The Young Knights and the Search for Phantom Island

By Michael Delane Bearden

Timothy Knight appears to be a normal thirteen-year-old boy who enjoys learning the powers of deduction from Dr. Crowne, a British professor of languages; crossing blades with Monsieur Deveaux, a French master of the sword; and hanging out with his friends Anthony, Sammy, Tony, and Baby Joe. Since his brother Michael left home on a sailing vessel, he has a love for ships. His grandfather introduces him to an old friend, Captain Horatio P. Spears.
Captain Spears takes Timothy aboard his ship and tells him a story about his rescue at sea by the Seeps Holmen, a Norwegian whaling ship. The captain learns the Seeps Holmen is carrying a secret cargo and is being pursued by an enemy submarine. Captain Spears plots a course to escape the U-boat and whisks the treasure safely up the channel to the Port of Houston. But during a storm, the treasure mysteriously disappears.
Timothy Knight shares the captains tale with his friends, and they devise a plan to find the missing treasure. Little do the boys know that an evil mastermind, the Black Scarab, is obsessed with the treasurethe Mask of Nephthys. His brotherhood of assassins has been sent to steal the mystical relic. The Black Scarab plans to use its power to create an army of immortals and become pharaoh of the world.
Now the young knights search for Phantom Island to find the Mask of Nephthys before the earth is plunged into an apocalypse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466929692

Michael Delane Bearden

Michael Bearden was born in Houston, Texas. He received a doctorate in education from the University of Houston and has held many positions in public schools. He travels to schools, teaching children about friendship and bullying through his books Marus the Longneck Saves the Day and Marus the Longneck and the Journey to Stone Mountain. His novel The Young Knights and the Search for Phantom Island is the first book in a planned series. He lives in Moss Hill, Texas, with his wife, Peggy; a black Labrador, Banelli; and tomcat Smoky.

Book preview

The Young Knights

and the Search for

Phantom Island

A NOVEL BY

Michael Delane Bearden

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© Copyright 2012 Michael Delane Bearden.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN:

978-1-4669-2971-5 (sc)

ISBN:

978-1-4669-2970-8 (hc)

ISBN:

978-1-4669-2969-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012907277

Trafford rev. 07/10/2012

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Acknowledgement

Thanks so much to the students at Hardin Intermediate and Middle schools for their encouragement to write this novel.

Special thanks to Tina Green for her constant praise and motivation. To Rita Joyce Shoemake who believes Timothy Knight is a mix of Harry Potter and Indiana Jones; you flatter me.

For my daughter, Wendy, who believes in fantasy and all things, Alice; you inspired me.

A special thanks to my son, Matthew, who always lifted me up; you showed me real courage.

To my grandchildren, Justin, Jared, Jonathan, Jaden, Holden and Max; with love. And to my brother, Timothy; this one is for you.

To Tony, Baby Joe, Sammy, Anthony, Mary Katherine, Irene, Mary Grace, Uncle Sam, Grandma and Grandpa; you gave life to the tale. And to Captain Spears; who always lived in my mind.

For my mother, who made my life a great adventure and joy; thanks mom for sharing the real story.

And last but not least, to my wife, Peggy—you are my hero—always

In memory of

CANDACE NICOLE BEARDEN

And

MICHAEL DELANE BEARDEN Jr.

CONTENTS

Prologue

1  The Nomad

2  The Cairo Museum

3  The Scrolls

4  The Sea of Tombs

5  The Sarcophagus

6  The Black Scarab

7  The Young Knights

8  Professor Crowne

9  Man in the Iron Mask

10  The Dream Catcher

11  The Trolley Ride

12  Uncle Sam’s Café

13  The Ghost Mill

14  The Captain

15  A Different Drummer

16  The UBoat

17  The Captain’s Secret

18  Tretower’s Knots

19  The Mysterious Barrels

20  The Reaper

21  The Crystal Palace

22  The Drawbridge

23  The Garage

24  Operation Captain Hook

25  The Red Haired Girl

26  Murderin’ Cutthroats

27  The Games Afoot

28  The Intrepid Argonauts

29  Phantom Island

30  The Eagle Scout

31  ‘X’ Marks the Spot

32  The Mask of Nephthys

33  The Shadow

34  Reckoning

35  The Battle

Epilogue

Prologue

In 330 B.C., the Keepers, guardians of the sacred Mask of Nephthys, were attacked by a band of assassins known as the Black Scarab brotherhood. The temple of the Forbidden City was destroyed and the guardians murdered. But before the mystical relic could be stolen, an elite force of warriors seized upon the tomb raiders and captured them.

For their crimes, the Pharaoh had the assassins executed, and their feet cutoff so they could not walk in the afterlife. A new temple was constructed and the mask was hidden for generations.

But the Black Scarab searched and searched for the hidden relic. He was obsessed with its mystical power. Over time his successors have taken up his name, and his quest.

Now, the mask of Nephthys is within the grasp of a new mastermind of evil. In his mountain fortress a plot takes form to recover the mask and use its spell to conjure up an army of immortals, and launch an apocalyptical invasion.

The Black Scarab is determined to become Pharaoh… of the world.

-1-

The Nomad

1908 somewhere in the desert

Selim Atif ran for his life.

It was so sudden, the red cloud darkening the western horizon. His heart was pounding like a drum as the howling wind blasted across the scarred landscape coming closer and closer. He had to find cover before the suffocating dusts smothered him.

Instinctively the thirteen year-old shepherd struggled over the senescent rocks. Choking now, he managed to spot the overhang. His pace quickened. He stumbled and collapsed in a heap beneath the outcropping.

Everything went black.

As he opened his eyes he saw that the sky was a vibrant peacock blue. He lay awhile staring up at the rock ledge. He was trying to understand why his head was aching. He stretched out his legs and tried to stand. His legs were wobbly.

Selim propped himself against the recess of the cliff. He reasoned he must have hit his head and passed out. Then he was sure; he saw the blood on the rocks.

Suddenly there was a faint sound.

He glanced over his shoulder. His eyes landed on a lamb loping toward him.

Quit licking me, he said as the slobbering creature ran his gooey tongue against his cheek. I’m not happy with you, he grumbled as he gazed into the eyes of the gentle beast. I’m not happy with me either, he huffed disgustedly.

Selim had been careless. He had found an ancient artifact lying in the sand. As he mused over his discovery, the errant creature wandered away. It was the lamb he was searching for when the sand storm caught him.

Selim took a leather strap from around his waist and tethered the lamb.

I fear father is worried. I have never been away from home over night. Looking up at the heaven he said, And now, I fear we must spend another night. We need to find a better place before jackals come out. He raised a brow at the indifferent creature. You look that way now, but I think they would love to eat a little lamb. The lamb bleated pitifully. They would love to eat me as well. He gave his lamb a crooked smile and they began up the rocky cliffs in search of a cave.

About half way Selim noticed a mound of red sand. He stopped, but just briefly, and then he cautiously moved closer. Except for his heavy breathing there was absolute silence as he stared blankly. After an interminable amount of time he knelt beside the pile.

His first thought was to leave, but then curiosity would not let him budge. He had an idea of what was beneath the sands. It was a natural inclination, one that began that fateful day the man from Cairo came to his village; an Egyptologist from the museum named, Dr. Samir. He had come to recruit villagers to assist at his nearby dig. Selim could not resist the opportunity to join along with his father. That moment of exploration became a joy he would never let go.

As you might expect, Selim leaned over the mound of sand and began his own excavation. He carefully whisked away the red grains, one handful at a time, when suddenly he stiffened. Something just happened which caused a lump in his skinny throat. He sat so still that he truly did not even breathe for a moment.

Sand was cascading slowly. It fell away till the last ochre colored grain exposed a gruesome sight. Four yellowish gnarled fingers extended slightly from the edge of a dusty cuff. The unpleasant fingers gave Selim cause to think. Perhaps he had just discovered a mummy.

He was anxious, but just for a second. He had seen a mummy before, several actually; at Dr. Samir’s dig. So he relaxed and began to wipe away more sand. He saw the head. It was wrapped in a sullied cloth. He leaned forward and began to unravel the cloth. One anxious turn after another the layers uncoiled, until with one final loop, something unexpected appeared.

The face was dark and weathered. It was craggy and time battered, yet this face was unlike any mummy he had ever seen. It was aged, yet not ancient. It was more like the face of his… grandfather. Then a sound came from the face.

Haaaaaa.

Selim was petrified by the unexpected sound. It was the sound of stale air rushing from the man’s lips. But more importantly, it was the sound of life.

It was so amazing Selim did not know what to do next. The eerie sound was followed by the parting of two narrow leathery slits. Dark eyes now stared deep into Selim’s astonished gaze.

After what must have seemed an eternity the man took a deep breath. Selim took an even deeper breath. "You are no mummy," he whispered.

As he puzzled over the ribby old man he suddenly recalled a story from his father about a race of people who drifted the spacey desert never calling any place home.

You must be a nomad.

Anguish filled the poor man’s gaunt face.

You need water.

Selim cradled the nomad’s head on his lap and slipped a leather strap from around his neck. It held a goatskin filled with water. Uncorking the cask, he gave the nomad a drink. The nomad coughed a dry cough.

Easy, don’t choke. Selim washed out the nomad’s mouth and ladled the cool liquid gently over his cracked lips. You must have been buried by the sand storm.

The man’s hand trembled and reached up.

More water, yes, but you must drink slowly. It is not good to drink too fast. He dribbled a small amount into the nomad’s slacked jaw.

When the coughing ceased, the dried up little man slumped back into the boys arms. For now, the clear nectar had slaked his thirst. During the interlude that followed there were no words between the two hapless drifters. The silence was soon ended.

Selim realized the sun was setting. It was too late now to start home. Soon the desert would turn cold. Laying the nomad down, he ran up into the cliffs. He was no stranger to these rocks, and he knew where to find a cave.

Returning he saw that the nomad was already trembling. Hold on to me, he said as he lifted the slight frame in his arms. I have found a place for us.

Selim trudged up the steep slope carrying the old nomad. By the time they reached the cave, night had fallen. Shortly after, he set the nomad down in a small corner of the cave and placed his robe over him, and cuddled beside him.

I fear if I hold you tighter I will crush you. There is more meat on a goat’s rib.

In the desert a night breeze can have the bite of a raging sandstorm. Selim wondered if he would make it till morning. He sighed. If only he hadn’t been so careless.

As he lay shivering with the nomad he suddenly felt a nudge at his side. Craning his head he saw the wooly little creature nestling beside him.

You’re just in time, he said slowly as he cuddled the lamb. With the lamb on one side and he on the other, the nomad’s shivering gradually eased. Soon all three were fast asleep.

The next morning was calm and beautiful. Selim awoke feeling much stronger and eager to start for home. As he stood and stretched, he at once heard the sound of labored breathing. Unfortunately, the night’s rest had not favored the nomad. Once more Selim rushed to comfort him.

As painful as it must have been the nomad’s lips slightly parted. He took a small sip of water and attempted to speak. Selim leaned in closer to listen.

Found the tomb.

The tomb?

After a shallow breath the nomad continued. Selim listened intently as the story unfolded.

The nomad had wandered in a waterless wasteland for days until he came to an oasis. Rested he journeyed to a place with strange formations. When he reached the vast outcrops he realized he was upon a sea of tombs. Clearly the ancient graves had been uncloaked by the windswept sands. Perhaps they were thousands of years old. As he walked the valley, the setting sun cast a strange light on the eastern mountain. The base of the mountain looked ablaze. As he marveled at the flaming cliffs he noticed a hollowed area. He went to explore it.

The hollowed area was an entrance hewed into the mountain by men. The sand was held back by bricks. There was a beautiful brick staircase with shallow steps. The nomad descended deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth until he came to a door. It was sealed.

Above the door were symbols beyond decorations. A jackal headed god stood before a golden sarcophagus. At the side of the sarcophagus was a phoenix with wide spread wings. For a second he could feel the presence of danger, nevertheless he attempted to open the seal.

As he lit a torch and prepared to break the seal he felt a trembling in the earth. The walls shook and blocks of stone began to fall. He was trapped.

The nomad paused. His mouth was as dry as the dust where he lay. Selim ripped a piece from his robe and poured water over it. He wrung it out and patted it gently over the nomad’s bloodied lips. Once more the nomad began.

He described how his leg was caught under a huge stone. Miraculously he freed the leg. It was broken but he managed to crawl up the steps. No sooner had he cleared the entrance when it collapsed.

Suddenly the nomad gasped; his eyes faded. He was dying. He feebly reached up and grabbed Selim. Staring deep into the boy’s eyes, and with his last bit of strength, he uttered, the torch.

His story told and his last breath spent, the nomad sank into Selim’s arms. His eyes fixed on eternity. It was all over.

Selim was at once filled with sadness, and curiosity. Before he could dwell on the story longer his lamb trotted in and bleated. Selim stared at the gentle beast.

What do I do now little lamb? After a few seconds the lamb bleated again. Selim blinked. Yes, I must bury him.

Selim prepared a proper burial place and when it was ready he returned for the man. He caught the body under the shoulders and began tugging it towards the grave. And as he made a hard tug something fell from the nomad’s decaying robe. Selim bent down to look. It was a tattered piece of cloth.

A stone fell from the material as he unrolled it. Selim was more interested in the cloth. It was faded but there was something written on it with soot. Images, one he was certain was an oasis, but the other symbols were ancient. They were, Glyphs!

Selim stared down at the stone. He picked it up and just as he might have suspected, there was an etching on it. He rubbed the stone. It too was a symbol. It was part of a wing.

The phoenix.

Selim dropped to his knees with a glint in his eyes. He was wild with curiosity. Surely the nomad had discovered a tomb. Selim’s imagination ran wild. Perhaps the tomb was filled with treasure. But suddenly his brow narrowed.

I can’t read these symbols. How could I hope to find it? Then a gleam filled his eyes. Yes, I remember; Dr. Samir.

It was then that Selim heard familiar voices calling in the distance.

Selim! Selim!

It was his father and others from his village who had come to find him.

Come little lamb, we’re going home. As Selim secured his lamb, he took one last glance at the grave where he laid the nomad. I will find it.

-2-

The Cairo Museum

Six Years Later

An elderly man drew up a bucket of water.

Setting the bucket on the edge of the well he tied off the rope and paused to wipe the sweat from his coppery face. Turning he glanced towards a sun baked brick hut. Standing in the threshold was a young man wearing a long white dejellaba. The robe was new and the young man looked very strong; proud and happy.

Selim stepped from the doorway and crossed the courtyard towards his father. He carried with him a small bag of clothes. He was leaving home.

Today Selim was of age, and at long last he was old enough to venture off to make his way in the world. All that remained was to say goodbye.

The old man’s face was expressionless as Selim approached. He remained unmoving as his only child dropped the bag and took hold of his sinewy hand. His eyes remained vacant as the boy struggled to find the words.

Father, I— began Selim, but his father lifted an arm and pointed east towards, Cairo.

Selim framed his father’s face in his hands and kissed him on both cheeks. Then he lifted his bag and like the breeze he was gone.

Tears fell like wax as the old man stood alone.

Cairo was a sprawling city.

It was around three o’clock in the afternoon when Selim entered. He was amazed at what he found. The city was a blend of the ancient and the modern. Motorized vehicles rumbled alongside lumbering camels and the narrow streets were crammed with foreign tourists mingling among the street vendors.

A towering clock on the street corner warned the weary traveler that he was late for his appointment. Suddenly he grew very anxious, and with good reason. The letter from the curator was very clear. The instructions specifically stated; ‘ . . . my boat departs precisely at six o’clock P.M. It is imperative that you arrive no later. Should you fail in this endeavor I fear your request is in jeopardy. Your old friend, Dr. Samir.’

From the moment they met, the curator recognized something extraordinary in Selim. He possessed an unmatched curiosity for unearthing ancient artifacts. For that reason he delightfully agreed to take him under his tutelage.

Heeding the warning Selim hurried along. Weaving in and around the foaming sea of humanity was frustrating. Being bumped and herded along he quickly felt as if he was one of his sheep. And after two hours of this exasperating experience he was exhausted and frustrated. Everything about this city had changed so much since he visited as a boy. He was lost.

As he searched for some familiar landmark, a voice called out. He was certain the voice was calling to him. But who would be calling him? He craned his neck in search of this caller.

Look over here; to your right, the voice called out.

This time Selim knew where the voice came from. Shielding his eyes from the rays of the sun, he cast his gaze across the street to a curbside cafe. Among the many faces seated at the tables was a man half standing and waving. Selim placed his hands on his chest as if to say, me.

Yes, here! Come join me!

Selim wondered why a complete stranger should invite him to his table. Just then he remembered his father warning him that the city is filled with scoundrels hoping to lure unsuspecting victims into their lair. This gave cause for hesitation, but then again, he was running out of time. Already shadows danced along the boulevard as evening approached. If he was going to make his appointment he needed help, now.

Without further thought Selim eased off the sidewalk and pushed his way through the thick crowd. By now the stranger was standing. He smiled and greeted Selim.

Please, I assure you, I mean no ill. You appeared to be miserably lost. Perhaps I may be of some assistance.

Selim made a quick study of the man. He was a little older, twenty-two perhaps, tall and dressed elegantly. His dark locks were expensively groomed and framed a strong swarthy face with high cheek bones. The eyes were very clear, very blue. And there was his voice; distinctively European, and impeccably cultured. Perhaps he could be trusted; still Selim remained cautious.

I am— Selim’s introduction was interrupted by the man as if he wasn’t listening.

Please, you must sit, the man insisted with an outstretched hand.

Selim nodded and once again attempted to speak. I am— Once more his sentence was cut short.

Lost! the stranger said. I’ve counted, you have made four trips past this bistro, and there is that bag slung over your shoulder. He smiled thinly. You have been chasing your tail.

Chasing my, oh yes, Selim said making a slight chuckling sound. I am in dire trouble. For the first time it seems I am in need of a shepherd.

Ahhh yes, you are provincial, from one of the villages. I suspected as much.

Sorry, Selim said with a narrowed brow.

Please, I do not mean any offense, came an almost apologetic reply from the stranger. In a hurried attempt to explain the man said, It is a game I play. Trying to guess who people are and where they come from.

I understand. My name is, Selim Atif, and you are correct. And you are?

Call me, Alex. Please, accept my apology and forgive my rudeness.

Apology accepted… Alex. Selim paused as, Alex, gestured for a waiter standing nearby. When he finished ordering, Selim said, Your accent strikes me strange.

My accent, Alex said stroking crumbs from the white table cloth. Yes, I am Russian. My name is, Alexandre Petrovich Zekerovskii. Now, you will forgive my bad manners once more and join me for tea. No wadka, but as they say, when in Rome… The cordial Russian smiled. And as the waiter poured from a small silver tea pot he gestured and said, Tea.

Selim watched studiously as Alexandre emptied the golden brown liquid into his saucer. Holding his own cup at bay he tried not to be too obvious as the Russian intriguingly sipped from the plate. Equally curious, his slurp was followed with a crisp bite into a cube of sugar. Selim suddenly glanced up. Alexandre was looking at him.

Selim’s face flushed red. He straightened. I did not mean to stare. Now it is I who shows bad manners; apologies.

Not at all; it is the saucer which draws your eye, yes.

Forgive my manners. Selim promptly hung his head as if he wanted to hide.

My friend, please, there is no need, Alexandre said with an amusing grin.

This is the way Russian drinks tea? Selim asked sheepishly.

"Most, yes, but alas, I must admit not all. Were she here, my mother would most assuredly scold such unsophisticated behavior as barbaric. Unfortunately it is a habit I acquired while in, Siberia."

At that moment Selim blinked. He just realized the time. He pushed the tea cup forward.

I think it is not tea we need to be discussing, no.

No. I am running out of time. I foolishly thought I could find my way around this city, but nothing is as I remember; not even the sidewalks. I must get to the museum.

The museum, that is not a problem my new friend. I am somewhat of a connoisseur of the city’s charm and historical landmarks.

"I do not wish to sightsee. It’s imperative that I get to the museum within the hour."

Imperative.

Yes I must meet the curator before he leaves the city, or I’ll be sleeping on the streets.

Well you are not foolish, much has changed. The museum you remember was the Boulag; ostensibly it flooded necessitating its closure. The treasures were relocated to a new museum on the square. Luckily, in my line of work I visit there frequently.

You are an Egyptologists?

Egyptologist, Alexandre said with a slight grin. No, my interests in antiquities are confined to their procurement; import and export. Someone with great sums of money is always looking to decorate their mansions with a mystifying relic or two, and I am interested in their money. But what about you, what mysteries take you to the museum?

Mysteries, if only he knew, Selim thought. He realized he had to be guarded in his choice of words.

The curator is an old friend. He has agreed to allow me to work and study under his guidance. I am to receive room and board but only he knows of this arrangement. If I do not reach the museum before he departs, all is lost. Can you tell me how to get there?

Better than that, I shall take you. Suddenly, but very nonchalantly Alexandre made a glance across the thoroughfare. Next he calmly said, Are you ready to go?

Yes, by all means.

"Then we go, least you find the sidewalks of Cairo your bed for tonight."

With a charming smile the stylish young Russian stood, tilted his fedora and straightened his red bow tie. Then, placing a hand on Selim’s shoulder he escorted him out into the traffic.

They hadn’t traversed the street far when Alexandre stopped outside a store front. Here we are, right inside. It is fine, trust me. A tiny bell jingled as he opened the door.

Once inside Selim immediately recognized the items that filled the shelves and lined the walls. Almost every inch of the darkened room was filled with relics from ancient tombs.

What is this place?

"This is my shop. As I said, I deal in rare artifacts."

While Selim made a quick survey of the relics on display, Alexandre made quick notice that his clerk was missing.

We’ll go through here, Alexandre said pointing with his cane to a curtained opening. He led Selim through a drape that opened into a storage room. At the back was a door which led out to an alley.

I maintain a carriage out back; it helps to get around the congested streets. He opened the door and stepped into the alleyway. No sooner did he take a step when the carriage door flew open.

A knife wielding man lunged at Alexandre. Before he could strike Alexandre blocked the knife with his cane. He then drove the handle of the walking stick into the assassin’s jaw.

As for Selim, he seemed paralyzed as another assassin leaped from the carriage. Alexandre instantly pulled the ornate silver handle of his cane exposing a rapier. He quickly plunged the thin blade into the second attacker. A third villain fled into the streets.

Alexandre wiped his sword and returned it to the case. Then he quickly threw the bodies into the cab of his carriage. He turned to Selim who was welded to the wall.

Dissatisfied customers, Alexandre said. He half smiled, and slammed the door shut.

I think you are more than a simple shop keeper!

Alexandre quietly climbed up onto the driver’s seat. Quickly, hop up! The other one may have gone for help!

He clambered up as Alexandre jerked the reins. Selim nearly fell off as the horse galloped out of the alley.

Hold on!

The carriage scattered the crowds. The horse raced faster and faster as Alexandre cracked his coach whip. It was a short trip to the square.

The museum, Alexandre announced. We are here.

What? Selim said with a start. He had barely noticed they had reached