Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret (14 page)

Officer Hill took one look at the sketch his colleague had brought in from the museum—the drawing showed a curled mustache, a narrow face—and recognized him.

“This fellow was in to see Detective Shade earlier today!” Officer Hill said to his partner, Officer Lovejoy. Hill shook his head admiringly. “Shade must be onto him. I bet he called this phony in for questioning. Let's show Shade the sketch.”

Hill and Lovejoy hurried to Detective Shade's office and were surprised to find it empty.

Officer Hill frowned. “That's odd. These are his office hours.” He turned to Lovejoy. “Well, let's see if we can track down this rat ourselves.”

They returned to the front desk, and Officer Hill showed the sketch to the gray-haired attendant.

“Doris, this man came in to see Detective Shade today. I don't suppose you caught his name?”

Doris looked at the sketch over the top of her bifocals. “I remember him. Curtis Reid. Detective Shade told me to send him on back to his office when he arrived.”

“Terrific,” said Officer Hill. “Can you get on the horn to the post office? Let's see if we can get an address for Curtis Reid.”

“You got it.” Doris lifted the receiver.

A familiar, disheveled-looking man wearing spectacles and holding a toy robot shoved open the station door.

“Sir,” the man said to Officer Hill a little wildly, “I believe my son might be missing.” He straightened his glasses, which were slipping off his nose. “He was meant to be in the house all day, but he snuck out and we can't find him. I've been searching for hours. I came to see if anyone had reported seeing him, and I found this right outside—this is his favorite robot, WindUp. Peter would never leave him anywhere! I know it sounds trivial, but I'm very worried.”

Officer Hill came forward to show him a seat.

“I remember you, Mr. Bartholomew, and your son, Peter. Something is going on. We believe Peter's friend Tunie has been kidnapped,” Officer Hill said.

“Kidnapped?” Mr. Bartholomew grew pale and sank down into the chair, clutching the robot. “Why? Could Peter have been with her? Does it have something to do with the mugging they witnessed last night?”

“Mugging?” Officer Hill blinked. “Sir, they came in with information about the kidnapper in the Dorothy James case.”

Mr. Bartholomew looked baffled. “The Dorothy James case? My son said nothing about that. He said they'd seen a mugger attack an old man.”

This didn't add up. Why would the boy lie?

“We'll figure out why he told you that. Right now we have a lead on the kidnapper.” Officer Hill placed a hand on Mr. Bartholomew's shoulder. “We're following up on it now. You can wait here if you like.”

“Yes,” Peter's father said. He sat tensely in the chair. “I can't leave until I know Peter's safe.”

Meanwhile, Doris was jotting down an address on a notepad, the receiver tucked under her ear. “Down by the wharf, you say? Billowing Sails Shipping? Got it. Thanks, Randy.”

She hung up the phone and handed the address to Officer Hill. “He lives down near the wharf, in a room above Billowing Sails Shipping, Inc. Here's the street address.”

“Right,” said Officer Hill, all business. “Lovejoy and I will head out. Doris, call a couple patrol cars down to the wharf, would you?”

In a lower voice, so that Peter's father wouldn't hear, Hill said grimly, “Let's hope we're not too late to save those kids.”

Horus blinked his golden eyes. The unfamiliar ceiling wavered, as if underwater. He carefully sat up, bandages crinkling, and looked around.

“Why, I'm in that fellow George's office on the second floor!” Horus said with excitement. “I'm still here and—and it doesn't hurt!”

The mummy gave a tiny hop, and that felt so good he did a little twirl. Delighted, Horus stood up and began surveying the shelves, touching a clock, a framed photo, a stapler. So many new things! He spied a note stuck to the window of the door. He pulled it off and flipped it over.

“Back in 20 minutes,” it read.

Then Horus remembered what had happened. Tunie'd been kidnapped….Had the night watchman left to find her? Or was he off to see the police? Horus scanned the neat desk. The sketch was gone. Horus was standing here, so obviously he'd accomplished his task.

Then he thought of something else. “Am I trapped here now? In this little space?”

The urge to dance drained away. The exhibit was cavernous compared with this narrow room. It was hardly bigger than a closet. Would this be his new prison? There was only one way to find out.

Horus took a step toward the door and reached for the dull metal knob. He took a deep, unnecessary breath and yanked the door open. Cautiously he placed one small, bandaged foot over the threshold.

Nothing.

Horus gingerly stepped out into the hallway.

Nothing.

“Skittering scarabs!” Horus shouted. “I'm free! Am I free? I might be…free!”

He skipped down the hallway linoleum. He sprinted and skidded back and forth for joy on his little stick legs. Then, at the end of the dim hall, he spied the night watchman, George, returning to his office.

“George!” Horus called. He pattered down the hallway to the lit office. He could hear a phone ringing inside.

George answered.

“Mm-hmm. Yes. Billowing Sails Shipping. I've heard of it,” said George. He sat down in his desk chair. “No, no, I won't go after them. No, I certainly won't do anything rash. Thanks for letting me know.”

George set the receiver back on its hook and stood staring into space.

Horus danced around before him. “Is that where Tunie and Peter are? Go after them! What if the police need help? Go! You must go!”

George didn't seem to see Horus, but he muttered to himself, “What if the police need help?” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “It's Tunie, after all. I must go.”

George hastily left his office, and Horus padded after him.

The front entrance to the museum was one of the few doors locked with a dead bolt from the inside. George fumbled for his keys, giving Horus time to become nervous and exhilarated. Would he be able to leave the building? What was happening to his curse?

Finally, with a clink of metal on metal, George found the key on the circular ring and opened the door.

Outside, the evening was warm but breezy. The streetlamps glowed, and the stars overhead glimmered. Horus, who had not seen the sky in thousands of years, was struck silent. Those twinkling, everlasting lights, and his old friend, the moon, were still there. He inhaled the fresh air and the smell of trees and grass. A rush of feeling rose in his chest, a tremendous, nameless emotion, as strong and untouchable as a storm.

George descended the steps at a clip.

Horus followed, his feet on the concrete still warm from the day's sun, and walked out into the night.

Good grief. Was this dull file really the best the bat could find?
Inside the trunk, Peter was dripping sweat from the effort of sawing his bindings one-handed at an awkward angle. It had taken ages to cut the rope down to just a strand or two. Peter tugged with all his might, and his hands came free with a snap.

Finally! He plucked away the rope and rubbed at his chafed wrists. Then he immediately pulled the gag from his mouth. His lips and tongue felt unspeakably dry. He swallowed as best he could.

Now for the feet.

To reach his ankles, he had to press his face up against the perforated side of the trunk. The box was rocking back and forth, making things difficult. He sweated all the more, his stomach and back muscles trembling as his fingers worked at the unseen knots. Done!

And now to get himself out.

The trunk was locked, but loosely. The lid opened a crack. Peter slid the file into the gap and pried until he heard something snap. He shoved open the lid, struggled out, and landed with a thud. He was on the deck of a large ship. Peter looked around. The boat was big enough that three train cars would have fit on it, end to end. He could see the moon shining on the water below. Suddenly the whole craft lurched, and Peter grabbed the railing to keep from falling.

Footsteps thudded along the deck, the sailors calling to one another. Peter saw, with dismay, why the boat had pitched like that.

It was pulling away from the dock.

There were about ten men working on the deck by the glow of lanterns and the stars. Peter saw movement and lights on the receding dock. He and the others had been stashed in the shadows, away from the rest of the cargo. He heard Reid's distinctive voice calling out now and then.

Peter crouched beside one of the other trunks.

“Tunie?” he whispered, before realizing she and Dorothy were gagged and unable to respond. He saw the shine of an eye pressed up against an airhole, and instantly got to work.

Using the file, Peter picked the lock in record time, then glanced around. So far no one had noticed him. He lifted the lid, and Dorothy sat up. He pulled the gag from her mouth. She took a deep breath and mouthed a thank-you to Peter. He loosened the knots at her wrists and feet. As she pulled the ropes off, Peter located Tunie.

Soon all three were free.

“Should we scream?” Tunie whispered. “How do we know if these men are working with Shade and Reid?”

Dorothy was already filling her trunk with sacks of sand stacked nearby. Peter and Tunie looked at her, surprised.

Dorothy whispered urgently.

“The longer they think we're in here, the more time we have to escape,” she said.

Peter and Tunie nodded and followed suit. As soon as they'd filled the trunks, Peter, Tunie, and Dorothy crept away, keeping to the shadows. They ducked down and ran as quietly as they could to the other side of the boat.

Peter whispered to Tunie and Dorothy that the boat had just left the harbor.

“We should swim for it,” he whispered.

“I think we can make it,” Dorothy agreed. “Let's jump!”

Tunie's face fell. “I don't know how to swim,” she said. She surveyed the deck. “You two go. It will be easier for just one of us to hide anyway. Then you can send help.”

Dorothy and Peter looked at each other.

They were getting farther from the dock with every passing second. Peter had to make a decision.

“Okay. We'll go. Quick, take your shoes off, Dorothy!” He and Dorothy pulled off their shoes and threw them inside a giant coil of rope. Tunie climbed into another and tucked herself down into the dark.

Peter peered at Tunie over the coil's edge.

“I hate to leave you here,” Peter said, “but we'll bring help. I promise.”

Tunie nodded, looking resolute. “Go! I'll be fine.”

Then Dorothy and Peter ran to the ship's rail, climbed up, and leaped overboard.

The sensation of falling lasted only a moment, and then the cold water closed over Peter's head. He swam upward, toward the moon, and took a breath when he emerged. The saltwater stung his chafed wrists. The massive shadow of the ship passed to his left. He spied Dorothy, already swimming for the dock. Peter set to it, too, with strong strokes, not looking back. He would make it to shore. More than his life depended on it.