Seven Wonders Journals (2 page)

Safi turned and dropped the vole at Gencer's feet. The old slob screamed like a baby, dropping the half-smoked, saliva-soaked cigar to the ground. “Khalid, you owe me a fresh cigar!”

But Osman and I were eyeing the gap Safi had found. It was just about as wide as Osman was, and maybe a foot high.

“Wow,” Osman said—and just like that, he slipped inside, vanishing into the blackness.

“Osman!” Father shouted. “Get back here at once!”

“What do you think you're doing?” I added, grabbing Father's flashlight. I peered into the opening, gauging whether I could fit in myself. I could make out a wide, low
cave, cool as death.

But no Osman.

“Like father, like son,” Gencer muttered, with a superior little chortle. “No common sense.”

Father wheeled on his friend, grabbing him by the collar. But as he pulled Gencer toward him, a muffled scream came up from the opening.

Osman.

My heart jumped into my mouth. We all screamed his name now, even Gencer. “I'm going in,” I said.

“No,” Father replied, grabbing my arm.

I knew he wanted to go in himself, but there was no way he'd fit. I squeezed my head into the gap . . . then my shoulders . . .

Fingers closed around my upper arm. I lurched back, squashing my head into the top of the gap. “Father!”

“BWAH-HA-HA-HA!” cackled a voice.

A shrill, little-boy voice.

I blinked my eyes, fighting back pain. And anger. “Osman, you little creep, that wasn't funny!”

Luckily I had enough presence of mind to yank him out of the opening. He tumbled to the ground, giggling hysterically.

That was when I saw Gencer, flat on his back. He had fainted at the sound of the scream. Judging from Safi's angry scolding noises, he had also landed directly on top of
the now-dead vole.

I wanted to strangle Osman for scaring me. Father's eyes were bulging in anger. But I knew both of us felt too much relief, too much joy at the fact that Osman was alive.

Diary, he gets away with murder. Really.

Of course Osman ignored our scolding. His eyes dancing, he grabbed the flashlight and swung the beam inside, illuminating the small cave. “Look at this,
Baba
!” he said. “Don't be mad—just look! Some ferret restaurant!”

At that, Gencer stirred. When he saw Safi perched angrily on his chest, he jumped to his feet. None of us paid much attention to his bloodcurdling scream when he realized he'd passed out on a dead vole.

Father, Osman, and I were busy peering inside the gap. It led to a cavernous room, the walls smooth and dry, the floor only a short drop from the opening.

For once, I thought, we might be on to something.

Osman and I looked at Father. He thought a moment, then nodded tentatively. I gave him my most confident look. “You always told us,
Baba
, the biggest part of Bartevyan is Brave . . .”

“And the biggest part of Gencer,” Osman added, glancing toward Father's sidekick, who now looked sick to his stomach, “is Green.”

Father smiled for the first time all morning. Quickly Osman and I slipped through the opening and dropped to
the floor. The air inside was cool and delicious after the long hike. Thousands of tiny glints in the walls shone in Osman's flashlight beam. He pointed the light toward the back of the room, toward a passage that led deeper into the mountain.

As we walked, a thick silence fell over us like a fog. As smooth as the walls of the cave were, the rock along the passageway was rough, covered with herky-jerky gashes and cracks. At the far end, Osman and I reached another opening, this one as small as the gap we'd slipped through. It led into solid blackness.

“Father! There's a hidden tunnel down here!” Osman crowed, his voice echoing along the walls.

From high above, Father whooped loud enough for us to hear. “God lord, Safi did it! She led us to our starting point. You'll be safe down there?”

I saw Father shudder as a rope-like shape leaped onto the floor.

Safi.

“Our fearless leader is here,” I said. “We're in good paws.”

Father tossed down another flashlight, which I caught. “We'll be waiting on the other side,” he said. “We'll see you when you come out with the treasure!”

He was trying to sound trusting and confident. But he didn't fool me.

Wednesday, 11:37
P.M.

S
ORRY, HAD TO
settle an argument over who drank Gencer's raki. The answer was Safi. She is, as you can imagine, fast asleep. Okay, where was I?

Right. This morning in the tunnel.

So I scampered ahead of Osman, swinging my flashlight from side to side. I ducked my head to avoid stalactites; the uneven walls scraped my elbows.

Being shorter, Osman should have had an easier time, but he fell behind, screaming in his bravest Bartevyan voice, “Hey, wait up!”

Safi peeked her head out of my jacket. “It's okay, Safi,” I said. “We'll slow down. My little brother is investigating secret codes in the walls. Or maybe he's just afraid.”

“Little brother?” echoed Osman's voice. “In case you missed that day in biology, twins means born at the same time.”

“In case you missed that day in common sense, that is physically impossible,” I replied. “I was born ten minutes earlier.”

“Wow,” Osman said. “I wonder what it'll feel like when I'm that old, Safi.”

Osman pushed past and stomped ahead of me in the dark. His flashlight beam flitted across the walls, then disappeared. I rounded a corner and saw him, standing still in
the center of a large cavern.

“Unbelievable . . . ,” he said in a hushed voice.

“What?” I asked.

He turned to me, his eyes wide. “It's ten minutes later and it feels exactly the same.”

Diary, would it be wrong for a girl to wring her brother's neck?

I arced my flashlight around the massive chamber. Scenes from old battles played themselves out on the walls in faded blacks, yellows, blues, reds—bearded soldiers brandishing spears, a winged woman holding a yellow ball of fire, and a square-jawed king wearing a glorious robe and holding an ornate staff topped by an inverted triangle.

I let out a gasp. Osman was slack-jawed. “Father was right,” he said. “This is the Big One! This is it!”

His flashlight played along one of the walls. At the base of a flaking image were dark, charcoal lines. Some kind of writing. “I think I can read this . . . ,” Osman said in a hushed voice. “Those books we picked up from the library trash . . . one of them was about hieroglyphics and runes . . .”

Osman leaned closer, moving his lips silently. “What does it say?” I asked.

“‘The Ring of . . . Har . . . pay . . . Harpagus,'” he exclaimed with glee, “. . . shall be revealed to the firstborn son of the Lord of Antiquities, known to all as Osman
the Wise, ruler of his sister, Aliyah the Lame and Half-Witted . . .”

I would have bopped his head with the flashlight if it weren't trained on something against the opposite wall—three large wooden rectangular containers, leaning up against the rock. I moved closer, running the light up and down rotting, ancient planks with faded traces of rich decoration. “Coffins . . . ,” I murmured.

“Smells more like tea,” Osman said.

“Not coffee, coffins—look!” I said.

Osman's face fell. “Okay, this isn't a treasure room, it's a grave. And we're after money, not mummies.”

“Where do you think treasures were buried?” I said. “With the dead! Maybe King Harpagus was buried here!”

“He wasn't a king, he was a rattrap,” Osman said meekly. “You said so.”

“Satrap,” I corrected him. “Maybe Safi sniffed out Harpagus, lying in there with his ring still on his finger.”

“Finger bone . . . ,” Osman said.

“Are you afraid?” I asked, stepping into the room.

“Not if you go first.” Osman's face had lost its color, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He followed me into a dank, musty room, its air acrid and freezing cold. “What's that smell?”

“Vole poop,” I said with a shrug. “Or maybe bat.”

“Stop it!” Osman said, still staring at the coffins. “You're
forcing out the
Brave
from Bartevyan! You're leaving just the . . .” He thought a moment. “
Tyan
!”

But I was training my flashlight at the ceiling, to a small recess, partway up the wall—a squarish natural shelf formed by the rock. In it, I could make out a dark, rectangular shape about a foot long. “What's that?” I asked.

Osman gulped. “Doesn't exactly scream ‘This is a ring box!' to me,” he said.

“But if it is,” I said, “we wouldn't have to disturb the Addams Family over there, against the wall.”

“Good point!” Osman stood under the recess, knelt, and braced his hands against the wall. “You go first. On my shoulders. Don't say I never helped you out.”

“Can you hold my weight?” I asked.

“Depends on how much filet mignon you ate last night,” he said as I cautiously stepped onto his shoulder.

The walls were freezing cold, and sparkles of frost danced on the stone in front of me. My eyes barely reached the opening.

I fished out my flashlight and thrust it forward. The beam lit up a small carved stone box, covered in symbols that resembled the ones on the walls. I reached forward to take it, my head echoing with Father's favorite words, “Trust me, Aliyah . . .”

Something was scrabbling against my stomach. I nearly fell.

Safi.

Her pinprick claws danced up my sleeve, and in an instant she was climbing onto the ledge. Pain shot up my arm, and I let out an involuntary yelp. Safi squeaked and threw herself backward over my face, her claws buried in my scalp. My arms windmilled as I tried to get my balance back. I reached upward. Clasping the box, I toppled off Osman's shoulders.

I hit the ground with a thump. I blinked my eyes to see Osman standing over me, his flashlight trained on the box, which lay on my chest.

“What's inside it?” he asked.

“I'm fine, thank you very much!” I snapped.

He was already on his knees, reaching for the box. “Ali, you're a genius. We're rich. We'll split this fifty-fif—”

As he flung open the lid of the box, a musty smell wafted out. Osman's face went slack.

Inside the chest was a skeletal hand with nothing but wisps of leathery skin hanging off its bony fingers. No ring in sight.

I didn't feel disgust, Diary. I'd been here too many times before. Looking for treasure only to find junk. Father and his stupid schemes!

“I guess someone took the ring but left the hand!” I started to slam the chest shut.

“Yeeeow!” Osman cried out, jerking his hand away. “Are
you trying to leave my hand in there, too?”

“Sorry!” I felt awful. I should never let my anger get the better of me.

Grimacing, Osman staggered backward, toward the opposite wall. Toward the coffins. “Osman, careful—”

Too late. His back connected with the tallest box. The fragile, rotted wood splintered with a dry
crrraaack
.

I watch in horror as Osman and the coffin toppled together to the floor in a cloud of splintering wood and bone. I felt light-headed. My little brother was screaming, rigid, lying in the embrace of a grinning skeleton. As Osman flailed, his feet twisted in the splintered wood, the skeleton moved with him as if it were alive.

“Aliyah, help me!” he cried.

So what did I do, dear Diary? What heroic act? I stood there like a mannequin, frozen, doing nothing—until I noticed a set of furry, jointed black legs crawling up my brother's calves.

Finally I leaped forward and kicked at them, sending a black shape flying into the darkness. Osman jumped, disentangling himself, staggering, doubled over with nausea.

Now I could see a huge black spider—easily the size of my hand—scurrying out from beneath the skeleton. It was followed by another . . . and another . . .

“Look out!” I shouted, yanking my brother away by the arm. The spiders scurried away on all eights. I heard a
hissing noise and turned to see Safi scrabbling with another of the little beasts. I wasn't sure if she wanted to bat it away or eat it. I stomped on one spider and flicked another off Osman's knee. We both began dancing frantically through the chamber, squashing spiders the size of rodents. I felt each one pulsing beneath the soles of my shoes.

As the last of the living spiders skittered away into the shadows I fought back the desire to puke. When I looked down I saw Osman had given in to his desire. We each swung our flashlights around the chamber. “Are you okay?” I asked.

Osman nodded. “Safi . . . ,” he said, catching his breath. “What happened to the ferret?”

My flashlight beam caught a flash of white in the far corner of the chamber, by the floor. Safi's white, fluffy tail. It was just disappearing into a crack in the wall.

“No!” I groaned.

“W-we can't lose her,” Osman said. “Feyyaz will be furious!”

I thought about Feyyaz chopping off the fingers of the man who hadn't sufficiently bowed to him. What would he do to someone who lost his ferret? I ran to the wall, lay flat on my belly, and thrust my hand into the small hole Safi had found. I felt it give a little and a few inches crumbled away. My fingers brushed Safi's fur, and I felt her leap backward. How much room did she have in there? I scraped at the
edges of the hole I'd made, and more of the wall crumbled into my hand. Osman crouched next to me. “Safi! Come out!” he cooed. He knocked his fist against the wall.

A hollow thud echoed through the treasure chamber. Osman looked at me. “It's . . . plaster?” he said.

Without a word, we began pulling at it with our fingers. Plaster flaked off in great piles until we'd opened a space the size of our heads about an inch off the floor. Safi was on the other side, and she froze in the beams of our flashlights, looking relieved (as much as a ferret can, I guess).