How to Curse in Hieroglyphics (21 page)

As the four of them stood there, getting their various stories straight as to how they'd “really” spent the last couple of hours, Cheryl paused and held up a finger. A faint whistling noise had reached her ears. She looked up, and the others did too, in time to see a small, pale sphere falling through the night sky. It hit the ground and rolled to a stop against the toe of Artie's shredded sneaker. He bent down to pick up the softball and, turning it over in his hands, he saw that, on the side opposite to where it said “Bob Ruth,” there was a line of squiggly pictures that looked like:

“What is it?” Pilot asked.

“Uh … I think it's us.” Artie peered at it through his glasses, pointing at the symbols. “This first figure is the Princess, I think. And she's waving goodbye or good luck or something. The lion? See, I'll bet that's Cheryl—‘cause you roar like one and have crazy yellow hair. And the eye is Tweed.”

Tweed shot him a questioning look.

Artie shrugged. “I tried to explain the whole goth thing to Zee,” he said, “and ‘eyeliner' seemed to be the only thing she really picked up. She's been wearing that stuff since she was nine years old.”

If only
, Tweed thought, sighing wistfully.

“Is that me?” Pilot tapped the picture of a falcon.

“The bird?” Artie rolled his eyes. “Duh, yeah …”

“Okay,” Cheryl said, “what's the last one?”

“It's, um, nothing.” Artie tried to hide the softball in the bib of his overalls.

But Cheryl grabbed it. “Let me see.” She squinted at the last symbol. “Weird … it looks like a birthday cake … and a cricket?”

Pilot looked closer. “I think that's a … Ha! It's a shrimp!”

Cheryl and Tweed laughed. “Shrimpcake!” they said in unison, and Cheryl handed the softball back to Artie.

“That's Head Minion Shrimpcake to you all,” he said proudly, tossing the ball in the air as he turned to head
off home. Where he could hopefully use his new Head Minion language skills to talk himself out of trouble with his mom and into a reheated supper, hot bath and warm bed.

14

THE END! OR IS IT…?

T
he next evening, as the sun was sinking low in the sky, the carnival caravan was packed up and bugging out of town. Interestingly enough, the girls noticed from their perch high atop the Starlight Paradise marquee sign that the big banner on the side of the lead truck had been hastily repainted. It now read:

And there was no mention anywhere of an Egyptian mummy princess.

The plane was back in its hangar and the Moviemobile was back in the barn, awaiting repairs and a fresh coat
of Turtle Wax, respectively, for jobs well done. And, in the best C
+
T Supersitter tradition, all Miss Parks's shnookumses had been properly fed 'n' watered, earscratched, tummy-rubbed, sand-boxed and given the run of the barn, with extra treats for the fulfillment of heroic duties (and a double-extra treat helping going to Mr. Sniffers for bravery above and beyond!).

Pops had called the twins down to the kitchen that morning after he'd already been up for a few hours bustling about. He served them bowls of breakfast cereal and inquired as to whether they had enjoyed the carnival. The girls assured him that they most definitely had, and tried to make hasty exits—mouths full of Count Chocula and Frankenberry—before he could ask for too much detail.

“Boy howdy, that cannon sure seemed to make an awful ruckus …” Pops mused, staring out the window.

“Oh, yeah … the cannon,” Cheryl said, exchanging a glance with Tweed. “Probably all sortsa Wiggins county bylaws against that sorta thing …”

The girls edged toward the door.

“Well, all that noise sure gave me some crazy weird dreams, I can tell you! Worse than a late-night double dog with mustard and saurkraut!”

“Weird … heh, heh,” Cheryl mumbled.

“Sauerkraut …” murmured Tweed.

“Fireworks and whizzbangs.” Pops shook his head, chuckling, as he cleared the table. “Flashy nonsense. Well, I'm glad you kids had a nice time, anyway.”

The girls breathed a dual sigh of relief.

“I do wonder, though …” Pops said, “what made that Dudley fella pack up and hit the road so soon.” He shot a glance sideways at where the twins were both fidgeting and trying not to make eye contact. “You girls wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you? Or … say … why there's a big ol' patch of melted Astroturf on my mini-golf's ninth hole?”

“Nope,” Cheryl murmured.

“Not a thing,” mumbled Tweed.

“That's what I thought.” Pops nodded.

The girls made a hasty break for it and spent the rest of the day hiding out in C+T Headquarters, scheduling a bit of casual monster-mashing—if recent events were any indication, they would need to keep their skills razor-sharp—but making sure there were still openings available, just in case any sitter gigs came their way. They had a feeling that Mr. and Mrs. Bottoms might just be stocking the freezer with an extra Fudgsicle or two in the near future.

As twilight fell, there was just one more thing to take care of. The twins struck out for the mini-golf range, where Artie and Pilot were waiting for them. As the twins approached the Giza Squeeza, Cheryl looked at Tweed. Tweed looked at Cheryl. Together they said, “Cameras rolling …”

“Aaaand …”

“… ACTION!!”

EXT. TEMPLE GROUNDS, ANCIENT EGYPTIAN
PYRAMIDS -- DAY

SFX: TRIUMPHANT ORCHESTRAL MUSIC.

CAMERA FOLLOWS three WARRIORS, clad in
CEREMONIAL UNIFORMS, as they walk the long
ramp, lined with neat rows of cheering
citizens, sweeping up toward a raised
terrace.

CUT TO:

 

 

 

On the STEPS of the terrace, our THREE HEROES
kneel before a … um … MAJESTIC FIGURE.

SFX: The crowd ROARS!

CAMERA CLOSE-UP on the mighty PHARAOH
SEMERKHET GLAACK. He stands upon the terrace.
In his hands he holds THREE MEDALLIONS OF
HONOUR.

PHARAOH GLAACK

(majestic, slightly lispy)

Our rulers are born to greatness, but
rare it is, indeed, that commoners
display such bravery as these
uncommon three. They have returned
our long-lost sister to us. Their
compassion and ingenuity is greatness
in itself and will serve to inspire
others. The gods themselves bestow
upon you eternal gratitude.

GLAACK places the medallions around the necks
of the heroes. The TRIO exchange glances.

WARRIOR FALCON-WINGS

(humble, yet charming)

It was nothing, Your Highness. The
only way to be happy in life is to
help folks who are in need. Nothing
feels better.

WARRIOR HORUS-EYE

(fiercely cool)

It's like we waited our whole lives
to be prepared for that moment.

WARRIOR LION-MANE

(quipping like a hero)

While-O-Wait.

CAMERA CLOSE-UP on: over WARRIOR FALCON-
WINGS'S shoulder, WARRIOR HORUS-EYE and
WARRIOR LION-MANE exchange their C
+
T Secret
Signal (patent pending).

CUT TO:

WARRIOR FALCON-WINGS rolls his eyes,
hesitates … and gives the signal, too.

For the VERY FIRST TIME.

SFX: ORCHESTRAL MUSIC BUILDS to a TREMENDOUS
CRESCENDO!!

 

PHARAOH GLAACK

Let us now feast on dates and tasty
papyrus shoots. Or … perhaps pie of
some description! I gotta keep up my
minion strength, y'know --

“What?!” Artie quacked as Cheryl called a halt to the scene. “What did I do wrong
now?”

Pilot chuckled and shook his head. Cheryl and Tweed exchanged a glance.

“I don't think you did anything wrong, Art-Bart,” Pilot said.

“I didn't?” Artie blinked.

“Nope.” Cheryl shook her head, pigtails swinging. “You did pretty much everything
right.”

She reached up to remove the medal of honour—made out of a little 8-millimetre film reel held on with twine—that “Pharaoh Glaack” had placed around her neck and, stepping forward, she placed it around Artie's neck instead. Tweed did the same, and so did Pilot.

“You're not a minion,” Tweed said, a sparkle in her grey eyes. “And you're not a monster. You're the one who deserves the medal. You're a hero, Artie Bartleby. And we'd be proud to be on
your
team.”

Well, that was pretty much the end of Artie's selfcontrol. He blushed scarlet and started sniffling and muttering—something about hay fever and ragweed—as he shuffled his feet and wandered a few steps away so the others wouldn't see that he'd actually gotten a little weepy-eyed. Weepy-eyed wasn't hero stuff.

But when he looked off into the distance, he suddenly stopped and pointed at the horizon … where a long line of car headlights was travelling like a glittering snake down the highway, headed in their direction.

“Look!” Artie exclaimed.

Tweed and Cheryl stepped up beside him.