The Complete Kane Chronicles Page 5

  “We’re going in that,” Carter said. “To Brooklyn.”

  “We’d better get started,” Amos said.

  I whirled back to my grandmother. “Gran, please!”

  She brushed a tear from her cheek. “It’s for the best, my dear. You should take Muffin.”

  “Ah, yes,” Amos said. “We can’t forget the cat.”

  He turned towards the stairs. As if on cue, Muffin raced down in a leopard-spotted streak and leaped into my arms. She never does that.

  “Who are you?” I asked Amos. It was clear I was running out of options, but I at least wanted answers. “We can’t just go off with some stranger.”

  “I’m not a stranger.” Amos smiled at me. “I’m family.”

  And suddenly I remembered his face smiling down at me, saying, “Happy birthday, Sadie.” A memory so distant, I’d almost forgotten.

  “Uncle Amos?” I asked hazily.

  “That’s right, Sadie,” he said. “I’m Julius’s brother. Now come along. We have a long way to go.”

  C A R T E R

  5. We Meet the Monkey

  IT’S CARTER AGAIN. SORRY. We had to turn off the tape for a while because we were being followed by—well, we’ll get to that later.

  Sadie was telling you how we left London, right?

  So anyway, we followed Amos down to the weird boat docked at the quayside. I cradled Dad’s workbag under my arm. I still couldn’t believe he was gone. I felt guilty leaving London without him, but I believed Amos about one thing: right now Dad was beyond our help. I didn’t trust Amos, but I figured if I wanted to find out what had happened to Dad, I was going to have to go along with him. He was the only one who seemed to know anything.

  Amos stepped aboard the reed boat. Sadie jumped right on, but I hesitated. I’d seen boats like this on the Nile before, and they never seemed very sturdy.

  It was basically woven together from coils of plant fiber—like a giant floating rug. I figured the torches at the front couldn’t be a good idea, because if we didn’t sink, we’d burn. At the back, the tiller was manned by a little guy wearing Amos’s black trench coat and hat. The hat was shoved down on his head so I couldn’t see his face. His hands and feet were lost in the folds of the coat.

  “How does this thing move?” I asked Amos. “You’ve got no sail.”

  “Trust me.” Amos offered me a hand.

  The night was cold, but when I stepped on board I suddenly felt warmer, as if the torchlight were casting a protective glow over us. In the middle of the boat was a hut made from woven mats. From Sadie’s arms, Muffin sniffed at it and growled.

  “Take a seat inside,” Amos suggested. “The trip might be a little rough.”

  “I’ll stand, thanks.” Sadie nodded at the little guy in back. “Who’s your driver?”

  Amos acted as if he hadn’t heard the question. “Hang on, everyone!” He nodded to the steersman, and the boat lurched forward.

  The feeling was hard to describe. You know that tingle in the pit of your stomach when you’re on a roller coaster and it goes into free fall? It was kind of like that, except we weren’t falling, and the feeling didn’t go away. The boat moved with astounding speed. The lights of the city blurred, then were swallowed in a thick fog. Strange sounds echoed in the dark: slithering and hissing, distant screams, voices whispering in languages I didn’t understand.

  The tingling turned to nausea. The sounds got louder, until I was about to scream myself. Then suddenly the boat slowed. The noises stopped, and the fog dissipated. City lights came back, brighter than before.

  Above us loomed a bridge, much taller than any bridge in London. My stomach did a slow roll. To the left, I saw a familiar skyline—the Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building.

  “Impossible,” I said. “That’s New York.”

  Sadie looked as green as I felt. She was still cradling Muffin, whose eyes were closed. The cat seemed to be purring. “It can’t be,” Sadie said. “We only traveled a few minutes.”

  And yet here we were, sailing up the East River, right under the Williamsburg Bridge. We glided to a stop next to a small dock on the Brooklyn side of the river. In front of us was an industrial yard filled with piles of scrap metal and old construction equipment. In the center of it all, right at the water’s edge, rose a huge factory warehouse heavily painted with graffiti, the windows boarded up.

  “That is not a mansion,” Sadie said. Her powers of perception are really amazing.

  “Look again.” Amos pointed to the top of the building.

  “How…how did you…” My voice failed me. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t seen it before, but now it was obvious: a five-story mansion perched on the roof of the warehouse, like another layer of a cake. “You couldn’t build a mansion up there!”

  “Long story,” Amos said. “But we needed a private location.”

  “And is this the east shore?” Sadie asked. “You said something about that in London—my grandparents living on the east shore.”

  Amos smiled. “Yes. Very good, Sadie. In ancient times, the east bank of the Nile was always the side of the living, the side where the sun rises. The dead were buried west of the river. It was considered bad luck, even dangerous, to live there. The tradition is still strong among…our people.”

  “Our people?” I asked, but Sadie muscled in with another question.

  “So you can’t live in Manhattan?” she asked.

  Amos’s brow furrowed as he looked across at the Empire State Building. “Manhattan has other problems. Other gods. It’s best we stay separate.”

  “Other what?” Sadie demanded.

  “Nothing.” Amos walked past us to the steersman. He plucked off the man’s hat and coat—and there was no one underneath. The steersman simply wasn’t there. Amos put on his fedora, folded his coat over his arm, then waved toward a metal staircase that wound all the way up the side of the warehouse to the mansion on the roof.

  “All ashore,” he said. “And welcome to the Twenty-first Nome.”

  “Gnome?” I asked, as we followed him up the stairs. “Like those little runty guys?”

  “Heavens, no,” Amos said. “I hate gnomes. They smell horrible.”

  “But you said—”

  “Nome, n-o-m-e. As in a district, a region. The term is from ancient times, when Egypt was divided into forty-two provinces. Today, the system is a little different. We’ve gone global. The world is divided into three hundred and sixty nomes. Egypt, of course, is the First. Greater New York is the Twenty-first.”

  Sadie glanced at me and twirled her finger around her temple.

  “No, Sadie,” Amos said without looking back. “I’m not crazy. There’s much you need to learn.”

  We reached the top of the stairs. Looking up at the mansion, it was hard to understand what I was seeing. The house was at least fifty feet tall, built of enormous limestone blocks and steel-framed windows. There were hieroglyphs engraved around the windows, and the walls were lit up so the place looked like a cross between a modern museum and an ancient temple. But the weirdest thing was that if I glanced away, the whole building seemed to disappear. I tried it several times just to be sure. If I looked for the mansion from the corner of my eye, it wasn’t there. I had to force my eyes to refocus on it, and even that took a lot of willpower.

  Amos stopped before the entrance, which was the size of a garage door—a dark heavy square of timber with no visible handle or lock. “Carter, after you.”

  “Um, how do I—”

  “How do you think?”

  Great, another mystery. I was about to suggest we ram Amos’s head against it and see if that worked. Then I looked at the door again, and I had the strangest feeling. I stretched out my arm. Slowly, without touching the door, I raised my hand and the door followed my movement—sliding upward until it disappeared into the ceiling.

  Sadie looked stunned. “How…”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, a little embarrassed. “Motion sensor, m
aybe?”

  “Interesting.” Amos sounded a little troubled. “Not the way I would’ve done it, but very good. Remarkably good.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  Sadie tried to go inside first, but as soon as she stepped on the threshold, Muffin wailed and almost clawed her way out of Sadie’s arms.

  Sadie stumbled backward. “What was that about, cat?”

  “Oh, of course,” Amos said. “My apologies.” He put his hand on the cat’s head and said, very formally, “You may enter.”

  “The cat needs permission?” I asked.

  “Special circumstances,” Amos said, which wasn’t much of an explanation, but he walked inside without saying another word. We followed, and this time Muffin stayed quiet.

  “Oh my god…” Sadie’s jaw dropped. She craned her neck to look at the ceiling, and I thought the gum might fall out of her mouth.

  “Yes,” Amos said. “This is the Great Room.”

  I could see why he called it that. The cedar-beamed ceiling was four stories high, held up by carved stone pillars engraved with hieroglyphs. A weird assortment of musical instruments and Ancient Egyptian weapons decorated the walls. Three levels of balconies ringed the room, with rows of doors all looking out on the main area. The fireplace was big enough to park a car in, with a plasma-screen TV above the mantel and massive leather sofas on either side. On the floor was a snakeskin rug, except it was forty feet long and fifteen feet wide—bigger than any snake. Outside, through glass walls, I could see the terrace that wrapped around the house. It had a swimming pool, a dining area, and a blazing fire pit. And at the far end of the Great Room was a set of double doors marked with the Eye of Horus, and chained with half a dozen padlocks. I wondered what could possibly be behind them.

  But the real showstopper was the statue in the center of the Great Room. It was thirty feet tall, made of black marble. I could tell it was of an Egyptian god because the figure had a human body and an animal’s head—like a stork or a crane, with a long neck and a really long beak.

  The god was dressed ancient-style in a kilt, sash, and neck collar. He held a scribe’s stylus in one hand, and an open scroll in the other, as if he had just written the hieroglyphs inscribed there: an ankh—the Egyptian looped cross—with a rectangle traced around its top.

  “That’s it!” Sadie exclaimed. “Per Ankh.”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “All right, how can you read that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s obvious, isn’t it? The top one is shaped like the floor plan of a house.”

  “How did you get that? It’s just a box.” The thing was, she was right. I recognized the symbol, and it was supposed to be a simplified picture of a house with a doorway, but that wouldn’t be obvious to most people, especially people named Sadie. Yet she looked absolutely positive.

  “It’s a house,” she insisted. “And the bottom picture is the ankh, the symbol for life. Per Ankh—the House of Life.”

  “Very good, Sadie.” Amos looked impressed. “And this is a statue of the only god still allowed in the House of Life—at least, normally. Do you recognize him, Carter?”

  Just then it clicked: the bird was an ibis, an Egyptian river bird. “Thoth,” I said. “The god of knowledge. He invented writing.”

  “Indeed,” Amos said.

  “Why the animal heads?” Sadie asked. “All those Egyptian gods have animal heads. They look so silly.”

  “They don’t normally appear that way,” Amos said. “Not in real life.”

  “Real life?” I asked. “Come on. You sound like you’ve met them in person.”

  Amos’s expression didn’t reassure me. He looked as if he were remembering something unpleasant. “The gods could appear in many forms—usually fully human or fully animal, but occasionally as a hybrid form like this. They are primal forces, you understand, a sort of bridge between humanity and nature. They are depicted with animal heads to show that they exist in two different worlds at once. Do you understand?”

  “Not even a little,” Sadie said.

  “Mmm.” Amos didn’t sound surprised. “Yes, we have much training to do. At any rate, the god before you, Thoth, founded the House of Life, for which this mansion is the regional headquarters. Or at least…it used to be. I’m the only member left in the Twenty-first Nome. Or I was, until you two came along.”

  “Hang on.” I had so many questions I could hardly think where to start. “What is the House of Life? Why is Thoth the only god allowed here, and why are you—”

  “Carter, I understand how you feel.” Amos smiled sympathetically. “But these things are better discussed in daylight. You need to get some sleep, and I don’t want you to have nightmares.”

  “You think I can sleep?”

  “Mrow.” Muffin stretched in Sadie’s arms and let loose a huge yawn.

  Amos clapped his hands. “Khufu!”

  I thought he’d sneezed, because Khufu is a weird name, but then a little dude about three feet tall with gold fur and a purple shirt came clambering down the stairs. It took me a second to realize it was a baboon wearing an L.A. Lakers jersey.

  The baboon did a flip and landed in front of us. He showed off his fangs and made a sound that was half roar, half belch. His breath smelled like nacho-flavored Doritos.

  All I could think to say was, “The Lakers are my home team!”

  The baboon slapped his head with both hands and belched again.

  “Oh, Khufu likes you,” Amos said. “You’ll get along famously.”

  “Right.” Sadie looked dazed. “You’ve got a monkey butler. Why not?”

  Muffin purred in Sadie’s arms as if the baboon didn’t bother her at all.

  “Agh!” Khufu grunted at me.

  Amos chuckled. “He wants to go one-on-one with you, Carter. To, ah, see your game.”

  I shifted from foot to foot. “Um, yeah. Sure. Maybe tomorrow. But how can you understand—”

  “Carter, I’m afraid you’ll have a lot to get used to,” Amos said. “But if you’re going to survive and save your father, you have to get some rest.”

  “Sorry,” Sadie said, “did you say ‘survive and save our father’? Could you expand on that?”

  “Tomorrow,” Amos said. “We’ll begin your orientation in the morning. Khufu, show them to their rooms, please.”

  “Agh-uhh!” the baboon grunted. He turned and waddled up the stairs. Unfortunately, the Lakers jersey didn’t completely cover his multicolored rear.

  We were about to follow when Amos said, “Carter, the workbag, please. It’s best if I lock it in the library.”

  I hesitated. I’d almost forgotten the bag on my shoulder, but it was all I had left of my father. I didn’t even have our luggage because it was still locked up at the British Museum. Honestly, I’d been surprised that the police hadn’t taken the workbag too, but none of them seemed to notice it.

  “You’ll get it back,” Amos promised. “When the time is right.”

  He asked nicely enough, but something in his eyes told me that I really didn’t have a choice.

  I handed over the bag. Amos took it gingerly, as if it were full of explosives.

  “See you in the morning.” He turned and strode toward the chained-up doors. They unlatched themselves and opened just enough for Amos to slip through without showing us anything on the other side. Then the chains locked again behind him.

  I looked at Sadie, unsure what to do. Staying by ourselves in the Great Room with the creepy statue of Thoth didn’t seem like much fun, so we followed Khufu up the stairs.

  Sadie and I got adjoining rooms on the third floor, and I’ve got to admit, they were way cooler than any place I’d ever stayed before.

  I had my own kitchenette, fully stocked with my favorite snacks: ginger ale—[No, Sadie. It’s not an old person’s soda! Be quiet!]—Twix, and Skittles. It seemed impossible. How did Amos know what I liked? The TV, computer, and stereo system were totally high-tech. The bathroom was stocked
with my regular brand of toothpaste, deodorant, everything. The king-size bed was awesome, too, though the pillow was a little strange. Instead of a cloth pillow, it was an ivory headrest like I’d seen in Egyptian tombs. It was decorated with lions and (of course) more hieroglyphs.

  The room even had a deck that looked out on New York Harbor, with views of Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty in the distance, but the sliding glass doors were locked shut somehow. That was my first indication that something was wrong.

  I turned to look for Khufu, but he was gone. The door to my room was shut. I tried to open it, but it was locked.

  A muffled voice came from the next room. “Carter?”

  “Sadie.” I tried the door to her adjoining room, but it was locked too.

  “We’re prisoners,” she said. “Do you think Amos…I mean, can we trust him?”

  After all I’d seen today, I didn’t trust anything, but I could hear the fear in Sadie’s voice. It triggered an unfamiliar feeling in me, like I needed to reassure her. The idea seemed ridiculous. Sadie had always seemed so much braver than me—doing what she wanted, never caring about the consequences. I was the one who got scared. But right now, I felt like I needed to play a role I hadn’t played in a long, long time: big brother.

  “It’ll be okay.” I tried to sound confident. “Look, if Amos wanted to hurt us, he could’ve done it by now. Try to get some sleep.”

  “Carter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was magic, wasn’t it? What happened to Dad at the museum. Amos’s boat. This house. All of it’s magic.”

  “I think so.”

  I could hear her sigh. “Good. At least I’m not going mad.”

  “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” I called. And I realized I hadn’t said that to Sadie since we had lived together in Los Angeles, when Mom was still alive.

  “I miss Dad,” she said. “I hardly ever saw him, I know, but…I miss him.”

  My eyes got a little teary, but I took a deep breath. I was not going to go all weak. Sadie needed me. Dad needed us.

  “We’ll find him,” I told her. “Pleasant dreams.”

  I listened, but the only thing I heard was Muffin meowing and scampering around, exploring her new space. At least she didn’t seem unhappy.