by Kara LaReau
“Hattie,” said Jaundice.
“And Bert,” said Kale. The Bland Sisters had never heard their parents’ real names before; they’d always known them by what they now knew to be their aliases, John and Mary Bland, or rather, Mother and Father. Jaundice and Kale closed their eyes and bowed their heads. Just feeling the words on their tongues filled them with longing.
“Right,” Beatrix said slowly. “How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”
The Bland Sisters looked at each other and shrugged. They couldn’t remember. Their parents had left them to run an errand of an unspecified nature so very long ago. Since then, Jaundice and Kale had been on their own.
“Well, I’m sure they can’t wait to see you,” said the pilot. “And to know you’re safe.”
She reached into her coat and pulled out a worn little book.
“I got a package yesterday from your parents. It contained the coordinates to your house, a quick note about rendezvousing with us at a secret spot—to be named later—and this. Does it look familiar?” Beatrix asked.
The black cover of the book was sun-faded, and the pages inside were filled with notes, sketches, maps, and diagrams, all written in brown ink in a familiar hand.
“That’s the handwriting on all our letters,” Jaundice said, leafing through it. The fact that the book seemed gray on the outside and brown on the inside was comforting, given that those were Jaundice and Kale’s favorite colors, respectively. She handed it to Kale, who gave it a good sniff.
“Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes. “Spices.”
“This is your mother’s archaeology journal—she started it when she was a student. She showed it to me on Gilly Guns Island, and told me how she takes it with her everywhere,” explained the pilot. “So the fact that she sent it to me has only one meaning: Danger.”
“For us, or for our parents?”
“Both,” said Beatrix. “Luckily, ‘Danger’ is my middle name.”
“Really?” said Kale.
“No, it’s Louise, after my grandmother,” the pilot confessed. “But don’t worry, ladies. You’re in good hands.”
“I heard someone ordered the Barnstormer,” a woman said, appearing at their table. “There’s only one person I know who can handle all that food.”
“Ricky!” Beatrix said, jumping up to embrace the woman. They looked into each other’s eyes, smiling. “It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” Ricky said. She looked over at the Bland Sisters. “And who are these ladies?”
“My precious cargo,” Beatrix explained. “Ricky, this is Jaundice and Kale Bland. Jaundice and Kale, this is Ricky. She owns the whole kit and caboodle here. She and I got into quite a bit of trouble together when we were younger.”
“Time does go by,” Ricky said, sighing.
“Well, we’ll always have Paris,” Beatrix noted.
“That’s true,” Ricky said. “And here she is now!”
At that, the café owner picked something up from the floor and held it aloft for the Bland Sisters to see. It was a large and very old-looking tortoise with a bumpy brown shell.
“We rescued her in France on one of our last adventures together,” explained Beatrix.
“Say hello to Paris, girls,” Ricky urged.
“Hello, Paris,” Jaundice and Kale said. The tortoise promptly retreated into its shell.
“How long are you here?” Ricky asked.
“As long as it takes to fill my belly,” said Beatrix.
“Not long, then,” Ricky said, giving Jaundice and Kale a wink. “I’ve never seen someone eat so much, so fast. She might even eat faster than she flies—that’s why we named the Barnstormer after her. Wait. Did you say your names are Jaundice and Kale?”
“We didn’t,” said Jaundice.
“But we are,” said Kale.
“I’ve seen those names before,” Ricky said. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Where was it?”
Somewhere in the kitchen, a radio was turned on. A dreamy song filled the air.
Ricky sighed. “Ugh,” she said. “I’ve told my cook a million times, I can’t think with that sad music dripping in my ears.”
“You were never the sentimental type,” recalled Beatrix.
“I’m sure it will come to me,” Ricky said. She headed back to the kitchen and shouted at the cook, “I told you not to play it again, Sam!”
While Beatrix and the Bland Sisters continued eating, the big-eyed man in the hat paid his bill, rose from his seat, and began walking to the door. Thankfully, Jaundice had just paused to blow on her spoonful of still-warm oatmeal, or she would not have noticed that the man was stealing Kale’s backpack.
“Stop! Thief!” she yelled.
“Oh, no!” Kale shouted. “He’s making off with TAKING OFF! with Trip Winger!”
Beatrix was up in a flash. She tripped the man, and he landed on the floor, dropping the backpack. But just as Beatrix reached down to grab it, the man reached up and pulled her down, too. For a few moments, they tussled. Then they both sprang up and began fighting.
“She’s awfully good with her fists,” noted Kale.
“Unfortunately, so is he,” said Jaundice.
Finally, the man kicked one of the café chairs at Beatrix. She stumbled out of the way, which gave him just enough time to grab the backpack and run. He was headed for the door, when—
BONGGGGG.
He ran right into a frying pan—a pan wielded by Ricky, standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Four things you won’t find in my café: rats, roaches, sad music, and thieves,” she announced. The Bland Sisters took note.
TO BANK (OR TURN) THE PLANE SMOOTHLY, MOVE THE STICK TO THE LEFT OR RIGHT. KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR TURN-AND-BANK INDICATOR AND ADJUST THE RUDDER ACCORDINGLY TO KEEP THE BALL IN THE CENTER.
TAKING OFF! with Trip Winger
Beatrix grabbed a pitcher of ice water and threw it in the man’s face. He regained consciousness, sputtering and flailing.
“Who are you?” she asked him, grabbing him by the collar.
“I . . . I am Uggo,” the man said, finally. “Please. My master only sent me to retrieve what is rightfully his.”
“Who is your master?” Beatrix asked. When the man said nothing, she gave him a good shake.
Filled with fear, his eyes looked even more bug-like. When he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. Finally, he raised his hand, and extended two shaky fingers.
“Two?” said Jaundice. “What does that mean?”
“It’s not ‘two,’” Beatrix said. She let Uggo go, and he slumped to the floor, moaning. “It’s the letter V.”
“What does that mean?” asked Kale, collecting her backpack.
“It means we need to get going, pronto,” said Beatrix.
“What do you want me to do with this trash?” asked Ricky, nudging Uggo with her boot. “Shall I alert the authorities?”
“No, I think we should send him back to his ‘master,’” Beatrix decided. She knelt down and addressed Uggo. “You tell ‘V’ that if he wants it, he’s got to go through me. And I can’t wait for him to try.”
The pilot downed her glass of orange juice.
“We’ve gotta go, ladies,” Beatrix announced.
“Where?” asked Jaundice.
“I don’t know yet,” said Beatrix. “Anywhere but here.”
As the Bland Sisters and the pilot made their way back to the Bluebird, Ricky ran after them.
“Wait! I finally remembered!” she cried, waving a worn postcard. She handed it to Kale. “This came for you yesterday.”
Kale gave it a good sniff. She handed it to Jaundice, who sniffed it, too.
“It’s from our parents,” the Bland Sisters said in unison.
“They told me they’d send word of where we should rendezvous,” Beatrix informed them. “What does it say?”
“Nothing,” said Jaundice. One side featured a photo of a camel and said GREETINGS FROM LUXOR. WISH YOU WERE HER
E. She flipped the postcard over. “The other side is just doodles.”
“Let me see that,” said Beatrix, taking a look for herself. She chuckled. “These aren’t doodles. It’s a hieroglyph.”
“Is that like a code?” asked Kale.
“It is,” said Beatrix. “It’s an ancient written language made of pictures. In this case, this sequence of pictures spells out a word.”
“What word?” asked Jaundice, peering over the pilot’s shoulder.
“It’s QAD. It’s the ancient Egyptian word for ‘sleep,’” said Beatrix.
Ricky shrugged. “I don’t get it,” she said. “How is ‘sleep’ going to help you find them?”
“Oh, wait,” Kale said, turning to her sister. “Maybe we’re supposed to sleep with the scarab under our pillow. Then we can talk to our parents, and they can tell us where they are.”
But Jaundice wasn’t listening. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if she was thinking really, really hard.
“Sister?” said Kale.
“I think they already told us where they are,” Jaundice said. “Remember that dream I had on the plane?”
“That dream didn’t make any sense,” Kale reminded her.
“Tell me everything you saw,” Beatrix said.
“Well, at first, it was snowing, and really cold,” said Jaundice. “And there was this really fancy castle. I went inside, and then I was outside again, but it was warm and sunny, and there were flowers and plants everywhere. Our parents were there, and our mother was poking around in the dirt with strange tools. There was a boy and a girl there, in white robes, and they wanted me to give them the scarab. And then I woke up.”
“Yep,” said Kale. “Complete nonsense.”
Beatrix squinted. “Hmm,” she said. “It might not be. Not completely, anyway. When you put snow together with a fancy castle, there’s only one place that comes to mind in Luxor: the Winter Palace.”
“‘The Winter Palace’? Sounds cold,” said Kale.
“It isn’t. Believe me,” said Beatrix.
“You’ll need provisions,” said Ricky. She ran back to the souvenir shop in the terminal and returned with hats and sunglasses and water canteens and a big bottle of sunscreen. “If there’s one thing I learned on my travels, it’s that the sun is not your friend!”
The Bland Sisters took the items from Ricky eagerly. They had never been on friendly terms with the sun, so they appreciated the extra protection.
“Now we’d better take to the skies,” said Beatrix, donning her goggles and preparing the Bluebird for takeoff.
“I guess this is goodbye,” said Ricky.
“Goodbye!” called the Bland Sisters, stepping onto the plane.
“Thanks for the oatmeal!’ said Jaundice. “And the provisions!”
“And for that thing you did with the frying pan!” called Kale.
“Here’s looking at you, kid!” said Beatrix, blowing Ricky a kiss.
• • •
Beatrix showed Kale how all of the dials and levers and pedals worked in the cockpit. She even allowed Kale to help her fly the plane a little bit, and she showed her how to lower and retract the Bluebird’s amphibious landing gear.
“Will we be landing on . . . water?” Kale asked.
“Just a little river,” said Beatrix. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“I’m having a Feeling,” Kale announced, as she gripped the steering column. Kale was always having Feelings of one kind or another, but this Feeling was one she could not describe. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It gave her goosebumps.
“I think you’re a natural,” Beatrix said. “I wish your parents could see you.”
“Me, too,” Kale said. “Sister, I’m actually flying the plane!”
“Uuuuuugh,” groaned Jaundice. From the moment they’d resumed their seats, she’d been curled up, and sweaty, and green with nausea.
“I wish you’d look outside,” Kale called to her. “The landscape below is so perfectly tan.” Kale’s favorite color was brown, so she may have been slightly biased.
“That’s sand,” Beatrix informed her. “We’re flying over the desert.”
“I can’t look,” said Jaundice. She squeezed her eyes shut even more tightly.
“I think your sister might be suffering from a fear of flying, otherwise known as aviophobia,” Beatrix surmised. “Of course, she might just have acrophobia, which is a fear of heights, or claustrophobia, which is a fear of being confined. I decided to learn all I could about fear at an early age, so I’d know what to do if I ever felt afraid.”
“And have you?” Kale asked. “Felt afraid?”
“Oh, all the time,” Beatrix said. “That’s when I know things are really getting exciting. I find the best way to deal with fear is to confront it head-on.”
“Blerrrrrgh,” Jaundice moaned. She was about to have a head-on confrontation with her breakfast.
Kale left the cockpit and sat next to her sister. “Why don’t I read to you from our mother’s journal? I’m sure hearing her words will comfort both of us.”
Jaundice groaned in response. Kale took this as a sign to commence reading.
PROPERTY OF HATSHEPSUT UMM
Student of Archaeology
DAY ONE: THE JOB (!!!)
I can’t believe it—I’m going to be assisting my idol, the world-renowned archaeologist and Egyptologist, Victor Gazebo!
There were dozens of other applicants, all of whom were just as qualified as me, so I never thought I had a chance. But then I got the call, inviting me to Professor Gazebo’s office for an interview. I’d never seen so many books on ancient Egypt in one place, or so many artifacts (he assured me they were reproductions), and Professor Gazebo is even more intimidating in person. I couldn’t believe I was in the same room with him, let alone interviewing for a job as his assistant.
He asked me a few questions about my education and background, and I told him all about my work at the university. He didn’t seem impressed, especially when he noticed my snake bracelet.
“I am not a fan of snakes, Miss Umm,” he informed me, frowning. “In any form.”
I covered the bracelet with my hand. Of course, I thought I was sunk. But then he looked at my resume.
“Your first name is . . . Hatshepsut?” he said.
“It is,” I replied. “Hatshepsut Umm. Though everyone calls me Hattie.”
“You are named after the great Egyptian queen?” he said.
“That’s right,” I said. “My parents always had high hopes for me. I only wish they’d lived long enough for me to fulfill them.”
He folded his hands and looked at me, his eyes glittering.
“Miss Umm,” he said. “I cannot say that you are any more qualified than any of the other applicants for this position. But I can tell you that I am a believer in signs. The work I am finishing up right now is focused on the Temple of Amon in Karnak. A pair of obelisks was erected in front of that temple, though only one still stands. They were built by—”
“Queen Hatshepsut,” I said.
He leaned forward and focused his piercing eyes on me.
“Are you a hard worker, Miss Umm? Can you promise to be obedient, loyal, and above all, discreet?”
“I will do whatever you ask,” I said.
“Welcome to my team,” he said, making a V sign with his fingers.
DAY FIFTEEN
We’ve been working on finishing the Temple of Amon project for the past two weeks. It’s been the hardest work I’ve ever done. Most of the time I follow Victor around, making notes and attending to his lunch orders and making sure he always has his perfectly-ice-cold qasab and his afternoon nap (I’ve even shared my mother’s sleep method to cure his insomnia). And then, today, everything changed.
I was at the café, buying Victor’s lunch of fattoush and qasab (he will only eat the fattoush there, since they make it with kale, which is evidently healthier) when I saw a young man at the bar. I could tell by
his clothes that he was a tourist, though for someone here on holiday, he seemed particularly unhappy. I don’t know what made me do it, but I ordered an extra qasab and set it in front of him.
“Have a nice day,” I said to him in English, hoping it was a language he could understand. Before he could respond, I left.
Why did I do it? I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because of all the good work I’ve been doing with Victor. It inspired me to do a good deed.
When I got back to the site with Victor’s lunch, he was in an uncharacteristically happy mood. He was laughing and joking with the members of his security detail, who guard his dig sites from looters (and make sure to dispense with any errant snakes). He even remembered to pay me for his lunch without having to remind him.
“This is a day for the history books,” he said, taking a swig of qasab. “My workmen on the new site have broken through!”
“Broken through?” I asked.
He showed me a map unrolled on his desk.
“This is the tomb of Seti I,” I said. “It was discovered by Giovanni Battista Belzoni in 1817.”
“Correct. And since then, it has been ‘fully excavated.’ Until now,” he said, smirking. “Tell me, who inherited the throne from Seti I?”
I thought for a moment. “His son, Ramses II?”
“Eventually,” said Victor. “Through my research, I have learned that Ramses was not the first in line. Seti I had two other children. Twins—a boy and a girl. Their names were Nehy and Nefret.”
“What happened to them?” I asked.
“They succumbed to influenza when they were children,” Victor informed me. “For some time, I have suspected that they were buried in a secret chamber in Seti’s tomb. I believe my team has just found that chamber. We go there tomorrow.”
“What about our work here, at the temple?” I asked.
“Our work here is done,” he said. He sat down and unwrapped his fattoush. He took a big bite of kale. “Our real work is just beginning!”