The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles #1)(35)

What did it look like? Well, it was a museum: huge entry hall, lots of columns and so on. I can’t claim I spent much time admiring the decor. I do remember it had queues for the ticket windows, because we ran right past them. There were also security guards, because they yelled at us as we dashed into the exhibits. By luck, we ended up in the Egyptian area, in front of a reconstructed tomb sort of place with narrow corridors. Carter probably could’ve told you what the structure was supposed to be, but honestly I didn’t care.

“Come on,” I said.

We slipped inside the exhibit, which proved quite enough to lose the security guards, or perhaps they had better things to do than pursue naughty children.

When we popped out again, we sneaked around until we were sure we weren’t being followed. The Egypt wing wasn’t crowded—just a few clumps of old people and a foreign tour group with a guide explaining a sarcophagus in French. “Et voici la momie!”

Strangely, no one seemed to notice the enormous sword on Carter’s back, which surely must’ve been a security issue (and much more interesting than the exhibits). A few old people did give us odd looks, but I suspect that was because we were dressed in linen pajamas, drenched in sweat, and covered in grass and leaves. My hair was probably a nightmare as well.

I found an empty room and pulled Carter aside. The glass cases were full of shabti. A few days earlier I wouldn’t have given them a second thought. Now, I kept glancing at the statues, sure they’d come to life any minute and try to bash me on the head.

“What now?” I asked Carter. “Did you see any temple?”

“No.” He knit his eyebrows as if trying hard to remember. “I think there’s a rebuilt temple down that hall...or is that in the Brooklyn Museum? Maybe the one in Munich? Sorry, I’ve been to so many museums with Dad that they all get mixed together.”

I sighed in exasperation. “Poor boy, forced to travel the world, skip school, and spend time with Dad while I get a whole two days a year with him!”

“Hey!” Carter turned on me with surprising force. “You get a home! You get friends and a normal life and don’t wake up each morning wondering what country you’re in! You don’t—”

The glass case next to us shattered, spraying glass at our feet.

Carter looked at me, bewildered. “Did we just—”

“Like my exploding birthday cake,” I grumbled, trying not to let on how startled I was. “You need to control your temper.”

“Me?”

Alarms began to blare. Red lights pulsed through the corridor. A garbled voice came on the loudspeaker and said something about proceeding calmly to the exits. The French tour group ran past us, screaming in panic, followed by a crowd of remarkably fast old people with walkers and canes.

“Let’s finish arguing later, shall we?” I told Carter. “Come on!”

We ran down another corridor, and the sirens died as suddenly as they’d started. The blood-red lights kept pulsing in eerie silence. Then I heard it: the slithering, clacking sounds of scorpions.

“What about Bast?” My voice choked up. “Is she—”

“Don’t think about it,” Carter said, though, judging from his face, that’s exactly what he was thinking about. “Keep moving!”

Soon we were hopelessly lost. As far as I could tell, the Egyptian part of the museum was designed to be as confusing as possible, with dead ends and halls that doubled back on themselves. We passed hieroglyphic scrolls, gold jewelry, sarcophagi, statues of pharaohs, and huge chunks of limestone. Why would someone display a rock? Aren’t there enough of those in the world?

We saw no one, but the slithering sounds grew louder no matter which way we ran. Finally I rounded a corner and smacked straight into someone.

I yelped and scrambled backwards, only to stumble into Carter. We both fell on our bums in a most unflattering way. It’s a miracle Carter didn’t impale himself on his own sword.

At first I didn’t recognize the girl standing in front of us, which seems strange, looking back on it. Perhaps she was using some sort of magic aura, or perhaps I just didn’t want to believe it was her.

She looked a bit taller than me. Probably older, too, but not by much. Her black hair was trimmed along her jawline and longer in the front so that it swept over her eyes. She had caramel-colored skin and pretty, vaguely Arab features. Her eyes—lined in black kohl, Egyptian style—were a strange amber color that was either quite beautiful or a bit scary; I couldn’t decide which. She had a backpack on her shoulder, and wore sandals and loose-fitting linen clothes like ours. She looked as if she were on her way to a martial arts class. God, now that I think of it, we probably looked the same way. How embarrassing.

I slowly began to realize I’d seen her before. She was the girl with the knife from the British Museum. Before I could say anything, Carter sprang to his feet. He moved in front of me and brandished his sword as if trying to protect me. Can you believe the nerve?

“Get—get back!” he stammered.

The girl reached into her sleeve and produced a curved white piece of ivory—an Egyptian wand.

She flicked it to one side, and Carter’s sword flew out of his hands and clattered to the floor.

“Don’t embarrass yourself,” the girl said sternly. “Where is Amos?”