Storms and Scarabs

by H. R. Hobbs

  Mitch hurried to Ammon’s office the next morning, a scrap of papyrus paper clutched in his hand. Not wanting to get the symbol wrong, he’d torn it off the page he’d recorded it on last night.

  Mitch was relieved to see Ammon wasn’t in his office. It wasn’t the first time he’d arrived before Ammon, but today he really wanted to find out what the symbol was without having to sneak around because Ammon was here.

  Going to his desk, he got out his ink and reed and copied the symbol on one of his pages. When Ammon still hadn’t shown up, he figured this was his chance. He glanced at the doorway to make sure no one was around and started searching through the sheets of papyrus on the shelves opposite his desk. He slid the papers around as quietly as possible, quickly scanning each paper for the anchor symbol from the mural. It had to be written somewhere.

  Hearing voices coming from the hallway, he rearranged the papers and hurried back to his chair. Mitch had just dipped his reed in the ink when Ammon swept into the room. Either he hadn’t seen Mitch at the table or was ignoring him. Either way, Mitch kept working.

  Ammon sat down. “What are you doing?”

  From his gruff tone, Mitch knew Ammon was not happy.

  “I’m working on the pages you gave me.”

  “You aren’t finished yet?”

  Mitch bristled at the accusation. This wasn’t school, after all. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done his homework.

  “No. But I’m nearly done.” He swallowed. Did he dare ask Ammon about the symbol when it was clear he was in a horrible mood? Figuring he had nothing to lose, he cleared his throat and started, “I was wondering if you can tell me what this symbol means . . . it’s the only one I haven’t seen before.”

  Ammon held out his hand for the paper. When he saw the symbol, he looked up sharply.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “On one of the murals? I don’t remember which one.” Mitch crossed his fingers, hoping Ammon believed him. Even in Ancient Egypt, adults didn’t listen.

  “You must show it to me.”

  “I’m not sure if I remember exactly where I saw it.” Mitch shifted nervously under Ammon’s stare.

  Ammon got up from the desk and started for the door. “I want you to show me where you found it.”

  Ammon waited for Mitch to follow him. Mitch led him down a number of corridors, as far from the mural as he could.

  “Enough of this game.” Ammon stepped in front of Mitch. His patience was clearly at an end. “You will show me the mural or I will have your friends arrested. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Ammon knew his weakness. Any threat to Brock, Jabari, or Rehema was going to get Mitch’s cooperation. With a resigned sigh, Mitch did as Ammon asked.

  When they reached the mural, Ammon lit one of the sticks that hung in a basket beside the brazier. When the flame caught, he shone the light on the bottom corner of the mural.

  Mitch looked over Ammon’s shoulder as he studied the mural. He stood suddenly, nearly knocking Mitch over.

  “This symbol is quite rare,” Ammon told him. “It dates back hundreds of years. This is the only one I’ve come across in my studies of the palace murals.”

  “But what does it mean? Does it have something to do with Peran?”

  Ammon studied the symbol, deep in thought. “It may have. I’ll need to check the ancient writings.”

  Mitch’s eyes lit up. Hopefully, by “ancient writings” he meant the book he’d used the night Mitch saw him conjure the spells.

  Mitch followed Ammon back to his office. Once inside, he again began rifling through his books and papers like he had the day before. Not finding what he wanted, he turned to Mitch.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Wanting to follow, but knowing that if he did Ammon would not be happy, Mitch waited. While he waited, he went to the bookshelf and started looking through the papers. He recognized a number of symbols and managed to figure out a few.

  “What are you doing?” Ammon barked for the second time that day.

  Mitch dropped the papers back on the stack and turned to see him holding the book of what Mitch assumed were spells.

  “I . . . I thought I’d see if I could find something about the symbol.”

  “You are not to read those papers. You only read the ones that I give you.”

  Ammon placed the book on the desk and opened it. Mitch couldn’t help himself: he came closer to see what was inside. But Ammon flipped through the pages so fast that Mitch couldn’t read what was written on them. Mitch bent over to have a better look, and it was then that Ammon noticed him.

  “Go back to your desk.”

  “But—”

  “This is a Holy Book and not for the eyes of a mere boy! Go, or our lessons are over.”

  Mitch tried to steal one more look, but not wanting to incur Ammon’s wrath, he went back to his desk and pretended to work. Dipping his reed in the pot of ink, he pushed the reed onto the paper with such force it tore right through. He needed to get his emotions under control. But it was difficult when the answers you were looking for were sitting right there, not three feet away from you. He took a calming breath and reached for another paper.

  Suddenly, a guard appeared in the doorway and bowed. He spoke quickly. Ammon stood and followed him out of the room. Mitch didn’t understand what the guard had said, but it must have been something urgent for Ammon to leave the book sitting open on the table.

  The book seemed to call to him. But he remained at his desk. He wasn’t sure how long Ammon was going to be. He really didn’t want to get caught searching through the high priest’s “Holy Book.”

  But as the minutes ticked by and Ammon still wasn’t back, his resolve weakened.

  Finally, he jumped from his seat and went over to the desk. He ran his fingers over the symbols, looking for the one that matched the one on the mural. But there wasn’t one there. He was surprised to see a picture of the spyglass on the page. There was also a picture of a blue scarab—lapis lazuli. Had Ammon seen the picture of the scarab? Hoping he hadn’t, Mitch tore the sketch of the scarab from the page.

  Just then, he heard voices in the corridor. He flipped some pages of the book to hide what he’d done and ran back to his desk. He slipped the paper inside his robes.

  Ammon entered and, seeing Mitch at his desk, said, “Your lesson is over for today.”

  Detecting the high priest’s mood, Mitch knew better than to argue. He cleaned up his desk and went back to his room.

  How to get his hands on that book? Having seen the pages and what they contained, he was more determined now than ever to discover what the anchor symbol meant and what Ammon was planning.

  He wished he hadn’t mentioned it to Ammon.

  Mitch needed to know more.

  He was going to have to get his hands on that book.

  But how?

  Time was running out. If he was going to discover what Ammon was up to before the funeral, he needed to hurry.

  The book was still in the office when he’d left today, but he was pretty sure that Ammon had either taken it back to his room or put it back in the room in the pharaoh’s wing. He was betting on the pharaoh’s wing.

  But how to get the guards to leave their posts?

  By the time night fell, Mitch had come up with a plan. It was going to take a bit of luck, but it was his only option at the moment. Armed with everything he thought he’d need, he set out from his room. Sneaking through the corridors, he came to the stairwell that led to the pharaoh’s wing.

  Taking a stick from the basket beside the brazier, he stuck it in the brazier. He then lifted the lid on one of the baskets he’d brought from his room. Inside he’d placed some of his extra papyrus paper and anything else he thought was flammable. He touched the flame to the paper and watched it catch. He did the same with the other baskets. Soon flames danced inside the baskets.

  Tossing the
match into the last one, Mitch ran up the stairs, away from the growing flames, and crouched beside the statue he’d hid beside the last time he was there. Smoke began to snake up the stairs.

  It wasn’t long before one of the guards saw it and shouted to the others. When they ran past to investigate, Mitch checked to make sure the coast was clear and then ran down the corridor.

  He skidded on the marble floor when he came to the hallway leading to the book room. Checking to make sure the guards were still occupied, he ran to the door. It wasn’t really a door, Mitch realized. It was more like a gate. A heavy iron gate. He pushed on it to no effect. He pulled on it, and nothing.

  It appeared to be locked, but Mitch couldn’t see a lock. He was pretty sure they weren’t invented yet . . . so how did Ancient Egyptians lock things up? Jabari’s home and shop used a wooden beam to barricade the door. There were no beams here. Mitch wiggled the bars that ran across the gate. None of them budged. Was it locked by magic? It was possible Ammon could put a spell on it.

  As he contemplated this, Mitch heard shouting. He was running out of time.

  And he’d failed again.

  Smoke started to creep towards him. He gave the door one last shake.

  When nothing happened, he hurried down the hallway and peered around the corner. He couldn’t make out any of the guards, due to the smoke. His eyes and throat burned. He figured he only had a few moments before the guards came back. While the smoke provided some cover, he plastered his body to the wall and made his way back to his hiding spot beside the statue.

  He barely had time to wedge himself out of sight before the guards came up the stairs. Two were carrying water jugs and another was carrying what was left of the baskets. As the guards went back to their posts, Mitch slipped down the stairs and back to his room.

  He’d just crawled under the blankets when Ammon came into his room. Mitch could feel his stare under the blankets. Mitch squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Ammon would think he was asleep and leave.

  “I know you are awake,” Ammon’s voice came from the doorway.

  “Huh . . . ?” Mitch pretended to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Ammon? What’s going on?”

  Ammon stood in the shadows of the doorway. All Mitch was able to see was Ammon’s eyes shining in the dark.

  “I came to see if you were all right.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch asked, pretending to be groggy from sleep.

  “There was a fire in the pharaoh’s wing of the palace.”

  “Is he all right?” Mitch knew he was, but he couldn’t let on he had any knowledge of the fire. He’d been sound asleep, right?

  “His Highness is well. I just wanted to check on you and let you know in case you woke in the night and smelled smoke. And it’s a good thing I did.” Ammon made a show of breathing in the air of the room. “The smoke appears to have made it all the way over to this wing of the palace.”

  Ammon’s eyes burned with accusation. It took all he had not to shift uncomfortably at Ammon’s knowing gaze, when what he really wanted to do was check to see if his tunic smelled like smoke. He hadn’t thought of that when he’d come up with his plan.

  “I’ll leave you to your rest.”

  Ammon turned and left the room.

  That was too close!

  Mitch wasn’t convinced that Ammon bought his story that he’d been in his room the whole time. In fact, Mitch was pretty sure Ammon knew he’d been in the pharaoh’s corridor. Would he figure out why? Mitch was going to have to be on his best behaviour for the next couple of days. If Ammon suspected him of trying to get into the book room, like Brock had predicted, he could end up in prison—or worse.

  With that comforting thought, Mitch fell into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter 26

  As the days before the funeral drew closer, Mitch’s lessons took a more hands-on approach. Each morning, he would accompany Ammon as he supervised the funeral preparations. This meant checking with various workers as they cleaned the temple, gathered gifts that would be presented to the gods on the prince’s behalf, and so on.

  Today they were preparing the altar for the celebration.

  Ammon led Mitch down the corridors to the temple. Ammon was silent. Going over the many details he had to oversee, Mitch guessed. Mitch trailed a step or two behind, looking at the murals and decorations, pretending he’d never been to this part of the palace before. At the doorway to the temple, Ammon waited impatiently for Mitch to catch up.

  “Today, we must ready the altar for the prince’s funeral. All of the items on the altar must be carefully washed and blessed. You can assist me in doing this.”

  Blessed? Did he hear Ammon right? Was he going to bless the goblet? Mitch gave an inner fist-pump. That would strike one thing off the list of things they needed to do to get home.

  Mitch eagerly followed Ammon into the temple.

  Ammon removed a basin from the cabinet beneath the altar. “Fill this with water from that jug.” He pointed to a large clay pot at the end of the altar.

  While Mitch filled the basin, Ammon moved the various pieces to one side. He gestured for Mitch to place the basin on the end. Mitch searched for the goblet with the lapis lazuli scarab. It was clustered together with the rest.

  “As part of our ceremony for the dead”—Ammon picked up a large gold platter and dipped it in the water—“we must ensure the cleanliness of the vessels containing the gifts to the gods.” He lay the platter on a towel. “The water in that jug comes from the Nile near Nun where Ra was born from the water.”

  Mitch looked into the jug. It looked like plain old water to him.

  “So, once you wash everything, then what?” Mitch asked, hoping to find out more about the blessing than the washing.

  “I will bless each piece as we finalize the preparation.”

  Mitch watched as Ammon dipped each piece in the water and dried it. He then arranged the pieces back on the table just the way they had been before. He was suddenly glad he was careful with the pieces when he’d snuck in here. Ammon surely would have noticed otherwise.

  “Does each one have to be in a certain spot?”

  “Yes. The platter will hold food. The goblets are filled with wine and set on each side of the platter, representing east and west. The two small plates are for burning incense. They represent north and south.”

  “And you fill them and leave them for the gods during the ceremony?”

  “They are gifts to the gods, yes. They are meant to prepare the way for the prince’s transition to the afterlife.” Ammon studied the table. Satisfied that everything was where it needed to be, he turned to Mitch. “I’m going to bless each piece. Please don’t ask me any questions until I’m done.”

  Ammon closed his eyes and spread his arms wide. He began to speak in his native language. At the end of what Mitch assumed was some kind of prayer, Ammon picked up each of the pieces on the table and recited some words. Mitch listened closely. Jabari had said the scarab needed to be blessed by Toth. Is that what Ammon was doing now? He didn’t know the word for Toth—was it just “Toth”?

  Ammon put down the last piece, said a few more words, and was silent.

  Unable to contain his curiosity, Mitch asked, “Who did you pray to?”

  Ammon turned and looked at him. “I prayed to all the gods.”

  Did that include Toth? Mitch hoped so.

  “Come. We are finished. Bring the basin and we will empty it.”

  Mitch hustled behind Ammon, careful not to let the holy water slip over the sides of the bowl.

  Back in Ammon’s office, Mitch was working on his translations when Jabari and Brock walked in. Surprised to see them here, instead of on the balcony, he jumped from his seat.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  Mitch realized how much he missed Brock and Jabari in that moment. Even Remeha, who he suddenly wished was there too.

  “We are here to see Ammon.”
Jabari stepped forward and bowed to the high priest.

  “I didn’t expect to see you today,” Mitch said to Brock.

  “I know, me neither! But Jabari needed to go over some last-minute details for the funeral.” Brock peered over at Mitch’s desk. “Show me what you’ve been working on.”

  Mitch and Brock went around behind the desk. Mitch shuffled some papers and whispered to Brock, “I think we can strike getting the scarab blessed from our list of things to do.”

  “Really? Why?” Brock whispered, bending closer to the page Mitch pretended to be showing him.

  “Ammon blessed them all this morning. I even saw him do it.”

  Brock looked at him with wide eyes. “So, all we need to do is get the scarab the day of the funeral?”

  Mitch nodded and pointed to something on the page. “I tried to find the book. But I wasn’t successful.”

  Brock hissed through clenched teeth, “I thought we talked about you not doing that!”

  “I know . . . but I can’t leave here without making sure that Jabari and Rehema are safe. I don’t know why Ammon wants the spyglass, but I’m afraid it’s something that could threaten their safety.”

  “Yeah, but we won’t even get back home if you’re caught and thrown in prison!”

  “I promise I’ll be careful. I only have a couple days left to figure it out.”

  Both boys stopped talking when they noticed that Ammon and Jabari had finished their conversation. The boys looked up from the paper.

  “I think we have looked after everything for the prince’s funeral,” Jabari said as he approached the desk. “Mitch, will you see us out?”

  Mitch cleaned up his desk and the three of them left Ammon alone in the office. They didn’t speak as they walked down the corridor and through the great room. It was only when they stood at the top of the entrance steps that they stopped.

  “Are we set for the funeral?” Jabari whispered.

  “Mitch says the scarab has already been blessed.”