It wasn’t all greyish-brown space around Bab. To one side of him the view was clearer, sort of like a murky window. Through it, he could see into the chamber that he and Prong had fallen into. The view was a bit distorted, but Bab could see Prong staring back at him, tears streaming down her beak.

His heart ached. Poor, sweet Prong, he thought.

He tried waving at her. She seemed to perk up a little.

“Prong!” he shouted.

“I don’t know what to do, Bab,” Prong honked back. She waddled over to the centre of the empty room and slumped on the floor, one wing over her eyes.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bab assured her. But he heard the uncertainty in his own voice.

“Er, Bab,” said his dad, “what on earth is that bandaged bird? And why does it have a beard?”

“That’s my friend Prong. One of my best friends. She’s an Ibis Mummy. I met her and Sca– wait, what!?”

Bab squinted, peering at Prong. There was something different about her . . .

Oh man.

“Prong!” Bab hollered. “The Pharaoh’s Beard. It’s on your chin!”

Prong blinked at Bab through her tears. “Chin? I’m a bird, I don’t have a chin.”

Realising this, she panicked. “I DON’T HAVE A CHIN!” she wailed. “Help!”

Prong was right about that. Her lack of chin meant the Beard had instead planted itself onto the tip of her lower beak.

Who’d have thought the Beard would pick Prong as the smartest one around? Bab thought. Then again, I guess she’s the only one around. The Beard had no choice!

“You don’t need a chin, Prong,” Bab told her. “It’s on the tip of your beak, I can see it. The Beard has chosen you as the new Pharaoh!”

Prong crossed her eyes to look at the little black tuft on the end of her beak. “Hello, Beardy,” she honked, patting the Beard with her wing. “Thanks for choosing me as Pharaoh despite my lack of chin.”

“That bandaged bird is a Pharaoh?” spluttered Richard. His mouth hung open so wide Bab could see his little painted tonsils.

“Hi, flesh-dad!” honked Prong, waving a wing. “I wish I could get one of those monster hugs. I’m Prong. Except I think my name is Pharaoh Prong now. Hmm, that sounds too posh for me. I know, I’ll shorten it to P.P. Yep, that sounds much better! Hi, I’m P.P.!”

“Choice to meet you, P.P.” Richard grinned. “You know, before I got sucked into the Spongy Void, I would’ve been a bit horrified to see a mummified bird walking around with a beard. I probably would have tried to whack you with a shovel. But you seem very sweet, P.P. I can see why Bab likes you.”

Bab smiled. He’d missed his dad’s blunt way of putting things.

“Hang about, Bab,” Richard continued, “weren’t you wearing a beard like that when you first fell into this wretched place? Are fake beards the latest fashion trend?”

“Yep, same beard, Dad. It magically picks the smartest person as Pharaoh.”

Richard’s painted jaw dropped again. “Wait, is that the Beard your mum was looking for?”

“Er . . . yep, the very same.”

Bab felt a pang of guilt at having kept the Beard secret from his mum.

What if I never see Mum again? he thought. I can’t just disappear in here like Dad did, she’d be totally miserable. Man, we have to get out.

An idea struck Bab. “Prong,” he said, “you own the Beard. You can command it to do whatever you want.”

“Oh yeah!” Prong honked. “Remember when you turned it into plaits, Bab? That looked really pretty. Mr Beard, make triple-threaded plaits with ornamental hairy cactuses!”

The Beard did so, but the plaits looked very tangled. They vibrated like mad.

“These aren’t as p-p-pretty as your p-p-plaits,” honked Prong, her beak juddering.

“I guess the Beard works differently on an Animal Mummy,” Bab told her. “Anyway, style it later, Prong. It’s time to make your first command as Pharaoh. Tell the Beard to pull me out of this spongy wall!”

Prong nodded and puffed out her bony chest. “Ahem. Excuse me, Mr Beard? Can you please, if you have time, turn into a giant hand, maybe with six fingers, or a wing if you’d prefer, and pull that painted Bab out of the wall there? Only if it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

The Beard, combining both of Prong’s suggested shapes, took the form of a giant hand covered in hairy feathers. It vibrated so fiercely, Prong shook like she was getting an electric shock.

She yelled through her clenched beak: “You’re r-r-right, B-b-Bab, it works d-d-differently on Animal M-M-Mummies!”

The feathery Beard Hand plunged into the spongy stone and wrapped its prickly fingers around the Bab hieroglyph. All Bab could see was thick black hair. He stretched his arm out towards his dad and gripped Richard’s wrist as tightly as possible.

SPLOODGE!

The Beard Hand retracted onto Prong’s beak. She picked up her dirty pink hat, which had vibrated off her head. “Phew,” she honked. “Wow, Bab, I like your new ‘square’ look.”

Bab looked around. He was back in the chamber again! The brick he’d been painted on was blank.

“It worked, woo-hoo!” he cheered, and the painted people cheered with him. He tried to do a little jump in the air, but he barely left the ground.

Gee, my feet feel heavy.

He looked down at himself and swallowed. So this was what Prong meant about looking “square”. Bab’s entire body was made up of big blocks of spongy stone.

He’d become a living statue!

“Oh man,” he groaned. “Well, at least I’m out of the wall.”

Bab tried walking about, but he felt like he was weighed down by tonnes of bubble wrap. As he clomped forwards, his joints made grinding sounds, like rocks scraping against each other. Sighing, he wrapped Prong in a stony hug.

“I tried to bring Dad with me,” Bab said, looking around. “Where is he?”

“Right here, son,” Richard called. “Not the ideal result, but it’s choice to finally have a new view of the Void.”

Bab had a very strange feeling. He looked in the direction his dad’s voice had come from – below.

Richard Sharkey was still a hieroglyph. Only now he was painted on Bab’s belly.