Jake remembered hearing about this place aboard the skyship. Nefertiti had called it the Temple of Time. “These must be the remains of Ankh Tawy,” he said. “Bits and pieces salvaged from before it fell.”
The madman nodded, his face a mask of sorrow as he wandered with them.
Jake stopped before a complicated set of giant bronze gears, toothed and fitted together perfectly. It reminded him of the insides of a broken clock.
Marika had her own take on it. “Looks like a piece of the Astromicon.”
With a start, he realized she was right. He pictured the giant mechanism with spinning crystals driven by the sun atop the Castle of Kalakryss.
“Come see this,” Pindor said, calling him over to a plate of shiny metal.
The gray surface was mirror smooth, reflecting the room. Though clearly solid, it looked wet, as if someone could dip a hand into it. Curious, Jake touched the surface, and felt a slight vibration that stood his hairs on end. But that wasn’t the only oddity. Letters had been inscribed onto the surface.
Jake couldn’t make out what they said, but he had seen this writing before in Calypsos. It was Atlantean. He leaned closer, studying the stylized figure in the center. It looked like a winged serpent biting its own tail, like the mythic dragon Ouroboros that he’d read about in one of his books.
“A wisling,” the bearded old man said, noting his attention. “At least that’s what it was called. A nasty little scrapper, according to the old legends. They were said to live in the shadow of Ankh Tawy long before anyone else. But no one’s ever seen one.”
Retreating a step, Jake took in the room in its entirety. Everything pointed to the lost city of Ankh Tawy: the model, the broken fragments of the former city, the bits of Atlantean technology. He knew that if there was any hope of ever getting out of this desert, it would be found at Ankh Tawy.
But before he could contemplate that journey, he had a mystery to solve. Jake lifted his father’s watch again. He turned, found where it spun the fastest, and headed in that direction.
As he walked, he studied the model of the stepped pyramid while picturing the great Temple of Kukulkan. A thought came to him. If there were two pyramids in Pangaea—one here and one in Calypsos—why not more? Could there be other lands in Pangaea, other pockets of Atlantean technology still undiscovered? That thought was quickly followed by another, one closer to his heart. Could his parents be trapped in one of those other lands?
Jake pushed aside those questions for now as he reached an odd display: a small fountain made of sand. Grains flowed down the four sides of a tiny stepped pyramid. At the bottom of the fountain, the sand pooled into a shallow basin, where it was sucked away and siphoned back to the top in an ever-continuous cycle.
“Sand is a river,” Bach’uuk said. “Never stops.”
Jake glanced to his friend, sensing some deeper meaning to his words. But it was the way of the Ur to be ever cryptic. Bach’uuk would make a great tribal Elder one of these days.
Jake circled around the fountain, ready to continue his search; but as he stepped past it, the spinning second hand of the watch slowed. Holding his breath, he faced the fountain and lifted the timepiece.
The tiny hand spun again in a blur.
“This is it!” he called.
As the others gathered closer, Jake waved his father’s watch like a Geiger counter over the sandy pyramid. Every time he neared one side, the timepiece went crazy, vibrating in his palm.
He remembered the golden pyramid in the British Museum, the one that his mom and dad had found at their last dig site. A miniature version of the great Temple of Kukulkan, it had been a portal to another world. By inserting the two halves of a broken Mayan coin into a hole in the miniature temple, he and Kady had been transported to Calypsos.
Could this pyramid also be a portal?
He reached out to block the stream of sand that ran over this side of the pyramid. The diverted flow revealed a circular hole. Far larger than the hole in the pyramid in the British Museum, it had to be important.
But they had no coin this time.
He lifted his father’s watch. The hands spun wildly as he brought the watch near the hole. He finally understood. “The Key of Time …” he mumbled. “We had the key and just found the lock.”
Leaning over, he pushed the watchcase into the hole. It was an exact fit. Immediately the spinning hands stopped.
A loud ticking sounded—not from the watch, but from the pyramid.
They all backed away as the pyramid split into four equal pieces and fell open, revealing an inner clockwork of bronze gears. At the heart of the mechanism rested an emerald crystal, polished into a perfect sphere, about the size of his fist.
Jake reached out.
“Don’t touch it!” Pindor warned.
“My father’s watch led us here. The stone must be important. Important enough to draw the attention of the Skull King.” Jake’s hand hovered over the stone. “I can’t let him have it.”
“Be careful,” Marika warned.
Jake didn’t have the time for caution. They could be discovered at any moment. He wanted to get the stone, then find a way to meet Djer at the Crooked Nail. That was the extent of his plan.
As his fingers closed over the crystal, he expected some shock. But nothing happened. He lifted the emerald crystal free; and as he stepped back, the pyramid slowly closed again, sealing as if it had never been touched.
Only now the sand did not flow.
The crystal must have been powering it somehow.
Jake retrieved his father’s watch as both Mari and Pindor let out a breath of relief—then they all jumped at the sharp shout behind them.
“Jake!” It was Kady. As usual, she had wandered off on her own. Probably looking for the jewelry section. But Jake heard the ring of fear in her voice. “You’d better come see this! Now!”
He shoved the crystal into his backpack and headed toward her, trailed by the others. She stood near the back wall, where a huge mural made of tiles graced the entire arc of the chamber. The work was a mosaic masterpiece, so finely detailed that it looked like a painting.
Jake headed toward Kady, who stood on the far side of the mural. He realized that the mosaic was a triptych, a piece of art broken into three pieces. Each section told a story. The first showed Ankh Tawy as a vibrant city, bustling with activity, the sun shining brightly on it. The next showed the city in ruins. Blasted by great winds, people were running in terror. At the top of the mosaic, a monstrous, shadowy beast, its eyes made up of fiery red tiles, sailed on wide wings. From its open mouth, the winds blew forth.