless, except for his eyebrows, which, she realized, were only painted on. Like the others, his eyes were outlined by thick black makeup, but his extended in two lines halfway to his ears. His white, intricately-pleated kilt was spotless. The skin of a leopard was tied over one shoulder, its head and large paws flopping down his bare chest. He stood taller than Ramose, but had the same general features, though his were composed in an expression of great gravity.

  “Good morning, Neferhotep,” said Meryt-Re, smiling at him.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice and face solemn.

  “Have they given you some time off from your temple duties today?” asked Meryt-Re.

  “A little time,” said Neferhotep. “Enough to visit my family, at least.”

  “Wonderful. We don’t see you often enough, now that you’ve become a priest of Amon-Ra,” said Meryt-Re. “Would you like something to eat?”

  Neferhotep grinned, suddenly looking younger. “Your cooking is better than any at the temple, Meryt-Re,” he said. “I would be delighted, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Meryt-Re laughed. “Dje-Nefer just finished her breakfast. There is still some in the pot.”

  “So, is this the reason you asked to visit today?” asked Ramose, smiling. “So you could cadge a meal?”

  Neferhotep blushed, his dark skin turning a reddish-brown. “Of course not.”

  “No?” asked Meryt-Re, her brows rising.

  “Well…yes. But I also came to ask if you would be able to provide me with some more of your work, Ramose. My superior, Ka-Aper, liked the pieces I showed him. He asked where I had gotten them, and wanted to know if there were more.”

  “Ka-Aper? The sem priest?” asked Ramose.

  “Yes. As a priest of the first rank, he performs most of the Opening of the Mouth ceremonies for noble mummies,” said Neferhotep.

  Mentmose whistled.

  “Father—to have a sem priest request our amulets,” he said, his eyes shining.

  “And does it not count that I request them all the time?” asked Neferhotep, with a solemn face, but with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Well, yes, but you’re just Uncle Neferhotep,” said Mentmose.

  “And also a newly-minted priest of Amon-Ra,” said Ramose, with a frown at his son, “and therefore deserving of your respect.” He turned to Neferhotep. “When does Ka-Aper want to see my work? I can bring some pieces to the temple.”

  Neferhotep winced. “Well, that’s the other reason I came by. I told him he could join us for dinner. Here.”

  “Here? When?” said Meryt-Re, handing him a bowl.

  “Um. Tonight,” he said, sniffing appreciatively.

  “Tonight!” said Meryt-Re, her eyes widening. “Well, I suppose. But I’ll have to buy some food. I don’t really have the right ingredients for a meal with such a noble guest.”

  “I can give you a temple papyrus for use at the market,” said Neferhotep, around a mouthful of porridge. “It would entitle you to any goods you may wish to use it for.”

  “That would help,” said Meryt-Re. “I could also trade some of the barley cakes I baked this morning. Oh, Neferhotep, must it be tonight?”

  He nodded. “It was the only time Ka-Aper had free.” Neferhotep handed her the empty bowl.

  “I just don’t know,” said Meryt-Re.

  “It could advance Ramose’s career. And mine, frankly. I t
old him how good a cook you are, but I don’t think he believed me. You could prove it to him.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Meryt-Re, absently passing the bowl to Jennifer.

  “Tell him we would be honored,” said Ramose, standing straighter.

  “Excellent!” said Neferhotep. “Thank you.”

  Meryt-Re waved this off, frowning. “We’ll have to go to the market as soon as possible, then, if I am to shop. It is later than I like. All the best items will already be gone.”

  Jennifer took Neferhotep’s empty dish to the washing bowl, remembering to pour water into it, though it hardly needed cleaning. Neferhotep had wiped it bare.

  “I wonder what I should make,”said Meryt-Re.

  “How about duck?” suggested Ramose, his voice hopeful.

  Meryt-Re smiled at him. “I know how you love them, Ramose, but it may not be possible. Meat like that has been scarce lately.”

  “Because of the drought, I know,” said Ramose, sighing. “Everything is getting scarce.”

  “The Pharaoh is very concerned about it,” said Neferhotep.

  “No doubt,” said Meryt-Re, with a slight grimace. “Well. Our bread should be risen by the time we return from shopping. I can bake it then. Come, Dje-Nefer.”

  “M-me?” said Jennifer, startled.

  “Of course,” said Meryt-Re. “I’ll need your help carrying the baskets.” She gestured at a stack of them in one corner of the room.

  “I need to go, too,” said Neferhotep. “We are meeting with Parahotep today to discuss his funerary rites. He is almost at his life’s end. The doctors can do nothing for him.”

  “Is he the one who wants to preserve his brain?” asked Mentmose, smirking.

  “Yes,” said Neferhotep, shaking his head. “He has a theory that the brain has a use. Well, at least he is willing to concede that the other organs are more important.” He dug in a pouch that hung from the thin leather strap over his shoulder and handed a small roll of papyrus to Meryt-Re. “Here is a temple chit. It will entitle you to a measure of food.”