Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret Read Online Free PDF

He pottered around for a moment. He filled two glasses with water and then slowly walked out.
    “Strange…,” he said. “I must be really tired.”
    It was as if Mr. Narfgau could no longer see them; he looked directly at them but seemed to register nothing. They watched him walk across the floor and exit through the door to the exhibit.
    Tunie had to take several deep breaths before she could talk.
    “H-how did you do that?” she asked the mummy.
    The mummy lowered his skinny arms and stepped back.
    “I suppose it was the magic of my curse. I wasn’t sure it would work, really,” he said.
    “Well, that was aces. Thanks. I’m Tunie, and this is my bat, Perch,” she said in a trembling voice. “Nice to meet you, Parched.”
    The mummy chuckled merrily.
    Peter said, “That isn’t what he meant when he said he was parched. ‘Parched’ means ‘thirsty.’ ”
    Tunie flushed. “Oh, right.”
    “I’m Peter,” he said to the mummy. He’d been clenching his knapsack tightly in both hands, but now he loosened his grip and slung it over his shoulder.
    The mummy bowed. “I’m Horus. It is my great pleasure to meet you.”
    Tunie’s fear began to dissipate. The mummy wasn’t much bigger than they were, and seemed pretty fragile. The linen strips around his stomach had loosened, giving him a rather adorable potbellied look.
    Horus cleared his throat. “You can repay me, you know. I’m dying for some company—no pun intended. Please join me for some tea.”
    Tunie carefully set aside her mop. She hadn’t noticed she was still clutching it. “All right. Thanks again. Mr. Narfgau’s the big boss around here; he would have fired my father for sure.”
    “I’m glad I could help!” Horus said. “Please, sit down. This is already the best luck I’ve had in a millennium.”
    Tunie pulled out a chair, and so did Peter.
    In possibly the oddest tea party ever arranged, Peter, Tunie, Perch, and Horus the mummy sat elbow to elbow around the undersized table. They passed a packet of stale Hydrox cookies with the teapot. Tunie noticed that Horus was holding something in his hand. When he set it down to lift the teapot, she saw what it was—a smooth rock with a worn, carved symbol. She recognized it from a display in the exhibit that was near Horus’s sarcophagus—it was a projectile for an ancient sling weapon. Tunie poured a small saucer of cream for Perch. She hoped they wouldn’t get in trouble for taking these things, but Horus said they were provided by the museum for its employees and no one had ever minded when he’d helped himself—or perhaps the curse kept them from noticing; he wasn’t sure.
    Tunie sipped her tea and carefully examined the mummy. “Why do you look like a kid but talk like a British grandpa? Won’t that tea make your bandages all soggy? What curse? And I thought you were an unknown mummy.”
    Horus managed to look intensely pleased. Instead of covering his face, the bandages somehow seemed to move like facial muscles, and the weird glow of his eyes was surprisingly warm. He smiled as he ticked off responses to Tunie’s questions on his fingers.
    “One: I died when I was only ten. I spent more than a century in a British museum and learned to speak English from the stuffy curator there, developing this accent and an incredible thirst for tea, which, two, doesn’t do a thing to me. The enchantment of my curse must keep it from damaging me so I can continue to suffer an eternity of regret. And lastly: just because the archaeologists who dug me up didn’t know me doesn’t mean I’m not Horus, the lesser-known little brother of pharaoh Taharqa. I never lived out my childhood, but I’ve been around for ages.”
    Tunie let out a breath. “So now you’re an ancient…kid mummy…who talks like a tweedy professor.”
    “Murder, that’s a story,” said Peter. His eyes were wide. He studied the mummy with interest.
    Horus propped his chin on one bandaged hand and wistfully