If Amy Cahill had to list what was wrong with eleven-year-old brothers, their habit of disappearing would be numero uno. Or maybe the fact that they existed in the first place. And then there was the whole burping the alphabet thing.... Amy stood in the middle of the Khan el-Khalili market in Cairo, her head swiveling frantically, trying to find her brother, Dan. The blur of jet lag was interfering with normal brain function. Dan had just been at her side a moment ago. Then she turned for two seconds to buy a Nefertiti pe ncil, and when she turned back, Dan was gone.
The air was thick with heat and music and the calls of shopkeepers. Bright banners waved overhead. Tourists weaved through the streets, wearing their backpacks on their chests to safeguard against pickpockets and stopping to take pictures every few minutes. A woman in a head scarf dodged a row of turquoise chairs to follow after her two boys. A man with a crate full of oranges balanced them on his head with one hand. A tourist in a baseball cap and a T-shirt proclaiming I WANT MY MUMMY strolled past Amy, her camera held up in front of her face.
Amy felt the heat like waves against her skin. She hoped she wouldn't faint. Colors swarmed, faces dissolved, unfamiliar noises pounded against her ears. She had never liked crowds, and Cairo seemed like the city that had invented them.
She turned, her hand on her waist pack. Their au pair, Nellie Gomez, was just down the alley, bargaining over spices. Amy could just catch a glimpse of her crazy half-blond, half-black hair.
Less than an hour ago, they'd been in a taxi, riding into Cairo from the airport. Then when the cabdriver had casually pointed out the window and said, "The Khan market starts here, very good place," Nellie had suddenly yelled, "Stop!" Before they knew what was happening, they'd landed in the market with luggage and cat carrier. Saladin had meowed furiously when Nellie promised, "Just ten minutes, that's all I need, and then we'll go straight to the hotel.... Cool! Cardamom pods!" For Nellie, every new city was just another opportunity for weird food.
Finally, Amy spotted Dan through the crowd. He was pressed against a shop window crowded with souvenirs. She had a feeling he was captivated by the King Tutankhamen pencil sharpener, but it could have been the flashlight in the shape of a mummy.
As she crossed the alley, Dan kept appearing and disappearing through the meandering crowd. The hot sun was blinding. She hoped that air-conditioning was in her future.
The tourist in the I WANT MY MUMMY T-shirt drifted closer to Dan. She pushed her white sunglasses down her nose. Some small alarm chimed inside Amy. A man in a straw hat blocked her view, and she dodged to one side.
Irina held on to the railing. She couldn't risk stumbling on these steep stairs. She'd seen the Cahill kids leave the tomb, and she knew something must be here. A small explosive blew the lock, and she was in. Good thing she wasn't seen. Egyptians could get so touchy about their precious sites.
Irina came to a small antechamber. Those flat Egyptian figures -- all the same, they were -- surrounded her, some with a bird's head, some with crowns, some holding staffs curved like snakes. She poked her head into the side room. More of the same.
But the colors ...
She wrenched her attention back to the task. More stairs. She descended carefully, glad she was wearing her Nikes. Those Americans knew how to make athletic shoes. She'd give them that. Irina kept her brain on sneakers because she was feeling a bit dizzy. It was a trick she used while on a job if she was tired or exasperated, any time her emotions threatened to overtake her. Concentrate on the trivial.
But why was she feeling overwhelmed?
To her left, a black jackal was offering something to an Egyptian queen person. It must be Nefertari. Irina didn't know anything about Egyptian art, but somehow she knew this: The beautiful queen was being welcomed to the underworld. She would leave behind her life. Sunshine, river, palace, husband, child. All would be taken from her.
She stepped inside the burial chamber. Here the queen had been laid, between the pillars.
Those flat figures, all the same, like cartoons, with their black hair and their opaque eyes. She'd never realized before ...
How beautiful they are!
These paintings ... she imagined artists here, dipping their brushes into pots of gold and green and blue. They weren't just painting the story of one queen's death. They were painting every life. Every death. Every joy, every loss.
Dazzled, Irina slowly revolved, drinking it all in.
She felt something odd on her face, something so foreign she didn't recognize it at first. She felt it like a draft, a coolness in this stale air. A tear.
What was happening?
Grace, what are you doing to me?
Because she felt her, she felt Grace suddenly, her presence, right here. Her briskness, her intellect, her impatience ... her kindness.
You were kind to me, she told Grace. When you told me I was a fool, there was no harshness in your tone. There was kindness in your eyes. Who can't I forgive? You ... or myself? Irina stared ahead at the wall. Rebirth, she realized. This chamber wasn't about death at all. It was about rebirth. Could that happen? After a life lived, after choice after choice after choice led you someplace small and dark ... could you ... change? Note to self, Dan thought. Do not think of brain-sucking mummies while standing in ancient tomb. The darkness pressed around them. They had just pushed on the door of the tomb, and it had swung open. Theo must have forgotten to lock it. Somehow without his cheery presence, the tomb seemed darker. Spookier.
"D-do you think we should go down?" Amy whispered.
"That's why we're here," Dan said. He didn't move.
"This is ridiculous," Amy said, straightening her shoulders. "Come on."
She eased the door shut, but left it open a crack. Dan stayed close behind her as she went down the stairs. When they got to the antechamber, they both looked up at the ceiling. The stars looked like a field of golden flowers against the brilliant blue. They looked back at the stairs. "Let's look at the risers," Amy said. "The stone that is behind the step.
Katherine would have left a clue there rather than on the step itself. She'd know that hundreds of years of footsteps would wear away any message."
They examined each riser, but there was nothing except ancient, worn stone.
"Next staircase," Amy said. "We'd better hurry."
They cautiously made their way down the stairs, deeper into the tomb.
"Wait!" Amy whispered. She didn't know why she whispered, but it felt wrong to shout in this place.
She bent over, squinting in the dim light. She forgot her nervousness as the discovery jolted through her. "Dan, come here! I think it's a hieroglyph. It's carved into the stone."
[proofreader's note: the hieroglyph is two long horizontal lines, with two short lines between them]
"And here," Dan said.
[proofreader's note: the hieroglyph is a long rectangle with a half moon carved out of one of its long sides]
Down they went, collecting one hieroglyph after another.
[proofreader's note: the first hieroglyph is a long rectangle, the second is a tall obelisk, and the third looks like the side view of a throne]
Suddenly, they heard a squealing noise, the sound of metal against metal.
There was a loud clang as the iron tomb door shut completely. The lights immediately went out. "Amy?" Dan whispered.
"I'm right here." Amy only knew Dan was inches away by the sound of his voice. It was so dark she couldn't see her own hand. She fought down panic.
The darkness pressed against them like a living thing.
Dan felt his breath catch. Amy grabbed his hand. Normally, Dan would have pulled his hand away and said something like "Ew," but just then his sister's fingers felt good, even if they were kind of sweaty.
"Somebody shut the door," Amy whispered.
"Thanks for the tip, Miss Obvious," Dan whispered back.
Suddenly, he heard a noise. Was it a footstep? Shuffling, as if a foot was being dragged along the dusty ground. As though wrappings were dragging behind...
"Did you hear that?" Amy whispered.
"No," Dan lied.
DEATH SHALL COME ON SWIFT WINGS TO HIM WHO DISTURBS THE PEACE OF THOSE WHO SLEEP.
Dan knew he was breathing dust. He could feel his lungs struggling. He heard his own wheezing in his ears.
"Dan." Amy gripped his shoulder. "There's plenty of air. Do you have your inhaler?"
His sister's calm voice steadied him. He didn't know how she could be so calm, but it helped him. He knew how she'd panicked when she'd almost been buried alive. The Amester was getting braver all the time. He reached into the pocket of his shorts and brought out his inhaler.
Better.
The noise came again, terrifying in its soft menace. He didn't even bother saying he didn't hear it. He imagined a mummy, black holes for eyes, trailing linen. His brains had already been sucked out, and he was just a dead thing ... reaching ...
Slow down, he told his heartbeat.
If this was a video game, you'd think it was way cool.
Another shuffling noise, closer still. But it's not a game!
Dan nodded. "And Grace misspelled 'resonates.' Grace was an excellent speller -- we should know. We played Scrabble with her every weekend for years.
Myrrh is a resin!
A half gram of myrrh. That's the clue!"
Amy's eyes shone. "And Grace was with us all the way. She didn't abandon us, Dan. She'll help us when we need it. And it will be just like her, too. It won't be when we expect it. It'll be when we least expect it. She hasn't gone away. She's still with us."
Dan turned away from her. But Amy knew it was because his eyes had filled. Her eyes were full of tears, too. She felt as though Grace's hand was on her shoulder, squeezing. Saying good work, Amy. Grace had come back to them. They would never lose her again. Suddenly, they heard a noise from next door. A muffled thump.
"That came from the stronghold," Dan said in a low tone. "Should we look?" Amy asked.
"Maybe it's Alistair," Nellie said.
They all crept to the connecting door. They put their ears against it.
"I don't hear anything," Amy whispered.
"I think we should check it out," Dan said.
He got the umbrella from the closet, unscrewed the handle, and fitted it into the lock. The knob turned.
He opened it in an inch and put his eye to the crack.
"What do you see?" Amy whispered.
"Wonderful things," Dan said. "On the floor."
He pushed open the door. The stronghold had been violated. Vitrines were smashed, paintings thrown, panels tossed. They walked through carefully, avoiding the shattered glass.
The Sakhets were gone, the pedestals empty. "Who could have done this?" Amy whispered.
Nellie bent down to pick up something off the floor. A scrap of black cloth, probably torn off by the protruding edge of a shattered vitrine.
Amy looked at the design woven into the cloth. She realized that the pattern was a repeating letter. M. Fear clutched her heart. "Madrigals," she whispered.
I thought about it. Martin Bligh had not been difficult to write; whatever I wanted to do, that's what Martin did. He rode in all weathers, flouting night and blizzard; he defied the wicked; he kissed the pretty girl. How hard could it be to do something similar again? I said, "Indeed I can."
Grace's eyes were unconvinced. Perhaps she saw what I could not.