“You should be proud.” She swung away with a sweep of her shredded cloak. “You are now slave to Princess Nefertiti.”

9

MAKE THAT PRINCESS
OF THE SANDS

The mushroom-shaped pinnacle was even farther away than Jake had thought. In the desert, distances proved to be deceptive. He and the others were marched slowly, their ankles bound in rough bronze shackles. Their hands were weighted down in front of them by cuffs.

While they were being chained, the princess had momentarily been attracted to their magnetite wristbands. “What pretty slave bracelets …”

Nefertiti had examined them all, and had even tried removing Kady’s. Jake’s sister looked ready to slap off the girl’s tattoos.

Of course, the bands couldn’t be removed.

The princess gave up with a shrug. “We can always cut them off,” she decided.

Jake feared she wasn’t talking about the bands but about their hands.

As they were marched toward the towering rock, Kady wore a sour expression. “How come whenever we land here, we end up prisoners?”

Jake didn’t bother answering as he shuffled in his shackles. He had more important questions in his head. Where exactly are we? And why did we end up here instead of in Calypsos?

He guessed it had to do with the door they used to get here. Last time, the gold Mayan pyramid at the British Museum had dropped them into the shadow of the great Temple of Kukulkan in the valley of Calypsos. This time they’d been transported from an Egyptian tomb exhibit to the middle of a desert.

He stared over at the arrogant princess. According to Jake’s history books, Nefertiti had been a queen of Egypt during the Eighteenth Dynasty. Though not of noble birth, she was so beautiful that the pharaoh married her. Over time, she grew to be one of the most powerful women in Egyptian history. Then at the age of thirty, she suddenly vanished. Archaeologists had been puzzling over this mystery for ages. Had she died? Had she fallen out of favor with the pharaoh? Where had she gone?

Jake believed here was the answer. Queen Nefertiti and some of her people must have been transported to Pangaea, like all the other Lost Tribes. But these people hadn’t landed near the valley of Calypsos. They had ended up in this desert. He studied his captors. They must be the direct descendants of that lost group. Perhaps Princess Nefertiti was even from the queen’s own bloodline.

As they crossed the desert, Nefertiti turned her attention to Bach’uuk. She fingered his brow, pinched his ear, and pulled on his hair, as if he were some prized pig she was judging.

She finally concluded, “What a strange creature. He’ll be quite the amusement at the palace.”

“He’s not a creature!” Marika piped up. “He’s just as much a person as you or me.”

This earned an arched eyebrow from Nefertiti. “Perhaps as much a person as you, but certainly not me.”