TALES OF A DEAD KING

Rudimentary skulduggery on an Egyptian archaeological dig—for kids who take to Myers' no-frills storytelling, simple set-ups, and good sense. Teens John Robie and Karen Lacey find themselves at a seedy Aswan hotel—with only a mysterious note to explain the absence of Dr. Erich Leonhardt, John's unknown archaeologist great-uncle. Egyptian-enthusiast John, less put-out than archaeology-buff Karen, is more inclined to stick around; he also gives a thought to the family connection. But signs that "someone doesn't want us hanging around" keep stubborn smartie Karen on the spot too. The enusing one-upmanship between the two, conveyed with a shade of self-mocking rue from John's viewpoint, is the story's strongest feature—though Myers does craftily manage a tie-in with the Tutankhamun show (supposed source of John's interest) and with some basic Egyptology: the unknown site of monotheist Akhenaton's modest burial. John guesses that the nonexistent ship Sibuna, mentioned in Dr. Leonhardt's letter, stands for Anubis, the Egyptian god of the underworld—meaning that somebody was after, him. Karen reasons from his note-paper (never mind, flimsily, how) that the professor is still around; she remembers that "an Ahmed somebody" was said to have been helping him; she deduces from a letter that the professor had been set back by not receiving a grant from the University of Chicago—hence his need for the two of them. But—John and Karen, together: Didn't the professor's search sound like Tutankhamun-tomb-finder Howard Carter's reference to "the last great mystery of the period"—i.e., the site of Akhenaton's burial? Didn't Akhenaton have Nubian connections, from around Aswan? Isn't the elusive Ahmed supposed to be a Nubian? Dr. Leonhardt is found, the tomb properly isn't—and had it been, the professor notes, it would have held no treasure: the greedy kidnappers had nothing to gain. As for John and Karen, a little real archaeological work is in the offing. "I'd really dig that," says John—(almost) bringing down the curtain on a consciously, likably corny note. Unlike more strenuous efforts, the one grows on you by degrees.