Philip and the Fortune Teller (9781619501317) (2 page)

“Ohhhh,” said Emery. “Those muscles. Muscles?
That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, well, when I have muscles, and you
bother me, I’ll use them.”

“I give you three wishes, and you’re going to
muscle me? Forget it. I’ll get somebody else to help me then.”

Philip knew he’d gone too far. “No, I’m just
kidding, Emery. Muscles are good for, you know, doing stuff.
Lifting things. And they look good, right?”

Emery gazed doubtfully at Philip. “I guess
so. Well, come on. Let’s go see the gypsy.”

They hurried toward Lighthouse Field, but
slowed down considerably once they entered the grounds.

“Wow!” said Philip. “Everybody’s so busy. Is
that the guy?”

“Him? Does he look like a gypsy to you?”

“He looks like something.”

“He’s an Egypt guy, a pharaoh. See the snake
thingie on his headpiece? Don’t you remember? We saw pictures of
them in school this year.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember. I like Isis.”

“Nothing’s open yet. You can’t get any.”

Philip stopped walking. “I can’t get any
what?”

“Ices. I like mango.”

“You like mango what?”

“Mango ices.”

“What are you talking about? Who’s mango
Isis? They don’t have mangos in Egypt.”

“Whose mango ices? Anybody’s. And what’s
Egypt have to do with mango ices?”

Philip’s voice rose. “There’s no mango Isis
or banana Isis or apple Isis. There’s just Isis.”

“There’s mango and banana. I’ve had them.
They’re good. Especially when it’s hot out. I don’t think there’s
apple, though.”

“
Argh
!” Philip howled. “Let’s start
over. The Egypt guy. I said Isis. I didn’t say ices.”

Emery stared at his friend. “Can you say that
again?”

Philip scrooched his mouth together hard,
trying to be patient. “I said, I said Isis. I didn’t say ices.”

“You said ices, but you didn’t say ices?”

“Right. Now you got it.”

“I got it? I don’t even know what I’m
talking
about. Are you feeling all right?”

Philip’s voice rose. “We studied Egypt, and
we studied Isis. She’s like a goddess or something.”

“Ohhhh. Isis. You said Isis. I thought you
said ices.”

Philip nearly screamed. “I did say Isis!”

“I thought you meant ices, like cold stuff in
a cup. Mango, remember?”

Philip threw his hands to his head. “Why
would I be talking about an Egypt guy and mango ices at the same
time?”

Emery shrugged. “Yeah, I thought you
were
talking kind of weird.”

“I was
talking
weird? You were
listening
weird.”

“Shhhh,” Emery cautioned. “Let’s go and find
the gypsy.” They walked a few steps and Emery said, “Now you made
me want a mango ice. Look out! Don’t step there. Elephant
poop.”

Philip gritted his teeth and walked in a
loop.

A moment later, Emery pointed. “There he
is.”

Philip saw him. He looked like a real gypsy.
The man sat in front of his tent, the small round table next to
him, just as Emery had described. When he saw the boys, he sat up
straight and beckoned them.

“This is my friend I told you about,” Emery
said.

“Sit.” To Philip, it sounded like
“seeet.”

Emery took a second folding chair and put it
next to the one he’d sat in earlier. He and Philip sat down.

“So,” the gypsy began, “you will do a task
for me?”

Philip and Emery turned to one another. Emery
turned back to the gypsy.

“I guess so. For three wishes. We each get
three wishes,” said Emery.

“What! Six wishes. It cannot be done! No! I
can grant
three
wishes only. You must share the wishes. Do
not waste them. Never again in your life will you have your wishes
granted the way I can grant them. Three wishes only are in my power
to grant.”

Philip and Emery glanced nervously at one
another again.

“Well, okay, I guess,” Emery said. “What do
we have to do?”

The gypsy leaned close to the boys.

“Do you know the word
artifact?”

“I think so,” said Philip. “We learned it in
school this year.” The word had come up when they studied about
Egypt. “It’s something valuable from long ago.”

“Very good.” It sounded to Philip like he
said “fairy goot.”

“Long ago an artifact was stolen from my very
good friend Achmed. There is Achmed.”

The boys looked where the gypsy pointed and
saw the Egyptian man they’d noticed earlier. He sat outside another
tent across from the gypsy’s tent, looking their way.

The gypsy continued. “The artifact is very
valuable. It has been in Achmed’s family since the time of the
pyramids, the very time you studied about. Emperor Tutankhamen . .
. no, I should let Achmed tell you about it.” The gypsy rose and
gestured to Achmed. The boys watched Achmed rise and come slowly
forward, still wearing his headpiece.

“Achmed,” the gypsy began, “these boys will
help you recover your valuable artifact. Everyone, come
inside.”

Philip and Emery entered the gypsy’s tent.
The gypsy brought the boys’ chairs inside for them, and the boys
sat and quickly inspected the place. Small colored lights were
strung across the top of the tent. Five large, white, unlit candles
sat in different spots in what looked like over-sized ashtrays. A
cot and a small side table holding a paperback book and some change
sat in a corner of the tent. The gypsy sat on the edge of the cot
while Achmed took the one soft chair in the room.

“I told them about the jewels of King Tut
stolen from you,” the gypsy said.

“Yes, thank you, Bela. Boys, long ago my
ancestor Tut, the great pharaoh of Egypt, possessed many jewels,
one in particular. After his murder, the possession of the jewels
fell to my family, a royal family of Egypt.”

Philip glanced at Emery and noticed his eyes
were as wide open as his own. The pharaoh was a short man,
clean-shaven, who looked about the same age as Bela the gypsy; both
a lot older than his father, Philip thought.

“Listen to me, boy,” the pharaoh snapped, and
Philip spun his head and looked into the pharaoh’s eyes. “After
centuries and centuries, someone stole those jewels from my family.
But now I have traced them to this town . . .
your
town, and
you must help me recover them.”

The gypsy interrupted. “He must have the
jewels back because one of them has the power!”

“The power!” Achmed repeated.

“Wha . . . what power?” Philip asked in a
small voice.

Achmed turned to Bela. “Should we tell
them?”

“Achmed, they deserve to know if they are
going help us.”

“You are right. Boys, the jewels are in a
wooden box. Show them.”

Bela the gypsy produced a photograph and
handed it to Philip. Emery bent over to look. They saw a plain
wooden box the size of a cigar box, with the letters K and T carved
into the lid.

King Tut!
Philip thought.

Achmed glanced over his shoulder through the
tent flaps before whispering, “The jewels are in this box. The box
we have traced to the home of an old woman who lives at 1159 Van
Kirk Street.”

Philip’s and Emery’s heads spun, and their
eyes met. They knew her!

Philip turned back to Achmed. “We know
her.”

“Excellent! But be warned. One jewel in the
box has the power to give the old woman powers; dangerous
powers!”

“Powers?” Emery said softly. “What powers?
You mean like a witch?”

“Emery, she pointed her finger at me, and my
ball went down the sewer,” Philip reminded him.

Achmed jumped in. “You see! She has the
power, but doesn’t know it. If she did to you what you say she did,
she is learning her power. If she discovers that her power comes
from the scarab in the box, there will be no stopping her.”

“The what?” Emery asked.

“The scarab. The scarab.”

“What’s a scarab?” Philip asked, imagining a
many-legged, disgusting looking bug. If any bugs
were
involved, Philip knew he’d count himself out, three wishes or
not.

“A scarab is a sacred amulet,” Achmed
explained, putting his hands together to form a small circle with
his fingers to show the size of the amulet.

“Is it alive?” Philip asked.

“Tshhh,” Emery hissed. “I thought you studied
Egypt. It’s like a necklace, you know. The thing that hangs from
the necklace.”

“Exactly,” Bela said. “And you must get it
and all the other jewels away from the woman before disaster
happens and her power rises. You see how she broke your heart by
making your ball go down the sewer.”

Philip mumbled, “My heart didn’t break. It
was just a ball.”

“How can
we
do anything?” Emery
asked.

“We believe the box is somewhere in her
garage,” Achmed explained. “You go into her garage and find it. Two
boys are much less suspicious than a gypsy and a pharaoh walking
through the neighborhood.”

“Yes, the box will have a tag with this
number on it,” Bela added. He took a small ticket from inside his
sleeve and showed it to the boys. “6482. Remember that number, and
you will be sure you have the right box. Bring that box here, and
you will receive three wishes. Think of it. Three wishes all your
own.” Bela the gypsy turned to Philip. “And now, I will fulfill
your wish. Close your eyes; both of you. Ah, I see . . . I see your
wish. Yes, yes, yes!” He reached inside his baggy sleeve and pulled
out a circus ticket. “Open your eyes.” He handed the ticket to
Philip and said, “Your wish is fulfilled. Remember, though, we will
be here only until Sunday afternoon. That evening we move on. You
have four days. Can we count on you?”

“Yes,” Achmed said, leaning forward, “can
we?”

The boys’ eyes met, and Emery gave a little
shrug. Philip shrugged back. Emery looked at Achmed and said, “I
guess so.”

The boys walked in quiet contemplation for a
while before Philip spoke.

“Where’d he get the ticket from? I didn’t
see.”

“I didn’t see either, but he got mine out of
his sleeve. What’s pawn mean?”

“You know what a pawn is. The little man in
the chess set.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Of course it is. You taught me how to play.
The whole front line of pieces are pawns. You said so.”

“I know
they’re
pawns, but there must
be another pawn. Did you notice on the ticket the gypsy showed us?
With the number? It said pawn on it.”

“Oh, right,” Philip recalled. “I did see
that. Pawn. Pawn. I think my father watches a show . . . something
about pawn. Pawn Stories; something like that. I never watched. I
don’t know what it’s about.”

“Ask him,” Emery suggested. “Or watch with
him.”

Philip considered. “No. He’d get suspicious.
I already told him most of the shows he watches are stupid. People
singing and then getting told how bad they are. News. No. Why don’t
we just Google it? I don’t think we want anybody asking us why
we’re interested in pawn until we know what it is.”

“Good idea. Wanna walk past the old lady’s
house?”

“Think we should?”

“We’re just walking.”

Philip considered again.

“Can’t hurt, I guess. We’ve seen her garage.
I threw my ball against it before she hexed me.”

“You really think she’s learning to be a
witch? She looks like one.”

Philip tried to remember whether the ball he
bounced off the garage had hit a crack or . . . he thought it
bounced off his knee, but he couldn’t exactly remember.

“All I know is my ball went sailing to the
sewer when she pointed her witchy finger at me.”

The boys stopped at the corner, paused, and
searched each other’s eyes. They would have to make a turn onto
this street if they wanted to pass by the old woman’s house.

“Let’s walk on the opposite side of the
street of her house, at least,” Emery suggested.

That sounded like the safe thing to do, and
Philip agreed. They walked along slowly until they were opposite
the garage. A wide lawn separated the garage from the old woman’s
house and the houses behind it. A short driveway separated the
garage door from the street. The right side of the garage had a
narrow cement walkway which stopped at a regular door in the middle
of the garage wall. Low bushes separated the garage from the house
next door on that side.

“See the side door?” Philip asked. “I wonder
if she keeps it locked.”

“If she keeps jewels in it, she probably
keeps it locked.” Emery walked part of the way into the street and
tried to see down the narrow walkway. When he returned to Philip,
he said, “The garage door has those four little square windows like
a plus sign. If the door’s locked, we can bust the window by the
doorknob.”

“That’ll make noise.”

“Not much. We can break the window and go
away and come back later—in case somebody hears it and comes to
investigate right away.”

“When should we break the window? And when
should we come back?”

“The gypsy said we have until Sunday.”

“Look,” said Philip, “let’s find out what
pawn means on a ticket with a number before we do anything.”

“Good idea. It might mean atomic radiation or
something like that.”

“Emery, it’s not going to mean atomic
radiation.”

“I don’t mean atomic radiation really. I just
mean something bad. Let’s leave before she sees us. I don’t want
her to point at me and send me down the sewer.”

Philip wanted to tell Emery how stupid that
sounded, yet it could be true, he thought.

Instead, he said, “You go and see what your
computer says about pawn, and I’ll check mine. I’ll come for you
after lunch.”

Their plan agreed upon, the boys made their
way home.