Artania: The Pharaoh’s Cry

On the other hand, the idea of moving intrigued Bartholomew. Homeschooled and lonely, he had long dreamed of escaping Mother’s antiseptic mansion. Hygenette loathed travel so much that he had been to Grandfather Borax’s house just once when he was six for Grandmother’s funeral. They’d had their train car designed just for the journey. Of course, Mother first had it stripped to the walls, repainted, and carpeted, along with installing brand-new plastic seats, tables, and shining bathroom fixtures. But renovations weren’t enough. Next, she ordered their maid army to attack with enough disinfectant to make a bleach bomb. The trip may have been the same old take-a-bath-prison, but the Borax mansion in Santa Barbara had been too fabulous.

Natural trees and shrubs surrounded the estate, not the plastic ones Bartholomew was used to. And the rooms! Many fantastic things filled them: old photos, knick-knacks, and souvenirs from Grandfather’s travels worldwide. Every one was a different colour, from vibrant orange in the kitchen to humming violet in the downstairs bath. A study with deep wood panelling that hinted at secret passageways held an insect collection, telescope, and star charts. Grandfather’s oil paintings and innovative furniture gave Bartholomew many ways to feed his imagination. One day, after a long game of hide-and-seek, Grandfather took him for a walk. The grounds around the estate were even more magical than the house.