Entombed Read online

  Cover

  Title Page

  Code Page

  Hystorian File

  Entombed

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  You’re about to uncover the secrets behind some of history’s most pivotal moments.

  And with knowledge comes a special reward.

  The seven Infinity Ring Secrets stories each contain a fragment of a code. Collect the fragments in order to assemble a complete ten-digit code. Then:

  Go to scholastic.com/infinityring.

  Click on the “Add a Book or Code” button.

  Enter the ten-digit Infinity Ring Secrets code to unlock an exclusive medal!

  The code fragment for this story is:

  Hystorian File #1818029031

  In the early nineteenth century, Egypt was in a state of flux. Following a brief and unsuccessful invasion by the French, the country descended into chaos until the rise of an ambitious and powerful new leader, Muhammad Ali, who established a dynasty that would rule the region for more than a hundred years.

  It was too late, though, to keep the SQ out of Egypt. During the power struggles that preceded the rise of Ali, the SQ had managed to worm its way into the country. By 1818, they were on the rise, amassing power and wealth. But they had no idea of the dangers that awaited them within the ancient Pyramids. . . .

  AKIL HAD good hands.

  Of course, they weren’t pretty. His tanned brown skin was speckled with scars, dirt rimmed his cuticles, and his nails were bitten down to little stubs. But pretty wasn’t useful to a city kid.

  His hands served him well. He was strong, and his fingers were long and nimble and quick.

  And right now, his fingers were gently removing the money from the robe of a shopper in Khan el-Khalili, Cairo’s central market. She was so absorbed in talking to her friend that she didn’t notice him, right behind her.

  Akil was a thief. At only eleven years old, he was already one of the best he knew. He’d been stealing ever since he could remember. Just small jobs, mostly, to help support his family. With five other siblings, and his father often out of work, it was hard to get by. So when Akil came home with a shirt or some fruit he had “found” at the market, or some money he had “earned” doing odd jobs, it was always appreciated, no questions asked. He wasn’t proud to be a thief, but he didn’t see any other way.

  His current target was a particularly easy one. It had been a hot, clear day, and as the sun set, the city was gradually cooling off. The market was packed with people taking advantage of the beautiful evening, brushing shoulders as they squeezed past one another. This woman had no idea what was happening as, in a flash, Akil’s stealthy fingers tucked her money safely away in a small pouch he wore on his belt. Quickly, he darted away into the crowd, putting distance between himself and the woman.

  The people of Cairo poured through the narrow aisles, stopping to bargain with vendors and admire the goods. There were huge jars of spices: golden turmeric, aromatic cloves, long cinnamon sticks, tiny coriander seeds, and brick-red paprika. One vendor was unrolling bolts of linen, and another was showing off long beaded necklaces and scented oils.

  Happy with his stash for the day, Akil wove through the crowd without paying too much attention to the bustle around him. Whenever he was scouting out a new target, he was alert and quick, noticing details while making sure that he never stood out from the crowd. But now, relaxing, he allowed himself to stroll home just like any other carefree boy.

  Just then, he felt a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder.

  Spinning around, Akil found himself face-to-face — well, face-to-chest — with Mohamed, the biggest, meanest bully to ever show his face in Khan el-Khalili.

  A wide smile stretched across Mo’s wide face. A smile, Akil knew, that did not bode well for him.

  “Well, well,” Mo boomed. Two of his buddies appeared on either side of him, hemming Akil in. “How’s it going today, Akil? Doing a little shopping?” His grin, if it were possible, grew wider still, and Akil’s heart sank. He knew that all his hard work that day would be going to the Feed Mo fund.

  Mo’s parents had plenty of money, but his father was a notorious SQ thug, and had brought Mo up to be a thug, too. If you were SQ in Cairo at the beginning of the nineteenth century, you were used to getting everything you wanted.

  Akil tried to back up, but Mo’s hand clenched tighter on his shoulder.

  “Don’t you want to share?”

  Akil stuck out his empty hands, palms up. “Look, guys, I don’t have anything. Not a lucky day for me.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Mo said. Without waiting for any further negotiations, he gave a nod to one of his friends, who started searching through all of Akil’s many pockets, pulling out two figs, a flatbread, and some coins.

  “That’s it?” Mo shook his head at Akil. “I’m disappointed, sahibi. Not a great stash today.”

  Akil just shrugged. He knew from experience that talking to these guys was a waste of time, and trying to run away would only leave him with a black eye or bloody nose.

  Mo grabbed one of the figs from his flunky and took a big bite. The sweet smell of the fruit made Akil’s stomach growl; he hadn’t eaten anything yet that day. Mo chewed with his mouth open, sending flecks of spit flying into Akil’s face. “All right, let’s get out of here,” he said, tossing the rest of the fruit on the ground. He gave Akil a push, sending him spinning into a cluster of elderly women, before heading off in the other direction, flanked by his friends.

  Akil hastily apologized to the five wrinkly ladies who were shooting death stares at him, and backed away. He should be thankful, he supposed, that they hadn’t found the small coin purse on his belt. But he was sick of Mo and those other meatheads storming around the city like they owned it, just because their parents were connected with the SQ.

  It wasn’t always like this. Akil’s parents told stories of a time before the SQ had such a stranglehold on the city. Cairo had never been perfect — far from it. It was hot and crowded and smelly. But at least at one point everyone had had an equal shot at living a good life. Now, if you refused to kowtow to the SQ big shots, you would probably find yourself out of a job. Akil’s parents rarely complained, but he suspected that the reason his father could never find work was because he had been blacklisted by the SQ ringleaders for refusing to give them a cut of his salary, or do their dirty work.

  Akil looked tiredly around the market. He considered staying, trying to nab a few more things to make up for what he’d lost to Mo. But it felt a little hopeless. Why steal from people who might be just as needy as he was, if it was only going to end up in Mo’s grubby hands? What was the point of taking all these risks if none of the loot made it back to his hungry family? He thought of Fatma, his baby sister, who was only just learning to walk, and with a sigh pulled out a few of the coins he had left and bought some bread and vegetables to bring home.

  The market was situated in a large, open square, bordered by a maze of narrow streets. Akil had left the square behind and was making his way home in the twilight. Pink and purple clouds floated on the horizon, and a light breeze picked up and flew through the alleyways. He could almost forget what a failure the day had been.

  “Boy!”

  Akil jumped. Was that shout meant for him?

  “Hey, boy!”

  He looked back. A block behind him was an old man with a white beard who was waving his walking stick in the air.

  “Are you deaf? Wait up!”

  Akil wasn’t sure whether to run away as fast as he could, or wait to see what this crazy old man wanted with him. Curiosity won out. He stood his ground and watched as the man hobbl
ed up to him.

  “Finally! I thought you’d never stop. Catching up to you is like sending a camel after a racehorse.” He broke out into a loud cackle. For Akil, always trying to slip through the streets without getting noticed, the burst of laughter was jarring. He turned to slip away, but the old man quickly stuck his walking stick in front of Akil’s legs.

  “Wait a minute, lad. I have a business offer for you.”

  That got Akil’s attention right away. He didn’t trust this guy, but if there was money involved, he was willing to listen to just about anything. “Yeah? A business offer? What kind?” He realized this crazy old man could turn out to be an important crazy old man, and tried to cover himself. “I mean, what kind, sir?”

  “Can I buy you a cup of tea and we’ll talk this over in a place where we’ll have a little more privacy?”

  Akil hesitated, then nodded.

  The old man turned around the corner and led Akil for a few blocks, until they reached an ahwa fancier than any Akil would ever visit on his own. This wasn’t a trick, was it? What could this old man possibly want from him? Peering through the door, Akil could see that there were other people seated inside. Well, nothing too bad could happen in front of all these witnesses, right? He ducked inside the small shop.

  Once they were seated, with snacks and steaming cups of tea, the man smiled warmly.

  “I’m very happy I found you today. I have an offer that I think you’ll like.”

  Akil had to gulp down a mouthful of smoky eggplant before he could answer. “So tell me about it,” he demanded. His voice came out rough. He didn’t mean to be rude, but he wasn’t used to sitting in fancy places, and he was better at stealing from old men than talking to them.

  “I’ve been watching you for a while now. I saw you today with those other boys” — Akil frowned, unhappy that someone had seen him get taken advantage of like that — “and I’ve seen you in the market, nabbing items when you think no one is looking.” At that, Akil stood up, shoving his chair back so quickly that it fell over, banging loudly on the tiled floor.

  “Hey, if you brought me here just so you could arrest me —”

  “Calm down, calm down. And stop attracting so much attention to yourself. That is the exact opposite of why I brought you here.”

  Curiosity really had a hold of him now. Akil picked up his chair and slowly sank down into it.

  “Now, where can I begin. . . . I need someone like you. Someone clever and fast, sneaky and brave. As you can see, I’m only a few of those things myself these days.

  “The reason is, well, I’m sure you know of the SQ. And if your relationship with those hoodlums is any indication, you don’t get along with them too well.”

  Akil nodded . . . then wondered if this man was an SQ agent. If so, he may have just signed his own death warrant.

  “I belong to an organization whose purpose is to stop the SQ from constantly gaining more power. From taking over country after country, until the world is theirs to run into the ground. You see, the SQ has caused history to go off its proper course, and the ultimate goal of the Hystorians — and I realize this will sound crazy to you — is to master the art of time travel, so that we can go back and fix what they have done.”

  At that, Akil decided he had heard enough. “Look, sir, I’m afraid you’re right. It does sound crazy. Traveling through time? I mean —”

  The old man cut him off. “You can choose whether or not to believe me. I don’t care either way. However, regardless of your reasons, if you do this job for me, I’ll give you enough money that your family will be taken care of for the rest of your life.”

  Akil raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

  Confident that he had the boy’s full attention, the old man continued. “The ancient Egyptians knew secrets of time. These people were our ancestors, but they were nothing like you and me. They lived three thousand years ago, and their knowledge has been lost to us for just as long. I’m sure you know of the Pyramids and the Great Sphinx outside our city?”

  “Yeah, of course —”

  “Well, some of the Pyramids were burial tombs for the pharaohs, our ancient rulers. Most of them. But there is one pyramid, the Great Pyramid of Giza, where no man was ever buried. For centuries people thought it was the tomb of Khufu, but in fact, it’s not a tomb at all. It’s not a pharaoh’s spirit that haunts those tunnels and passageways. It’s knowledge. Secrets. The key to moving through time. And that is what I need you to get for me.”

  That night, Akil lay happily in the darkness, his hands resting on his full belly. He thought of the grape leaves and the pilaf and all the other treats the old man had pushed onto his plate. He’d stumbled onto some good luck, for once.

  The old man — who had never given his name — had agreed to give Akil a night to think the proposition over and make up his mind. They would meet the next morning at the ahwa and Akil would tell him his decision then.

  Akil figured it would be good to know more about the Pyramids — about what he was getting into. Before falling asleep, he asked his older brother, Omari, what he knew about them. But as soon as Omari started talking, Akil realized his question had been a mistake.

  “You know that the Pyramids are giant graves, right? And the pharaohs spent their whole lives building these tombs and packing them with goods and resources — jewelry, clothing, food, even boats — so that when they died they would have everything they needed for the afterlife. In order for the spirit to recognize the body after death, the bodies were mummified.” Omari turned to Akil and made his eyes bulge out. “Do you know how they mummified a dead body?” He reached his fingers out toward Akil’s face. “By pulling the brain out through the nose with a long hook.”

  Akil flinched away from his brother. “Yeah, right,” he mumbled.

  “It’s true. Anyway,” Omari continued in his spookiest voice, “in order to keep out tomb raiders, the pharaohs ordered that the pyramids be protected with terrible curses. They mummified snakes and put them inside the walls so that anyone who broke in would be attacked by their venomous ghosts —”

  “Aw, shut up, Omari,” Akil said. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”

  “— and they had their priests cast spells on the inner chambers so that intruders would be crushed by falling rocks, or stung by scorpions —”

  “I said, shut up.”

  Maybe Omari heard the anxiety in Akil’s voice, because for once he stopped teasing, and grew quiet. Slowly, his breathing grew heavy.

  After Omari fell asleep, Akil tossed and turned, trying to decide what to do. The ghost stories weren’t helping him make up his mind.

  If he accepted, he would have to find a way into the Great Pyramid and search through its mazelike passageways to find the chamber where the old man was convinced a secret scroll was hidden. “The key to moving through time,” he’d said. Whatever.

  If Akil succeeded, he’d earn enough money to take care of his family for the rest of their lives. As proof that he meant what he said, the old man had pressed a gold coin into Akil’s hand at the end of their conversation.

  If he decided not to take the job, the old man had promised there would be no consequences.

  Akil worried it over. It seemed, well, not easy. Exploring an ancient sealed pyramid sounded spooky and complicated. But what was the risk? There had to be more than the old man had let on, or else why was he approaching Akil, a nobody? With that much money, the old man could hire anyone he wanted.

  Akil shifted his weight to try to get more comfortable, trying not to wake his brothers, lined up on either side of him in their small room.

  It all came back to the SQ, he decided. Their interest in this must be more than the old man was letting on. He was probably afraid to approach anyone who could snitch on him. And the SQ would probably attempt to stop this expedition, if they found out about it.

 
Akil rubbed his fingers over the gold coin that he’d sewn into his shirt as soon as he’d gotten home.

  Dangerous or not, he knew he would take the job.

  The next day, Akil slipped his tools into his pocket and darted out of the house with a quick hug for his mom and a shout that he’d be back late that night. With his sister crying and two of his brothers wrestling on the floor, he knew his absence would barely be noticed.

  When he got to the ahwa, the man was already there, staring down into his cup of tea. He barely looked up as Akil sat down next to him.

  “Time is like a river, you know,” he said softly, swirling the tea around his glass. “But sometimes it feels more like a stagnant pool. . . .” He snapped out of his reverie. “What you’re about to do will improve the lives of more people than you can imagine. Not just people everywhere, but people always.”

  He looked at Akil intently. “I’m glad you took some time to consider my offer. As Aristotle said, ‘It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.’”

  “Hm?” Akil mumbled.

  “But,” the man continued, “I’m especially glad that you have decided to accept my offer. I thank you.”

  “I — I didn’t tell you I would do it yet.”

  “But you’re going to, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Akil admitted. “I am.”

  The man nodded once. “Good. The document I need you to get is an ancient blueprint of sorts. I don’t know exactly what it will look like, but my guess is that there will be a mark on it in the shape of the infinity symbol.”

  Akil looked at him blankly.

  “Okay . . . let me try to explain that better. It’s a mark that will look to you like . . . like a twisted snake, eating its own tail.”

  The old man pulled a piece of ancient folded paper out and handed it to Akil. “This is the best map I can provide. A Hystorian’s guide to the inside of the Pyramid.”