Another Pan by Daniel Nayeri Page B

distractedly toward the stairs, knocking old, discarded items out of his way as he went. Just as they were going back to work, Wendy and John heard a sloshing sound followed by a frenzy of curses. Simon had stepped into the large puddle near the steps, the result of a recent leak, that both Wendy and John had known to avoid. There were electric cords all around the puddle, and Wendy had seen a spark or two flying from exposed wires touching the water. She had called the maintenance crew, but they were backed up till tomorrow.
    “Careful, there,” said Wendy. “You don’t want to get fried.”
    “This place is a disgrace,” said Simon bitterly. He waved a hand on his way out, like a king dismissing his subjects. “Put a towel on that,” he said. “I’ll be doing important research in Darling’s office. Don’t disturb me unless it’s life or death.”
    “No problem, Simon!” John shouted after him.
    “No problem, Simon,” Wendy mimicked in a squeaky, mocking voice. “How can you kiss his butt like that?”
    “If you cared at all about this stuff,” he said, pointing at the artifacts, “you’d understand how important the guy is. The
British Museum
sent him to protect them.” He said the words
British Museum
with extra emphasis, as though the entire question would be settled on the strength of the museum’s credentials.
    “John, can’t you see that the guy doesn’t
actually
care about this stuff? You and I know more than he does. Who cares about his title?”
    John ambled back toward the vase, and Wendy began cataloging items again.
    “Dad thinks he has an early version of the
Book of Gates
somewhere in here,” said John.
    Wendy, who was thumbing through a stack of papyri, looked up. “Oh, right,” she said. “I was gonna show you the other day. There’s an old book in here that I figured was the one Dad was talking about. I put it over there.” She pointed to a far table where she had laid the book, but before she had put her arm down, John was across the room.
    “It’s probably not the original, John,” she said. “Back then they used scrolls.”
    John picked up the book, which was hidden behind a statuette. He flipped through the pages carefully, lowering himself to a sitting position on the floor. “You don’t know anything, Wen. It
was
a scroll, but a million people have been searching for it over the years. Everyone knows it was cut up into pages and made into a book to disguise it.”
    Wendy got up and walked toward him. She said in a teasing tone, “Riiiight . . . so, Professor, what’s your expert opinion? Is that the original?”
    “Well, obviously I don’t know, Wen,” John snapped, insulted. But they were alone now, so he didn’t go into his usual brooding silent treatment. Instead, he turned the book over in his hands. “But it’s definitely a copy of the
Book of Gates
. Who knows if it’s the first copy or the thousandth or what . . . ?”
    John spoke with confidence, and Wendy was amused by how much he knew about this subject — much more than she did.
    Wendy took a seat beside her brother, and they carefully lifted each page, examining the pictures and hieroglyphs. Many of the pages were empty, and everything else was in ancient Egyptian — besides being worn-out and just barely visible.
    “These must be the guardians.” John pointed to a picture of a long snakelike creature and another one that seemed nothing more than a blur of ink. “And look, you can tell where each hour starts.” John pointed to each of the sections as Wendy leaned over to get a better look. The book was ancient, the pages so crinkly and delicate that any sharp move would have snapped them. When John turned the pages, they crackled like dry leaves. The color had worn to a sort of pale yellow, and the edges were frayed, sometimes torn. On each page, color pictures of mummies and jackals and serpents gave hints about the contents of that hour.
    “I can’t believe they let us have this at