Storms and Scarabs

by H. R. Hobbs

  “It is an ibis, the symbol for Osiris, defender of Ra, in the underworld.”

  “The underworld? What’s that?”

  “If you do not join the gods at your death, you go to the underworld.”

  Mitch thought for a moment. “Like hell?’

  “I don’t know this word, ‘hell,’ but if it is the opposite of the afterlife, then yes.”

  Mitch studied the symbols some more. There weren’t any that resembled the ones from the spyglass. These all seemed to be animals and food. Finding out the meaning of the symbols on the spyglass wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

  Mitch tuned out what Ammon was telling him. There was nothing of any use for him here. He let his eyes wander to another section of the mural. More of the same. This section had a man he assumed was Rameses standing before an Anubis.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked Ammon.

  “It is the coronation of Pharaoh.”

  Mitch studied the mural. What caught his interest was a tiny jewel inlaid around the neck of one of the figures. It caught the light from one of the sconces and seemed to glow. That was where he’d heard the name Djoser—that was the mural he’d seen on Jabari’s tour, the one with the lapis lazuli inlaid into it. This one in front of him now wasn’t a lapis lazuli, but Mitch was hopeful that he might find one in one of the many murals throughout the palace.

  “Who makes these murals, anyway?”

  “The murals begin as a drawing by a scribe. They draw the images and hieroglyphs onto the wall. Next, an artisan will sculpt the scenes. Finally, they are painted,” Ammon said proudly.

  “And are those real?” Mitch pointed to the jewel.

  “In Pharaoh’s palace there are many jewels found with the murals. All are of the highest quality.”

  Ammon moved on to the next mural. Mitch found it strange that he hadn’t mentioned the spyglass for some time now. Mitch wasn’t foolish enough to think that Ammon believed his story about Nashville. It was like they were two gladiators circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Ammon described the next mural and pointed out new symbols. Mitch only listened with half an ear. He was busy looking for a lapis, and was disappointed to find none. In fact, there were no jewels at all.

  They’d come to the intersection of another corridor. Mitch turned to go down the one on the right, when he felt Ammon’s hand on his arm.

  “No one but Pharaoh and myself are allowed here.”

  Ammon removed his hand, but Mitch could tell from the firmness of his voice that this was not something to be taken lightly.

  “What’s down there?” Mitch couldn’t keep the curiosity out of his voice as he looked past Ammon down the corridor.

  “Only Pharaoh and his most trusted advisors are allowed in this area,” he repeated.

  That didn’t really answer his question, which just made Mitch more curious.

  “Come. Your lessons are over for today.”

  Mitch gave the corridor one last look before following Ammon back to his room.

  “Tomorrow we will meet in my office and put your new knowledge to work.”

  With that, he left.

  Inside his room, Mitch went to his desk and pulled out the papers he had hidden at the bottom of the drawer. He dipped the reed in the ink and added the symbols that Ammon had taught him today. He took his time to recreate the symbols he had seen on the murals.

  As he worked, his mind drifted to the fact that the guards were no longer outside his door. And Ammon’s warning to not abuse this new freedom. Mitch didn’t know what Ammon would do if he found him wandering the palace, but he knew this opportunity was too good to pass up.

  Later, Mitch sat on the balcony and watched the sun set over the city. As the last rays of light bathed the buildings in orange and yellow, he planned what he was going to do. He would have to wait for night to fall before he set out to do some investigating of the palace. Waiting was difficult, but it beat tying a sheet to the wall sconce and shimmying down the ladder.

  Mitch listened for sounds from within the palace. When he could see that both the city and the palace had gone to sleep, he slipped to the entrance of his room. The wall sconces burned dimly, putting most of the corridor in shadows.

  He stood in the shadow of his doorway and made sure the coast was clear. Confident he wouldn’t run into anyone, he slipped off his sandals and tiptoed into the hall. With his back to the wall, he kept to the shadows and moved down the corridor. When he reached the end, he peered around the corner.

  The braziers in the great hall were nearly out. His eyes strained to see if any guards were stationed in the room. He wouldn’t be able to hear them. They were like statues when on duty.

  Mitch slithered around the corner and stopped. His chest was heaving, and he tried to calm his breath, sure that someone could hear it or his rapidly beating heart. His eyes adjusted to the near darkness. He couldn’t make out anything or anyone. Counting to a hundred, he got his breathing under control and decided it was safe to move.

  Keeping to the shadows, he made his way past the balcony where they usually met with Jabari and Brock. At the end of the corridor, Mitch stopped and checked for any signs of anyone wandering the palace. His goal was to reach the pharaoh’s wing. If there were jewels inlaid in one mural, he was betting that there were jewels in other ones—and the motherload would be nearest the pharaoh.

  Mitch began to climb the stairs to the next floor of the palace. He knew there would be guards in the area. He was just hoping there wouldn’t be as many as this morning. He couldn’t hear his feet make contact with the stairs, so he knew the guards couldn’t either. He stopped before taking the last one and placed his hand on the wall for support.

  Looking down the corridor, he could see four guards. They were farther apart than they were this morning, but there was no way he was going to be able to go down the corridor and look at the murals without being noticed.

  Disappointed, he turned to leave.

  Just then, he heard a cough followed by footsteps coming from behind him.

  Someone was coming down the corridor!

  Mitch didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could. As the footsteps got closer, the risk of discovery grew. He was partially hidden in the shadows, but whoever was coming was going to find him here if he didn’t move. He gave himself a mental shake and looked down the corridor again.

  The closest guard was a few feet away. Luckily, the light from the sconces didn’t reach this far down the corridor. The outline of what he hoped was a statue stood between him and the guard. Knowing he had no time to waste, he slipped around the corner and stood beside the statue, frozen. He stood tall and placed his fist on his heart, mimicking the statue beside him.

  Footsteps reached the top of the stairs.

  Mitch held his breath—and it was a good thing he did, for he would have gasped when he saw Ammon come around the corner. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped the high priest didn’t discover him.

  The edge of Ammon’s robes brushed his toes as he went by, but he didn’t see Mitch standing next to the statue.

  Once he’d passed, Mitch opened his eyes and watched as the priest approached the two men guarding the corridor he’d told Mitch was off limits. They nodded and he disappeared down the corridor.

  Mitch knew he should take this opportunity to go back to his room, but he was also curious to see what Ammon could be doing at this time of night in the pharaoh’s wing.

  Not wanting to give himself away, he slowly let out the breath he’d been holding and relaxed against the statue. He started counting in his head. If he reached three hundred and Ammon hadn’t reappeared, he was going back to this room. As he counted, he heard the guards talking to each other. He couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  A door closed and he heard the clank of armour as the guards snapped to attention.

  Mitch melted farther into the shadow of the stat
ue and waited. A minute later, Ammon strode down the hall. Mitch peeked between the legs of the statue and could see he was carrying what appeared to be a large book. As Ammon got closer, Mitch closed his eyes and held his breath. Then the footsteps stopped. Mitch cracked open one eye and saw Ammon peering at the spot where Mitch had stood before. He gazed at the spot a moment longer, as if wondering why it seemed different this time, and then went down the stairs.

  Mitch waited to make sure that he was gone. Checking once more that the guards weren’t looking in his direction, he moved along the wall and checked to make sure the staircase was clear.

  Back in his room, Mitch lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He needed to come up with a way to get into that room. But how to get past the guards? He didn’t have Brock here to create a diversion like at the shop. He was going to have to do this one on his own.

  And what was the book that Ammon had? It had looked old. Was he still looking for information about the spyglass? And if he was, that meant that Mitch and Brock were still in danger. In fact, if Ammon got his hands on the spyglass, they might be stuck here forever.

  For Mitch, it was all getting to be too much.

  How much did Ammon know about the spyglass?

  What did the symbols on the spyglass mean?

  How were they going to get home without a lapis lazuli scarab?

  Was Ammon going to fulfill the Prophecy of Aten?

  What did that even mean?

  What would happen to Jabari and his family?

  Would Mitch ever see his family again?

  Questions rolled over and over in his mind as he tried to go to sleep.

  This time travel stuff was giving him insomnia.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning found Mitch in Ammon’s office. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. He had to work hard to keep his head from drooping onto the stack of papyrus in front of him.

  When he’d arrived this morning, Ammon had been hard at work at his desk. The high priest seemed to have forgotten about their lesson. The book Mitch had seen him carrying last night was nowhere to be found, but other scrolls heavy with ink lay open on his desk. Without looking up from what he was reading, Ammon had waved his hand at a stack of papers sitting on another desk and told him to identify as many hieroglyphs as he could. Then he’d gone back to reading.

  “What about the ones I don’t know?” Mitch asked. There was no point in him going over the ones he knew already. Time was running short. He needed to learn the ones he didn’t know.

  “Put a mark by them and bring them to me when you’re finished. There’s ink and reeds over there.” Ammon pointed to a shelf along the wall.

  Mitch fetched what he needed and sat down. He looked at the stack of papyrus papers and sighed. The pages were covered in symbols, most of them unrecognizable. Resigned to learning as many as he could, he got started.

  The task was boring, but it did give him the opportunity to observe Ammon discreetly. With the reed in his hand, Mitch pretended to study the pages in front of him . . . but he was really watching Ammon read his books. The priest would read and then jot notes on the piece of papyrus on his desk. Mitch tried to think of an excuse to go and peer over his shoulder, but quickly realized that it wouldn’t help—he couldn’t read all the symbols. There was only one way to learn what Ammon was up to. And that was to learn them himself.

  Ugh, he thought. Homework.

  It took what seemed like forever to get through the papers. But it was probably closer to an hour. Mitch stretched to get rid of the kink in his back. He yawned too. It came out louder than he’d intended, and Ammon looked up from his pages to give him an angry glare.

  “Sorry.”

  He wasn’t really sorry, of course. He was tired of going through these pages. He counted the remaining pages.

  Seven?!

  He got back to work.

  When he finished, he restacked all the papers and stood.

  Ammon looked up from his own paper.

  “All finished,” Mitch said. He stepped closer. “Whatcha working on?”

  Ammon studied Mitch’s face, then said, “I’m working on the Book of the Dead. For the prince.”

  Mitch peered over Ammon’s shoulder to the scroll of papyrus on the desk. “What’s that?”

  “It contains instructions for the afterlife.” Ammon covered the papyrus. “Now, what do you need? I’m busy.”

  “Like I said. I’m finished.” Mitch handed him the stack of paper.

  Ammon rested the reed he’d been writing with on the desk and took the pile of papers from Mitch. “Let’s go through the ones that you’ve marked.” Ammon pointed to the first one. “The most important thing you need to know in order to read hieroglyphs is that each symbol represents a word or a letter. This one is the letter F like in Men-nefer.” It looked like a snake. “It is the horned viper.”

  He started going through the letters one by one. Mitch tried his best to remember what each of them represented. But after a handful, he had to interrupt.

  “Wait.” Mitch took the paper off the desk. “Let me go learn these first.”

  “As you wish,” Ammon replied. He picked up the reed and began writing on his paper.

  The rest of the morning went the same. Ammon would tell Mitch the meaning of the symbols and he would write them down, hoping it would help him remember them. A servant appeared with Ammon’s lunch. Ammon dismissed Mitch, claiming he had a meeting with the pharaoh the rest of the afternoon.

  Mitch returned to his room. He ate the lunch laid out on the balcony table. He felt a moment of guilt at the abundance of food, knowing that he was eating like a king—or a pharaoh—while others barely had enough to eat because of the drought. As he chewed, he thought about what he’d learned today. Ammon hadn’t allowed him to bring back the pages he’d been working on, so as soon as he finished eating he went to his desk and jotted the symbols he’d learned.

  He waited for the ink to dry and then took his paper out to the hallway. He chose a mural that he hadn’t studied before. With his page as a reference, he started to decipher what was on the wall. At first, he struggled because he was reading left to right with no luck. When he started reading up and down, he began to get some understanding of the story the mural represented. The mural contained a cartouche about a high priest who had ruled for seven years. He was also the vizier—Mitch wasn’t sure what that was, but if he translated it correctly it should be right. He’d have to ask Ammon tomorrow. The rest of the mural was about the high priest giving gifts to the gods. Ra, Horus, and Ibis were all present in the mural.

  Back in his room, he thought about the book Ammon had been carrying last night. He hadn’t seen it anywhere today. Maybe instead of trying to get into the pharaoh’s wing, he should try to find the book in Ammon’s office. If Ammon was still researching the spyglass, maybe it held the answer to getting him and Brock home.

  Just as he had the night before, Mitch waited until the city and palace were quiet before he set out on his next exploration. He knew the way to Ammon’s office by heart now, even though it was farther away and there was more chance of detection. He’d made a point of noting the guards posted near Ammon’s office. There were fewer posted here, thank goodness. He made his way, keeping to the shadows and ducking into dark corners every time he heard someone coming. His heart raced as he turned the last corner to Ammon’s office.

  Peering around the doorway, he saw nothing inside. Without a sound, he slipped into the office and made his way directly to the shelves along one wall. Relying only on the light from the balcony, he ran his hands over the scrolls and papers stored there. He knew he was looking for a large book with a leather cover. He remembered symbols in gold along the spine.

  The pages lay flat on the shelf. He inspected the ones with leather covers, but none had gold writing on the spine. On the last shelf there was one book with a leather cover. He was about to slide it over when he heard a
noise in the corridor.

  Looking for a place to hide, he ran and ducked under the desk he had worked at earlier today. He was just tucking his robes underneath him when Ammon entered the room. Mitch’s eyes grew round—he was holding the book from the night before! So Ammon was hiding it somewhere else.

  After placing the book on a podium on the far side of the room, Ammon went to the sconces on the wall and lit the two that bracketed his desk. Then, he took a key from the braided gold rope at this waist and opened a cabinet that sat between the two braziers. From inside the cabinet he took two jars and a bowl, which he arranged on the table beside the podium.

  Stepping reverently before the podium, he muttered a few words and then released a latch. The book opened. Ammon flipped through the pages until he came to one and started reading aloud, his voice monotonous and trance-like.

  This can’t be good . . .

  Ammon read from the book some more and then said some words over the bowl. Suddenly, a neon-green light appeared in the bowl. It rose higher and what appeared to be smoke twisted and turned in the light.

  Within the smoke appeared an image of the spyglass.

  It turned and whirled. Ammon smiled and added something else to the bowl and spoke some more words.

  This didn’t look very religious to Mitch. This was magic.

  Did that mean that the invisible bands Mitch felt around him the first time he saw Ammon were actually real?

  Mitch shivered. What else was going to appear? The scarab? What if Ammon put two and two together and figured out that was what they were looking for in order to get home?

  He added one more ingredient and mumbled some more words. Afraid that the light might reveal either him or Brock next, Mitch knew he had to do something. He searched around him for some way to distract the high priest.

  He had nothing with him except what he was wearing. He looked on the floor around the desk. An olive—probably from Ammon’s lunch—lay on the floor. Picking it up, he thought about what to do with it. If he threw it at Ammon, he’d figure out where it had come from pretty quickly. And he wasn’t sure he could throw it at this angle with any accuracy, anyway. He looked at Ammon’s desk. Two pots of ink sat on the edge, close enough that he could hit them. It was his best chance.