Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret (4 page)

Perch narrowed his eyes at the strange creature. Tunie raised an eyebrow. “You're going to use your toy?”

Realizing the robot wasn't alive, Perch made a soft snickering sound.

“I built this. His name is WindUp. Say hi, WindUp,” Peter said. He turned a key on WindUp's back. The robot waved jerkily, then took a bow.

Tunie had to smile. “That's cute as a bug's ear. You really made him?”

“I sure did. I found—”

A bang sounded from an adjacent room. Tunie startled and, turning, saw that the door on the far wall was ajar.

She eyed the door. “That's the employee kitchen, but George never uses it, not ever.”

Tunie and Peter exchanged a fearful glance. Peter stuffed WindUp back into his bag, and together they tiptoed past a sarcophagus and a glass display case of handmade bowls until they reached the open door. Tunie felt that humming sensation again, more forcefully than before.

They peered into the kitchen. There, rifling through the cupboards, was a diminutive figure, bound head to toe in filthy bandages. It moved stiffly, one wrapped hand holding a mug with a picture of a red cardinal on it.

The thing turned its bandaged face toward them. Suddenly Tunie recognized it. She'd seen the child's corpse lying still in its sarcophagus many times. A strip of linen, resting where its eyebrows might have been, lifted. Beneath gleamed two enormous golden eyes.

“Hullo!” the mummy said delightedly. Two linen strips smiled, as if they were lips. He gestured to the kettle.

“Tea?”

Tunie and Peter and Perch screamed.

The children kept shrieking with terror as the mummy took a sip from his mug. Amber liquid dripped through his partially exposed rib cage and down a few loose bandages into puddles on the floor.

“I'm parched,” said the mummy in a scratchy voice.

Suddenly they heard a man's voice and running footsteps.

Tunie managed to stop screaming and turned, expecting to see George looking goofy in his oversized uniform. Instead, bald Mr. Narfgau, the museum manager, stood in the doorway, glaring.

“You again!” he said, narrowing his eyes at Tunie. “What did I tell you? Now you're sneaking your friends in here?” He waved a hand at Peter. He didn't even glance at the mummy. The mummy edged closer and closer. Tunie stood still, petrified.

Mr. Narfgau was turning a shade of strawberry. He raised his voice. “I knew that night watchman was up to something! He was trying to keep me upstairs—he knew you were down here, didn't he?”

“Sir,” said Peter. “We saw this mummy and…”

He stopped. The mummy had wiggled in between Tunie and Peter, slinging one bony arm around each of their shoulders. Tunie was too terrified to move. Mr. Narfgau, who had been glaring at the two of them, stopped and glanced around the kitchen, confused. He touched his thick mustache and then took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket to wipe his shiny scalp.

“Now, what was I doing down here?” he muttered to himself.

“I can explain—” Tunie said, but the mummy interrupted.

“Shhh,” he said. His breath smelled like smoky incense. Tunie hushed.

Mr. Narfgau sighed. He continued to look puzzled, but when he spoke, he sounded calmer.

“Hmm. I must have been getting some water for myself and that nice George. That's it,” he said. He pottered around for a moment. He filled two glasses with water and then slowly walked out.

“Strange…,” he said. “I must be really tired.”

It was as if Mr. Narfgau could no longer see them; he looked directly at them but seemed to register nothing. They watched him walk across the floor and exit through the door to the exhibit.

Tunie had to take several deep breaths before she could talk.

“H-how did you do that?” she asked the mummy.

The mummy lowered his skinny arms and stepped back.

“I suppose it was the magic of my curse. I wasn't sure it would work, really,” he said.

“Well, that was aces. Thanks. I'm Tunie, and this is my bat, Perch,” she said in a trembling voice. “Nice to meet you, Parched.”

The mummy chuckled merrily.

Peter said, “That isn't what he meant when he said he was parched. ‘Parched' means ‘thirsty.' ”

Tunie flushed. “Oh, right.”

“I'm Peter,” he said to the mummy. He'd been clenching his knapsack tightly in both hands, but now he loosened his grip and slung it over his shoulder.

The mummy bowed. “I'm Horus. It is my great pleasure to meet you.”

Tunie's fear began to dissipate. The mummy wasn't much bigger than they were, and seemed pretty fragile. The linen strips around his stomach had loosened, giving him a rather adorable potbellied look.

Horus cleared his throat. “You can repay me, you know. I'm dying for some company—no pun intended. Please join me for some tea.”

Tunie carefully set aside her mop. She hadn't noticed she was still clutching it. “All right. Thanks again. Mr. Narfgau's the big boss around here; he would have fired my father for sure.”

“I'm glad I could help!” Horus said. “Please, sit down. This is already the best luck I've had in a millennium.”

Tunie pulled out a chair, and so did Peter.

In possibly the oddest tea party ever arranged, Peter, Tunie, Perch, and Horus the mummy sat elbow to elbow around the undersized table. They passed a packet of stale Hydrox cookies with the teapot. Tunie noticed that Horus was holding something in his hand. When he set it down to lift the teapot, she saw what it was—a smooth rock with a worn, carved symbol. She recognized it from a display in the exhibit that was near Horus's sarcophagus—it was a projectile for an ancient sling weapon. Tunie poured a small saucer of cream for Perch. She hoped they wouldn't get in trouble for taking these things, but Horus said they were provided by the museum for its employees and no one had ever minded when he'd helped himself—or perhaps the curse kept them from noticing; he wasn't sure.

Tunie sipped her tea and carefully examined the mummy. “Why do you look like a kid but talk like a British grandpa? Won't that tea make your bandages all soggy? What curse? And I thought you were an unknown mummy.”

Horus managed to look intensely pleased. Instead of covering his face, the bandages somehow seemed to move like facial muscles, and the weird glow of his eyes was surprisingly warm. He smiled as he ticked off responses to Tunie's questions on his fingers.

“One: I died when I was only ten. I spent more than a century in a British museum and learned to speak English from the stuffy curator there, developing this accent and an incredible thirst for tea, which, two, doesn't do a thing to me. The enchantment of my curse must keep it from damaging me so I can continue to suffer an eternity of regret. And lastly: just because the archaeologists who dug me up didn't know me doesn't mean I'm not Horus, the lesser-known little brother of pharaoh Taharqa. I never lived out my childhood, but I've been around for ages.”

Tunie let out a breath. “So now you're an ancient…kid mummy…who talks like a tweedy professor.”

“Murder, that's a story,” said Peter. His eyes were wide. He studied the mummy with interest.

Horus propped his chin on one bandaged hand and wistfully watched Perch lap up the cream. “I've often wished for a familiar, someone to keep me company. Eternity, as you might imagine, is an awfully long time.”

Peter said with a tone of slight skepticism, “So you are animated by
magic
? How did it happen?”

Horus gave a dry cough. “I'll try to keep it short. Let's see, this was about 701 BC or thereabouts. Our kingdom was in conflict with Assyria. My older brother wasn't pharaoh yet, but he was a commander at the time. He fought proudly, and I…didn't. I did more…” He paused, as if uncertain about saying it aloud. Then he said all at once, “Uh, destroying our enemies' belongings. Looting. All right, robbing, really.”

Tunie's uneasiness at this personal history must have shown on her face.

Horus leaned forward and rushed to say, “Oh, believe me, I wish I could take it all back! I've had ages to learn how horrible I was. At any rate, in one home as I was, uh, smashing a set of figurines—statues depicting Nephthys, protector of the dead—an old grandmother cursed me to ‘an eternity of regret in the house of death' for my ‘destructive nature.' A heavy figurine fell on my head and killed me, right then, so I died days after my tenth birthday. She fumbled the words a bit, so I'm not stuck in a tomb anymore, now that I've been unearthed. I can move, but only at night. I have found, though, that I cannot leave the rooms of the exhibit in which I am kept. Yet traveling between museums seems to work, and this small kitchen is accessible. I'd bet something about the curse drew you to me, too, since you can see me when most can't.” Horus made a rustling noise as he shrugged. “Curses. Who understands them?”

“I'd never believe it if I weren't sitting here, talking to you.” Peter sounded bewildered. He absentmindedly handed his cookie over to Tunie. She accepted it with a smile.

“One thing I don't get,” Tunie said, “is why I can see you tonight. I've cleaned this place a bunch of times. Why couldn't I see you before?”

Horus glanced back and forth from Tunie to Peter and raised his palms. “Perhaps you both had to be here in order for me to be revealed?”

Tunie considered this. “Does everything you touch turn invisible to others, the way Mr. Narfgau couldn't see us when you put your arms around us?”

“Not exactly,” Horus said. “People don't see things related to me. For example”—he hefted the rock in his hand—“every day, I smash a display case to take out this rock. Did you notice the broken glass?” he asked Tunie.

Tunie shook her head, eyes wide.

Horus continued. “Neither did anyone at the British Museum when this exhibit was there. If I stand in someone's path, he or she will usually walk around me. People don't sense me in any way, even if they bump into me. I've tried leaping on people's backs, and they don't stumble or even seem to feel it. When I make a mess, no one notices. Sometimes, if I'm doing something directly in front of a person, he or she will grow confused and turn away, like your Mr. Narfgau. I've never turned anyone invisible before, but then, no one else has interacted with me the way you did tonight.”

Peter was listening intently to Horus.

“It makes sense, if the curse keeps people from seeing things that would draw attention to you,” Peter said. “If a person saw us interacting with something invisible, that would be strange and attract interest. It could be the curse sort of…clouded us in front of Mr. Narfgau because of that.”

Horus agreed. “Precisely. Of course, I haven't had much opportunity to test the curse. Very few people visit the exhibit after hours—usually only the cleaning crew, or a night watchman, or a museum curator. For the most part, I am on my own.”

Peter asked Horus, “What happens if you try to leave the room?”

Horus looked uncomfortable. “It is…terribly unpleasant. It feels a bit like, uh, drowning. Burning lungs. Also like walking on coals and being attacked by voracious fire ants and stinging bees and venomous snakes. Not my favorite thing to do,” he said. “Enough about me. I know about me. Let's talk about you all for a moment. I can help you, you know—
if
you do some things for me.”

Tunie swallowed the last of Peter's cookie. “Help us with what?”

Horus said, “You're interested in finding the girl who was kidnapped from my exhibit at the fair, aren't you?”

Peter leaned over the table toward Horus.

“Were you there?” Peter asked.

The mummy made a face. “Oh, yes. Distasteful situation. I'll tell you what I know, if you make me a promise.”

“What's that?” Tunie said with suspicion.

Horus blinked his luminous eyes. “Promise me you'll come back. You're the only people who have been able to interact with me since a toddler greeted me with a rag doll once, in England. That must have been a hundred years ago. Promise you'll come back—and bring me something to read, to pass the time.”

Tunie looked over the mummy. He was stained a bit brown and gray with age, and the bones where they showed through his wraps were disturbing, but for all that—and his former thieving ways—he seemed…polite, at least.

“I'll bring you some library books, Horus,” she said.

Peter looked thoughtful. “My father reads the paper, too. I can bring some of those.”

“Excellent! Someone left one in here once. It named all kinds of wonders—moving pictures, motorcars, bubble gum!” The mummy clapped his hands. “I want to know more about everything. Oh, and I especially liked the comics!”

“Great. I'll bring as many as I can. Now, please,” Peter said fervently, “tell us! What do you know about Dorothy James's kidnapping?”