Mummy (6 page)

“We are not a small, unknown city,” said Dr. Brisband, “and we should not have a small, unknown museum. We, tonight—you and I—are setting a new goal and heading in a new direction. We in this city must rise to the same rank as Cleveland’s great art museum or Baltimore’s!”

Emlyn did not think it sounded particularly exciting to be Cleveland or Baltimore.

“Our museum must cry out!” said Dr. Brisband, taut with excitement. The excitement looked real to Emlyn. Dr. Brisband was proud of this building, and all that was within it, and all that was to come. He was the kind of speaker who made eye contact with every person in his audience, drawing them into his arms and heart, and hoping also to draw their checkbooks.

Emlyn never looked away from a teacher’s gaze, but she looked straight into her lap and pretended to be taking notes for her article about the museum when Dr. Brisband turned toward her.

“Our museum must tell the world: We have great art! We have magnificent sculpture! We have history and beauty and truth!”

Oh, that’ll bring high school students by the carload, thought Emlyn.

She gazed up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, where the gold glinted back and the tiny windows were shiny from the night sky. The folding chairs were delightful old things: wooden slats and learner seats, and each seat back had a neat little learner pillow, like a dentist’s chair, so you could rest your neck as you gritted your teeth. Emlyn rested her neck.

“Very few of the artifacts we possess are on display,” said Harris Brisband. “We have so many things in storage. It’s a crime. Boxes and crates of fine artifacts, none of which you have ever seen. Or ever will, unless we raise the money to increase our staff and expand our exhibit potential.” He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had changed dramatically. “However, no matter how much money we require, we must honor the will and the intent of the founder of this museum. We must never be unworthy of his trust.”

Emlyn slid into a coma.

What was she going to do with this mummy after she took it?

Suppose she got out of here, mummy in hand. Then what? The mummy was large and stiff. Emlyn lived in an apartment building where dozens of tenants used the same front door. They would notice her. At any hour of the day or night, the doorman would definitely notice her. That was his job. He was good at it. And she did not have a cellar or an attic. Apartments never had extra closets hanging around waiting to hold something large. And the mummy would have to be held for a while. Senior prank day was always Mischief Night, just before Halloween,
two weeks off.
If she figured out how to get the mummy tonight, she’d have a lot of other problems along with the mummy.

Dr. Brisband suggested that they move down the hall to Impressionist Paintings, where he had a new acquisition for them to gaze upon and there were refreshments.

Everybody was happy to hear the word
refreshments.
It didn’t matter how cultural an event was. Whether you were a toddler or a grandparent, you hoped there would be food.

Emlyn stuck her notebook back into her purse. She knelt as if to tie a shoelace. Many rows of folding wooden chairs were between her and the exiting Friends. In moments, Emlyn was alone in the Great Hall. How long would refreshments hold out? Twenty minutes? An hour?

There are no iron grilles between me and the Egyptian Room, thought Emlyn. What if I go there right now? Right up those huge stairs.

She was shaking slightly. It was odd to see her hands quiver, as if she were older than the very old Friends with their silver hair and age-spotted skin.

If I go up there, she thought, first I have to lift the Plexiglas case. Do I trust Maris’s version that it can be lifted easily? But say I get it off. I rest it against the wall. There is the mummy, waiting. I lift the mummy.

She was amazed by the depth of her desire to take the mummy and her terror of actually attempting it. She felt as if she herself were hanging in the bell tower, swinging like a pendulum from one choice to another.

She was trembling in places she had not known you could tremble. It wasn’t visible. There was no quiver extending from her ankles to her fingers. But the tremor of excitement and dread was racing through every vein and artery.

She could do it now. It was literally within reach.

The wide stairs were rough stone, with bands of shining metal crossing each tread, and the banisters were also stone, carved and fluted for eager fingers to grip.

Go, she said to herself. Go.

The columns and shadows of the Great Hall overlapped and slid. If a guard was nearby, he was hiding like a little kid behind a pillar. Emlyn doubted that that was the behavior or the size of guards. Once more, Emlyn opened the MUSEUM OFFICIALS ONLY door to the offices. Lights were on, but nobody seemed to be there. When she closed the door behind her, it clicked loudly.

If anybody catches you, you’re looking for a bathroom, she told herself.

She skipped the secretary’s office, the Trustees’ Room, and Dr. Brisband’s office. Sure enough, the first unknown door she opened was the staff bathroom. It locked from the inside. She might need a door like that.

There was one more unknown door. Emlyn listened hard and heard nothing The depth of the silence was heavy and complete. She opened the door fast, before she could panic. The room was empty. Just more desks, computer screens, and stuff. She found it hard to believe a museum needed all this.

At the back of the room was an original door from mansion days. Huge, heavy, and impressive, a door requiring a servant’s strong arm so that a lady in a fine gown could pass through it. Emlyn required only a way out. Now she had one.

She went back to the arrow labeled FREIGHT ELEVATOR.

Around a corner was a final door that took Emlyn out of the mansion and into the museum, through a large utility hall with vinyl floors and an acoustical tile ceiling. There was the freight elevator. Buttons on the wall said UP and DOWN.

Her thoughts splintered and fell, like broken glass. Every thought had a sharp edge and the ability to cut.

She could take the mummy, carry it into the freight elevator, slip out that side door, and be free in the streets.

And then what? Bring the mummy home? On a bus? In a taxi? Her brothers would be awake, assuming the other passengers on the bus decided it was not their business if she was carrying a mummy. Her parents would ask about her day. “What is that?” they would say, although they would certainly be able to guess.

Okay, so that wouldn’t work. Gould she leave the mummy in the office? Put the mummy into some closet? Come back for it?

As soon as they found the mummy gone, a search would be launched. They might not think of searching office closets, but security would be tightened and locks changed. Emlyn would not get in a second time. Her key would no longer allow her to remove the mummy she had stashed. Nor could she again pretend to be Girl Reporter.

No, on the night she came for the mummy, she had to leave with the mummy.

Tonight would not work. There were too many details for which she had not planned. And no doubt more problems that she would think of when she pondered this. She must have these solved in her mind so she wouldn’t face them under pressure.

She could, however, explore the cellar. Find out what was down there and where the exits led and whether—

“What are you doing here?”

Emlyn turned slowly.

It was a guard.

Not one she recognized. Not the one with whom she had chatted at the exit yesterday.

“I’m so glad to see you,” said Emlyn. “I’m actually shaking.” She held out her hand for him to see. “I was using the bathroom in the offices, and I’ve taken the wrong door out. It’s really scary here at night. I’m here with my grandmother, and she’s always the one who gets lost, but now I’m the one who’s lost. She’s probably worried. You’ll get me back to the Friends, won’t you?”

She smiled anxiously, and it seemed that Jack and Maris were correct.

She could get away with things.

O
F COURSE, EVERYBODY BUT
Emlyn was late for the meeting. Neither play rehearsal nor soccer practice was ever over when it was over. Things had to be put away; people had to shower and blow-dry their hair; arguments had to be settled and snacks exchanged.

Finally, closer to six than five, they were gathered by the two maples. One was scarlet, the other gold, making Emlyn remember the Brownie song she used to sing: “Make new friends, but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold.”

These were not friends, and not one of them was silver or gold. What they were about to do was tarnished, and Emlyn knew it.

Lovell and Jack were still damp from their showers and very tired. Maris, because the drama department lacked showers, was sweaty and irritable. Donovan was just Donovan.

Lovell flung herself down on the grass, and one by one the rest joined her. Since they no longer had to see the stage or the ball, the girls did not bother to tie back their hair but let it fall, and their bodies drooped as loosely as their hair. The boys let go of their strength and fell back against the cooling grass.

How pretty we look, thought Emlyn. An art class should come and draw us in pastels or fling us onto watercolor paper.

“Okay,” said Jack. “First. How do we get the mummy out? We can’t just walk in there and some of us distract the guards while others of us pick the mummy up and run out the front door.”

“Maybe we could,” said Maris thoughtfully. “Lovell and Emlyn and I would each subdue a guard, while Jack and Donovan hoist the mummy onto their shoulders and run toward the exit like football players with a long, thin, flat football.”

Lovell laughed.

Donovan said, “I still say a cow would be better.”

“Donovan, stop your noise,” said Maris. How attractive Maris was, in a bony way; her features would be visible from the back row of any theater, and in fact everything about her was theatrical—the way she flung words around, and gestures around, and even affection. She was drama. “We’ve settled on the mummy, Donovan. Emlyn’s in with us. Emlyn and Jack and I crept around the museum the other day taking notes.”

Emlyn certainly preferred this version.

“If the mummy bent at the waist and the knees,” said Donovan, “we could use one of the museum’s wheelchairs. While you were distracting the guards, I’d wrap the mummy in blankets and go down the elevator and we’d be home free. But it’s stiff.” He grinned. “That’s the point, I guess. A mummy is a stiff.”

They all smiled, but Emlyn a little less. She was pretty sure Donovan had thought of that yesterday and been waiting for the moment to wedge it into the conversation.

Donovan was equal parts ugly and handsome, put together in a sloppy, pleased-with-himself way. He was slouchy, as if he had extra bones he had to drag around and stick in corners. He was not a leader. He didn’t join, he just left school and went to his job. Was he poor? Impossible, with those clothes. Or perhaps that’s why he worked. To get clothes, a car, things.

“We could bag it,” said Maris.

“You’re kidding!” Jack was upset. “Maris, you want to give up?”

“No, no, no.” She gave him a kiss. “Bags. A big black plastic trash bag to drop the mummy into and pretend to be taking something to the Dumpster.”

Perhaps Emlyn was just envious, but the kiss did not seem to hold affection. It was more of a silencer. There was something casual between Jack and Maris that Emlyn didn’t think would exist if they were truly fond of each other.

“No, because then we’d have to go disguised as janitors,” said Jack. “You’re making it harder, not easier.”

“Somebody has to go into the museum in the afternoon as a regular visitor,” said Lovell, “stay hidden until the museum closes, open a door for the rest of us, and we’ll all go in and take the mummy except whoever will be driving the getaway car.”

Lovell was an aggressive athlete. Powerful, quick and afraid of nothing. She had longer hair than Emlyn’s, beautiful hair, but seemed unaware of it, the way a horse was unaware of its mane. She just lived under it.

“You’ve forgotten the grilles that will keep us separated from the Egyptian Room,” said Donovan, “not to mention the guard who will come running.”

Emlyn did not trust any of them. They were taking this as casually as Jack and Maris took each other. This was not a minor thing. It was not dangerous the way rappelling an ice cliff would be, but it was fraught with danger. Caught, as a group, having planned a theft from a city institution, stealing an important, valuable thing—yes, admit it, stealing—not a caper, not a prank—well, there was the possibility of police, fingerprints, a night in jail, court. A record, because they were over sixteen. Nothing they did now could be minor, because they themselves were not minors.

Only Emlyn had a shiver of apprehension. The others could have been talking about removing a subscription card from a magazine.

“Who would have thought this would be so difficult?” said Lovell. “Here we have this great idea and no way to get started on it.”

It was time for Emlyn to say that she had a key. But she did not.

Anyway, she told herself, I’m not sure what I have a key to. Maybe it isn’t a master key. If it unlocks only the Trustees’ Room and Dr. Brisband’s office, I can’t even get to those two rooms from the Great Hall, because it won’t open the MUSEUM OFFICIALS ONLY door. After the Friends’ meeting, the door was just unlocked. I’ve never tested my key, I never even thought of it. What’s the matter with me? I should have tried it out.

“Let’s come back to that,” said Emlyn. I’m not trustworthy, either, she thought, or I’d tell them about the key. I would never do this on a team. On a team you don’t whine about your own little problems or your own little angles. You work together. So either I don’t think we’re a team, or I refuse to be a team. Either way, in a team sport, you can’t win unless you all have the same game plan. So we’re going to lose, unless we turn into a team. If we lose this game, the first stop is jail.

“Let’s say we do get the mummy out,” said Emlyn. “Then we have to put the mummy somewhere. We don’t want to hang the mummy till the day before Halloween. So where do we store her? Where is there a place that’s dry and dark and hidden and can’t be found and has room for a five-foot stiff?”