SECRET OF THE EGYPTIAN CURSE: Kids of Ancient Mythology

by Scott Peters

  "Sorry Missy!" Ramses said. "I didn’t know you were back there."

  The goose honked at him. Behind her lay a downy nesting spot against the wall. For a moment he thought of hiding back there to create his entry. And laughed.

  There had to be a place to go. Somewhere away from here.

  Somewhere she’d never think of.

  "You are too kind, my dear lady," came a voice from outside, "But truly, I need no assistance."

  It was Weris.

  Curious, Ramses edged closer to the door. Dust hung suspended in the rectangular shaft of sunshine. According to Sepi, Weris had been away for three days—only coming back at night to sleep. Three whole days! What kind of tutor did that?

  "Thebes is a big city, it’s easy to get lost," Aunt Zalika said. "I grew up there. Let me show you around."

  Tufts of goat hair from animals wandering in and out covered the doorframe, tickling Ramses’ cheek as he peeked outside.

  Aunt Zalika wore the most ridiculous pair of sandals he’d ever seen. They had high soles that looked like they were made of cork. Her eyelids were all fluttery, colored with green malachite, and a thin line of kohl extended all the way to her ears. Her perfume drifted toward him, so strong it overpowered the smell of the barn.

  And not in a good way.

  "The city streets can be confusing," she continued. "Maybe that’s why you’ve had so much trouble finding what you need. Let me join you."

  "You are too kind, my dear lady." Weris bowed to her. "But I fear your beauty would overpower me, and I’d be unable to concentrate on my duties."

  At this, Aunt Zalika giggled. Ramses wanted to gag.

  "Please let me come," she said in a funny little voice.

  "Madam, it is a crime to leave your wonderful presence these many afternoons. But today shall be the last. I believe I’ve found what I’m looking for. After that, nothing shall prevent me from being your most dedicated servant."

  "You bring such civility to our household," she said.

  "Good-day, my lady." Weris bowed low over her outstretched fingers. "Until tonight."

  She blushed all the way down to the beaded collar of her dress.

  Weris sauntered down the road in the direction of the river ferry that would take him across the Nile to Thebes. Sighing a little, she watched him stride off. Her flushed face looked so silly, Ramses almost choked from trying not to laugh.

  That afternoon, Ramses managed to sneak into Sepi’s room.

  "Why’s he going to Thebes?" Ramses said. "Why does he keep leaving?"

  "He says we need more supplies."

  "More supplies? He has piles of papyrus. He’s supposed to be teaching you."

  "I guess he needs something we don’t have," Sepi said.

  Ramses snorted. "Like what?"

  "I don’t know, but you’re right, it’s ridiculous," Sepi said. "Especially since we know he’s a complete farce."

  "That’s for sure."

  "What do you think he’s up to?"

  "I have no idea."

  Puzzled, Ramses returned to the fields.

  When he bent to examine the wheat, he had a churning sense of discomfort. The grain was nearly past its prime. Sobek’s prediction was coming true. Without the farm manager’s powerful muscles, they weren’t cutting nearly fast enough. Even with Ramses’ growing ability to control the team.

  Wind sent dust into his eyes. He blinked, momentarily blinded.

  "Where’s your master, boy?" asked a raspy voice.

  Ramses whipped around, scythe in hand.

  "Watch yourself!" the man growled, eying the curved blade. He wore a plain kilt and leather sandals. His cheeks hung in generous jowls.

  Ramses had seen him somewhere. Before he could think where, two more men closed in. Lowering the blade, his fingers tightened around the shaft.

  Suddenly, he remembered: this was one of the sentries who’d come looking for Neferet. His mouth went dry. Was he in trouble for meeting Neferet? Worse, had he gotten her in trouble?

  "Don’t stand there gaping like an idiot," the sentry said. "Where’s your master? Or do I have to beat it out of you?"

  "Sorry," Ramses said. "You surprised me, that’s all."

  The sentry’s two companions were larger than Sobek; both had scarred faces and the thick arms of fighters. Ramses gulped, deciding he had no choice but to do what they asked.

  "This way," he said, and led them toward the house.

  Uncle Hay stood pottering around near the barn. At the sight of the men, he looked as frightened as Ramses felt.

  "Greetings, gentlemen," he said with a shaky smile. "What can I do for you?"

  "My name’s Denger. These two good fellows are my cousins," the guard replied. "They’re new to the area. Rumor has it you need field workers—"

  "Rumor?" Uncle Hay said. "There’s no rumor! We have plenty of workers. We’re full up, we . . ." his voice trailed off as the hulking cousins took a menacing step.

  "That’s not what I heard," Denger said. "I heard your crew’s having trouble. And as you can see, my cousins are the strongest you’ll find."

  "Well, of course. Oh yes, I see that!" Removing his black wig, Uncle Hay wrung it between his blotchy, trembling hands. "I suppose we could use a little help."

  "Good, good."

  "I mean, I’ll have to talk to my wife about their pay." At this, Denger’s leer returned, and Uncle Hay let out a nervous laugh.

  Ramses stared, baffled. What was going on here?

  At that moment, Weris appeared. "Ah, hello there!" He shot Denger a glance. The two men shared a brief nod.

  They knew each other?

  "Weris," Uncle Hay cried. He grabbed the tutor’s sturdy shoulder like a drowning man. "Er, I had some important things to ask you, yes, very important, back to the house with us, lots to talk about." He gave the three men a friendly wave. "Must be going! Good-bye."

  Uncle Hay departed in such a hurry that he stirred up a cloud of dust.

  Weris shot Ramses a grin. Then he strode after Uncle Hay.

  "I trust you’ll take care of my cousins?" Denger said. He slapped Ramses hard on the back and laughed. "I’m off. Later, boys."

  Ramses stood between the two massive men. Rubbing his neck, he glanced from one grimace to the other. He forced a smile, but neither man smiled back.

  "I, uh, we better get to work?"

  They followed on his heels. He stopped when he reached where he’d been cutting, and picked up his scythe.

  The men crossed their arms, waiting. The shorter one’s nose looked flat, like it had been broken so often it had given up and collapsed. On the other, a knife scar ran from his eyebrow to his chin. His eyelid drooped, but lucky for him his eye still worked. What a pair.

  Flatnose and Scar-Eye.

  Fine. If they were here to work, they’d work. "Hui!" he called to the man in charge of the blades. "Sharpen two scythes."

  Great, Ramses thought, when Hui handed over the razor sharp implements. Flatnose and Scar-Eye now looked even scarier. As if that were possible.

  Working up his courage, he said, "You can cut that section."

  The cousins glanced where he’d pointed.

  Neither moved.

  "Yeah . . . okay, you know what? Forget I asked." He turned away.

  A blade sang through the air. Back prickling in terror, he whirled around. To his amazement, the cousins were mowing down the crop at an impressive pace.

  Maybe they were here to work. Maybe it was a coincidence Weris knew the guard from the Place of Truth.

  Yeah, and maybe crocodiles could fly.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  In the Place of Truth, several hours had passed and still Neferet’s father hadn’t returned home. Frightened at what he’d say, she scrubbed the kitchen floor as if she could scrub away the memory of Layla’s laughter and the whole horrible scene. Water splashed as she ground the bristles into the tiles.

  Her cheeks colored. She’d trusted her.

 
; How could she have fallen for such a liar’s tricks?

  The front door slammed and her fingers tightened on the brush. Her father banged into the front room. A moment later, he darkened the kitchen entryway. He paused, arms crossed, and looked down at her.

  She swallowed. "Hello."

  "There you are," he finally said.

  "I’m really sorry! Father, I’ve been trying so hard, honest—"

  "You and Layla are becoming a serious problem."

  "I don’t know what to do! But I know, it was my fault for trying to get close to the train. I just wanted to see who was in there . . . to see if it was . . ." Her voice trailed off. She stared at the dirty wash water. Why explain? She’d shamed him in front of the mayor. In front of the whole village—when he needed her support.

  He cleared his throat. "I saw Layla unbuckle that strap."

  Her head jerked up. "You did?"

  "But that doesn’t excuse you. You need to end this argument with Layla."

  "She hates me!"

  "Then change her mind. Now sit. I need to talk to you."

  She pulled out his three-legged stool, the one with the carved panther feet, and poured him a cup of water. The last few drops drained into the cup. The empty jug reminded her of her abandoned deliveries. She’d have to track them down later. "What’s going on?"

  "I met your friend today."

  "My friend?" So it was Ramses in the mayor’s train. "I knew it. I just knew it!"

  He took a sip from his mug, and his eyes danced beyond its rim. "Apparently he’s been coming for days. Asking for you by name."

  "Oh father! And you like him?"

  "His work, yes. But I can’t say his character impressed me."

  Her heart made an uncomfortable flutter. "Why not?"

  "Frankly, he struck me as rude. But there’s no question about his skills. Would you like to see the sample he brought us?"

  She nodded. He reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out a scroll wrapped in goatskin. But as he began to unroll it, the hairs on her neck prickled.

  "I owe you an apology. I really am impressed," her father said, opening it wider. "I think you’re right. We’ve found our apprentice."

  "Let’s see." Neferet moved a basket of dried beans that still needed sorting for stones, and glanced over his shoulder.

  A gruesome picture met her: it was Seth murdering Osiris and cutting him into bloody pieces. She’d shredded one just like it out in the desert.

  Akil. It belonged to Akil.

  "No," she whispered in horror.

  "What is it?" her father said.

  "That’s not Ramses’ drawing! A horrible boy named Akil drew it! Oh father, you can’t let him into our village. You can’t!"

  His brow darkened. "Akil? Of course it’s Akil’s. Who’s this Ramses?"

  "My friend!"

  "Wait, another friend? How many friends are going to come calling for you?"

  "It’s not like that! I should’ve told you before."

  "You’d better tell me, now."

  She nodded. Music drifted from somewhere outside. Someone was playing a reed flute. A girl started singing in high, clear tones. Layla. Her mother joined in. They sounded happy. There was no denying Layla had a pretty voice. But even a pretty voice could be grating if a person was mean enough.

  "I was picking herbs. Akil snuck up on me, he threatened me. He threatened the whole village. He said he’d cursed us with black magic, and I didn’t want to believe it but . . ."

  "And you never told me about this? When was it?"

  "That day Tui was carried back from your work-camp in the Valley of the Kings."

  Neferet’s father listened as she told him everything that had happened. When she finished, he picked up Akil’s drawing and studied it again. "Ramses approached you and you weren’t offended. Yet when this boy did, you threw away his drawing."

  "Because he’s evil!"

  "Neferet, he’s just a boy. And he’s very skilled. I’m disappointed in you."

  "Akil cast a spell over Tui, and Tui’s getting sicker!"

  "No. Tui’s been sick for years. This boy was just trying to scare you into doing what he wanted. He’s ambitious."

  Neferet stared at him. Beyond the high kitchen window, Layla’s song reached a crescendo. The flute struck up once again, piping the playful tune. Bright laughter accompanied the last few notes, which rose quickly and then faded away.

  "I admit," her father added, "it won’t be easy sharing our home with him."

  She jolted upright. "Sharing our home?"

  "At first, yes. He’ll be my responsibility."

  "No . . ." she said. "He can’t!" Akil, living here? She remembered how her arm burned with eerie heat where he’d touched her.

  "Neferet, I need your cooperation."

  "But are you still holding the exam?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. I’ve given Egypt my word."

  She grabbed the basket of dried beans and started sorting it for stones. "Ramses will change your mind," she said.

  "Don’t hold your breath hoping your friend is better than Akil."

  "You haven’t even seen one of his pictures."

  Her father stood to refill his cup. She glared at his back, wanting to rage at him, to make him see he was wrong. And how could he pass Akil’s magic off so lightly? The boy was evil—she felt it in every bone. She wanted to grab Akil’s papyrus and tear it up like the last. Yet that wouldn’t make him go away. Not anymore.

  The whole village knew about Akil’s skills now. They honored him.

  Already her father had called him their new apprentice.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ramses discovered to his surprise that he and the two hulking cousins made a great team. Together, they fell into an easy rhythm; blades swished back and forth; arms and hands moved to and fro. Flatnose grunted as he cut, Ramses hummed a tune. It felt as if they’d worked together for months. No, years.

  Three persons wide, they moved forward, clearing in neat, perfect blocks. The stands gave way to rustling bundles of harvest underfoot. And all around them, the fresh scent of cuttings filled the clear, bright air.

  Suddenly, the gong rang out.

  The three of them faltered, and then stopped.

  Ramses’ awkwardness instantly returned. He cleared his throat. "Looks like the day’s over."

  Flatnose wiped his blade on the ground, and then fingered its edge.

  "No need to stick around, you can go home."

  Scar-Eye made no move to leave. Instead, he ran his blade down his forearm, shaving off swatch of hair. Flatnose crossed his arms, legs planted. What by the gods did they want?

  "Or you can stay in the workers’ camp," Ramses said. "Past the south field. But I have to go."

  The cousins trailed on his heels.

  When the pond came into view, he spotted Hebony wading in the shallows. Whether at the sight of her, or by some unknown signal, the cousins drifted off.

  Hebony had her skirts in one hand and a net in the other. Although the pond was well stocked with fish, she didn’t seem to be having much luck. She splashed left and right, plunging the net into the water. She pulled it out, dripping and empty. Muttering curses, she plunged the net in again.

  She glanced up and saw Ramses. "Either I’m getting old or these fish have been practicing! I can’t catch a single one."

  Mud squished between his toes and water swirled around his calves as he wove through the lily pads. "Let me try."

  When he reached her, she grabbed his arm and whispered, "Ramses, why haven’t you used the papyrus I got you? It’s still under the tile."

  "I know."

  "But the exam’s day after tomorrow!"

  "I know." He gulped. Day after tomorrow.

  "You can’t leave it to the last minute. You need to get ready or else you might not be able to—"

  A long shadow fell across them. Ramses turned to see Uncle Hay cross beneath a cluster of overhanging palms.


  "Hand over that net," Ramses said.

  "Oh, wait, I got this one!" Hebony cried as a glint of silver darted along the surface. She lunged and slipped. Ramses caught her just before she went under.

  "On second thought," she said, "I’ll get the bucket."

  Ramses cracked his knuckles. "Watch this."

  By the time he’d filled the bucket with leaping Nile trout, he was drenched from head to toe; his sides ached from laughing, and her voice was hoarse with cheering.

  They parted ways.

  Still grinning, he decided Hebony was right. He had to make his entry before it was too late. Tonight, he’d take a chance and just do it. In his cell. He’d close the door, bar it tight, light his lamp and draw. What other choice did he have?

  But as he neared his cell, his grin faded. The door stood open, swinging on its hinges. Outside, overturned on the ground, lay his wooden chest.

  He hurried closer. Fanning out from his door, muddy rushes had been strewn every which way. It took a moment to realize he was staring at his bedding—dirty and trampled. The lid to his wooden chest had been cracked down the middle. He flipped the chest upright. Inside, his jar of carefully hoarded lamp oil had smashed, smearing over everything. His spare kilt shone with splotches of grease.

  Panicked, he threw it aside and ran to his cell to find his clay lamp.

  Gone.

  Outside, ground into the dirt, were fragments of pottery. He squatted down, and carefully gathered up a shard. It was a curved handle. His fingers trembled as they closed around the only remaining piece of his precious light.

  "You can’t hide from me," Aunt Zalika said harshly.

  He jerked around.

  "Now clean this up," she said. "I have guests coming for dinner, I don’t want it looking like I have a dirty weasel living out here."

  Fortunately, she turned and left. Because he was about to do something that would have made him sorry.

  Guests were coming to dinner? Out of nowhere, a plan sprang into his mind. He knew exactly what to do. He knew exactly where he could go. He threw everything into his room and slammed the door.

  The air felt hot and tense as he ran to find Sobek. His friend sat outside cleaning the fish. His knife glittered with silver scales as he scraped them into a bucket.