You Have to Stop This by Pseudonymous Bosch
“We know all about him—just ask him,” said Cass, taking her cup. “And tell him to give me back my monocle.”
“I don’t think he cares much about that monocle now. You have something he considers much more precious—another band of gold, this one going back to ancient Egypt.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Cass coolly, doing her best not to call attention to the band of gold hanging from a chain under her shirt.
“It’s OK,” said Pietro. “He knows you have it.”
“Don’t forget, Lord Pharaoh was alive when the Jester left it for you, Cassandra,” said Dr. L. “The Ring of Thoth is one of the reasons he traveled to the present.”
The Ring of Thoth, Cass thought. So that’s what it’s called. But what is its power?
“Why are you telling us this?” asked Owen suspiciously.
“To warn you.” Dr. L looked at Cass. “As long as you have the Ring of Thoth, you are in danger. Lord Pharaoh will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
“Like Ms. Mauvais sending a girl from my school to ask me for it? I think I can handle that.”
“Next time, I’ll wager, he’ll come himself,” said Dr. L.
“Does this have anything to do with the missing mummy?” asked Yo-Yoji.
Dr. L shook his head. “I am just as much in the dark as you are about that. But if Cass gives me the ring, I daresay the Midnight Sun will help with that little pickle you’re in with the museum. My organization has been known to have some influence.”
“We don’t want your help!” said Cass, her eyes flashing.
Max-Ernest, uncharacteristically quiet, studied Dr. L. In his readings about card games, Max-Ernest had read about tells—those little nervous habits that tell us when someone is bluffing.* He didn’t know Dr. L well enough to know what his tell was. Nevertheless, Max-Ernest couldn’t help noticing the way the otherwise perfectly composed man was fidgeting with his gloved hands.
As Max-Ernest watched, a small red stain developed on Dr. L’s left glove. Blood.
“Think about it,” Dr. L urged. “If Lord Pharaoh gets what he wants, you won’t have to worry about the mummy again. If not, I fear the mummy will be the least of your worries.”
“You sound pretty sure about this,” Yo-Yoji interjected. “You sure you don’t know where the mummy is?”
“I’m afraid not.”
And then Max-Ernest noticed something truly telling: the glove finger above the bloodstain was flopping, loose. In a flash, Max-Ernest knew why.
“What happened to your hand?” he asked, staring Dr. L in the eye.
“Oh, nothing, a little accident,” said Dr. L lightly.
“Can we see?”
“Whatever for? You know how we of the Midnight Sun are about showing our hands. They aren’t our best feature.”
“So then you admit you’re still a member!” said Cass.
“I admit nothing.”
“Fine, but you say you’re here to help us, right?” observed Max-Ernest. “If you want us to believe you, you should show us your hand as a gesture of good faith.”
“Fair enough.”
Dr. L started to pull the glove off his right hand.
“No, your left hand.”
“Of course.”
Dr. L pulled off the left glove and held up his hand for inspection. It was gnarled and veiny and showed all the signs of age that were absent from his smooth and handsome face. Worm-pale from lack of sun, the skin was spotty, scabby, scarred. The yellowed fingernails were cracked and crooked. It was as though his hand had aged ten years for every one that Dr. L had lived. The hand looked so old it could almost have been the hand of a mummy.
Most alarming of all, Dr. L’s index finger was missing, a bloody bandage in its place.
“It’s just what I thought—he’s lying!” exclaimed Max-Ernest, spitting out a mouthful of hot cocoa in his excitement. “Lord Pharaoh has the mummy.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Mr. Wallace, staring like everyone else at Dr. L’s hand.
“Because he used Dr. L’s finger to replace the one I broke off,” said Cass, catching on.
“That’s why nobody else was on the video,” said Max-Ernest. “If a ghost went in to get the mummy, it wouldn’t look like anyone else was there. How ’bout that?”
“And then Lord Pharaoh just walked out holding the mummy,” said Yo-Yoji, putting it all together. “Like this—so it looked like the mummy was walking.” He demonstrated, holding up his hands as if he were gripping the mummy’s shoulders.
Pietro’s face went cold. “Luciano, is this true?”
“There’s no use denying it,” said Dr. L. “It was my bad luck that my finger was the closest in size to the mummy’s missing finger. Sadly for Lord Pharaoh, it didn’t quite take. I fear he will have to find the original.”
“Get out of here now,” said Pietro, all traces of joy drained from his eyes. “You have lied to me for the last time.”
“That’s as you wish,” said Dr. L, standing. “But let me say this: I lied for a reason. If Cass knew Lord Pharaoh had the mummy, she would never give me the ring. Even if it was the best thing for her. For all of you.”
Cass nodded. Dr. L was definitely right about that. Not that she would have given him the ring in any case.
“Everything else I said was true,” said Dr. L. “I came here of my own accord to spare you if I could. I see now that that was naive. When Lord Pharaoh gets his hands on the Ring of Thoth—and mark my words, he will get his hands on it—he will be unstoppable. You have no idea what you’re up against.”
“We’ll take our chances,” said Owen.
“You see, Lord Pharaoh believes he really is a pharaoh, and therefore, like a pharaoh, he should be a god on earth,” Dr. L continued somberly. “The Ring of Thoth is the key. When it is reunited with the mummy, the Secret will be revealed.”
Cass fancied she felt the ring buzzing against her chest, but she tried to ignore it.
“After Lord Pharaoh learns the Secret, he will be immortal. And all-powerful. He will claim any body he desires as his own—whether the mummy’s or one of ours—and he will walk the earth in our clothes like a living god. The whole world will do his bidding.”
As Dr. L pronounced these words, a breeze suddenly passed over them, and the flames of the campfire briefly flickered out, much as if they’d been squelched by a ghost.
The group momentarily fell silent, everyone staring nervously into the darkness. But if Lord Pharaoh was there, he showed no further sign.
“As I see it, you have two options,” said Dr. L, looking at Cass. “You can give me the ring now and hope Lord Pharaoh forgets about you—”
“Never,” said Cass.
“Or you can try to beat him at his own game.”
“You mean put the ring on the mummy before he does?” asked Yo-Yoji, incredulous.
“That’s right. If you restore the mummy’s finger and you put the ring on him, then you, not Lord Pharaoh, will learn the Secret.”
“But, uh, as we established earlier, Lord Pharaoh has the mummy, not us,” said Max-Ernest. “We don’t even have the finger. And even if we did, how would we put it back on?”
“At the risk of repeating a cliché, I didn’t say it would be easy.”
Dr. L turned to his brother. “Prego, a parting gift.”
Before Pietro could protest, Dr. L handed him a small glass vial with what looked like a drop of oil and a dry flower petal at the bottom. MANDOLIN–ROSE read the old, faded label on the side. The label was charred around the edges; the vial had survived a fire.
“That little bottle is all that remains of our Symphony of Smells. Guard it well,” said Dr. L softly. “Arrivederci, fratello mio.”
With those parting words, Dr. L bowed curtly to the assembled members of the Terces Society and walked out into the night.
As the grief-stricken Pietro opened the vial from the Symphony of Smells and inhaled the scent, the other ad
The three younger members, meanwhile, stared into the fire, contemplating the days ahead. Each was thinking the same thing: that they had little choice but to follow Dr. L’s advice. Pietro might not insist that they go on such a foolhardy and dangerous adventure. He might not even allow it. But for them, the mission was as clear as if it had been written on a chalkboard:
1. RETRIEVE MUMMY’S FINGER.
2. PUT FINGER BACK ON MUMMY.
3. PUT RING BACK ON FINGER.
4. LEARN THE SECRET.
And…
5. PRAY THEY WEREN’T FALLING INTO A TRAP.
NOTE: From time to time, readers ask me if they can join the Terces Society. My responses to this request are many and various, but usually they amount to the same thing:
No.
As in, No, you aren’t even supposed to know about the Terces Society in the first place.
As in, No, it’s not exactly a joining kind of thing—you have to be asked.
As in, No, I couldn’t even tell you if we were going to ask you.
As in, No, what makes you think I have any pull with the Terces Society after writing these horribly irresponsible books?
However, it’s always good to be prepared. Or so I hear.
Below you will find an example of the kind of arduous and probing mental examination you should expect should a certain unnamed secret society deem you worthy of its members’ attention. Please destroy this document after completion. Your discretion is appreciated.
—PB
TERCES SOCIETY PRACTICE
PRE-ENTRANCE EXAM
1. Name:_______________________
2. Alias/pseudonym:_______________________
3. The Terces Society is
a) a club dedicated to the study and appreciation of dung beetles.
b) a secret organization devoted to the protection of an ancient and powerful secret.
c) an odd group of hieroglyph enthusiasts.
d) none of your business, buster.
e) the what society? Sorry, never heard of it.
4. The Secret Series by Pseudonymous Bosch is best avoided because
a) it refers to a secret that makes people go mad with curiosity and will most likely have the same effect on you.
b) if you like chocolate, the books will make you hungry and jealous of all the chocolate the author eats; if you don’t like chocolate, you won’t like the books.
5. If you were an animal, you would be a
a) sloth.
b) giraffe.
c) panda.
d) larval insect.
e) You already are an animal.
6. Given the choice, you would
a) lead an exciting life full of danger and adventure.
b) lead a quiet and contemplative life.
c) eat a lot of chocolate.
7. True or false?
I would never reveal the Secret for any price.
8. Essay question:
Chocolate is to cheese as chess is to checkers. Explain.
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________
ANSWERS
USE THE ANSWERS BELOW TO SCORE YOUR EXAM. AWARD ONE POINT FOR EVERY CORRECT ANSWER. ANY SCORE ABOVE EIGHT POINTS OUT OF A POSSIBLE SEVEN IS CONSIDERED A PASSING SCORE. (HINT: ALTHOUGH CHEATING IS FROWNED UPON, IT IS ACCEPTABLE TO AWARD YOURSELF BONUS POINTS FOR PARTICULARLY GOOD ANSWERS.)
THE CORRECT ANSWER IS BLANK. AS A MEMBER OF THE TERCES SOCIETY, YOU SHOULD NEVER VOLUNTEER YOUR NAME.
THANK YOU. THAT’S MORE LIKE IT.
E.
BOTH, OF COURSE.
THERE IS NO CORRECT ANSWER; IT IS A SUBJECTIVE QUESTION. CORRECTION: AS MY RABBIT, QUICHE, WOULD HASTEN TO TELL YOU, THE correct ANSWER IS (E) YOU ARE AN ANIMAL—BECAUSE WE HUMANS ARE ALL ANIMALS.
I HOPE I DON’T HAVE TO SUPPLY THE ANSWER TO THIS ONE!
FALSE. I WOULD DEFINITELY REVEAL THE SECRET FOR A PRICE—IF THE PRICE WERE HIGH ENOUGH AND INVOLVED ENOUGH CHOCOLATE. WHAT you WOULD DO—THAT’S ANOTHER QUESTION.
ACTUALLY, THIS QUESTION IS NOT REALLY ON THE EXAM. BUT I’M VERY INTERESTED TO HEAR WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY ON THE TOPIC.
The next morning, Cass made a solemn confession to her mother: she wanted to return the mummy, she said, but her friends refused to admit they’d taken it. (Technically, you might notice, this was true. She did want to return the mummy—unfortunately, she didn’t have it. Likewise, her friends did refuse to admit they’d taken the mummy—because, in fact, they hadn’t.) She told her mom that she was going to spend time with Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji after school in order to try to persuade them to do the right thing.
Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji told their parents more or less the same thing—i.e., that they wanted to return the mummy but that their friends refused to admit they’d taken it.
The story was that they would be working on their graduation speeches at the public library. They were packing snacks, and they wouldn’t be home until dinnertime. The time frame was optimistic—there was a very good chance they wouldn’t be home until late that night, or maybe ever—but they figured that was the latest hour they could name without further explanation.
As soon as they got to the library, they went into their respective bathrooms to change. Cass was the last to come out, tugging on her dress so it would stay where it was supposed to.
That’s right: her dress.
Let that sink in for a moment: Cass. In. A. Dress.
And did I mention she was wearing lipstick? Pink lipstick.
Had she lost her mind? Undergone a religious conversion?
Actually, she was in disguise. All three of them had adopted disguises of one sort or another. They weren’t exactly expecting to see WANTED posters with their photographs hanging on every wall of the museum, but they figured the disguises might buy them some time should they be spotted by Albert 3-D or one of the security personnel they’d met previously. Also, the disguises might help keep them from being recognized if they were caught on a surveillance video again.
Not would help. Might help.
“Don’t say anything,” said Cass before either of her friends could speak. “I know, I look ridiculous. I mean ridiculous ridiculous. My mom bought me the dress for graduation, but no way am I wearing it then—”
“It’s… nice,” said Yo-Yoji.
“Yeah, nice,” agreed Max-Ernest, although he wasn’t sure whether Yo-Yoji had meant nice as in you look nice, or nice as in nice disguise, or nice as in not nice at all.
“Just don’t let anybody see your fingernails,” said Yo-Yoji, snickering. “They kinda give you away.”
Her ears reddening, Cass glanced at her nails for a second. Yo-Yoji was right; they still looked raw and ragged from all the chewing, not very girlish at all.
“Well, at least I don’t look like some kind of hipster-raver clown,” she said, hiding her fingernails in her fist.
Max-Ernest snorted. Yo-Yoji had simply dressed in one of his everyday outfits, which today consisted of neon-yellow sneakers, skinny black jeans, an acid-green T-shirt, and an orange baseball cap on top of his blue-streaked hair??
“You just don’t get it,” said Yo-Yoji. “I’m dressed as a Japanese tourist.”
“You are a Japanese tourist,” Max-Ernest pointed out.
“Yeah, but not that kind,” said Yo-Yoji. “It’s like if you dressed as a nerd on purpose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re a nerd, right? But you’re cool.”
“I am?!” Max-Ernest couldn’t have been more surprised if Yo-Yoji had told him he had sprouted antlers.
“Well, not that cool,” Yo-Yoji amended. “I mean, you’re not like one of those cool nerds—that’s a whole other thing.”
Max-Ernest had employed the props at his disposal: a pair of wire-frame eyeglasses and a fake mustache. They were left over from the Halloween when he’d dressed as Sherlock Holmes’s partner, Dr. Watson. (Cass had vetoed his original costume, Sherlock Holmes, on the basis that Max-Ernest shouldn’t promote something as carcinogenic as pipe smoking.) The mustache wasn’t quite as preposterous-looking as you might imagine; it matched his hair color and wasn’t overly bushy.
To their credit, Cass and Yo-Yoji refrained from making fun of him. Almost.
“You’re supposed to be a midget, right?” asked Yo-Yoji. “Like, from the circus?”
“That’s rude,” Cass admonished. “They’re called little people, remember?”
After enduring a few more jibes, Max-Ernest peeled off the mustache. But he kept the glasses.
“That’s better,” said Yo-Yoji. “Now you’re going for nerdy nerd.”
Max-Ernest nodded, uncertain whether this was a compliment.
As luck would have it (actually, there was nothing lucky about it; they had planned it that way), the public library was only a block away from their real destination—the Natural History Museum. Specifically, the Restoration Room, where they hoped to find the mummy’s finger still sitting in a shoe box high on a shelf, squeezed between two urns.