Seven Wonders Journals by Peter Lerangis

slack as we found our footing.
    I pulled twice on the rope. All clear.
    Two gentle tugs from above returned the signal. “Are you all right?” Father’s voice echoed down to us.
    â€œThere’s a tunnel down here!” Osman shouted, deafening me for a moment as his voice was amplified in every direction by the smooth, curved walls.
    â€œWhat’s inside?” Dodi asked.
    â€œHow would they know, you fool?” Gencer shot back.
    I ducked, walking carefully in, planting my feet to avoid falling. The going was slow, the oppressive heat seeming to intensify the farther belowground we got. As the air thickened I thought we might be getting close to water. My flashlight beam was picking out waves of motion in the air.
    Wisps of blue.
    I stopped. “Do you see—?”
    â€œIt’s . . . the blue smoke,” Osman whispered. As the earth began to creak and groan, he grasped my hand. His fingers were clammy and wet. A high-pitched noise reverberated through the tunnel. “Bats? Are those bats?”
    â€œTh-they’re more afraid of us than we are of them,” I muttered.
    â€œWanna bet?” Osman replied.
    Osman turned and shone his flashlight back behindus. Although we’d only gone maybe twenty yards, the blue smoke had thickened behind us so that it hid the opening of the tunnel. It felt as if we’d been down under the earth forever. I figured Osman wanted to go back.
    I have to admit, I was thinking the same thing.
    But all he said was, “The walls, Aliyah . . .”
    â€œWhat?” I replied. “What’s happening to them?”
    â€œNot what’s happening—what happened,” he said. “There’s something carved into them.”
    I turned around to see faint letters in the wall, letters I’d completely missed as we’d walked. “Looks like the same script we saw in the tomb.”
    As I traced the chiseled lines with a finger, the hairs on the back of my hand slowly rose until they were sticking straight up. “Maybe the name of the dude who built this tunnel,” Osman said shakily.
    We worked our way slowly forward, down the tunnel, following the lines of text. “That’s a long name,” I said.
    The tunnel suddenly leveled out and we aimed our flashlights straight in front of us. We seemed to be in some sort of chamber. For a moment I had visions of our earlier adventure. I half expected Safi to come running out. But this all changed as my light caught a shape against the wall to my left.
    A foot.
    Carved into the rock.
    We both trained our beams on it, moving them slowly upward, and saw a carving of a gigantic, regal-looking woman standing in the doorway of what seemed to be a Greek temple. Her hair was wavy and wild, blown back by the wind. Her robes were rich and many-layered. The carving was exquisite, showing intricate details of the bangles on her ankles, but her arms . . . were gone. Halfway to the elbow her arms disappeared.
    This was the other half of the relief from the museum.
    In my head I joined this half of the carving to the one we had seen at the museum. A man, clothed in exotic patterns, with a huge, flowing beard was handing a large ball to this regal woman. Her strong shoulders, her high cheekbones, and her stance said royalty.
    â€œIt’s the queen,” Osman said. “From Father’s story.”
    â€œHow in the world did they get half of this aboveground?” I said.
    â€œCome on,” Osman said, tugging my hand. “Let’s keep going. The sooner we get to the end of this tunnel, the sooner we can find the queen’s treasure.”
    We picked up the pace, rounding a curve in the tunnel, but it was blocked by a tall stone obelisk leaning diagonally across our path. At its base was a pile of rubble, and at the top were five stone prongs set around the obelisk like a claw.
    I could hear the breath catch in Osman’s throat. “Do you think that