by H. R. Hobbs
“I’ve summoned you this morning to see if you have anything to tell me after our talk yesterday.”
Mitch still felt a brief moment of surprise at hearing the high priest use English. And he spoke so fluently, with no hint of the accent or difficulty Jabari had. Mitch sighed. When he’d woken up this morning, for a moment he’d hoped it had all been a dream.
“No.”
“Hmm . . . I thought not.” Ammon studied him carefully. “You are either telling the truth or an adept liar.”
“Telling the truth?” Mitch kicked himself for making it sound more like a question than a fact.
“If you have no knowledge, then tell me how it is you came to this city again?”
“Well, Brock and I—”
“Let’s start with that. I have never heard your names before or seen them in ancient writings.” He gestured to the papers on the table.
Is that what he’s looking for? Mention of us in some old books? Mitch thought. So his great-grandpa must not have told him he came from the future. How was Mitch going to come up with something Ammon would believe?
“Our moms thought we needed names to stand out from the crowd?”
Darn it! He did it again—made it sound more like a question than a fact.
Ammon considered his answer. “Which brings up another point I wanted to talk to you about. You claim to come from the south. Where exactly in the south?”
Mitch scrambled for a name, but his mind came up blank. There hadn’t been a need to be specific before. Everyone had accepted their answer.
“You probably haven’t heard of it. Super small village.” This time Mitch managed to get it out with more confidence.
Ammon’s eyebrows went up. “Try me.”
“Um . . . it’s called . . .” He looked frantically around the room and then inspiration struck. “It’s called Nashville. It’s very remote—no other villages for miles around.”
Ammon said nothing.
“Maybe this traveller guy, from away—”
“Peran,” Ammon said.
“Yeah, sure, Peran . . . maybe he was confused? Maybe he’d been hit on the head at some point, lost his memory or something.”
“No. He was adamant that it was the spyglass that brought him here.”
Mitch shrugged. “Maybe he was crazy. Sounds loony to me.”
Ammon just stared, unconvinced.
“Or maybe he was from our village,” Mitch went on. That part at least was true. Great-Grandpa George had come from Fairview. “He could have gotten lost in a sandstorm. Probably went crazy in the desert, you know? And then the nomads found him. Sounds like they rescued the guy.”
Mitch held his breath, hoping that Ammon believed his story.
“I still think you are lying. But we will see what your friend has to say when he gets here.”
It seemed Ammon was finished interrogating him for now. Mitch thought he should ask some questions. Maybe he could get the upper hand or find a way to get out of this mess.
“What’s so special about this spyglass, anyway?”
“As I told you yesterday, the traveller told my grandfather he believed it was a way to travel through time.”
Geez, George, Mitch thought, why’d you have to give that bit of information away?
“Well, like I told you, I don’t have this spyglass thingy. But let’s say I could find it for you. What would you want it for?”
Ammon didn’t answer. Instead, he returned to the spot behind his desk.
Mitch tried a different angle. “Do you think the spyglass is going to take you into the past or the future? And why would you want to do that, anyway?”
Ammon shuffled some papers on the table. After a long pause, he finally spoke.
“Time is a prison. We spend our short lives building pyramids that will span the ages. We bury our bodies with our hearts and our gold, preparing for some afterlife. But to what end? I’ve spent much of my life going through the ancient scrolls for any reference to having the ability to escape the shackles of the everyday. To travel through time.”
“Yeah, man,” Mitch said. “Time sucks.”
Ammon ignored him. “Through my search, I’ve found that the spyglass was given to an early explorer by King Necho, to aid in his travels. At the time, he was tasked with finding people to trade with. According to any accounts that I can find, he never returned. His ship disappeared during a storm and the crew was lost. It wasn’t until Peran, the man in that mural, appeared during my grandfather’s time—then was the spyglass mentioned again.”
Ammon watched Mitch closely as he spoke, then stopped, waiting for a reply. Mitch tried to hide his shock. So Ammon knew what the spyglass could do. This wasn’t good. He hadn’t mentioned anything about an amulet or lapis lazuli or that it needed to be blessed in order for it to work. Did he know that part?
“What do you think happened to him?” Mitch asked.
“I have a theory,” Ammon answered. “I think that the boat probably did get caught in a storm, but I think that there is a possibility the explorer survived . . . by travelling to the future.”
Ammon’s mention of the storm triggered something in Mitch’s memory. Great-Grandpa George had disappeared in a storm, too. And he suddenly remembered how thunder had shook the treehouse right before he and Brock had ended up here. Did the weather have something to do with the time travel? Mitch tucked that piece of information away to consider later. The question still remained: What did Ammon want with the spyglass?
Mitch asked, “So, you’re doing this for . . . what? Science?”
Ammon smiled. “Not entirely. In my search I discovered that the spyglass was made from the gold of Ra’s tomb. Blessed by High Priest Irit himself, it gave the bearer unimaginable power.”
“Travelling through time is ‘unimaginable’?”
“The spyglass holds more than the ability to travel in time. When activated correctly, it bestows the possessor with more power than even Ra.”
Ammon’s eyes seemed to glow with excitement.
This was bad. Mitch remembered the way Jabari had reacted when Brock made fun of the name “Ra.” If Mitch had learned one thing in all his time here, it was that Ancient Egyptians worshipped Ra above all else, that Ra held the power of the universe. Whatever Ammon was searching for would give him more power than their ultimate god?
“How do you know this?”
“After Peran’s sudden disappearance, my grandfather spent the rest of his life searching for any information he could find.”
“And . . . ?”
“And he discovered the Prophecy of Aten.”
This didn’t sound good. But if they were going to get out of here, Mitch needed to know exactly what he was dealing with.
“This Prophecy of Aten thingy . . . what did it say?”
Ammon’s eyes narrowed at the question.
“The Prophecy of Aten comes from the time of creation. It is said that those who can find the portal to the Great Beyond will have untold wealth and live forever. The search for the spyglass became my grandfather’s and father’s life’s work . . . and now it is mine.”
As Ammon talked, a tight ball formed in Mitch’s stomach. If what he said was true, there was no time to waste. They had to find a way home before Ammon discovered they had the spyglass.
Great-Grandpa George’s words, told to Mitch through the old man Hank, came back to him now. For your own protection I can’t tell you.
It was a bit too late for that.
Chapter 21
Brock’s relief at seeing Mitch for the first time in seven days was evident, but it was nothing like Mitch’s relief. They met on the balcony from their first visit. Mitch hugged both Brock and Jabari as Ammon looked on—he even wished Rehema and Sara and Metjen were there. He’d never been so happy to see someone in his life.
“How are you?” Brock whispered.
“I’m doing great,” Mitch said s
arcastically. “Ammon, here, is taking great care of me. Aren’t you, buddy?”
With a quick bow, the high priest left the room.
When he was sure they were out of hearing range, Mitch pointed to the cushions on the ground and said, “Have a seat. I’ve got lots to tell you.” Once they were seated and prepared a sandwich of goat cheese and olives, Mitch asked, “How are things at the shop?”
“Busy,” Jabari answered. “With the death of the prince we have been working day and night in preparation for his burial.”
“Yeah, Metjen has me working on the sarcophagus,” Brock said, and Mitch was surprised to see he was actually excited. “After we have it roughly carved out, he might even teach me how to do the hieroglyphs!”
“That’s perfect, because I’m going to see if I can get Ammon to teach me how to read hieroglyphs. Maybe between the two of us we can figure out the symbols on the spyglass. He kind of caught me snooping around the palace. Oh,” Mitch added nonchalantly, “and he knows how to speak English.”
“What?!” Brock and Jabari said in unison.
Jabari stood and started pacing. “You need to get out of here. Who knows what we’ve said in front of him. You could be in real danger.”
“Relax, Jabari. I don’t think he’s figured anything out.”
“Yet,” Brock added.
“Okay, yet. But I think I can find some answers. I’ve got to stay.”
“I think you need to go back to the beginning,” Brock said. “I’m confused.”
Mitch told them about his discovery of the man in the mural and how Ammon suspected that he and Brock had come from another time using the spyglass. Jabari and Brock were most surprised when Mitch told them about the Prophecy of Aten. They stared at him in disbelief.
“I think we have a bigger problem on our hands than just how to get home,” Mitch said seriously. “We have to make sure the spyglass never gets in the hands of Ammon.”
Brock finally recovered from his shock and said, “Well, it’s a good thing I left it with Rehema.”
“Yeah. We can’t chance Ammon or his guards discovering it while we’re here. After my escape, I know they searched my room. And I now have two guards posted under the balcony. So no more escaping that way.”
“The spyglass stays at Jabari’s. I hope Rehema found a good place to hide it. We’ll never get home if Ammon gets his hands on it.”
Jabari nodded at Brock’s words. “Do you think it is a good idea for him to teach you about hieroglyphs?” He brushed crumbs off his robes and took a sip of water.
“You know the old saying, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?”
Jabari looked at Mitch blankly. “No.”
Oh, duh. “Well, it’s an old saying for us. Anyway, that’s what I plan to do. It also will give me an opportunity to find out more about the spyglass and Ammon’s plan for it.”
Jabari and Brock thought about what Mitch had told them. Jabari finally spoke.
“I do not think you should be here on your own, Mitch.”
“I have to be! Brock needs to stay with you and”—he dropped his voice to a whisper, not sure who could be listening—“protect the spyglass!”
“But you are putting yourself in a dangerous situation,” Jabari argued. “If Ammon ever finds out that you have the spyglass . . .”
Mitch shuddered at the thought. “He doesn’t suspect that I have it.”
“You think he does not suspect it. Men like Ammon can be very deceptive. They are trained to be that way.”
“You worry too much, Jabari. I’ll be fine.”
Jabari didn’t look convinced.
Mitch changed the subject.
“Have you found a lapis lazuli?”
“No. Rehema and Brock have been combing the jewellers in the market every day, but we have not found anything even close to a lapis lazuli scarab.”
Mitch hid his disappointment. He had been hoping that maybe Brock and Jabari had found something and they could just go home here, now. He tamped down the feeling of homesickness. They had to be careful. If Ammon ever got his hands on the spyglass, it could mean the end for them—and for Jabari and Rehema and Sara.
“You’ve been careful in not drawing attention to yourselves, right?”
“We don’t ask for amulets,” Brock reassured him. “Just look to see what they have for sale.”
“Keep looking. I’ll see what I can find out from Ammon.”
Jabari and Brock nodded solemnly. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a start.
“So, how are the preparations coming along for the prince’s funeral?”
Jabari and Brock filled Mitch in on all the things that had been happening at the shop. Sometime later, Ammon appeared again on the balcony. He said something to Jabari, who stood and motioned to Brock.
“Our litter is here to take us back to the shop.”
Ammon and Mitch escorted Jabari and Brock to the palace entrance. Mitch gave both of them a tight hug and told them he would see them next week.
Mitch watched the litter leave through the palace gates and wished he could go with them.
“I will escort you back to your room,” Ammon said, and turned to go up the steps.
“Why didn’t you speak English when Brock and Jabari were here?”
Ammon stopped and looked down at him from the steps above.
“That will be something we keep between us.”
Oops!
“Why?” Mitch asked, coming to stand on the step beside Ammon.
“Because it is only for you and me to know.” Ammon continued walking up the steps.
Mitch sighed in frustration. It was just like when his parents said, “Because I said so,” which was no reason at all. Mitch hurried to catch up to Ammon. When he caught up to him, he said:
“I was wondering if you would consider something.”
“What would that be?”
Ammon never stopped walking. Mitch struggled to keep up.
“I’d like to learn to read hieroglyphs.”
At his words Ammon stopped and considered him.
“For what purpose?”
“Well—” Mitch scrambled for a reason. “Metjen is teaching us how to decorate a sarcophagus. It might come in handy to know what the symbols mean.”
“Handy?” Ammon repeated, frowning at the word.
“Like a good idea. I’m here to learn as much as I can, after all.”
Ammon thought about what he said. Mitch crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping Ammon would see this as a good reason.
“You could be right.” The priest turned and continued walking. “Come to my office tomorrow after lunch and we will have your first lesson.”
Mitch did a hop in excitement and Ammon gave him a curious look.
“Now, Pharaoh would like to see you.”
“He does?” Mitch asked, the excitement gone and confusion taking its place.
They found the pharaoh back in the same room they’d met in before. When Ammon introduced Mitch again, the pharaoh came down off his throne.
“Pharaoh would like you to join him for a walk.”
“Okay.”
Ammon translated and the pharaoh repeated, “Okay!” apparently enjoying the word.
The three of them set off through the chamber and out into the hallways of the palace. The pharaoh quizzed Mitch on where he was from and, like Ammon, had no idea where in Egypt this Nashville village was. He asked about his family next. Mitch told him the truth—about his parents being farmers and how irritating his sister was. The pharaoh thought that was very amusing. As they walked, Mitch relaxed and even enjoyed the translated conversation.
As they arrived at his room, the pharaoh wanted to see the room he was staying in. He frowned at the guards standing at the doorway. He turned and said something to Ammon, who replied, appearing to disagree. The pharaoh patted Ammon on the shoulder as if to say You worry too
much before walking back the way they had come, the guards from his doorway following behind.
“What did he say?” Mitch asked as he watched them go.
“His Royal Highness has removed the guards, as he feels you can be trusted, even though I feel that you cannot.”
With a flourish of his robes, he turned and followed the pharaoh down the hallway.
Alone in his room, Mitch savoured his new freedom. Thanks to the pharaoh, he was now free to come and go as he pleased. Which meant he would be able to search for the scarab and any information that would help them get home.
Ammon’s response to the pharaoh’s order was a little concerning. Was he going to try to come up with another way to keep him in his room? He’d deal with that when it happened. Right now, he needed to record what he already knew about the spyglass and the symbols on it.
He took out the papyrus paper, reed, and ink. He studied the symbols he’d remembered from the spyglass. These were the ones he was going to look for during his lessons. He looked at what he had drawn, frowning. He wished he could remember more. Sliding the sheet back under the other papers in the desk in case someone went snooping through it, he crawled into bed thinking about his lesson the next day.
Chapter 22
“This section of the palace was built by Rameses the Second,” Ammon told Mitch as they walked down a corridor in the north wing of the palace.
This wing held the pharaoh’s chambers. Guards with full battle gear stood every four feet. Ammon stopped and pointed out a mural.
“Let’s start here with your first lesson.” Ammon pointed to a section of hieroglyphs etched into the wall. “This is the cartouche for Pharaoh Djoser.”
“A car . . . what?”
“Cartouche. It is the group of symbols that identify a pharaoh. You get all the important information about him from this.”
Mitch looked closer. Why did that name—Djoser—sound so familiar?
“That’s the eye of Ra.” He pointed to the spot on the wall.
“Correct.”
“This looks like a lion.”
“It is.”
“And this looks like some kind of bird.”