3-in-1: Zet and the Egyptian Mystery Cases Read online

  WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT

  SCOTT PETERS'

  NOVELS

  "Exciting." —Kindle Kid

  "Filled with suspense . . .

  will transport you back in time."

  —Scott Lisetor, Author,

  Planet of the Robots, Crash

  "A great read."—Spike Brown,

  Author, Escape to Molokai

  "Peters is such a natural and gifted storyteller."

  —Steve Donoghue, Historical Novel Society

  CONTENTS

  Mystery of the Egyptian Scroll

  Zet and the Egyptian Amulet Mystery

  Zet and the Egyptian Princess Mystery

  Map of Ancient Egypt

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Thanks

  Mystery

  of the

  Egyptian Scroll

  Case 1

  Scott Peters

  Chapter One

  The Thief

  Dust hung thick over the Thebes marketplace. Standing before a mountain of clay pots, twelve-year-old Zet swatted a fly from his shoulders. The fly dive-bombed his head, and he swatted it again.

  "Pots and dishes!" he shouted, waving a plate in the air.

  "You’re supposed to be drawing customers over here," his sister Kat said. "You're scaring them off!"

  "Sorry!" Still, Zet gave one last warning swipe at the fly.

  With a grin, he turned and leaped over the pots. He landed where his sister sat studying the record of trades. She didn't bother to look up. She was too busy staring at her calculations. Kat was eleven, and good with numbers and writing. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

  "We need to do something," she said. "We haven’t sold a single thing all day."

  "Make that all week," he said.

  She pushed her dark bangs from her eyes and glanced up at him. She looked worried.

  "Maybe it’s the heat," Zet said. "No one likes cooking when it’s this hot."

  "Maybe it’s because we’re kids?" She held up the pottery shard covered with her neatly printed hieratic. "According to these, for every week that father’s been gone, sales have dropped."

  She wasn’t the first one to think it. Zet had been wondering the same thing. He glanced across at a vegetable seller. Under his shaded awning, two women browsed the baskets loaded with beans and cabbages. A third bartered a length of fabric for her purchases.

  "If it’s true, that’s not fair. Our father is off fighting Hyksos to keep Egypt safe," Zet said.

  Maybe Zet was a kid, but he was as capable at running a stall as any of the adults. He’d promised he could take care of his family until his father returned, and his father trusted him. Maybe they were hungrier, but they wouldn’t starve. Zet wouldn’t let them. So why did he have this terrible knot in his stomach?

  He jumped up. "We just need to make things more interesting. I could learn to juggle. I could juggle dishes, that would bring people over."

  "Yes, but there would be nothing left to buy, because everything would be broken."

  "Have some faith!" Zet said.

  "We should rearrange the stall."

  Zet groaned. "Again?" Move the mountain of clayware a fourth time? No way. He’d already fallen for his sister’s logic once too often.

  "Don’t make that face," Kat said. "I’ve been taking notes, and when certain things are placed in view, those things draw customers over and—"

  A scuffle of feet and shouts broke out by the goat stall.

  Zet glanced across the market square. A man, deeply tanned, head shaved and wearing a threadbare tunic, broke free of the crowd and burst into view. The man sprinted around the goat pen, glanced back, and slammed into a basket of dates. The dates flew like cockroaches in every direction.

  "Stop!" the date-owner screeched.

  The man kept running.

  "Not this way!" Zet said, darting forward as the man bumped into a stack of pots. Zet grabbed the stack, righted it, and then flew through the air to catch a falling dish. He landed belly first, with the plate in perfect, pristine condition. He rolled over and looked for Kat.

  "See that? How’s that for juggling?"

  Kat’s eyes were on the far alley. So much for proving a point. He turned to see three medjay officers sprint into view. Two carried wooden staffs, one had a curved bronze sickle, and another had a dagger on his belt and a fiber shield in his left hand.

  "Where did he go?" one officer shouted.

  The date-stall owner, an old man named Salatis, pointed to where the man had disappeared. Two of the medjay tore after him. The clank of their weapons echoed down the alley and disappeared.

  The third medjay stood catching his breath. He was unarmed, but his gleaming insignia marked him as important, and his fists looked big enough to crush several thieves at once. The running had winded him. Zet wondered how long they'd kept up the chase.

  The medjay mopped sweat from his dark face. He bent and picked up one of the fallen baskets and handed it to Salatis.

  "I'd like to ask you a few questions," the medjay said, his voice deep and rumbling.

  "Why?" Salatis said.

  "I wondered if you recognized the man," the medjay said.

  "Me?" Salatis said, in almost a shriek.

  Zet rolled his eyes. It’s not like Salatis was in trouble. Still, no one wanted to be associated with thieves. That much Zet agreed with. You might get your hands cut off, or worse, your head.

  "Maybe you'd sold dates to him before," the medjay said.

  "How would I know?" Salatis said. "He was here and gone. And I don't remember my customers."

  The medjay hooked his thumb into his kilt. "I'm not accusing you of anything, vendor. I just want some help here. Did you see his face?"

  "All I saw were my dates, flying. Look at them!"

  The medjay looked at the dates scattered in the dust.

  "I can’t barter them now, can I? Who’s going to pay for this waste?"

  Kat nudged her brother and whispered, "Look at Salatis, piling them into that reed basket. He’s going to barter them anyway, isn’t he? Even though they’re all dirty!"

  Zet nodded, wrinkling his nose.

  The medjay's face turned red. He stepped up to Salatis and grabbed him by the collar of his dirty tunic. "Stop that. Show some respect when an officer’s questioning you."

  "I’m a victim here!"

  "And I’m trying to do my job. I'd appreciate your cooperation. This is no ordinary thief we're hunting."

  "They never are," Salatis snapped.

  The medjay sighed and looked skyward. He reached into a pouch and pulled out a coin. "There’s a deben of copper in it," he said, holding the shiny piece of metal to the light.

  At this, Zet started. A deben of copper? The medjay was willing to pay? He shoved the plate he’d saved into Kat’s arms, much to her surprise. Then he sprinted across the hot paving stones toward the officer.

  Chapter Two

  A Reward

  Standing in front of his date stall, Salatis seemed to have forgotten all about his ruined wares. He rubbed his hands together, eyes on the medjay's sparkling coin.

  "Well, now, come to think of it . . ." Salatis began.

  "I saw the thief!" Zet called. "I can describe him!"

  The medjay wheeled, his insignia gleaming.

  "Ignore that meddlesome boy!" Salatis said.

  "And who might you be?" the medjay asked.

  "I run the clay pot stall over there," Zet said, drawing himself up.

  "And you say you saw the thief?"

  Zet nodded.

  The deep grooves in the man's face relaxed a little. "G
o ahead. Tell me then, what did he look like?"

  "The deben, first please," Zet said, holding out his hand. He knew from his father to ask a customer for money before goods were transferred.

  The medjay laughed. "Pay you?"

  Zet's hand dropped a little. "You told Salatis you were going to pay for it."

  "Boy, if you saw something, tell me now or I’ll drag you down to the office of the head medjay."

  Zet's hand fell to his side.

  He had seen the thief, and there was one distinct detail he remembered clearly. But he didn’t see why he should give it up for free, just because he was a boy instead of a man. And with his father gone, he was the man. He needed the money as much as Salatis. More. Salatis lived alone, and Zet had not only his sister, but also his mother and his new baby brother back home.

  He glanced at the stall. Kat was staring at him, open-mouthed.

  He thought fast.

  "All right. I'll tell you what I know, as a free gift," Zet said.

  "It's not a gift, it's your duty."

  Zet ignored this. "But what's the reward if I hand over the robber, too?"

  The medjay laughed.

  "I mean it! I want to know. If it's a good business venture, I'll undertake it."

  Throwing his head back, the medjay laughed even harder. "A good business venture? Boy, I think your father taught you well in the ways of bartering. I'd offer a reward. But there's no point. You don't stand a chance of finding him."

  Zet liked the way the huge medjay's eyes crinkled around the corners. Here was a fighter with a sense of humor. Even if he was laughing at Zet, he was still listening to him. Zet wondered if he'd ever be that big one day.

  "Then take a gamble and give me a figure," Zet said.

  "Twenty deben of copper." The medjay tossed out the huge number with a reckless grin.

  Zet gasped, and so did Salatis. He could barter that for ten sacks of grain; enough to feed them for months!

  The thief must have stolen something incredibly valuable! "Twenty deben!" Zet said.

  "Yes. But camels have a better chance of flying than you do of seeing those twenty deben."

  "Shake on it," Zet said, making sure to seal the deal.

  The man's strong, leathery hand grasped Zet's and shook it.

  "And where will I find you?" Zet said.

  The medjay rolled his eyes. "You're a persistent one, aren't you? You'll find me at the central office. Ask for Merimose, that's my name."

  "Merimose," Zet said, committing it to memory.

  "Now that that business is complete," Merimose said, "How about my free information?"

  Zet cleared his throat. "The man you were chasing wore two different sandals."

  "Two different sandals?"

  Zet nodded. "They didn't match."

  "That's your information? And you wanted me to pay for it?" Merimose put his thick fists on his hips. "I should cuff you for wasting my time."

  But it was good information! And even if it wasn't the only information he had, it was free. Zet darted back to his stall in case Merimose tried to get in a smack or two.

  "What was all that about?" Kat said, still clutching the plate.

  She followed him to the back of the stall.

  "Listen to this!" Zet said.

  When he explained the way he'd argued with the man, Kat said he was showing off. Still, he was pretty sure she looked impressed. And that was before he told her about the reward.

  "Twenty deben!" she practically shouted. "That's more than we make in three months!"

  Zet grinned.

  Kat looked skeptical. "But I don't see how you can find the thief."

  "Think about the sandals," Zet said. "I told him they didn't match, but I didn't tell him I knew where the sandal-owner lived."

  "But you don't know—" She paused. He watched the realization dawn in her eyes. "That doorstep we pass, on our way home!"

  Zet nodded. "How many times have you grabbed my arm and made me look at those stupid sandals, lined up side-by-side, even though they're two different designs?"

  Her mouth hung open. "Zet, that's true!" Kat's face was bright. He could see her imagining writing the entry—twenty copper deben reward for finding a thief—on her pottery shards.

  "I'm going to go there," he said. "Watch the stall."

  Kat grabbed her brother's wrist. "Wait."

  "What is it?"

  "Be careful."

  "Of course I'll be careful," he scoffed. Then, seeing she was truly concerned, he grinned at her and gave her braids a tug. "Don't worry about me, little sister."

  Chapter Three

  The Stranger's Door

  Zet bounded over the pots and headed out of the marketplace.

  A cool alley quickly swallowed him in shadow.

  The air felt good on his hot skin. Doves cooed, nestled in eaves over doorways. Underfoot, a few sleepy pigeons rose, flapping, disturbed by the slap of his bare feet. He passed the woodcarver's open door; the sweet smell of cedar shavings floated in the stillness.

  Zet flew around a corner, and then slowed. He was almost there.

  What if the thief kept running right out of town, instead of going home? But then he saw the sandals, lined up on the stoop. His heart leapt. He was in luck. He could almost feel the deben in his hands. A big, heavy bag of copper. He could barter that copper for ten sacks of grain, or any manner of things. What would his mother say? She'd be so proud! And he'd tell her he was simply doing his job and taking care of them. Just like father asked.

  Zet crept up the steps.

  Rather than a proper door, a heavy curtain shielded the house from the alley.

  He approached and gently pulled it. Just enough to peek inside. He wanted to make completely sure it was the same person, before raising the alarm.

  As he lifted the curtain, however, he suddenly realized the danger he was putting himself in. A thief lived here. No ordinary thief, according to the medjay. Zet couldn't hope for help from a passerby. The alley behind him was empty. And Zet had no weapon.

  Before he could change his mind, two strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him inside.

  "What's this?" the man growled. "A spy?"

  "Let go!" Zet said, struggling.

  "Why should I?" he said. "What are you doing, sticking your head in my door?" His sun-darkened face was the color of old leather. A scar ran down one cheek, and mud stained his calves.

  "You're a thief!" Zet said. "Let go, or you'll be in more trouble! They'll come for you!"

  "Who have you led to my door?" he said.

  Zet was about to say medjay, hoping the man would believe him and let him go, when a woman hurried into the room. Flour covered her hands.

  "What's this? Let go of the poor boy! What's come over you?" she cried.

  "He followed me," the man said, but the anger had gone out of his voice.

  The woman wiped hairs from her cheek, leaving a streak of flour. She was dressed simply, and her black hair hung in a neat braid. "Why would he do that? And what's got you so upset?"

  The man slumped onto a three-legged stool. "Medjay were chasing me."

  "He's a thief!" Zet said.

  "Will someone please tell me what's going on?" the woman said, looking from Zet to her husband and back again.

  "Now, Ama," he said, "Do you really take your good husband for a thief?"

  She planted a hand on his shoulder. "Of course not." She brushed away her floury prints. "What happened?"

  "First, bring me and the boy some water. I think we're both thirsty from running." He looked at Zet for confirmation.

  Zet nodded. Seeing the man now, he realized he was telling the truth. While he'd looked frightening in the doorway, he could see he was simply a hard worker. And the laugh lines etched deeply around his eyes and mouth spoke of kindness.

  The man stood and offered Zet his stool, and went in search of another. The house smelled good, like flowers. He searched for the source of the smell and was
rewarded by the sight of one of their big clay bowls on a low table, filled to the brim with fragrant, flowering herbs. The bowl was etched all around with blue water birds; funny how he remembered liking it when he was little—and now here it was like a long-lost friend. They must have bought it years ago.

  The man returned, and Ama came back a moment later with three clay cups balanced on a tray of woven straw. The water tasted pure and cool, and Zet drank thirstily.

  The man set down his cup.

  "I'll tell you both what happened. My name is Padus. I'm a papyrus farmer. I have a plot of land on the bank of the Nile, where I tend my papyrus plants. It's a small plot, but it yields enough reeds to barter with the paper makers and feed me and my Ama here."

  "Why were those medjay chasing you?" Zet said.

  He smiled and held up a calloused hand. "I'm coming to that. It started when I was leaving my field. I was walking through my reeds, slowly, checking for insects and rot, that sort of thing. They're very tall this time of year—much taller than me. I overheard a man talking. I was surprised, because few people just wander into my plot." He shrugged. "There's no reason to. There's nothing worth stealing, and it's not particularly interesting, unless you're a farmer."

  He took a deep sip of water, then set his cup down.

  "As I said, I heard voices. Given the thick vegetation, I couldn't see who was speaking. But I did hear one man say, Now that we have the building plans, we're set. All you need to do is to make sure our buyer is at—" Padus paused, and color suffused his cheeks.

  "At what?" Zet said.

  "That's the problem. I don’t know." He ran a hand over his head. Frustration was clear on his face. "That's the last I heard. I was so stupid to let them see me! I didn't think. I just stepped out into the open. And they stopped talking."

  Zet groaned. If Padus had held back just a little longer, they'd be able to solve the case.

  "I know," Padus said, as if reading Zet's thoughts.