The Last Pharaoh

By L.M. Holmes

Seattle, 1980.  Billie gets a package containing Nectanebo, the last pharaoh of Egypt, who is out to rule the world again.  To defeat him, Billie needs the help of a cat from Theria, a parallel world she finds at the top of a tree.  In Theria animals live for thousands of years, and share their wisdom with select humans like Billie.  Now it's up to her to figure out how to save her mother's life, and save the rest of the world, from the evil plans of Nectanebo.  Tomb raiding, a nuclear submarine, ancient magic, and the eruption of Mount St. Helens are all part of the action.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.M. Holmes
• Release date: Oct 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386134923

L.M. Holmes

L.M. Holmes taught ancient Greek and Latin at Hillsdale College in Michigan for many years.  Now Dr. Holmes enjoys helping elementary school students in Honolulu learn English.  

Book preview

THE LAST PHARAOH

by L.M. Holmes

Chapter 1:  Something Strange Comes in the Mail

The first time she saw the cat, Billie was waiting for the mailman.  She had no particular reason to wait for the mailman, but mail always has possibilities.  Fifth-grade homework, not so much.  Billie planned to do that either later, or much later, or Monday morning before school, if no one brought it up sooner.  Right now she was sitting on the front steps of her apartment building, under the always overcast Seattle sky.  Cold radiated from the concrete through the seat of her corduroy pants. 

Billie stared down toward the corner of Harvard and Roy, willing the mail truck to appear with the chant Come on, mailman.  Come on, mailman.  But before her spell had a chance to work, the cat broke it.  He popped out from beside the building and paraded up the sidewalk as if expecting her to admire him. 

And Billie had to admire him.  So handsome and elegant.  What kind of cat was this?  Certainly not your common average housecat.  His sleek brown coat was smudged with black—like a leopard, Billie thought.  He carried his slim tail pointing up, in a very slight question mark. 

As he passed before her, Billie patted her knees and crooned the standard cat invitation, Here, kitty kitty.  The cat halted.  His intelligent green eyes fixed hers.  And then he winked at her.  Winked, with one eye.  Who knew a cat could wink?  Billie again tried Here, kitty kitty kitty, but this time the cat ignored her.  Instead he continued along his route, around the other side of the building.  Where was he going?  She stood up to follow him, but now here came the mailman, and he was speaking to her.  Rats!  She couldn’t leave.

Hello, young lady.  Expecting something? 

Young lady.  Sheesh.  Yeah, a time machine.  I ordered it from a magazine.

Time machine?  That would be a pretty big item, wouldn’t it?

No, it’s a portable one.  It runs on double A batteries.  They only make them in...Finland.

Well, I’m afraid there’s nothing for you from Finland today.  But I do have a package for your mother.  A package?  All right!  The mailman stepped back out of the truck with a brown paper-wrapped cube about the size of a milk crate.  It has to be signed for.

I’ll sign for it.  I can take it upstairs, too.

The mailman looked at the forms on the package, and shook his head.  Unfortunately, an adult has to sign for this one.  Is your mother at home?

No she’s at work.  But my dad is probably there.  Want me to go get him?

How about you buzz him to come down, and I’ll take this inside with the rest of the mail.

Okay.  And Billie ran up the steps to the intercom.  Nine buttons, and the fourth one down, ‘#201 SHEARS,’ was hers.  She pushed it hard and tilted her head up to get her mouth closer to the speaker.  In what was actually about half a minute but seemed like much longer, Billie’s father’s voice, scratchy and distorted, came from the aluminum grate. 

"I am Leon the great and powerful.  Who are you?"

Dad, it’s me.  Could you—  The rest of her sentence drowned in the r-r-r-r-r of the electric door lock. Billie had to push the button again.

What’s wrong? asked the intercom voice.

Dad, nothing’s wrong!  Could you come down and sign for a package?

Sure.  Be right there.  And here he came, wearing gray sweatpants, a gray sweatshirt, and shaving cream all over the lower half of his face.  The mailman handed him a pen and pointed to a line. Leon signed his name in big, loopy letters.  You should keep that autograph.  It’ll be worth a bundle someday. 

Oh.  It will?  Who are you, anyway? 

Leon leaned toward him, speaking confidentially.  I’m the Silver Fox.  But don’t spread it around, or I’ll have to move. 

Silver Fox...Silver Fox...hmm...  

Billie jumped in.  My dad is, you know, the famous clarinet player.  Well, famous to some people, anyway. 

Sure, Mr. Fox.  Here’s your package.

Thank you.  Leon took the box in both hands and held it in front of his stomach.  Fan mail from some flounder? he asked Billie as they started up the stairs.

I don’t think so.  It’s for Mom.

Right.  She doesn’t have that many fans in—let’s see, where is this from?  Uppsala.   Must be from your mother’s relatives over there.  Look how they wrote her name.  The package was addressed to Professor Astrid Sandström Shears.  She won’t be happy with plain old Sandstrom anymore once she sees those little dots. 

They wrote ‘professor,’ too.  Is Mom really a professor?  I thought you had to smoke a pipe and have messy hair. 

I don’t think those are actually the job requirements. Not at community college, anyway.  Man, a professor, and two dots over her name?  We’ll never hear the end of this. 

Billie twanged the package string experimentally.  It was tight.  Can we open it?

Hmm, let’s see.  A package from Sweden, addressed to your mother—of course we can’t open it!  She’ll open it when she gets home.

Rats.  Finally, something intriguing in the mail, and she couldn’t look at it.  She lifted the box and shook it.  It’s pretty heavy.  Maybe it’s doubloons.

Leon put his ear to the box and listened, raising his eyebrows.  "I think it’s a car.  They make Volvos in Sweden, you know."

If it’s a car, can I drive it?

It’s your mother’s car, ask her.  He replaced the package on the coffee table.  I have to make like an amoeba and split.  Got to be at Cornish by four.

You should keep the shaving cream.  It looks distinguished.

Oh, now you’re making fun. 

Billie followed him into the bathroom.   Leon turned on the water in the sink and picked up his safety razor.  Both of them looked into the mirror.  Two pair of matching green-brown eyes looked back.   

Mom says our eyes are hazel, but I think they’re green.  I mean, not cat-eye green.  People-eye green.

Leon cut the first path through the foam.  It says green on my driver’s license.  Looks like the State of Washington agrees with you.  He squinched his mouth to one side, stretching his cheek.  Ow!  This could get gruesome.

Okay, have fun, Dad.  I’ll probably go up to the Takedas for a while.  When Marco gets back from basketball. 

"Just remember to leave a note on the fridge.  And don't even think about opening that package until your mother gets home." 

But if you say not to think about something, it makes me think about it. 

"Sorry.  Think away.  Just don't do it."

I won't.  See you later.

Bye, kiddo.  I'll be gone in five minutes.

Billie went out to the kitchen to forage for a snack.  She gave the package string another snap on her way by, just to be certain it was still tight.  It was.  Well, at least there was food.  Even if it was fruit. Billie cracked a banana off the bunch on the kitchen table.  Then she noticed something moving outside on the fire escape. 

It was—was it?—yes, it was the leopard cat, pacing back and forth.  When he saw that Billie was looking at him, he jumped up onto the ledge outside the window and stared right in, one front paw against the glass.  Wow.  For the second time today something Billie wished for was really happening.  The cat wanted in.

Billie hurried to the window and raised the sash up as high as it would go.  The cat stood calmly on the ledge.  Hi, kitty.  Billie held out one hand near his face.  The cat sniffed it.  Then he rubbed the side of his mouth along it, the cat seal of approval.  Good kitty.  Come on in!

The cat sprang directly from the windowsill onto the kitchen table.  He gave the banana one sniff, sat down next to it, and looked at Billie again, squeezing his eyes almost shut.

Are you hungry?  You don’t want a banana either, do you.  Come on, let’s find something you like.  Billie opened a food cupboard.  Peanut butter, cherry jam, crackers, tomato soup.  Nothing for cats.  She closed it and opened another, mainly boxes of cereal.  Want a Pop Tart?  Not likely, so Billie put just one into the toaster, for herself.  She opened the refrigerator.  On the top shelf she struck gold, a clear glass dish of leftover tuna fish.  Billie unstuck the plastic wrap and set the dish down on the table.  Here, try this.  I hope you like mayonnaise.

The cat tucked right into the tuna.  Billie fetched her Pop Tart from the toaster and sat down to eat with him. 

Between bites she held up both ends of the conversation.  Hey, kitty, you want to live here with me?  I know we can’t have pets, but you could come in the window when no one was looking.  Yeah, I guess that’s not too good, is it.  Maybe we should get our own apartment, in a building with pets.  I could get a job at Shorey’s bookstore, I bet.  And how about you get a job, too?  You would make a great burglar, going up and down the fire escape like that.  How does that sound?  I could sell books, and you could steal stuff.

The cat licked the last tuna molecules from his face.  Then he dropped to the floor, front half first, hopped onto the sill, and looked back over his shoulder.  Mrow?

Kitty, don’t leave!  You don’t have to get a job.  But he jumped onto the fire escape, and trickled down it to the first floor.  Billie leaned her head and shoulders out the window, and could see him sitting at the bottom of the fire escape, twisting his neck to look up at her.

Mrow!

I’m coming down!  At this the cat lay down and rested his head on his front paws.  Billie banged the window shut and wrote Went for walk in green marker on the message board.  She clattered downstairs and out the front door, and met the cat on the sidewalk.

You waited for me.  That's amazing. 

Mrp, the cat replied, rubbing his side along her corduroy pants leg. Billie squatted to pet him, but he dodged her hand and trotted up Harvard Avenue toward Aloha.  This time she followed close behind.  They crossed Aloha and continued north to Prospect.

Are we going to Volunteer Park?  No, the park was to the right, but the cat turned left, toward the woodsy end of Prospect Street.  Where Prospect ended, three other streets began.  The cat chose to keep on along Summit, around the bend to where there were real mansions, the kind with guest houses and gazebos.

The cat, and then Billie, stopped at a low stone wall guarding one of the estates.  The wall ran beside a carriage house, and far, far back to the main house.  Billie could barely see it through the trees.

"Is this where you live?  Yeah, I bet they can have all the pets they want here."  The cat leapt up onto the stone wall, and turned to look at Billie before he hopped down the other side.   

She put her hands on the flat top of the wall, judging the difficulty of getting over.  It was chest high, not vaultable.  But she could haul herself onto it, swing her legs around, and slide off the other side.  And so she did.

On the other side the leopard cat waited, pacing under a huge old cedar tree.  And now he surprised her by taking a run at the cedar trunk, spreading his arms, and hiking himself up to the first branch.  There he sat and looked back down at Billie, his tail slowly flicking back and forth.

Kitty!  Are you stuck?  Billie went over and appraised the tree trunk.  Plenty of low branch stumps.  It wouldn't be hard to climb.  Hang on.  And Billie started maneuvering up the trunk to the bottom branch.  But as soon as she was off the ground, the cat moved again.  He left his branch for the trunk, and began climbing, not down, but up, pulling himself higher and higher.

Hey, aren’t you coming down?  Again the cat balanced on a branch, and again he sat and stared down at her.  No doubt about it, she was supposed to climb the tree.  Heck, why not?  If she was in trouble for jumping the wall, then she was already in trouble.  Climbing the tree wasn't going to make any difference.  She worked her way over to the bottom branch and clambered onto it.  There.  She had taken the first step, and there was nothing to stop her taking the next.

Chapter 2:   Billie Meets Certain Residents of Theria

Billie groped and pulled her way up, from branch, to branch, to the next branch, as quickly as the tree allowed.  At first she could see the cat hugging the trunk or resting on a branch whenever she looked up.  But as they crawled higher, they entered a low cloud caught in the cedar top, and the cat disappeared. 

Kitty!  I’m coming, Billie called.  Now the fog cloud was so thick that she could barely see the branch above her.  She worked her feet up onto it, straightened up for the next attempt, and suddenly her head poked through the fog and into open air and bright sunlight.  The intense light made Billie shut her eyes and sneeze.  Then she squinted up the cedar, looking for the cat.  No, it couldn’t be!  He was gone.

Over here, came a voice from off to Billie’s left.  The cat was standing ten feet away, on what looked like a sandy path.  Billie just held onto the cedar tree and stared at him.  Come on, said the cat.  We’re late.  With that he turned and trotted up the path, not even looking back over his shoulder. 

Billie stayed frozen for a second.  Then she stuck out a foot and tapped the ground with her toe.  It was solid.  And the cat was getting away. 

Wait up!  Billie let go of the tree and stepped onto the path.  She had to catch up with the cat before she could ask, Late for what? 

Oh, late for our chat with Mose, Chickie.  I had no idea it would take you that long to get organized.  Organization is the key to success, you know. 

Is it?  What about talent? 

The cat waved off the idea with his tail.  "Talent!  Talent just means you could do something.  Who cares?  No one is interested until you get organized and do it." 

As they hiked along, Billie was taking in the landscape.  It was a park, various trees and shrubs growing with paths running among them, and the late afternoon sunlight so strong that the colors sang. 

"I never saw any green this—well, this green.  Where are we?" 

The cat trotted faster.  Now don’t you worry, we’re almost there. 

No, I mean, what is this place? 

This is Theria. If that’s any help. 

Not really, Billie admitted.  I’ve never heard of it. 

Well, Chickie, it’s not in your geography book.  Handers don’t usually come here.

What are handers?  Another word she didn’t know. 

"Handers, you know, human beings, homo sapiens, whatever you want to call them.  We call them handers.  Because of the distinguishing characteristic, obviously." 

I thought brains was our distinguishing characteristic.

Brains?  Silly girl, earthworms have brains.  Without hands, you’re no better off than an oyster.  Actually, oysters make pearls, and you wouldn’t make anything.  I should have said not even as well off as an oyster.  It’s all in the hands, Chickie.  Think about it.

I will. That just can’t be right.

At a dandelion patch with one lumpy boulder in it, the cat stopped.  Here we are. 

Billie looked around for anyone who could be Mose.  No, no one there.

The cat bounced onto the boulder and kneaded it under his paws.  Hello-o!  Anybody home?

Mose is under that rock? 

Not exactly.  Hang on.  The cat thwacked the boulder, bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, with a front paw.  Mose!  I’m back!  Wake up, Sunshine.

No answer.  But after a long minute, a head inched out.  A massive snake head, round nose holes in front, eyes closed.  Shoulders followed. 

Now it was obvious.  Wow.  Mose is a tortoise.  Why didn’t I see that?

Because you weren’t expecting to, Chickie.  A giant Galapagos tortoise SOUND ASLEEP IN BROAD DAYLIGHT isn’t something you see every day.

At this, the tortoise dropped his lower eyelids open.  I wasn’t asleep.  I was thinking, he rumbled.

The cat winked at Billie.  Of course, some of us think better when we’re snoring.  Anyhow, time for introductions.  The cat slid off the tortoise and stood between him and Billie. His question-mark tail curved toward first one, then the other.  "Mose, tortoise extraordinaire, may I present Billie, hander child and first-rate climber of trees." 

A handshake was out of the question.  Mose dipped his head ever so slightly.  Billie ducked hers and said, Nice to meet you.  And I’m sorry we’re late.

Mose sighed.  I’m sure that was Tate’s fault.  He is so easily...distracted.  Each of Moses’s words waited for the previous one to finish.  No hurry.

Billie turned to the cat, who was peering up into a tree, his front paws on a branch.  So that’s your name, Tate?

Tate will do.  It’s Taht in Egyptian, if you prefer. 

"That’s okay, I don’t know Egyptian.  But how did you know my name?  You were calling me Chickie before." 

Tate smiled, squeezing his eyes shut.  Chickie is a pet name, sweetheart.  Like, oh, I don’t know—like Kitty. 

Billie blushed.  I guess I said some pretty goofy things back there.  But I didn’t know you could understand me then.

No worries, I am not offended.  You may call me Kitty, it’s—charming. 

Tate’s upward gaze had attracted Billie to the tree, and by now she was standing next to him.  She looked up into the tree.  Nothing but leaves and bark.  What are you looking at? she asked. 

Tate let his paws down.