How to Curse in Hieroglyphics (10 page)

By the time they were finished, the sun had dropped down to the horizon. It hovered for a moment—as if balancing on a tightrope—and then sank swiftly out of sight. Dusky twilight swept over the land, and the car headlights began to appear from the direction of the town, bobbing over the low rise of the road in the
distance—a caravan of automobiles with glowing white eyes, all flocking toward the awesomeness that would be Cheryl and Tweed's very first programmed Starlight Paradise Creature-Feature Triple-tastic-bill .

And one by one …

Turning left …

Instead of right.

Cheryl and Tweed stood, mouths agape, as car after car after car flicked on the
wrong
signal flasher and turned the
wrong
way to go park in the
wrong
dang field! Not one single family-packed, double-date or evening-out automobile found its way to the Starlight. The sky overhead darkened to pre-show indigo and the screen stayed dark. For the first time ever that the girls could remember, the screen stayed
dark.

Pops didn't even turn on the projector.

He ambled out to meet them as Cheryl and Tweed shuffled, zombie-like, back from the dirt road turnoff. “Well, girls, I guess you can both have the night off,” he said.

“It's all our fault!” Cheryl wailed. “Our bill is a bomb!”

Tweed glowered dejectedly and nodded. “Nuc-u-lar bomb.”

“Now, it surely is not!” Pop exclaimed. “It's a fine bit of programming and we'll run it all weekend! You'll see. Tonight, well .” He waved a hand toward the coloured searchlights that criss-crossed the darkening sky; the
sinister tinkle of maniacally cheery music drifted faintly on the evening breeze. “It's just that everyone's … well, ‘run off to join the circus,' so to speak.” Pops sighed a little and tugged on his hat brim. Then he shook his head briskly, fished a handful of five-dollar bills out of the pocket of his overalls and handed them to Pilot and the twins. “You three might as well head on over too. Have a little fun, and get yourself some corndogs for dinner. Just this once, and it's my treat. Just make sure you're back before bedtime. And tell Artie when you see him that his mom's gonna tan his hide good if he doesn't run along home.”

The girls exchanged a glance.

“Speakin' of bedtime,” Pops said as he ambled off back toward the house, “I think I'll hit the hay early. Tomorrow, I've got some work to do on the mini-golf range.”

8

SOMETHING WICKED THAT WAY WENT!

P
ilot and the girls took off for the carnival, not—as Pops had suggested—because there was any sort of fun to be had, but because evildoings were clearly afoot. Judging by Pops's offhand comment, Shrimpcake was, indeed, still missing in action—most likely kidnapped by wicked carnival folk or trapped in a vat of cotton candy or something—and the rest of the Wiggins townsfolk had been lured from the drive-in with false promises of “superior” entertainment. Naturally, it was up to Cheryl and Tweed to right those wrongs. And it would most likely be up to Pilot to keep them out of serious trouble while they did.

The trio jogged through the lines of parked cars, heading toward the carnival's front gates. Nighttime had transformed the World-O-Wonders's shabby tents
and rickety rides into a place of mystery—sparkling, shadowy, ever-so-slightly sinister. Faces and forms loomed out of the darkness. Candy-coloured spotlight beams cast a garish glow on the faces of parents and kids as they ambled and scampered from attraction to attraction. The boom of the cannonball guy and the haze of grease smoke from the concessions' deep-fryers drifted on the air. Rides and riders rattled and shrieked. The tin-canned tinkle and wheeze of carnival music rained down out of loudspeakers and was stirred into the laughter and chatter of the Wiggins folk, most of whom were at that moment drifting toward the Curiosities Exhibit—the tent where Artie Bartleby had last been seen.

As much as it irked them to have to pay admission to infiltrate the enemy encampment, that was the only way Pilot and Cheryl and Tweed were going to be able to find out what had really happened to their missing companion. They grudgingly handed over the fee and passed through the turnstiles into a carnival that was already in full swing.

Halfway down the midway, a barrel-chested man in a top hat and tacky red velvet vest stood at the entrance to the largest tent, yodelling on about how “The Straaaaaange! The Weeeeeeird! The Wooooondrous!” was all on display inside. Cheryl and Tweed and Pilot slipped inside the tent, making their way around the edges of the gathered crowd so they could see what was going on. Colonel Dudley himself was on the stage, dressed in
a kind of outlandish, gold-braid-trimmed archaeologist outfit. He was gesturing grandly at the velvet curtain, drawn closed to hide the sarcophagus of the Egyptian mummy princess.

“The tragic story of this exotic young girl's life and death is filled with curses and revenge.” The Colonel's voice, nasally and crisp with a clipped English accent, drifted out over the breathlessly waiting crowd. “Denied her path to the throne when her scheming stepmother convinced her pharaoh father to make
her
son the heir to the kingdom, the ambitious young Zahara-Safiya turned to the temple priests, with their sorcery and magic, vowing revenge! She tricked the priests into granting her wicked powers—powers that even they were unable to control—but by the time they'd realized their fateful mistake, there was only one way to stop her from exacting her horrible vengeance on the Pharaoh.”

The crowd leaned in, mesmerized by the story.

“The temple priests gave Zahara an enchanted sleeping potion, wrapped the Princess in bandages, placed her in a sarcophagus and buried her alive, where she remained hidden deep beneath the desert sands for millennia, bound in eternal sleep inside her enchanted coffin … only to be discovered by Yours Very Truly”—he gestured at himself with one chunky thumb—”in an epic adventure, so that I could bring this tragic tale home to you good people for your wonder and amazement, right here in the town of Biggins!”

“Wiggins,” Cheryl muttered.

“Behold! The Mummy's Tomb!”

He yanked on a tasselled rope and the curtain slid aside. A spotlight lit up the now-familiar (to Pilot and the twins) image of the Princess, and the gathered gawkers made
ooh
and
aah
sounds. The Colonel stalked dramatically back and forth in front of the painted casket, extolling his own bravery and resourcefulness, and detailing the dangers to body and soul if anyone should ever attempt to open the Princess's casket.

“And that is why her sarcophagus here remains closed tight, sealed for all eternity. For if Zahara-Safiya were ever to awaken . well .” Colonel Dudley patted the side of the mummy casket with one big, meaty hand. He was chuckling darkly, as if telling ghost stories around a campfire, and he seemed not to have noticed that the thing
wasn't
closed tight and sealed for all eternity. Not any more. In fact, the lid was ever so slightly ajar.

An answering
thump-thump-thump
seemed to come from inside the sarcophagus. Audience members gasped, and shuffled back a few steps at the sound. Over at the side of the tent, Pilot tugged on Cheryl's and Tweed's sleeves and pointed to the shadowy space behind the little stage, where a carny crouched behind the sarcophagus, pounding on it with his fist.

“Shameless,” murmured Cheryl.

“Charlatans,” hissed Tweed.

“Blimey!” bellowed the Colonel, rearing back, one
hand held out in front of him as if warding off a charging bear. He reached into the neck of his jacket, under his cravat, and pulled out an ancient-looking pendant shaped like an eye that dangled from a big gold chain around his neck. He held it up in front of his face and started bellowing, “Back! Get back into the darkness of your oblivious sleep, Unquiet One! I compel you by this sacred amulet, the Eye of Osiris! Sleep! Leave these fair citizens of Higgins to their untroubled lives!”

“D'you think he's ever gonna get the town name right?” Cheryl murmured.

“If he does, I'll eat Pilot's hat,” Tweed muttered back, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the Colonel. “He can't even get his own shtick right. Remember
Curse of the Blood Red Sands?”
she asked, referring to the movie the drive-in had been showing the other night—which the girls had yet to see the end of. “That symbol is an Eye of
Horus.
Any Egyptologist worth his salt would know that.”

“It's all right . everything is all right, good people!” Dudley turned back to the tense crowd, smiling broadly. “There's nothing to worry about. Even if the Pharaoh's daughter were to wake from her cursed sleep again .” He paused, as if waiting for something to happen. “I said, I said …
even
if she
were
to
wake
…” He slapped the side of the casket harder, his palm making a resounding
thwack
on the painted wood. “I can compel her with my charm.” The amulet swayed like a hypnotist's
pendulum. “And . heh heh heh . my
charm
.” The Colonel leaned out toward the crowd and bestowed an exaggerated, smarmy wink on the nearest lady in the tent, Hazel Polizzi's mom, who giggled, while Mr. Polizzi glowered like a matinee villain and shook his fist at the Colonel in mock threat.

Cheryl and Tweed snorted in derision.

Pilot shushed them and pointed, again, toward the stage. Behind the Colonel, the lid of the coffin was slowly,
slooowly
creeping open. Dudley, seemingly oblivious, belly-laughed at one of his own jokes and, in the silence that followed his roaring guffaw, there was a dry, high-pitched creak.

“Gadzooks,” Cheryl whispered, hands pressed to her mouth.

An eerie, moaning sigh.

“Eep,” Tweed gulped, eyes wide and staring.

The crowd gasped and shrieked as the sarcophagus lid, painted with the image of the Princess, swung wide…

… revealing the casket to be …

…empty.

A hush fell on the crowd.

Then there was angry murmuring.

Colonel Dudley glanced around wildly, as if trying to see where his mummy had wandered off to. Some people shouted for their ticket money back. Barely missing a beat, the Colonel suddenly started to gesticulate wildly.

“The Curse of the Mummy is loose here in Diggins!” he bellowed. “Uh . The mummy walks! Er . Beware! Um . Run for your lives! Yes! That's it! Run!”

He waved his arms around his head, hiding his face as he hissed instructions at the carny hidden behind the curtain, who hopped like a toad on hot asphalt as he activated a smoke machine and made the lights in the tent cycle wildly through a rainbow of spooky colours and effects.

The theatrics changed the mood of the crowd and they shrieked with good-natured laughter. So when a
real
, terrified shriek sounded from somewhere outside the tent, everyone just thought it was part of the act. But the good Colonel unsheathed the (strictly ornamental) sword from his waist and told the good people of Piggins (contrary to his earlier instructions of “Run! Run for your lives!”) that maybe the best course of action would be to stay put, enjoy the exhibits, purchase some souvenirs, perhaps.

Not to worry, he said, he'd track that mummy down, he would!

Then he leaped from the stage, waving his sword over his head, and stalked through the crowd, out into the night.

In the silence that followed, one of the carnival-goers was heard to remark, “Well! That certainly was a much more exciting show than we were expecting! Bravo, Dudley!” and another wondered aloud how the big
finale would play out, speculating, “The Colonel will no doubt return triumphant, wayward ‘mummy princess' in tow!” There was much elbowing and winking. The act was going over like gangbusters.

Cheryl and Tweed and Pilot weren't so sure the whole thing was an act.

Through the blown-out tent flaps, they could see what looked like a vulture sitting perched atop a tent peak, eyeing the carnival-goers hungrily, and a shadowy river of large black beetles scuttled across the alley between two tents. Pilot and the twins seemed to be the only ones to notice—maybe because they were the only ones on the lookout for
real
evil.

A ball of flame shot across the night sky, and this time it
wasn't
the cannonball guy. But no one else seemed to care. Or, more likely, they all just thought it was part of Dudley's show. Special effects. The townsfolk just laughed and pointed, joking as they drifted out of the Curiosities Exhibit in search of more excitement.

When the tent had emptied out completely, Pilot and the girls nervously approached the sarcophagus on the now-dark stage. It was totally empty, except for two things. In the very bottom corner, there was a crumpled length of dry, brittle old bandage wrapping .

And a ratty old red Keds sneaker.

“Artie.” Tweed's grey eyes were wide with alarm. More than alarm. Fear.

“We've gotta tell someone!” Cheryl was aghast.

Another blood-curdling scream sounded in the distance, and the Wiggins folk jumped and laughed their startled, silly laughs. “They think the mummy curse is all just part of the show .”

“We have to warn them!” Tweed was stunned.

“We gotta sound the alarm!” Cheryl nodded.

“Like heck we do,” Pilot said grimly.

More than a bit shocked by the tone of his voice, the girls turned to where Pilot stood, arms crossed over his chest, a stormy, stubborn expression tightening the muscles of his jaw.

“But the town—”

“Isn't gonna believe a thing we say!” Pilot's eyes glittered fiercely, and he grabbed the brim of his baseball cap and yanked on it, turning it around backward on his head. A pair of his dad's old pilot's wings were pinned to the cap, and Pilot only ever wore it like that when he was dead serious about something or concentrating really hard. “Think about it,” he said. “Did they believe you when you told ‘em that something more than a plane accident made your families disappear? Did they believe me when I told ‘em my dad didn't lose that plane? Well?