There was a second or two of quiet as the boys surrounding Ben turned to see who was speaking. It was Joel, with his older brother, Micah.

Joel was Ben’s best friend. He was bigger than Ben —big enough that these boys wouldn’t be quick to tease or bully him. He was stocky, rather than slender like Ben, and already starting to show muscles on his arms and shoulders, like his father. But now, as always, Joel’s face was split in a grin, and his nose was peeling —Joel’s fair skin sunburned easily and constantly.

“Ha, ha, ha! You guys are real funny,” Joel said. “Now if you’re through with my friend here, I need him.”

The other boys stood uncertainly for a moment, looking at each other. Suddenly the one who’d given Ben the frog grinned and said, “Yeah, we’re done with River Boy. After all, now we’ve got . . . Eggshell!” The boys snickered at Micah, then began to walk away. He looked back at them blankly.

Micah was . . . well, Micah was different. The boys called him Eggshell partly because of his egg-shaped head and partly because they claimed there was nothing in his head, as empty as an eggshell with the egg sucked out.

Micah couldn’t talk; he simply made sounds of distress or anger or misery, as a baby would. And when he wasn’t making those sounds, his jaw hung open, his lips slack. He was stick-thin and small for his age, smaller even than Ben, although Micah was two years older. He had Joel’s unruly, straight-black hair, but that was where the family resemblance ended. All you had to do was look at his deep-set, not-quite-straight eyes to see that something was wrong with Micah.

“Can you go with me to the marketplace?” Joel asked Ben, still grinning. “I have to get some things for my mother, and you know how Micah is. If I’m looking at the vegetables, he’s over pulling the candles out of the bin.”

“Sure,” Ben said. “But let’s be quick because I need to leave soon, or I’ll be late getting to the Red House.”

Ben’s father and grandfather, like most of the Israelite men, worked as laborers, making bricks from mud and straw to build monuments and pyramids. But Ben, like many of the women and children, worked in the royal city of Rameses as a house servant for a wealthy Egyptian family. They lived in a huge home that Ben called the Red House because it was made from a special kind of reddish sandstone brought from far away. Ben’s master, the head of the home, was a high-ranking official in the court of Pharaoh.

At the marketplace, Ben quickly found the dried fish his mother needed, but by the time Joel had found everything on his list, the sun was high.

“Better get home,” Joel said, looking at the sky. “Must be about time to leave for work. You want to —”

Both boys looked up suddenly and then looked at each other. There was a commotion at the other end of the marketplace. A voice was calling loudly, a crowd was gathering, and Ben could hear the sound of feet running. Joel grabbed Micah’s hand and started toward the sound, with Micah protesting loudly all the way, pulling against him.

The boys jogged up to the edge of the large group of people.

“Tell us more!” people urged.

“That’s all I know,” a man’s voice replied from somewhere in the middle of the crowd. “Moses has returned, and he has asked to talk to the elders. They’ve probably begun their council already.”

A shock ran through Ben. Moses had returned?

“Now let me through, please!” the man’s voice insisted. “I must spread the word to others. Please!” There was the sound of scuffling and then of feet running away.

Moses had returned!

Ben clutched at Joel. “We must see him!”

Joel nodded excitedly, ignoring Micah’s wails of impatience.

Moses!

Trembling with excitement, the boys raced after the crowd that surged through the streets, all of them chattering and tense. Suddenly Ben slowed, and Joel looked back at him.

The crowd was heading toward the river.

It wasn’t just that Ben didn’t like to walk along the river. He couldn’t. His fear paralyzed him. His body wouldn’t do what he told it to do when he came near water. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, looking up at Joel.

Understanding washed through Joel’s eyes. “They’re heading for the open square in front of the elders’ hall. We’ll cut behind the tanners’ yard and come out on the side of the square away from the river. We can still see from there.”

Ducking into a narrow alley, the boys raced past several low mud-brick buildings and emerged at the edge of a foul-smelling open yard filled with clay vats of dark liquid in which animal hides floated. Holding their hands over their noses and mouths, they ran along the edge of the yard to another alleyway, Micah protesting all the way. They emerged at the large open-air meeting place used when the elders needed to address everyone at once. The boys found a place along the base of a pillar. It was far from the elders, but at least they had a good view.

“Where’s Moses?” Ben asked excitedly.

Joel quickly scanned the crowd. “I don’t think he’s here yet.”

The elders were deep in conversation with two men dressed in travel-worn, patched clothes, with traveling staffs in their hands.

Surely neither of these men was Moses! He heard an elder call one of the men Aaron. Then, to Ben’s amazement, the one named Aaron gestured toward the other man and used the name Moses.

Ben and Joel glanced at each other.

Moses was so . . . old! His hair was mostly gray; his beard was long and scraggly. And he didn’t even do his own speaking. He stood back, leaning on his staff, while the other man spoke. Moses wasn’t particularly big or strong-looking —certainly not the hero-warrior Ben had always imagined. He looked more like someone’s grandfather.

Micah’s squawking grew louder, and Joel hurriedly reached into his market bag and drew out a handful of dried beans for Micah to play with. “What did he say?” Joel asked. “I couldn’t hear.”

Ben smiled. Joel might be bigger and stronger than he was, but Ben had always had sharper ears. “The other man said that God has spoken to Moses and sent him to us to lead us out of this land to a better place —a place flowing with milk and honey.”

“Flowing with what? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Micah began to loudly crunch the dried beans between his teeth.

“What are the elders saying?” Joel asked.

“If you’ll hush, I can hear them,” Ben said with annoyance. He listened. “They’re asking how they can know that this is indeed Moses, and that all of this is true.”

To Ben’s surprise, some of those in the crowd began to shout out their doubts: “I remember Moses, and you’re not him!” one old man shouted.

“The Egyptians will refuse to let us go —and then they’ll whip us for rebelling!” another called.

As the elders and the crowd shouted their objections, Ben felt a growing sense of alarm. He saw something on Moses’ face that he hadn’t expected to see —something that frightened him. It got worse when quarrelsome men from the crowd drew nearer to Moses and Aaron. As the men from the village threatened and shouted, Ben wondered, Was Mother wrong about Moses?

The chief of the elders raised his hand, and the crowd grew quiet. The old man quietly asked again, “And how do we know that all of this is as you say?”

Aaron and Moses were both silent for a moment. Just as the crowd again began to grow restless, Moses raised his hand with his staff high above his head. When the crowd quieted again, Moses tossed the staff away from him onto the sandy ground.

And suddenly, where the staff had been, there was a large snake!

Ben gasped and shrank back against the pillar. The crowd, too, surged backward, away from the snake, away from Moses, shouting in surprise and fear. But Joel, clearly delighted, leaned forward. Despite his fear of snakes, Ben watched carefully. It was true —the staff was gone, and in its place was a snake, writhing, hissing!

“It’s magic!” Joel whispered.

Ben shook his head. “It’s a sign! God really has sent Moses to lead us to freedom!” He jumped to his feet and started away.

“Wait!” Joel called. “He may do more tricks! Let’s stay and watch!”

Ben shouted over his shoulder at Joel. “I’ve got to go tell my mother that Moses has returned to lead us out of Egypt!” He pushed his way through the crowd and out into the street again.

But as he ran, Ben could think of only one thing —something he had seen clearly in Moses’ face. Ben had seen something there he knew well.

His mother had been wrong. Moses wasn’t brave. Maybe when he was younger, but not now.

Moses was afraid.

Just like Ben.