They hurried toward Lighthouse Field, but slowed down considerably once they entered the grounds.
“Wow!” said Philip. “Everybody’s so busy. Is that the guy?”
“Him? Does he look like a gypsy to you?”
“He looks like something.”
“He’s an Egypt guy, a pharaoh. See the snake thingie on his headpiece? Don’t you remember? We saw pictures of them in school this year.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. I like Isis.”
“Nothing’s open yet. You can’t get any.”
Philip stopped walking. “I can’t get any what?”
“Ices. I like mango.”
“You like mango what?”
“Mango ices.”
“What are you talking about? Who’s mango Isis? They don’t have mangos in Egypt.”
“Whose mango ices? Anybody’s. And what’s Egypt have to do with mango ices?”
Philip’s voice rose. “There’s no mango Isis or banana Isis or apple Isis. There’s just Isis.”
“There’s mango and banana. I’ve had them. They’re good. Especially when it’s hot out. I don’t think there’s apple, though.”
“Argh!” Philip howled. “Let’s start over. The Egypt guy. I said Isis. I didn’t say ices.”
Emery stared at his friend. “Can you say that again?”
Philip scrooched his mouth together hard, trying to be patient. “I said, I said Isis. I didn’t say ices.”
“You said ices, but you didn’t say ices?”
“Right. Now you got it.”
“I got it? I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Are you feeling all right?”
Philip’s voice rose. “We studied Egypt, and we studied Isis. She’s like a goddess or something.”
“Ohhhh. Isis. You said Isis. I thought you said ices.”
Philip nearly screamed. “I did say Isis!”
“I thought you meant ices, like cold stuff in a cup. Mango, remember?”
Philip threw his hands to his head. “Why would I be talking about an Egypt guy and mango ices at the same time?”
Emery shrugged. “Yeah, I thought you were talking kind of weird.”
“I was talking weird? You were listening weird.”
“Shhhh,” Emery cautioned. “Let’s go and find the gypsy.” They walked a few steps and Emery said, “Now you made me want a mango ice. Look out! Don’t step there. Elephant poop.”
Philip gritted his teeth and walked in a loop.
A moment later, Emery pointed. “There he is.”
Philip saw him. He looked like a real gypsy. The man sat in front of his tent, the small round table next to him, just as Emery had described. When he saw the boys, he sat up straight and beckoned them.
“This is my friend I told you about,” Emery said.
“Sit.” To Philip, it sounded like “seeet.”
Emery took a second folding chair and put it next to the one he’d sat in earlier. He and Philip sat down.
“So,” the gypsy began, “you will do a task for me?”
Philip and Emery turned to one another. Emery turned back to the gypsy.
“I guess so. For three wishes. We each get three wishes,” said Emery.
“What! Six wishes. It cannot be done! No! I can grant three wishes only. You must share the wishes. Do not waste them. Never again in your life will you have your wishes granted the way I can grant them. Three wishes only are in my power to grant.”
Philip and Emery glanced nervously at one another again.
“Well, okay, I guess,” Emery said. “What do we have to do?”
The gypsy leaned close to the boys.
“Do you know the word artifact?”
“I think so,” said Philip. “We learned it in school this year.” The word had come up when they studied about Egypt. “It’s something valuable from long ago.”
“Very good.” It sounded to Philip like he said “fairy goot.”
“Long ago an artifact was stolen from my very good friend Achmed. There is Achmed.”
The boys looked where the gypsy pointed and saw the Egyptian man they’d noticed earlier. He sat outside another tent across from the gypsy’s tent, looking their way.
The gypsy continued. “The artifact is very valuable. It has been in Achmed’s family since the time of the pyramids, the very time you studied about. Emperor Tutankhamen . . . no, I should let Achmed tell you about it.” The gypsy rose and gestured to Achmed. The boys watched Achmed rise and come slowly forward, still wearing his headpiece.
“Achmed,” the gypsy began, “these boys will help you recover your valuable artifact. Everyone, come inside.”
Philip and Emery entered the gypsy’s tent. The gypsy brought the boys’ chairs inside for them, and the boys sat and quickly inspected the place. Small colored lights were strung across the top of the tent. Five large, white, unlit candles sat in different spots in what looked like over-sized ashtrays. A cot and a small side table holding a paperback book and some change sat in a corner of the tent. The gypsy sat on the edge of the cot while Achmed took the one soft chair in the room.
“I told them about the jewels of King Tut stolen from you,” the gypsy said.
“Yes, thank you, Bela. Boys, long ago my ancestor Tut, the great pharaoh of Egypt, possessed many jewels, one in particular. After his murder, the possession of the jewels fell to my family, a royal family of Egypt.”
Philip glanced at Emery and noticed his eyes were as wide open as his own. The pharaoh was a short man, clean-shaven, who looked about the same age as Bela the gypsy; both a lot older than his father, Philip thought.
“Listen to me, boy,” the pharaoh snapped, and Philip spun his head and looked into the pharaoh’s eyes. “After centuries and centuries, someone stole those jewels from my family. But now I have traced them to this town . . . your town, and you must help me recover them.”
The gypsy interrupted. “He must have the jewels back because one of them has the power!”
“The power!” Achmed repeated.
“Wha . . . what power?” Philip asked in a small voice.
Achmed turned to Bela. “Should we tell them?”
“Achmed, they deserve to know if they are going help us.”
“You are right. Boys, the jewels are in a wooden box. Show them.”
Bela the gypsy produced a photograph and handed it to Philip. Emery bent over to look. They saw a plain wooden box the size of a cigar box, with the letters K and T carved into the lid.
King Tut! Philip thought.
Achmed glanced over his shoulder through the tent flaps before whispering, “The jewels are in this box. The box we have traced to the home of an old woman who lives at 1159 Van Kirk Street.”
Philip’s and Emery’s heads spun, and their eyes met. They knew her!
Philip turned back to Achmed. “We know her.”
“Excellent! But be warned. One jewel in the box has the power to give the old woman powers; dangerous powers!”
“Powers?” Emery said softly. “What powers? You mean like a witch?”
“Emery, she pointed her finger at me, and my ball went down the sewer,” Philip reminded him.
Achmed jumped in. “You see! She has the power, but doesn’t know it. If she did to you what you say she did, she is learning her power. If she discovers that her power comes from the scarab in the box, there will be no stopping her.”
“The what?” Emery asked.
“The scarab. The scarab.”
“What’s a scarab?” Philip asked, imagining a many-legged, disgusting looking bug. If any bugs were involved, Philip knew he’d count himself out, three wishes or not.
“A scarab is a sacred amulet,” Achmed explained, putting his hands together to form a small circle with his fingers to show the size of the amulet.
“Is it alive?” Philip asked.
“Tshhh,” Emery hissed. “I thought you studied Egypt. It’s like a necklace, you know. The thing that hangs from the necklace.”
“Exactly,” Bela said. “And you must get it and all the other jewels away from the woman before disaster happens and her power rises. You see how she broke your heart by making your ball go down the sewer.”
Philip mumbled, “My heart didn’t break. It was just a ball.”
“How can we do anything?” Emery asked.
“We believe the box is somewhere in her garage,” Achmed explained. “You go into her garage and find it. Two boys are much less suspicious than a gypsy and a pharaoh walking through the neighborhood.”
“Yes, the box will have a tag with this number on it,” Bela added. He took a small ticket from inside his sleeve and showed it to the boys. “6482. Remember that number, and you will be sure you have the right box. Bring that box here, and you will receive three wishes. Think of it. Three wishes all your own.” Bela the gypsy turned to Philip. “And now, I will fulfill your wish. Close your eyes; both of you. Ah, I see . . . I see your wish. Yes, yes, yes!” He reached inside his baggy sleeve and pulled out a circus ticket. “Open your eyes.” He handed the ticket to Philip and said, “Your wish is fulfilled. Remember, though, we will be here only until Sunday afternoon. That evening we move on. You have four days. Can we count on you?”
“Yes,” Achmed said, leaning forward, “can we?”
The boys’ eyes met, and Emery gave a little shrug. Philip shrugged back. Emery looked at Achmed and said, “I guess so.”