Aten let out the most awful howl. ‘Shhh!’ yelled Cy.
‘We are trapped in the tomb!’ cried Aten.
‘No, we aren’t,’ said Cy, trying to sound braver than he felt. ‘We are in the cupboard under the stage. Someone has closed the cupboard door on us, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out who.’
Aten looked at the pyramid. ‘Where is he who summoned us?’
‘I’ll explain later,’ said Cy. ‘If I ever work it out myself,’ he added under his breath. ‘Now,’ he groped his way in the semi-darkness towards the door, ‘let’s see if we can open this up.’
Cy pushed his shoulder hard against the stage cupboard door. There were small chinks of light coming through round the outside edge, and through the wood panelling where it didn’t fit properly.
‘We will never get out,’ moaned Aten.
‘Yes, we will. The cleaners come in later and we’ll just shout for help. But we might not have to wait that long.’ Cy started to search in his pockets and then feel about on the floor.
‘What are you looking for?’ asked Aten.
‘The door is fastened with a loop-over catch. If we find a thin piece of wood or something we could slip it through the gap and open it.’
‘Something like this?’ asked Aten. He held up the stick which went with the triangle. ‘I put it in my pocket,’ he explained.
By the time they got into the playground it was almost empty. There was no sign of Eddie or Chloe.
‘They have my ankh,’ Aten said in a worried voice. ‘It is not a good thing that people like that should hold my spirit in their hands.’
‘I know,’ said Cy. ‘But it’s more likely that they’ve hidden it somewhere. When they nick things now they never keep them, ever since the last time something went missing and Mrs Chalmers made everybody turn out their pockets. I’ll ask Grampa what we should do to get it back.’
It occurred to Cy that he had rather a lot to ask Grampa tonight. He looked around and frowned. Grampa wasn’t waiting in his usual spot.
Cy walked slowly back from the school gates and into the playground. There were very few people around now, and none of them was Grampa. He went inside the school and had a quick glance about, and then came out again. He looked up and down the street.
‘I don’t understand it,’ he told Aten. ‘He usually comes early so that we can have a chat with Mrs Turner at the crossing.’
‘Why don’t we ask the cross lady?’ suggested Aten.
‘Who? Oh, I see,’ said Cy. He walked over and called to Mrs Turner who was on the other side of the road. ‘Have you seen my Grampa?’
Mrs Turner came over to speak to Cy. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she said. ‘But he might have slipped past without me spotting him. It was very busy today.’
‘I wonder where he is,’ said Cy.
Occasionally Grampa was a few minutes late. But never more than four or five. Cy checked his watch. It was now over twenty minutes since school had finished.
‘Here comes Mrs Fortune with the twins,’ said Mrs Turner. ‘She lives just along the road from your Grampa. We’ll ask her.’
Mrs Fortune shook her head. ‘No,’ she replied, as she reached the little group. ‘I didn’t see him at all today. He usually passes my house in the morning when he goes for his paper, but I was a bit rushed earlier on. I had to take Paula to the dentist.’ She smiled at Cy. ‘Maybe your Grampa had an appointment, and you are supposed to meet him somewhere else?’
Cy tried to remember. Had Grampa told him that he wouldn’t be at school to pick him up this afternoon? Cy frequently forgot things. If he was asked at home to fetch something, by the time he got to his room he often hadn’t a clue what he was looking for. Once he even forgot that he was actually on an errand. He had been sent to get the car keys from upstairs, and been told to run as fast as he could. Everyone was waiting in the driveway, and they were already late for Uncle Jim’s wedding. When Cy got to the top of the stairs the spare room door was open so he had gone in. Then he had just sat down, switched on the computer, and started playing a game. His dad and mum had been furious with him. They were always saying that he didn’t listen properly, too busy day-dreaming. He did try. Though sometimes the more he tried to concentrate, the worse it became.
Grampa had thought out a strategy for him involving a big old-fashioned brass curtain ring. When the curtain ring was in one of his pockets then Cy knew that there was something he was supposed to do, or something important to remember. If Grampa had changed the school pick-up time or place, then he would have told Cy to put the ring in one of his pockets. Cy searched his clothing. There was no brass ring.
Cy shook his head. ‘No,’ he told Mrs Fortune and Mrs Turner. ‘Grampa didn’t say he was going somewhere else.’
‘Then he’s probably on his way here,’ said Mrs Turner reassuringly.
‘Why don’t you boys walk on?’ said Mrs Fortune. ‘I’m at number 24. If he’s not at home go to my door and wait for me. I’ve a prescription to collect so I won’t be long behind you. Then we’ll phone your mum or dad and find out what’s what.’
‘Very likely you’ll meet him on the road,’ said Mrs Turner, and she put her hand on Cy’s shoulder as she saw them across.
‘You are worried?’ asked Aten as the boys began to walk down the main road together.
‘A bit,’ admitted Cy. ‘It’s not like him to be late. He was in the army for most of his life and he has a set routine for everything, even eating and sleeping.’
‘My uncle Horemheb is a military man,’ said Aten. ‘He is in the army of the Pharaoh. All things are done by command, including walking and breathing.’ Aten began to strut along in front swinging his arms and stamping his feet.
Cy laughed. ‘Grampa’s not quite like that.’ But Cy knew that Grampa did walk very straight with his head held high. Now Cy had a clear view of the road all the way down to the traffic lights and there was no sign of a tall figure with white hair.
It was the same about ten minutes later when they got to Grampa’s street. The long avenue with trees on either side stretched away before them. It was empty. Cy opened the little wooden gate into the neatly kept garden. He led Aten round to the back of the house and tried the back door.
‘It’s locked,’ said Cy. He stared at the door. ‘He hardly ever locks his door.’
‘One should always fasten one’s door,’ said Aten. ‘There are many thieves about.’
Cy managed to smile. ‘So you too have that problem in Ancient Egypt? Our local police say that “Theft is the scourge of the modern age”.’ Cy quoted from the crimewatch talk which the community policeman had given his class a few months ago.
Cy tried the door again. ‘It feels as though he’s got the bolt on. He only does that when he’s going to bed. Let’s try the front.’
They rang the front door bell, peered through the letter-box, and knocked on the windows.
‘It’s kind of creepy,’ said Cy uneasily. He stood back and gazed at the house. The potted plants stood silently in rows on the window-sills, the curtains hung still. ‘I think there’s something wrong.’
‘Perhaps we could go in there,’ said Aten, and pointed to the side of the house. High up on the wall the bathroom window stood open.
‘We could never climb up so high,’ said Cy.
‘I might be able to,’ said Aten. ‘Look.’ Beside the house grew a birch tree, tall and silvery-smooth it stretched up and up, with the top branches brushing against the roof. ‘It is no higher than a palm tree.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Cy doubtfully.
As Cy hesitated Aten scuffed his trainers off, then hugging the tree-trunk loosely with his arms, he placed the soles of his feet flat against the bark. Crouching almost double he scuttled rapidly up the tree, then swung along a branch and clambered in through the bathroom window.
In a few moments Aten had unbolted the back door and the two boys were in the house.
‘Grampa,’ called Cy, as he went from room to room.
It only took a minute to find him. He was lying just inside his bedroom door, where he had fallen while getting out of bed. One arm was stretched out and one was twisted underneath him.
‘Grampa.’ Cy’s voice was no more than a whisper. He knelt down and touched his Grampa’s face. The old man’s eyelids flickered.
Aten squatted down beside Cy. ‘Tell me where to go to fetch the doctor.’
‘Doctor?’ Cy’s heart was thudding so hard that it was sore in his chest. ‘Doctor,’ he repeated.
‘Yes.’ Aten spoke clearly. ‘Keep calm and tell me where the doctor lives.’
Cy looked into Aten’s brown eyes. His own eyes were going blurry, the way they always did when he was worried, or scared, or stressed. Like when he was trying to do neat writing, or remember something important he had been told. ‘Doctor,’ he said again. Aten nodded.
Cy knew that there was an emergency number you could telephone, but his brain was refusing to co-operate. He couldn’t remember. And any time when he couldn’t remember obvious things people just lost patience with him. If it was a classmate they would sneer or laugh at him, and walk away. Adults mostly got angry. Only Mrs Chalmers and Grampa knew just to wait a second or so longer. Cy gave a little sob. How could he forget a simple number? He mustn’t forget. Grampa’s life depended on it. He blinked and stared at Aten.
‘Doctor?’ Aten said again, very gently. Then he looked directly at Cy, and he smiled.
Cy jumped to his feet. ‘999,’ he said at once. ‘Aten, can you put the bedcovers on him and try to keep him warm? I’ll phone the emergency services.’
The paramedics and Mrs Fortune with her twins arrived together. ‘I’ll phone your parents,’ said Mrs Fortune as she watched Grampa being carried out in a stretcher.
‘Don’t you worry, son,’ said one of the ambulance team as he helped Cy into the ambulance. ‘Your Grampa looks like a tough old soldier.’
Cy leant across and took Grampa’s hand. Faintly, under the pale, papery skin, a pulse kept time with Cy’s heart.