Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret (3 page)

Tunie and Perch hurried down the dirt lane. The leaves rustled in the thin woods. This small stretch of forest had been preserved as part of the Harbortown Natural History Museum's property, and the semicircle of ramshackle sheds in it housed the museum's employees. Tunie's father was the janitor for the museum. He and Tunie lived in a two-room cabin that listed on its beams, half sunk into the dark earth of the woods. They'd moved in two years earlier, broke after paying her mother's medical bills. The cabin wasn't much, but Tunie knew they were lucky to have a place to live, when lots of folks were on the streets.

“Hello?” Tunie called quietly as she opened the door. Perch flew up to the rafter in the corner, his nook. Tunie had decorated it with a small homemade wind chime, some interesting twisty branches, and a crescent moon ornament she'd fashioned from a broken copper plate she'd found in an alley.

Tunie had transformed the rest of the small living area into an otherworldly space; her father had indulged Tunie and her “artist's eye,” allowing her to do what she liked. Tunie had no money for paint, so she'd made her own stains, soaking walnut husks in water, and rusty nails in vinegar, and using wild blueberries and beets to make colorful dyes. She'd painted patterns on every wood panel of the place. Using a hammer and old cans, she'd fashioned glinting tin stars and hung them on threads from the rafters. There was only one small bedroom, where her father slept, so Tunie had made a kind of screen in the living room from two damaged coatracks and a printed bedsheet strung between them. Behind it was her “room”: a clothing shelf made from two bricks and a board, and a mattress on the floor. She'd sewn a patchwork blanket from different scraps of fabric she'd come across, and on the walls she'd tied dried flowers she'd collected in the woods. Aside from Tunie's room, the rest of the living area was big enough for only a tiny table, one chair, and a stool near the stove. Through the doorway to her father's room, Tunie saw their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Shrubinski, carrying a jelly jar of water in her trembling hands as she approached the bed, where Tunie's father lay.

Tunie's father coughed horribly, then rasped his thanks, accepting the glass.

“How is he?” Tunie asked Mrs. Shrubinski when she tottered over.

Mrs. Shrubinski shook her head sadly and answered in her quavery voice, “Worse, I'm afraid, though he won't admit it.”

Tunie opened the bag of day-old goods from Eleanor's Elegant Sweet Shoppe.

“Thanks for looking in on him. Here, take a roll for you and one for George. I'm sorry they're day-olds.” George, Mrs. Shrubinski's middle-aged son, was the night watchman at the museum. Mrs. Shrubinski accepted the rolls with a shaky nod of her head.

“That's a pretty headband, dear,” Mrs. Shrubinski said, touching her bony fingers to the light blue ribbon headband on Tunie's head.

Tunie smiled. “Thank you. Perch found it.”

“It's very tasteful,” Mrs. Shrubinski said approvingly.

After seeing their white-haired neighbor out, Tunie checked in on her father. He smiled, though he looked terrible. His skin was a bluish tone, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He'd lost his appetite and was looking more and more skeletal.

He waved a hand weakly toward the door.

“Poor Mrs. Shrub. I ought to be the one taking care of her.” Then he joked, “Sweet old dame.” His laugh turned into a wretched coughing fit. The cough was loud and had a strange barking sound to it. He held a handkerchief to his mouth while his whole body shook.

“Here,” Tunie said, handing her father an aspirin and a glass of water. She settled in beside him, passing him a rather tough cheese scone and taking one for herself. They chewed together quietly for a few minutes. Her father made a face.

“We need to find a new bakery. The bread from this one always tastes stale,” he said.

Tunie hadn't told her father that they didn't have enough money for groceries. Lots of banks—even New York's big Bank of the United States—had failed in the last few years, and their own bank was calling in debts. Tunie's father had taken out a loan to pay for her mother's medical expenses. Since then, the bank had garnished most of her dad's wages, leaving little for them to live on. Without her work for Miss Eleanor on the side, they'd be starving. As it was, they both could stand to gain a few pounds, and the aspirin wasn't helping as much as it had been. What her father desperately needed was a trip to the doctor, but they didn't have the money for it.

“We just need a little soup to soften it,” Tunie said. “I'll make some tomorrow.”

The room was stuffy. She stood and opened the cracked window to let in the breeze.

Her father smiled sadly at Tunie. “My little girl, so grown up already.”

He started to struggle into a sitting position.

“Time for work,” he said with a gasp.

“I've got it tonight, Dad,” Tunie said, as she had every night for weeks. He didn't always remember.

“You need to focus on school,” he argued.

“It just so happens,” said Tunie, gently pushing him back into the bed and pulling up the sheet, “that summer recess began today. I can help out all summer and not miss a thing.”

Her father's eyes were already fluttering closed. “All right. Maybe I will…get a little…shut-eye….”

Tunie waited until he was gently snoring, and then left, whistling for Perch.

Tunie could have done the walk through the woods to the museum with her eyes closed. Some nights on her way back, it was dark enough that it felt like she was doing just that. Now the golden setting sun made the tree branches look as if they were aflame.

Out of the woods, she crossed the small, grassy field to the side entrance of the museum and used one of the iron keys to get in the door.

The door opened to a stairwell. She heard a familiar voice calling down from the floor above.

“That you, Tunie?” said her neighbor, the night watchman.

“Hello, George. It's me,” said Tunie. “Just stepping in for my dad again.”

George's affable face appeared at the railing on the floor above. He smiled, showing crooked teeth.

“I'm sorry your dad's not better, but I'm glad to see you,” he said.

“Thanks, George,” said Tunie warmly. George was as sweet and sympathetic as his mother. Tunie wondered what he'd do if he ever did encounter a burglar in the museum—invite him over for dinner, probably.

George cleared his throat. “The museum manager said he'd be coming by later tonight, something about checking on a third-floor installation. I'll try to keep him upstairs, but just wanted to let you know.”

“Gotcha. Thanks for the warning.”

“Sure thing.”

The museum manager, Mr. Narfgau, had caught Tunie cleaning once and was terribly angry about it. He said he wasn't paying for child labor, he'd hired a professional, and he'd give her dad the boot if he found out Tunie was doing his work again.

Tunie went about her business, filling the bucket with Lin-X and warm water, and hauling it down the hall. She opened the door to the Ancient Egypt exhibit.

Of all the exhibits in the museum, Tunie liked this one best. She felt a kind of energy about the space, the same strange, humming sensation she'd experienced when she first spied Perch hanging from a bare branch in her mother's graveyard.

On that wet day, by herself among the gloomy tombstones, Tunie had felt unafraid. She noticed the bat clinging to a damp tree near her mother's grave. She knew bats weren't usually awake in the afternoon, as this one was. He watched her with large, almost childlike eyes. Tunie's skin was vibrating all over, like a tuning fork. She placed all but one of the wildflowers she'd brought on her mother's grave. She held out the remaining single bloom to the bat. He swooped down, grabbed the flower, and perched on Tunie's satchel. Tunie lifted her bag with the bat atop it so she could see the little animal eye to eye.

“Hello. I like the looks of you. What should I call you?” Tunie said. She thought for a moment. “How about…Perch?”

The bat clutched the flower. He swayed a little from left to right, almost like he was dancing. His head was round and furry. It seemed he ought to go home with her, and he did.

Now Perch flew into the Ancient Egypt exhibit and hung from a statue's carved scythe. Tunie started mopping, feeling the familiar prickling on her skin.

The exhibit was belowground, a long, boxlike room that was perpetually shadowy, even during the day. The air inside was cool. It was like breathing in a cavern, and it always smelled of a peculiar, smoky incense. In the center of the room were three stone sarcophagi, one of which was heartbreakingly small. Tunie could have fit inside.

The walls were lined with shelves of statuary depicting various Egyptian gods, many with animal heads, and pieces of stone with carved writing taken from temples. Brass plaques explained the history of each item. There were also displays of canopic jars and pottery, and glass cases containing ancient daggers and weapons. Sound echoed a bit in this chamber; more than once Tunie had heard people say the place was ghostly. It was difficult to identify its appeal, but Tunie felt drawn to the exhibit far more than any other.

This night, however, after swabbing the tile floor for a few moments, Tunie paused. She had the unnerving feeling someone was watching.

“Perch?” she called. Tunie realized the lights had been on when she came into the room. Usually she had to turn them on herself. She held still, listening. Was that the sound of someone breathing?

“Perch!” Tunie shouted. A cough made her whirl in fright, and she tripped over the feet of a young boy who was tucked up and hiding behind a canopic jar. Tunie staggered, barely keeping her balance. Then she brandished her mop, threatening the intruder with its soggy end.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” she demanded.

The boy raised both hands as if Tunie held a pistol, not a mop. His brown eyes were wide.

“I'm Peter. Last time I was here, I found a window with a busted latch. I was just…I was only looking around, I swear! I wasn't going to take anything,” he said.

Perch flew in and whapped his black, rubbery wings around the boy's face a few times, until Peter ducked down with his arms over his head. Perch landed on Tunie's shoulder and gave his best menacing hiss, eyeing the intruder.

Tunie lowered the mop a bit. The boy looked about her age, nine or ten, and he spoke politely. His brown hair was trimmed, and his kneesocks and knickers were fairly neat, if not fancy. He didn't look like a vagrant.

Tunie straightened her back, feeling slightly more courageous. “My bat bites, and I know the night watchman. He can hear me, you know.”

Peter dropped his hands. “Please, don't tell on me.”

“The museum's closed. What are you doing here?” Tunie frowned. “Tell me the truth straightaway, or I'm shouting for help.”

The boy sighed. “I'm looking for clues. A girl went missing from this exhibit at the fair. I figured if the coppers are still searching the fairgrounds, I'd look over the exhibit and maybe find something that could help them.”

Tunie lowered the mophead to the floor. She understood. “You want the reward.”

“Yes.” The boy looked a little embarrassed. “But I'd like to help the girl, too.”

Tunie gestured at the exhibit. “The police already sifted through everything, you know, as did every single person who read about the kidnapping. What makes you think you could do something they can't?”

The boy bent down to pick up a canvas knapsack from the floor. He seemed less afraid now. He had freckles and a small nose. Tunie thought his face was friendly.

“I'm…” The boy's cheeks went pink. “I'm pretty smart, I guess. I mean at problem solving, particularly. And building things.”

“Uh-huh,” Tunie said, doubtful.

“Look, I'll show you,” Peter said. He opened his knapsack and took out a small mechanical robot. He patted the top of the robot, and it made a sweet sound like a music box note.