To keep me out of trouble, Father gave me an ancient papyrus today that he feels certain is a copy of the Egyptian calendar. I am to decipher the hieroglyphs. Of course, he thinks this is a punishment because hieroglyphic writing is terribly difficult for him. But I love hieroglyphs, so I’m very happy to do it. Plus, it’s gives me a chance to prove how useful I can be. Something everyone around here tends to forget.

Very happy to hear Clive Fagenbush being raked over the coals by the First Assistant Curator, Nigel Bollingsworth. He’d caught wind of the statue incident and seemed to think Fagenbush was more responsible than I. He accused Fagenbush of sloppy work and told him if he didn’t shape up, he’d have to recommend he be dismissed.

This is just one of the many reasons I am quite fond of Nigel Bollingsworth. He doesn’t seem to life Fagenbush any more than I do. That and he doesn’t seem to think I’m a pest.

Oh no! The most horrible thing has happened and I am in the hottest of water. This morning, while I was patrolling the Egyptian exhibit, I noticed the scratching noise growing louder and louder. When I went to investigate, the sound turned to cracking noise. Then, all of a sudden, the statue of Osiris burst into a hundred pieces and a small Benu bird stepped out of his chest cavity. The bird and I stared at each other in shocked silence.

Then who should happen by just then but the horrid Clive Fagenbush! He heard the cracking sounds, too, and had come to investigate it.

“What did you do to it, you wretched girl?”

Have I mentioned Fagenbush dislikes me as much as I dislike him? “Nothing!” I said. “I heard a noise, just like you did, only I happened to arrive sooner, and the whole thing burst into pieces. I never even touched it!”

But of course he didn’t believe me. Grown ups never do.

“I suppose it just burst apart on it’s own, then?”

“Well, yes, actually.”

“An then it just happened to change shape into a Benu bird?”

The bird had stopped looking at me and now stood as still as stone. How did he manage that, I wonder? “Well, the legend of the Benu did say that it burst forth from Osiris’s heart, you know, as a symbol of regeneration,” I pointed out.

Fagenbush took a step closer, his mouth pinched in anger. “Do not quote Egyptian legends to me. I shall speak to your father about this.”

Oh, dear. I was so hoping he wouldn’t. Then I had an idea! “Speak to him all you want, just be sure you tell him what really happened. Look here. See how the sun comes in through the window? And see how the sunlight shines directly on the statue? I think someone carelessly set up the display in the first place, and the sun was too strong for such an old artifact and corroded it. Which makes me to wonder. Who did set up this display? Was it you, Fagenbush?”

Fagenbush grew pale, and I knew I had scored a direct hit. “But surely you know how bad sun is for objects this old? Even I know that.”

“It wasn’t sunny when we rearranged the exhibit last spring. I had no idea sun would come anywhere near it.”

“Yes, well, isn’t that what my father pays you to know? Really, I think I shall have to speak to him about you.” Then, the last word still hanging in the air, I turned and left the room, quite pleased with myself. Because honestly, what I told Fagenbush was mostly true. It was the sun that had caused the statue to come apart, but not because it weakened the clay. It was because the sun had triggered the magic hidden in the statue.

According to legend, the Benu bird only comes forth every 500 years (much like a phoenix). But for the last 1500 years, the statue had been buried in a tomb where the sun couldn’t touch it. Now, here in the museum, with the winter sun coming in the window at this particular angle, it had finally reached the statue and caused the Benu bird to burst forth.

But of course, Father believed Fagenbush’s version of events, and now I’m stuck washing the glass cabinets in the sword room. I don’t know how Father can trust that man.

Aha! I finally discovered the sound of the scritching noise! It’s coming from a small statue of Osiris, the god of the dead. Although why a statue of Osiris would be making such a noise, I have no idea. Most disconcerting really. Must keep a close eye on that.

Tamara! Whose favorite Egytptian god is Isis. I’ll contact you privately for your mailing information. Thanks for entering!

Let’s have another contest, shall we? This time, instead of an ARC, you’ll have a chance to win an ancient Egyptian pen, just like the one pictured! To enter, simply submit a comment with that tells us your favorite Egyptian god or goddess! Get your comment in by Friday, March 16, then I’ll do a random drawing.

We received a letter from Mum today! She’s off at her dig in the Valley of the Kings. It seems as if she’s been gone forever! However, the letter said she would be home soon. I can’t wait. I’ve missed her horribly. Of course, Mum coming home meant lots of new artifacts for our collections. I wonder how many will be cursed?

Barbara Bietz! Congratulations, Barbara! I’ll email you to get your mailing information!

Stay tuned for another contest soon..

Must decide today whether or not to make arrangements for my younger brother Henry to come home from school for the winter holidays. If I don’t make the arrangements, Father will most likely forget, and Henry will have to stay at school. As beastly as Henry can be, I’m not sure even he deserves to spend the holidays at school. However, I shall be sure to let him know that it was I who arranged for his homecoming. I should be able to hold that over his head for a bit. Especially when he starts being a horrid pest.

It’s awfully quiet in here. Honestly! Don’t you all know just how lonely it can be, rattling around in a museum all by oneself?

Well, in an effort to try and get you all to speak up, I’ve decided to have a contest. Won’t that be lovely? And all you have to do to enter is to leave a comment. How easy is that? Ah. You’re probably wondering what you might win. I thought an Advanced Reader’s Copy of Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos would be nice, don’t you?

So just leave a comment anytime between now and Saturday, February 24, and you’ll be entered in the contest. I’ll do a random drawing from the names then announce the winner on Monday, February 26. Then the winner can contact me privately with their mailing information and I’ll get an ARC in the mail to you right away. (Please do not post your personal information in the blog comment! The Serpents of Chaos are everywhere, you know…we wouldn’t want them to find you!)

And if you don’t win this time, don’t worry. In order to celebrate the countdown to the book’s publication, I’ll be having lots of contests between now and April 9! So even if you don’t win this week, you can always try again the next. And there’ll be all sorts of different prizes, so it will be worth entering more than once.

Oh dear. Isis caught a rat today and decided to leave it on Father’s chair for him to find.

Honestly! I’m the one that feeds her and cares for her! You think she’d be bringing me these little gifts. Not that I’m all that fond of dead rats, mind you. I just think I react more reasonably than Father, who tends to bellow and become rather hot under the collar when he finds a dead rat in his chair. (Luckily, before he sat down!)

Good news, the oil of attar did the trick! I had to mix it with garlic, and it smelled vile, but the funerary mask has been neutralized. Of course, I’ll need to check it again during the next dark of the moon, but for now we’re safe from beastly skin conditions.

The bad news is the scritching sound is back, which means it wasn’t the mask. I’m really hoping it’s a mouse. Or even a rat. I’d take a rat any day over some of the other possibilities. Unfortunately, Isis (my cat) went to investigate the sound then high-tailed it out of there. Never a good sign.

Oh. I realized I’ve never explained what exactly it is that I do to keep the museum safe, although I imagine you’re getting the picture. You see, museums receive all sorts of old, ancient artifacts that have been extracted from graves or unearthed from hidden burial places. (Horribly grisly, isn’t it? Mother and Father assure me that it is quite acceptable when it is for scientific research and history. Even so, I’m sure I wouldn’t like it if someone removed my bones from my final resting place.)

The problem is, many of these items still have ancient black magic or curses attached to them, and apparently, here at the Museum of Legends and Antiquities, I’m the only one who can see them. Which in turn means I’m the only one who can remove them!

Can you see why I have no time for governesses?

I suppose I should tell you about the curse of Awehat so you’ll understand about the mask.

Awehat was a priestess back in the Middle Dynasty who served Kuk, one of the gods worshipped in Hermopolis.

Now Awehat was very beautiful and a bit vain about it. Of all the priestesses, she had the largest mirrors, the most cosmetics, and the fanciest headdresses, but she served her god well, which pleased Kuk, so he ignored her flaws. Plus, the truth was, he was a little bit vain himself, and loved having such a beautiful priestess serve him.

Kuk was the god of darkness and obscurity (which basically means being hidden or unknown). Every night as the sun set, he would leave his temple and go out into the cool of the night and do…well, whatever it is that gods of darkness and the unknown do. And every morning, just before dawn touched the sky, Kuk would return to his temple, exhausted from his night’s work. Awehat would have all his offerings ready for him, sweet wine, honey cakes, and the finest of grains all laid out for his pleasure. Once he’d eaten his fill, she would wash his feet with her long, black hair (it sounds beastly, I know, but it’s what priestesses did.) Then Kuk would retire to the deepest, most secret part of the temple to sleep through the hot hours of the day, and everything was lovely.

Except…Kuk wore a beautiful golden mask to hide his face from the world (all the better to be hidden and unknown). And Awehat was not only a little vain, but a lot curious, especially since Kuk had never removed his mask in front of her. She thought this was carrying the obscurity thing a bit too far.

So one day, as she waited for her god to awake, she got the bright idea to creep into his inner sanctum and take a peek at his face. He slept deeply, you see, and she was certain he’d sleep right through. (In addition to being a little vain and a lot curious, Awehat was a bit dim.) Of course the moment she pulled the golden mask from Kuk’s face, he awoke. But it was too late. She’d seen his face. And it wasn’t exactly beautiful, like she’d been led to believe. It was ugly and frog-like. In fact, his whole head was that of a frog.

Kuk was furious and embarrassed (anger and embarrassment are a wretched combination) that his most beautiful priestess now knew just how ugly he really was. So he cursed her.

He decreed that she should also have to wear a mask. For all eternity. And if anyone happened to remove it so that they could gaze upon her beauty, they would be stricken by festering boils for their troubles.

Luckily, when Mother found the mask, it was no longer actually on Awehat’s face, so she didn’t get struck by the boils. But, a few years ago, when I was cleaning the mask for the exhibit, I, um, well, I happened to try it on. Just wanting to see what it would feel like! (I was quite young, you know. Only nine.) and I contracted a horrible case of festering boils.

Needless to say, once I’d dealt with my own boils, I removed the curse from the mask at once. Only now it seems to have regenerated itself. Honestly! Don’t I have enough to do around here without having to remove these beastly curses twice!

Uh oh. I managed to get in Father’s way three times today. I’m usually much better at keeping out of his path, but I was so distracted by the returning curse, especially since I discovered it gives a person festering boils. Have I mentioned how much I hate festering boils? I got them once, years ago, when I was still new at this curse removal stuff. Lasted for weeks and hurt like the dickens.

Hm. If Father keeps nagging at me, perhaps I’ll let him stumble on the cursed object and see how he likes festering boils…

Bother! I think the scritching sound is the curse I removed from the funerary mask of Awehat regenerating itself! Some of them do that, you know. They appear to be neutralized, but they are only dormant and waiting for the dark of the moon to rise again. I must find a way to get rid of that curse permanently. Hm. I wonder if we have any oil of attar about?