Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh's Tomb II Read online

  “We’re here!” Toby cried, peering out of a window. “It’s ancient Egypt!”

  Howie was all ready to set his watch back to 2056 B.C. when he remembered he was a dog and didn’t wear a watch.

  “Let’s go!” he yipped. Toby, getting the message, threw open the door, and the three adventurers jumped to the ground.

  What greeted their eyes was a parade of men in togas, women with these gold crowns on their heads that looked like snakes, and cats. Way too many cats.

  “To the Egyptians, cats are sacred,” Delilah pointed out.

  “Another reason I knew we shouldn’t have come here,” Howie grumbled. But then he added brightly, “However, there are all the Dogs of Egypt.”

  “Dogs?” Delilah asked.

  “You know, the Dogs the Egyptians worship in their temples, when they’re not getting together at the Colosseum to watch gladiators fight to win the hand of Helen of Troy and get a free ride in the big wooden horse.”

  “Oh, Howie,” said Delilah, “you are so smart, not to mention wise and intelligent. How is it that you know so much?”

  “I’ve read FleshCrawlers #28: Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb,” the smart, wise, and intelligent Howie explained.

  “Ahhh!” said Delilah. “Oooh!” She batted her eyelashes and tossed her curly blonde ears.

  “Look out!” someone cried in ancient Egyptian.

  Toby pulled Howie and Delilah off to the side of the road, which wasn’t much of a road, since blacktop hadn’t been invented yet.

  A cat tore past them with something dangling from its mouth.

  “Thief!” someone else cried. (In ancient Egyptian.) “Stop her! Yet do her no harm, since she is sacred, being a cat and all! Yet stop her anyway, for she has stolen the Amulet of Rah!”

  “The Amulet of Rah!” Howie echoed. “What’s an amulet?”

  “An amulet,” Delilah explained, “is a magic charm.”

  “Cool,” said Howie, marveling that they had stumbled upon a mystery before they’d even had a chance to check into the Cairo Hilton and freshen up after their long trip. He also marveled at the fact that he was able to understand ancient Egyptian, but then, he was smart, wise, and intelligent, and besides, it was his story, so

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  Delilah tore the paper right out of my paws and said, “Who says this is your story? This is supposed to be our story, and Delilah is supposed to have an equal part!”

  So now I’m waiting for her to finish the chapter.

  Maybe I’ll write my next book by myself.

  Just a thought.

  The Amber Amulet

  By Delilah Gorbish & Howie Monroe

  CHAPTER 4:

  “A MYSTERIOUS FELINE”

  Soon after they landed in ancient Egypt, Delilah and Howie became separated from Tobias.

  “We’re lost,” Howie whimpered, “and there are cats everywhere!”

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Delilah reassuringly. “I’m here to protect you. Besides, cats can’t hurt us. We’re dogs!”

  “Like the Dogs of Egypt!” Howie exclaimed.

  Delilah didn’t know what Howie meant by this, but she felt it would be best to humor him, since he was not as bright as she and was also more easily scared. “Yes, Howie,” she said in a soothing voice, “like the Dogs of Egypt.”

  Just then, a cat appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. She was walking with a limp and carrying a pouch in her mouth.

  “Help me,” she mewed piteously. “I am weak from hunger, but I must get this pouch into the hands of Princess Nefertiti before it is too late.”

  “But you can barely walk,” Delilah said. The cat’s condition tore at her heartstrings. “What is your name?” she asked kindly.

  The cat answered in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. “Rosetta. Rosetta Stone.”

  “That’s a lovely name,” said Delilah. Suddenly she was flooded with memories of the rose garden where she and her sisters used to play hide-and-seek. There, tucked among the rose bushes, was a large stone that was her favorite hiding spot. Surely, meeting someone named Rosetta Stone was a good omen.

  “We’ll help you,” said Delilah.

  “But we may be putting ourselves in danger,” Howie objected, his body quivering with fear.

  “I believe that Rosetta is on an important mission,” Delilah told Howie in a no-nonsense manner. “We were sent from the twenty-first century to help her accomplish it. By doing so we will grow and mature in ways we couldn’t have if we had stayed at home. It is only by going on our journey, by accepting the challenges that life gives us, by stepping up to the plate, by facing the dragon, by walking through the enchanted forest, by saying yes with our hearts when our minds tell us no, only then can we grow and change and be worthy of the Newbony Award all that we are meant to be.”

  Howie’s tongue licked the tears that were rolling down his snout. “We were destined to be together, Delilah, two orphans traveling through time and space, enduring—”

  “Whatever,” said Delilah, “but first we have to help Rosetta here.”

  “Yes,” Rosetta said, growing fainter by the minute. “Take this pouch to Princess Nefertiti. You will find her in the palace where she lives with her father, King Tut. She must have this before sundown or . . .”

  Rosetta’s voice faded away as her eyes rolled heavenward. The pouch slipped from her mouth and fell open. A tiny object rolled onto the sandy earth. It was an amber amulet.

  “We must find Princess Nefertiti before sundown,” Delilah told Howie, who was standing in a pool of his own tears. “Follow me.”

  Off they went in search of the palace of King Tut and his daughter Princess Nefertiti. Howie stayed close to Delilah’s side, glancing nervously over his shoulder to see if they were being followed by cats. The only one he saw was Rosetta, and she was, well, dead.

  Poor Howie, Delilah mused. How he must have suffered in his life to be so afraid. I wonder what secrets lie hidden in his past.

  Once they were two strangers, but now the two puppies were bound together by fate . . . and an amber amulet.

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  Okay, there is no way I’m putting my name on this. I mean, I don’t want to offend Delilah, but that last chapter is the worst thing I ever read. And doesn’t she know the character of Howie would never stand in a pool of his own tears!? Not to mention the fact that he would never be scared all the time! Delilah keeps telling me I can’t write girl characters—well, she’s got a thing or two to learn about writing boy characters, that’s for sure!

  I’m in trouble. I’d better ask Uncle Harold for some advice.

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  Uncle Harold says the problem is that Delilah and I aren’t collaborating, which means working together. He says we’re fighting (no kidding) and we need to decide what we want to write and how we want to write it. He also said that we need to do some research because he was talking to Pop (that’s Chester, the really smart cat we live with, remember?) and Pop said they didn’t wear togas in ancient Egypt, that was ancient Rome, and a lot of other things don’t exactly make sense either. Like the big wooden horse was from Greece and not Egypt. And the ancient Egyptians worshiped gods, not dogs. (If I’d had anything to do with it, they would have worshiped dogs!) And Nefertiti was King Tut’s aunt or something, not his daughter, and he didn’t think King Tut had any kids at all.

  Picky, picky. Does anybody really care? I mean, this isn’t a history book, it’s literature! Besides, do Uncle Harold and Pop honestly think we have time to do research? Don’t they know how many naps I have to take in the course of any given day? I hardly have enough time left over to eat, let alone write. Sheesh.

  He probably thinks we should go back and revise. I hate that.

  I’m going to leave everything the way it is. I mean, Pop could be wrong.

  Besides, maybe my editor won’t notice.

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  I
talked to Delilah and we’ve decided that from now on we’re writing this thing together. First, we have to come up with a title we can agree on.

  Untitled

  By Howie Monroe & Delilah Gorbish

  CHAPTER 5:

  “INSIDE THE PALACE”

  It did not take long for Howie and Delilah to find the Palace of King Tut. After all, this was 2056 B.C., so there weren’t that many buildings.

  The first person they met was a boy named Prince Papyrus. He told them that he was the son of King Tut, but that he and Princess Nefertiti had different mothers. “We have only Tut in common,” he explained.

  He seemed to know why they had come. “You have the Amulet of Rah,” he said. “Follow me.”

  The palace was big, with many doors leading to many rooms.

  “Think how hard it must be to keep this place clean,” remarked the keenly observant and highly sympathetic Howie. “It must be loaded with dust bunnies.”

  “Dust bunnies!?” Delilah cried. “Did you say d-d-d-dust bunnies?” (See Book 1: It Came from Beneath the Bed!)

  The strong and protective dachshund puppy was reassuring his frightened companion that he would not allow any dust bunnies to harm her when suddenly Delilah pushed Howie out of the way and

  A door swung open and there stood Princess Nefertiti. She was beautiful, but her beauty was only a mask for the deep well of sorrow within her.

  “She is filled with tragedy, loneliness, and a longing for something that once was but can never be again,” Delilah whispered, hearing echoes of her own life in the very words she uttered to describe another’s. “I wonder what secrets she harbors.”

  Howie’s eyes brimmed with tears. He is so sensitive, Delilah thought, but then he has been wounded by life, and isn’t it fair to say that all whom life has wounded are made either more sensitive or hardened to the point of not feeling anything at all? How grateful Delilah was that Howie was the former, when he could so easily have been

  bored! Howie grabbed the pouch (and narrative) away from Delilah and dropped it (the pouch) at Princess Nefertiti’s feet. He noticed that her toes were painted blue like the Nile, which he felt was a nice descriptive touch, then said, “Here’s your pouch, gotta run.” He was tempted to add, “After a while, crocodile,” but thought better of it when he remembered he was in ancient Egypt and didn’t know if crocodile references would be appreciated.

  “Let’s go,” Howie said to Delilah, eager to get them out of the palace and off to someplace interesting. Like maybe the Pharaoh’s Tomb, where there were sure to be some screaming mummies.

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  So much for collaborating! Delilah went off in a huff and told me I could write the rest of my dumb book all by myself.

  Fine.

  I will.

  And I’ll give it the title I want it to have.

  But first I’ll take a nap. Collaborating is exhausting.

  Then I’ll give it the title I want it to have.

  Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb!

  By Howie Monroe & Delilah Gorbish

  CHAPTER 6:

  “THE CURSED CARTOUCHE”

  Unfortunately the sun went down one minute before Howie and Delilah reached Princess Nefertiti. Too late for her! She keeled over and went into a deep sleep that would last for a hundred years, and would conveniently get her out of the way of the story, which was fine with Howie since he hadn’t wanted her there in the first place.

  “Which way to the Pharaoh’s Tomb?” Howie asked Papyrus in ancient Egyptian. “My colleague and I are in search of the cartouche containing the secret of eternal life.”

  “Follow me,” Papyrus answered, without giving any thought to the fact that a dog had just spoken to him in ancient Egyptian. After all, Egypt was the land of miracles and magic . . . and mystery!

  The quick-thinking Howie nabbed the pouch that had been placed at the feet of the now horizontal (and snoring) princess. “You never know when an amber amulet will come in handy,” he confided to Delilah, “especially when it is the Amulet of Rah.”

  “Oh, Howie,” Delilah gushed, her left blonde ear cascading over her left eye, giving her the look of a movie star or a one-eyed dog, “you think of everything.”

  “That’s true,” Howie said humbly.

  Soon they were on their way. If Papyrus had not been there to guide them, it still would have been easy to find the Pharaoh’s Tomb because there were so many signs.

  When they were about two hundred camel’s lengths away from the entrance to the tomb, Papyrus stopped. “I can go no farther,” he announced in a voice shaking with fright. “Many have wasted their lives in the foolish pursuit of the cartouche containing the secret of eternal life. No one has ever found it. Most . . . have . . . never . . . returned!”

  “Then we must turn back,” Delilah implored, until Howie remembered he was supposed to let her be brave in this book.

  “Let’s go!” Delilah commanded.

  “Fools!” Papyrus called out after them. “There is a curse on that cartouche! Go back to the twenty-first century where you belong!”

  “Ignore him,” Howie said to Delilah, which was easy enough to do until they got within twenty camel’s lengths of the tomb entrance and heard the terrible sound coming from within.

  “Screaming,” Delilah said softly.

  “Yes,” said Howie. Could the sound be that of the fabled screaming mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb? Could they be the guardians of the cursed cartouche?

  What if what Papyrus had said was true? Would they never return? Howie heaved a deep sigh. What difference would it make if he didn’t return? His family was gone. He was alone in the world. He had nothing to lose.

  But if he were to find the cartouche of eternal life, he would have everything. The world would be his oyster, an expression he didn’t understand but hoped his readers would.

  “Are you with me?” he asked Delilah.

  “The rancid breath of a thousand camels would not deter me,” Delilah replied.

  “My sentiments exactly,” said Howie.

  The two adventurers entered the Pharaoh’s Tomb.

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  Oh, I’m good.

  CHAPTER 7:

  “A SURPRISE VISITOR FROM THE PAST (Or Future, Depending on How You Look At It)”

  Everywhere they looked there was strange writing on the walls. Well it wasn’t writing exactly, although it was strange. It looked sort of like this:

  “It’s too bad we don’t have someone along who can read hieroglyphics,” said Howie, who had clearly done some research since Chapter 4.

  “Ah, but you do, sir, indeed, sir, you do,” said a small but familiar voice. What a surprise! It was Hoppy, the talking frog from Howie’s last book. (See Book 3: Howie Monroe and the Doghouse of Doom.)

  “How did you get here?” Howie asked.

  “Anything is possible in fiction,” Hoppy answered neatly.

  “Cool,” said Howie. “Can you tell us what these symbols mean?”

  “Ah, that Hoppy can, sir,” said Hoppy, putting on a pair of reading glasses as he balanced on Howie’s head to get a closer look.

  “Oh, dear,” he said gloomily. “This is very bad, sir. Hoppy does not want to tell you what this says, sir.”

  “But you must,” said Delilah. “We’ve traveled across time and space, without stopping at even one rest area named for a famous baseball player or local politician, to find the cartouche of eternal life. We can’t let a few squiggly lines get in our way now!”

  “Very well, miss,” said Hoppy, hoping Delilah wouldn’t get mad at him for calling her “miss” when he called Howie “sir.” “It says, ‘Not nice things will come on swift feet to whosoever dares enter this tomb and search for the cartouche of eternal life. In other words, if you know what’s good for you, scram! And don’t mess with the screaming mummies on your way out! You have been warned!’”

  “Wow,” Delilah said. “I wonder what the
‘not nice things’ are.”

  “Oh,” said Hoppy, “it explains that. It says, ‘The not nice things include, but are not limited to, snakes, spiders, scarab beetles . . . uh, dancing camels? (I think that may be a misspelling), and the aforementioned screaming mummies, who can really get nasty when their naps have been interrupted.’”

  “Is that all?” Howie asked.

  “Isn’t that enough?” said Delilah.

  “What about the smiley face?”

  “Oh, that means, ‘Have a nice day,’” Hoppy answered.

  “That’s sweet,” Delilah said.

  “Sweet, shmeet,” the manly dachshund puppy harrumphed. “Let’s go.”

  “And risk being trampled by dancing camels?” Delilah asked. “And letting loose upon the land beetles and spiders and snakes, oh, my, beetles and spiders and snakes, oh, my, beetles and—”

  “Those are the chances we’ll have to take,” the brave and daring, not to mention courageous, Howie replied. “Now let’s go get us a cartouche!”

  “Oh, dear, Hoppy is frightened, sir,” said Hoppy, but it came out, “.”

  CHAPTER 8:

  “THE EVIL CURSE!”

  Hoppy led the way into the dark and creepy tomb. It was so dark they could not see a pin drop. Howie’s eyesight, which normally was as sensitive as a finely tuned concert piano, failed him completely. No one had thought to bring a flashlight, since they had been in such a hurry to leave the twenty-first century, but a light bulb went off over the clever and brilliant wirehaired dachshund’s head. (Note: This is just an expression. If a light bulb had really gone off over Howie’s head, they would have been able to see. What the author means is that Howie had a brilliant and clever idea.)