Carter tried to reason with him. “Khufu, we’re not going to steal anything. We just want-”
“Agh!” Khufu dribbled his basketball angrily.
“Carter,” I said, “you’re not helping. Look here, Khufu. I have…ta-da!” I held up a little yellow box of cereal I’d taken from the buffet table. “Cheerios! Ends with an -o. Yumsies!”
“Aghhh!” Khufu grunted, more excited now than angry.
“Want it?” I coaxed. “Just take it to the couch and pretend you didn’t see us, yes?”
I threw the cereal towards the couch, and the baboon lunged after it. He grabbed the box in midair and was so excited, he ran straight up the wall and sat on the fireplace mantel, where he began gingerly picking out Cheerios and eating them one at a time.
Carter looked at me with grudging admiration. “How did you-”
“Some of us think ahead. Now, let’s open these doors.”
That was not so easily done. They were made of thick wood laced with giant steel chains and padlocked. Complete overkill.
Carter stepped forward. He tried to raise the doors by lifting his hand, which had been quite impressive the night before, only now accomplished nothing.
He shook the chains the old-fashioned way, then yanked on the padlocks.
“No good,” he said.
Ice needles tingled on the back of my neck. It was almost as if someone-or something-was whispering an idea in my head. “What was that word Amos used at breakfast with the saucer?”
“For ‘join’?” Carter said. “Hi-nehm or something.”
“No, the other one, for ‘destroy’.”
“Uh, ha-di. But you’d need to know magic and the hieroglyphics, wouldn’t you? And even then-”
I raised my hand toward the door. I pointed with two fingers and my thumb-an odd gesture I’d never made before, like a make-believe gun except with the thumb parallel to the ground.
“Ha-di!”
Bright gold hieroglyphs burned against the largest padlock.
And the doors exploded. Carter hit the floor as chains shattered and splinters flew all over the Great Room. When the dust cleared, Carter got up, covered in wood shavings. I seemed to be fine. Muffin circled my feet, mewing contentedly, as if this were all very normal.
Carter stared at me. “How exactly-”
“Don’t know,” I admitted. “But the library’s open.”
“Think you overdid it a little? We’re going to be in so much trouble-”
“We’ll just figure out a way to zap the door back, won’t we?”
“No more zapping, please,” Carter said. “That explosion could’ve killed us.”
“Oh, do you think if you tried that spell on a person-”
“No!” He stepped back nervously.
I felt gratified that I could make him squirm, but I tried not to smile. “Let’s just explore the library, shall we?”
The truth was, I couldn’t have ha-di-ed anyone. As soon as I stepped forward, I felt so faint that I almost collapsed.
Carter caught me as I stumbled. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I managed, though I didn’t feel fine. “I’m tired”-my stomach rumbled-“and famished.”
“You just ate a huge breakfast.”
It was true, but I felt as if I hadn’t had food in weeks.
“Never mind,” I told him. “I’ll manage.”
Carter studied me skeptically. “Those hieroglyphs you created were golden. Dad and Amos both used blue. Why?”
“Maybe everyone has his own color,” I suggested. “Maybe you’ll get hot pink.”
“Very funny.”
“Come on, pink wizard,” I said. “Inside we go.”
The library was so amazing, I almost forgot my dizziness. It was bigger than I’d imagined, a round chamber sunk deep into solid rock, like a giant well. This didn’t make sense, as the mansion was sitting on top of a warehouse, but then again nothing else about the place was exactly normal.
From the platform where we stood, a staircase descended three stories to the bottom floor. The walls, floor, and domed ceiling were all decorated with multicolored pictures of people, gods, and monsters. I’d seen such illustrations in Dad’s books (yes, all right, sometimes when I was in the Piccadilly bookshop I’d wander into the Egypt section and sneak a look at Dad’s books, just to feel some connection to him, not because I wanted to read them) but the pictures in the books had always been faded and smudged. These in the library looked newly painted, making the entire room a work of art.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
A blue starry sky glittered on the ceiling, but it wasn’t a solid field of blue. Rather, the sky was painted in a strange swirling pattern. I realized it was shaped like a woman. She lay curled on her side-her body, arms, and legs dark blue and dotted with stars. Below, the library floor was done in a similar way, the green-and-brown earth shaped into a man’s body, dotted with forests and hills and cities. A river snaked across his chest.
The library had no books. Not even bookshelves. Instead, the walls were honeycombed with round cubbyholes, each one holding a sort of plastic cylinder.
At each of the four compass points, a ceramic statue stood on a pedestal. The statues were half-size humans wearing kilts and sandals, with glossy black wedge-shaped haircuts and black eyeliner around their eyes.
[Carter says the eyeliner stuff is called kohl, as if it matters.]
At any rate, one statue held a stylus and scroll. Another held a box. Another held a short, hooked staff. The last was empty-handed.
“Sadie.” Carter pointed to the center of the room. Sitting on a long stone table was Dad’s workbag.
Carter started down the stairs, but I grabbed his arm. “Hang on. What about traps?”
He frowned. “Traps?”
“Didn’t Egyptian tombs have traps?”
“Well…sometimes. But this isn’t a tomb. Besides, more often they had curses, like the burning curse, the donkey curse-”
“Oh, lovely. That sounds so much better.”
He trotted down the steps, which made me feel quite ridiculous, as I’m usually the one to forge ahead. But I supposed if someone had to get cursed with a burning skin rash or attacked by a magical donkey, it was better Carter than me.
We made it to the middle of the room with no excitement. Carter opened the bag. Still no traps or curses. He brought out the strange box Dad had used in the British Museum.
It was made of wood, and about the right size to hold a loaf of French bread. The lid was decorated much like the library, with gods and monsters and sideways-walking people.
“How did the Egyptians move like that?” I wondered. “All sideways with their arms and legs out. It seems quite silly.”
Carter gave me one of his God, you’re stupid looks. “They didn’t walk like that in real life, Sadie.”
“Well, why are they painted like that, then?”
“They thought paintings were like magic. If you painted yourself, you had to show all your arms and legs. Otherwise, in the afterlife you might be reborn without all your pieces.”
“Then why the sideways faces? They never look straight at you. Doesn’t that mean they’ll lose the other side of their face?”
Carter hesitated. “I think they were afraid the picture would be too human if it was looking right at you. It might try to become you.”
“So is there anything they weren’t afraid of?”
“Little sisters,” Carter said. “If they talked too much, the Egyptians threw them to the crocodiles.”
He had me for a second. I wasn’t used to him displaying a sense of humor. Then I punched him. “Just open the bloody box.”
The first thing he pulled out was a lump of white gunk.
“Wax,” Carter pronounced.
“Fascinating.” I picked up a wooden stylus and a palette with small indentations in its surface for ink, then a few glass jars of the ink itself-black, red, and gold. “And a prehistoric painting set.”