Читать книгу Gladiator Clash - Chris Blake - Страница 7

Squeak-thump, squeak-thump, squeak-thump.

Tom Sullivan loved the noise that his trainers made on the shiny floor of the museum. He drank in the smell of wood polish and three-thousand-year-old dust. All the lights were off, apart from those in the display cabinets. All the visitors had gone home. It was just him and Dad.

He reached his dad’s office. It was on the first floor, at the end of the Ancient Greece section. The brass nameplate on the door said ‘Dr James Sullivan, Archaeologist’.

“One day I’ll have one just like it,” Tom said to himself. “‘Tom Sullivan, History Genius’. Ha!”

He knocked on the door.

“Hi, Dad, will you be long?” Tom asked.

Dad was poring over a sheaf of papers, which were scattered across his untidy desk. “Eh?” he replied.

“Do I have time to explore a bit more?” Tom said.

Dad looked up at him, his bright blue eyes staring out blankly from behind his glasses. “Oh, I’m not hungry, thanks,” he said. “I don’t like cheese and pickle.” He turned his attention back to the papers.

Tom knew his dad was lost in a world of his own, full of pyramids and Romans and Vikings. “I’m off to fight with some gladiators now, Dad,” he said. “Maybe some cavemen too.”

“That’s nice,” Dad mumbled.

Tom wandered through the familiar corridors, peering into the display cases of his favourite exhibits. In the hall of Ancient Greece, he admired the feathered Greek army helmets. In the Viking section, he marvelled at the shields and swords covered in strange letters. As he walked through the hall of Medieval Britain, he waved at some models of men wearing chainmail. Finally, saving the best until last, he went down the stairs to the Ancient Egyptian section.

Tom loved history and liked to pretend he could travel through time. He lunged towards a brightly painted sarcophagus, using his pen as a sword. “Watch out, pharaoh!” he told the exhibit behind the glass. “I’m a deadly swordsman from the future. Your armies will never defeat me!”

Then, with flailing arms, he started to fight off a band of imaginary Ancient Egyptian attackers, running backwards as if he was being chased.

Tom stumbled and tripped, only noticing the statue labelled ‘Goddess Isis’ when it was too late. He smacked into it at full force.

The statue wobbled to the right, then it rocked back to the left. Tom rushed forward to save it. “Nooo…!” he cried. But he was too late. The statue toppled on to the floor and smashed into a million pieces.

“Uh oh,” Tom gulped. “Dad’s going to kill me! The museum’s going to kill me! Everyone’s going to kill me!”

Tom’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the mess. There were pottery fragments everywhere. Then something very strange began to happen. The bits started to move and shake.

Tom gasped as five fingers reached out from what was left of the statue. The fingers were wrapped in dirty, torn bandages. Like an Egyptian mummy! Tom stared in shock as the fingers stretched out into a hand, opening and closing as if it was trying to grab him. The hand was followed by a wrist, then an arm…

Suddenly a whole, groaning, child-sized mummy sprang from the wreckage. The shape of some sort of mummified animal stood next to it. Both were wrapped head to toe in crusty shreds of cloth, the loose ends flapping as they moved. They looked at Tom and started walking towards him.

“Aaaargh! Don’t hurt me!” Tom cried.

But to his surprise the bandaged animal started to purr and then circle round his leg in a friendly manner.

Tom stared down at it. “Oh my gosh! Is that really a cat?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes, of course! It’s my cat, Cleo!” the mummy said, with a young girl’s voice.

The mummy stood up tall, which, Tom noticed, wasn’t as tall as him, and straightened its back with a crack. A cloud of dust billowed round the mummy and wafted to the floor, as if someone had beaten a grimy rug with a stick.

“Y-you spoke!” Tom said, wiping his sweaty palms on his school trousers.

The mummy folded its arms. “Well, of course I spoke! What did you expect me to do?”

“Er… but… I can understand you.”

“I’m not surprised. Father always said I was special,” the mummy sniffed. “That’s why he named me after the goddess of magic. My name’s Princess Isis Amun-Ra. I’m ten. Who are you?”

Tom scratched his head in exactly the same way his dad had done. “I’m Tom,” he said.

The ragged Egyptian princess frowned. “Just Tom? You don’t have a title?”

“Sorry if that’s not good enough for you,” said Tom, slightly annoyed.

“I suppose it’ll have to be,” Isis said. She picked up the scrawny cat mummy. “We’ve been stuck inside that statue for a zillion, billion years. Cleo’s not much of a talker, unfortunately. I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored.”

Tom looked properly at Isis. She didn’t seem quite so scary now that he knew she was just a ten year old like him. Even though she looks in worse shape than my great-grandma and smells weird, he thought. But, despite the fact that he was fascinated by this mummy-girl, Tom started to edge towards the door. He had seen films about mummys coming to life and he knew they liked to eat brains.

“Look,” he said. “I’m going to have to go home very soon. So… it was nice meeting you. Bye!”

“You can’t just leave me here. Take me with you,” Isis commanded, putting a hand on her hip.

“No way!” Tom said. “You’re an Ancient Egyptian mummy. My mum will go nuts if you drop bits of bandage all over my bedroom.”

“Bandage? My father was King of Egypt. These are regal wrappings, I’ll have you know!” Isis snapped.

“Look, Your Royal Dustiness, I’m a lowly human boy with a brand-new carpet and a mum who doesn’t care much for mess. So that kind of rules out grotty, ancient house guests – even princesses.”

Clomp, clomp, clomp. Suddenly, Tom heard footsteps getting closer.

“Dad’s coming!” he said. “Quick! Hide!”

Isis shook her head. “Hide? You must be joking! I’ve only just got out of that statue. I’m not hiding away again.”

“Tom!” Dad called out.

In a panic, Tom glanced around the room. For a second he thought about bundling Isis and Cleo into the shadows. But that would never work. Isis was rooted to the spot, arms folded. Cleo wrapped herself around Isis’s ankles. Tom made do with hastily kicking some of the broken pieces of pottery behind a nearby display case.

As Dad walked in, Tom stood in front of Isis and Cleo, desperately trying to make himself big enough to hide them both.

“Ah, there you are!” Dad said. “Having fun?”

Tom looked at his dad’s face. He didn’t seem to have seen Isis or Cleo, even though they were both standing right behind Tom.

“Yep,” he said.

Then Isis stepped forward and waved at his dad. Tom’s heart flipped over in his chest. He tried hopping to one side to hide her again.

“I’ll be ready to go in five,” Dad said. “OK?” Then he shuffled off back to his office as though nothing unusual was going on.

Tom breathed out slowly. “I don’t believe it. Dad didn’t even notice you. It was like you were… invisible!”

“Well, that decides it,” Isis said merrily. “We’re coming home with you, whether you like it or not.” She clapped her hands together in a cloud of dust. “Lead the way! I haven’t got all day, you know.”