Luckily, Brynhild doesn't take long to comprehend everything I tell her. She seems to be okay with the idea of being an exhibit in a museum, as opposed to a real Viking warrior.
"I think I already knew, Flo," Brynhild says sadly.
Ignoring the nickname that I am already beginning to like, I ask, "How?"
"I remember dying," Brynhild replies softly. "I was sick. Very sick. My brother took me through the snow to a healer we hoped could help me. But…Bjorn went off to find help and never returned. I was left alone in the snow. I guess the cold helped my illness to kill me." She shivers, as if she is reliving the moment.
I feel sympathy for her. I gently pat her on the head, unsure of what else to do. She sighs, then glances up at me. "So how did you die?"
"Luckily, I was able to live a very full life. I died aged ninety."
Brynhild's eyes widen. "NINETY?!"
I nod. "I'm thirty now, though."
"W-Wow…" Brynhild hesitates. "I'm the same age as I was when I died: twenty-three."
My face twists into a sympathetic grimace. "Did you ever get married?"
Brynhild shook her head. "I did have a male companion when I died, but I never expected it to go anywhere. My only real friend in my childhood was my brother Bjorn."
I'm about to comment on that when we both hear a loud crashing sound and then screaming. "What the Hel?!" screeches Brynhild.
I quickly stand up. "Let's get you back to your exhibit, quickly."
"No!" Brynhild yells suddenly. "Please don't take me back there!"
"They're probably worried about you, Bryn!"
"No they're not! I was accused of being a traitor and given to that bird on purpose!"
My stomach drops. "What?!"
"They hate me!" yells Brynhild, brushing angry tears out of her eyes. "Don't take me back there!"
I have no time to argue or question further. I shove her onto my shoulder and take off running in the direction of the commotion. When I round the corner, I see exhibits rushing around all over the place in a panic. A single figure catches my eye, and I turn in time to see the back of a man turning a corner. I blink twice, thinking I'm seeing things. That looked like…
It can't be. He can't be here in the Smithsonian. Can he?
But it makes sense. He is the "guardian" of the tablet, after all. And if the tablet's here, then it stands to reason that he is here too.
Dodging the squid's tentacles, I take off after the figure. I spot him entering another room, so I yell his name as loudly as I can.
"LARRY!"
The man stops and turns. It IS Larry! He's really here! And in his arms…is the tablet of Ahkmenrah in all its glory.
I put on a burst of speed and catch up with him, the effect of all this running beginning to catch up with me. The nightguard, Larry Daley, stares at me in disbelief.
"F-Flo…I-I mean Miss Nightingale!" He blinks several times. "I-I forgot you'd be here."
"What happened?" I demand. "Why are you and the tablet here?"
"Long story," Larry sighs. "Everyone else is here too. They're in the archives."
"E-Everyone?" My heart leaps.
"Well, not everyone. Ahk, Teddy, and Rexy among others are still at home."
My hopes are dashed just as quickly as they rose, but I shake that off. "What's the commotion?"
"Long story short, Ahkmenrah's brother wants to rule the world and he needs the tablet to do so."
Ahkmenrah has a brother?! I would not have expected that. And even if I had, I would not expect him to be evil, considering how kind and sweet Ahk is.
Just then, a curly-haired woman comes up to us, hands on her hips. "What's the holdup?" she demands of Larry. "Who's this?"
"Florence Nightingale," I reply haughtily before Larry can. "And you are?"
"Amelia Earhart," replies the curly-haired woman.
For some reason, I dislike Amelia on sight. I don't know if it's her appearance or her manner, but I just don't like her.
"Oh, a Brit." Amelia looks unimpressed. "What's with the costume?"
"I could ask you the same question," I counter coldly.
"Guys, please don't argue," Larry sighs. "We need to get back to the archives and rescue the others. But first, we gotta dodge those Egyptian guys."
"Into the painting," I suggest, pointing at the black and white war painting.
"Are you mad?" Amelia demands, but Larry just grabs her hand and drags her towards it.
I step back and watch as they disappear into the painting. "Well, look at that."
"Did you know that would work?" Brynhild asks from my shoulder.
I shake my head. "Part of me was hoping they'd smack into it."
"You're cruel and weird."
"I know."
Hearing the loud noise of footsteps, I quickly turn and escape the room through the side entrance. Peering back through, I watch as a few Egyptian warriors follow Larry and Amelia into the painting.
"I hope they'll be okay," I murmur.
"They're as good as dead," Brynhild remarks from my shoulder.
I sigh and carry on in the direction I was heading in. All the while, one thought continues to turn round in my head. And it's not the fact that the New York exhibits are here, or the fact that Ahkmenrah has a brother, or the fact that Larry and Amelia are essentially on their own against an entire Egyptian army.
It's the fact that the Vikings gave Brynhild to a carnivorous bird on purpose.
Finally, I stop walking and sit down on a bench opposite an empty diorama. I take Brynhild down from my shoulders and hold her in my hand. "Bryn-."
"Are you going to call me that every time?" Brynhild asks immediately.
I slowly shrug. "If that's okay."
Brynhild hesitates for a second. "I'd rather you called me by my full name. Or Hilda."
"Hilda, then," I say. "Hilda, why do your people think you're a traitor?"
