Cy knew that there was an emergency number you could telephone, but his brain was refusing to co-operate. He couldn’t remember. And any time when he couldn’t remember obvious things people just lost patience with him. If it was a classmate they would sneer or laugh at him, and walk away. Adults mostly got angry. Only Mrs Chalmers and Grampa knew just to wait a second or so longer. Cy gave a little sob. How could he forget a simple number? He mustn’t forget. Grampa’s life depended on it. He blinked and stared at Aten.
‘Doctor?’ Aten said again, very gently. Then he looked directly at Cy, and he smiled.
Cy jumped to his feet. ‘999,’ he said at once. ‘Aten, can you put the bedcovers on him and try to keep him warm? I’ll phone the emergency services.’
The paramedics and Mrs Fortune with her twins arrived together. ‘I’ll phone your parents,’ said Mrs Fortune as she watched Grampa being carried out in a stretcher.
‘Don’t you worry, son,’ said one of the ambulance team as he helped Cy into the ambulance. ‘Your Grampa looks like a tough old soldier.’
Cy leant across and took Grampa’s hand. Faintly, under the pale, papery skin, a pulse kept time with Cy’s heart.
Chapter 15
Cy was running. Running as fast, and as hard, as he could. But his legs were heavy, his thighs and his ankles weighted down so that he could barely lift his feet to make each step. He knew that he had to keep going. Something urgent, something important to do. Suddenly he stopped. What was it? What was it that he must find? He looked around in the grey fog. All he could see was a small figure dressed in a black cape walking in front of him, marching upwards in the long, dark tunnel. Cy reached out and touched the person’s back.
As the cloak fell away from his shoulders the Dream Master turned round. ‘Where’s Aten?’
Cy let his hand fall to his side. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘He must have got lost.’
‘Lost!’ shrieked the dwarf. ‘Lost! Great Galloping Goddesses! How can you mislay an Ancient Egyptian boy?’
Cy shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I was . . .’ he stopped. What had he been doing? How and when had he lost Aten?
‘Listen.’ The dwarf pushed his face angrily close to Cy’s own. ‘I have broken two hundred and twenty-two types of rules and regulations to get myself into your TimeSpace to collect that boy and replace him in his TimeSpace, and when I do . . .’ the dwarf drew in a deep breath, ‘. . . he’s gone. Can’t you keep your eye on him for a single swithering second?’
‘Something happened,’ said Cy, ‘but I can’t remember what it was. And now there’s something I’ve got to do, and I can’t remember that either.’
‘I’ll tell you what you’ve got to do,’ snarled the dwarf. ‘Find Aten and help me send him home.’
‘He doesn’t want to go back,’ said Cy.
‘He must return.’
‘Why?’
The Dream Master hesitated. ‘Time and fate . . . and, er . . . sequence of events. There could be dreadful historical consequences if he doesn’t.’
‘Like what?’ asked Cy.
‘For goodness’ sake! I don’t know, exactly.’
‘Aten is not going back into the tomb to die,’ declared Cy.
‘He has to go back.’
‘No,’ said Cy.
‘Yes,’ said the Dream Master.
‘NO!’ Cy shouted. ‘NO! NO! NO!’ He grabbed the cloak and tried to throw it over the Dream Master’s head, but it ended up over his own. The more Cy struggled, the more entangled he became. The dwarf was pulling against him, and he seemed to have grown an extra pair of hands. ‘No!’ Cy kept yelling as he fought against the darkness.
‘It’s all right. You’re OK.’ His dad was beside his bed. ‘I’ve got you, son.’ He put his arms around Cy’s shoulders and helped him sit upright, free of the duvet covers. ‘You’re having a bad dream. It’s all the worry about Grampa. You’re fine now.’
Grampa! Cy leant back on his pillow as it all came flooding back. The ambulance ride to the hospital. Mum and Dad arriving. Hours of waiting. Grampa lying in bed, not looking like Grampa. The doctor saying it was a very mild stroke; just to go home now; that Grampa was in the best place. The journey home . . . He must have fallen asleep on top of his bed almost as soon as he lay down.
‘Come down to the kitchen,’ said Dad. ‘Lauren’s put the kettle on.’
‘Here, Beansprout, have some tea.’ Lauren thrust a mug under Cy’s nose. ‘Hero of the hour according to Mrs Fortune,’ she said as she slid a plate of chocolate biscuits across the table. ‘Managed to dial 999 and get Grampa to the hospital double-quick.’
Behind Lauren’s head Cy’s dad winked at him and rolled his eyes madly. Cy smiled as he unwrapped a biscuit.
His mum put her hand on his arm. ‘I phoned the hospital again since we came home. They say Grampa’s doing fine. And I let Mrs Turner and Mrs Fortune know. Oh,’ she added, ‘Mrs Fortune said to tell you that Aten said he would be OK. He would find his own way back.’
Later, Cy lay in bed and stared at Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Princess Leia. Where is Aten? he asked them silently. The trio stared back. Princess Leia’s face showed not a flicker of sympathy. Aten had told Mrs Fortune that he’d find his own way back. And with all the confusion about Grampa no-one asked the question that was now bothering Cy.
Back to where?
Chapter 16
For three days and nights in the Red Land the dust storm blew. Wandering in the great desert, I prayed to Sebek, God of Water, as I huddled close to my camel. Thirty days since the last oasis with no star to show the way. I thought I was lost for ever.’ Cy heard Aten’s voice before he actually saw him sitting on the front steps of the school the next morning.
‘I don’t believe this!’ Cy marched right into the little group gathered around Aten in the playground. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded. ‘I was worried about you. I thought you were lost!’
Aten looked up. ‘I was,’ he said. He grinned at Cy. ‘In fact, I suppose I still am.’
Cy grabbed Aten’s arm and dragged him to one side. ‘What happened last night? Where did you go?’
‘Mrs Fortune kindly gave me food. Then she spoke at the thing you call telephone and said that your mother had told her that Grandfather was safe at the place of the doctors. Then she said it would be dark soon, and did I know where I was staying. I could say truthfully that I did, and I knew it was time to go. So I went.’
‘Where?’
‘I was very clever,’ said Aten proudly. ‘I had considered all things carefully. I knew that I might not find my way to your house, so I returned to Grandfather’s house. I did not think he would mind. As he was not there, I could guard his property against thieves. I slept on the floor. It was very comfortable. Also,’ Aten waved his arms in front of Cy, ‘I borrowed some of Grandfather’s clothes. They fit better than yours did.’
Cy shook his head. Apart from having a slightly crumpled appearance, Aten didn’t look too bad. He had one of Grampa’s more modern jumpers over a shirt, and a pair of corduroy trousers which were doubled over at the waist. Cy shoved the pocket linings back inside the trousers, rebuttoned the shirt and explained as best he could the purpose and function of a trouser zip.
‘Is your grandfather well?’ asked Aten.
‘Mum phoned the hospital this morning. They said he was a bit better but hadn’t eaten anything yet. She’s going to see him later.’
‘That is good. You are happier today?’
Cy nodded. ‘Yes . . . except I’m worried in case anyone saw you at Grampa’s house. They might have phoned the police, and then I’d have to try to explain how you got here.’
‘No-one saw me,’ said Aten. ‘I knew to stay away from the windows in case people thought I was a thief. This morning I ate a strange, lumpy, grey substance from what I hope was a cooking pot. Although this food was more like elephant spoor than camel, it was not unpleasant.’
‘Porridge,’ said Cy. ‘Grampa makes p
orridge every night for his breakfast the next day.’
‘So . . .’ Aten smiled at Cy. ‘Everything is cool.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Cy.
‘Right on. Actually,’ said Aten.
‘What?’
‘Vicky told me that was a good thing to say.’ Aten stuck up his thumb and jabbed it forwards at Cy. He nodded his head several times. ‘Right on!’
‘I was being sarcastic, actually,’ said Cy. ‘Things are neither cool nor right at this moment. If you remember, certain people,’ he stopped for a moment and glanced around the playground, ‘certain people have got your ankh, and I’m not sure how we can get it back.’
Aten raised his hand. ‘Do not worry any more. Already this morning I have spoken to Mrs Chalmers. I said that I believed that I had mislaid it. She said that as soon as class starts we shall all have a great ankh hunt.’
But, despite everyone enthusiastically searching, Aten’s ankh did not turn up. Cy watched Eddie and Chloe as they happily helped look in drawers and under chairs, and he knew by the expressions on their faces that the amulet was not going to be found in the classroom. The Mean Machines were completely unconcerned as Mrs Chalmers went from desk to desk.
‘Perhaps Aten dropped it in the assembly hall during rehearsal yesterday?’ suggested Chloe.
Mrs Chalmers stared hard at Chloe’s innocent, smiling face. ‘I think it would be a very good thing indeed,’ she said firmly, ‘if the ankh turned up before school finished this afternoon. We’ll begin lessons now, but perhaps later on some of us could go along to the assembly hall and have a look.’
Aten glanced at Cy. ‘The great hall,’ he said, ‘is where they have hidden it.’
‘We’ll go there at last bell,’ Cy told Aten. ‘It’s sure to be empty, and we’ll have plenty of time to search around.’
Chapter 17
Lessons were so boring, thought Cy, as Mrs Chalmers asked the class to take out their workbooks and settle down for a bit. He much preferred doing things, although Mrs Chalmers had explained dozens of times that writing things out was doing them. She called it ‘theoretical’ doing.
‘We really do need written work, Cy,’ she’d say, ‘otherwise civilization would be lost, plans would go wrong. People can’t remember every detail in their heads.’
Cy watched Aten copying out English words onto the lined paper which Mrs Chalmers had given him. He, too, was having trouble getting his letters to sit neatly in their places.
‘It’s such a waste of time, isn’t it?’ said Cy.
Aten looked astonished. ‘Oh no!’ he said. ‘It is extremely tedious and I could find more interesting things to do, but it is not time wasted. Writing is a powerful force. Those who read my words will know what I know, feel what I feel.’ He showed his work to Cy.
Cy looked at Aten’s squiggly writing. It was even worse than his. ‘Er . . . very good,’ he said.
‘I don’t think it is, actually,’ said Aten. He put his pencil down. ‘There is a better way to practise writing. Do you have any sand?’ he asked Mrs Chalmers.
‘The janitor brought us some bucketfuls to help with the play,’ said Mrs Chalmers. ‘Cy will show you where they are.’
Aten filled a shallow plastic tray three-quarters full, then he added some water and smoothed the sand out flat.
‘Now, you use your finger . . .’ He began to draw some letters. ‘See!’ He showed Cy. ‘It is much clearer. Malik, the chief scribe, teaches all new shapes this way. He says that you learn better because you have to push against the wet sand. Your eye has to pay more attention, and your arm and wrist have to work harder, so they remember more.’ Aten stood back and admired his word.
Cy stuck his forefinger deep into the damp sand. He began to carve out his least favourite word to write, thorough.
‘Slowly,’ said Aten over his shoulder, ‘push deep and hard so that you feel the shape with your whole body, and follow carefully with your eyes.’
‘Oh,’ said Cy when he had finished. ‘Oh.’
It was the only time he had written thorough properly on his first attempt. Usually his t or the tail of his g were facing in the wrong direction.
‘So now,’ said Aten, ‘the boy scribes practise and practise the same shape over and over again, and, as the sand becomes drier under the hot Egyptian sun, it becomes easier to do. But as it becomes easier to do, so we are more careless, and sometimes Malik is not satisfied with the shape done on the dry sand and he throws water over it and makes us begin again. Only when he is happy are we allowed to write with a stick in the sand, and then eventually to paint with brush and palette.’
Cy picked up his pencil and stuck it in the sand. He began to write again.
‘Not so good,’ said Aten critically. ‘You need to practise lots.’ He looked out of the window. ‘You are luckier than I,’ he said. ‘Your sun is not so hot. Here the sand will take longer to dry so you have more time to learn the letter shapes.’
Cy stared long and hard at the sand tray. At home there were some seed trays in the garden hut and an old bag of sand in the garage. Perhaps he could make his own Egyptian letter-learner . . .
Aten clapped Cy on the shoulder and winked. ‘You will get better at it,’ he whispered. ‘And just think. You have only twenty-six to learn. I have seven hundred!’
Cy looked up at Aten. There was something about him that he hadn’t noticed before. It was his face. Because of his height he had thought Aten to be a boy of roughly his own age, but Cy realized that he must be a little older. Older and wiser. Wise the way Grampa was wise. The way you become if many different things happen to you.
In the afternoon they all worked on their Egyptian costumes. Some groups were cutting out breastplates from gold card, while others made jewellery from painted pasta shapes, coloured straws and beads. Mrs Chalmers asked Aten if he would mind sitting still in a chair for twenty minutes so that she could make a plaster cast of his features. She spread Vaseline all over Aten’s face while Cy cut pieces from the face-clay bandage roll and soaked them in a bowl of lukewarm water.
‘You will make a fine Tutankhamun,’ Mrs Chalmers told Aten as she laid the wet strips carefully across his face.
‘I will,’ said Aten, and he smiled. His forehead and chin had begun to disappear under the layers of gauze strips.
‘Don’t move!’ scolded Mrs Chalmers. She worked quickly, moulding the damp plaster against Aten’s features before it could dry. Slowly his face, from ear to ear, and from forehead to chin, was completely covered in white clay.
‘I’ll leave the underside of your nose free so that you can breathe,’ said Mrs Chalmers. She placed the last few strips across Aten’s mouth and smoothed them down. Then she stood back. ‘Aten,’ she said, ‘Aten, you look magnificent!’ When the plaster was completely dry the rest of the class gathered round as Mrs Chalmers gently eased the mask mould free from Aten’s face. She held it up in front of him. ‘What do you think?’
Aten reached out and, very slowly, he touched the copy of his features. He frowned and then nodded once or twice. ‘Let me see again the decoration that you will place upon it,’ he said.
Cy brought the book which had the photograph of Tutankhamun’s golden portrait mask.
‘It is made of solid gold, decorated with blue glass, lapis lazuli and carnelian,’ said Mrs Chalmers.
‘With the head-dress of the Vulture Goddess of Upper Egypt and the Serpent Goddess of Lower Egypt,’ continued Aten.
‘Ah, so that is what the animals represent,’ said Mrs Chalmers, looking more closely at the picture. ‘How interesting.’
‘The Cobra Crown,’ murmured Aten.
‘It is amazing that it survived,’ said Vicky. ‘Most tombs were robbed.’
‘That is true,’ said Aten. ‘But then, thieves can always find ways to steal what is not theirs.’ He glanced across at Chloe, who blushed and looked away. ‘Although,’ Aten laughed, ‘the watchers of the labyrinth of three thousand rooms at Lake Moeris are nev
er disturbed. These guards are neither men nor dogs, but crocodiles. Large, hungry crocodiles.’
‘No way!’ said Cy.
‘Wrong,’ said Aten. ‘There is always a way through a labyrinth.’
‘“No way” doesn’t mean that there is no way,’ said Mrs Chalmers. ‘It’s a modern expression of surprise or, say, disbelief. Like for instance, if you told me that you understood the riddle of the Sphinx, then I might say “No way!”’
‘But understanding the Sphinx is not so very hard—’ began Aten.
‘What Mrs Chalmers means,’ Cy interrupted quickly, ‘is that saying “No way” is just like saying “Wow” or something.’ ‘Wow. Or something,’ repeated Aten.
‘Goodness me!’ said Mrs Chalmers, looking at her watch. ‘Is that the time? I must hurry to clear up. There is a staff meeting immediately after school tonight.’
Cy and Aten went to the assembly hall as soon as the last bell went.
‘The Mean Machines must have put your ankh somewhere in here,’ said Cy, looking about. ‘They’d be frightened to get caught with it on them.’
‘But where?’ said Aten. ‘The hall is huge.’
Cy went across to the stage cupboard and peered inside. ‘Someone’s been in here again,’ he said. ‘I’ll pull out the pyramid and then we can look among the props.’ Just as they managed to manoeuvre the pyramid out into the hall, the door opened and Eddie and Chloe swaggered in.
‘Looking for something?’ sneered Eddie.
‘Yes,’ said Cy, in a tired voice, ‘and I could catch up with Mrs Chalmers before she goes into the staff meeting and tell her that we haven’t found it yet.’
A slightly anxious look passed between Chloe and Eddie.
‘All right, camel boy. You can have your silly necklace back.’ Chloe ran forward, lifted the top flap of the pyramid, and took Aten’s amulet from its hiding place. ‘Here! Catch!’ she shouted, and she flung the ankh far above her head. The silver surface reflected the light from the long windows as the ankh was hurled high into the air. For a brief moment it hung above their heads, and then it began to fall. Behind the little group the huge cardboard pyramid started to topple forward.
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