I was horrified. "Get up!" I snapped.
"You must raise me up, O Isis. Raise me up, so like the sun rising in the sky, the Age of Horus can begin."
Oh, for heaven's sake! I reached down, grabbed hold of his meaty arm, and yanked—none too gently. He lurched to his feet and then straightened his robes.
"The Age of Horus is born," he declared. "All hail!"
The rest of the men shouted out, "Hail the Age of Horus!" then fell silent.
"Are we done?" I asked hopefully.
Trawley closed his eyes for a long moment. Stilton stepped forward. "Her parents will miss her before too long," he said apologetically.
His words, while not exactly true, gave Trawley pause. "Very well. We are done for the moment anyway." He took a step in my direction, using his superior height to try to intimidate me. "But the next time you come," he said, "I want you to bring the staff Whiting spoke of. I would like to see it for myself, even if it cannot raise the dead."
I bobbed a small curtsy. "I will do my best to arrange it," I lied. The problem was, I no longer had it. Wigmere had taken it for safekeeping. "But it's hard enough to sneak away as it is without carrying a five-foot-long stick," I pointed out.
Trawley sighed. "Remove her," he told Stilton.
Oh dear, he sounded angry, and I really didn't want to provoke someone as unstable as he was. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. It's just very difficult to move about freely when one is a child. And if my movements were further curtailed, we'd never have a chance to have our little talks."
"Very well," Trawley said, sounding somewhat appeased. "But you and I shall meet again." His frantic eyes zeroed in on mine. "Soon."
"Of course, Mr. Trawley!" I bobbed another curtsy. "It would be my pleasure."
"Tefen." Trawley jerked his head in Edgar's direction. "See her home."
"Very well, sir. Come along, Rosy Light." His lips twitched ever so slightly as he said this, and I resisted the urge to slug him. Instead, I high-stepped it over to his side, then followed him down the corridor. Walking quickly, we made our way to the front door, where he paused and began patting his pockets, looking for a blindfold.
I took advantage of his distraction and opened the door and marched straight outside without waiting for the blindfold.
"Miss Theo!" he said, scandalized.
"Too late," I chirped at him. "I've seen it. Now quit dawdling and let's get back to the museum." As we moved to the carriage, I took stock of my surroundings. It was a quiet, well-to-do neighborhood. Near Fitzroy Square, if I wasn't mistaken. Who knew a temple of the Black Sun would lurk in such normal surroundings?
Stilton looked about nervously, anxious that none of the Black Sunners see my unblindfolded state. "In you go," he whispered, opening the carriage door. "Before the driver sees you."
I climbed into the carriage while he gave the address of the museum to the driver. As Stilton settled into his seat, he looked serious. "I know that I'm the one who introduced you to the Black Sun," he said, picking his words carefully. "But I think it best that you don't visit them when I'm not there."
"Visit them! I don't visit them! They jolly well kidnapped me right off the street."
Stilton looked even more worried. "Trawley seems very focused on that staff, doesn't he?" His foot began tapping out a rapid tattoo on the carriage floor until he quickly reached out with his hand and stopped it.
"You're the one that told him about the mouse." I didn't even try to keep the accusing tone out of my voice.
"I know, and I'm sorry for it. I'd hate to think I'd gotten you mixed up in something unhealthy, Theo."
"Shouldn't you have thought of that before you introduced us?"
"I was trying to rescue you at the time," he pointed out, a bit defensively. "I didn't have many resources available."
"True. I'd forgotten about that." If not for Edgar, who knows what would have happened to me when the Serpents of Chaos had commandeered my carriage.
When we arrived back at the museum, there was a grand carriage parked outside. Grandmother Throckmorton! My heart sank. Suddenly, Aloysius Trawley didn't seem so bad.
CHAPTER FIVE
Henry Makes an Unexpected Discovery
STILTON HAD THE DRIVER DROP ME at the corner of the square then take him around to the back of the building so we wouldn't be seen together and raise any suspicions.
I opened the front door of the museum and peered cautiously inside. The foyer was a jumbled mess, partially assembled display cases were scattered throughout and half-unpacked crates littered the floor. At first glance, it appeared empty. Then I spied Clive Fagenbush coming down the stairs, carrying an enormous crate.
Like a hound on a scent, he quickly found me.
"Where have you been? Your parents and grandmother have been looking all over for you." He seemed oddly pleased, as if he hoped I'd be getting in trouble for it.
"I was out for a walk," I told him. It felt as if I'd been gone for days, but it hadn't been more than two hours.
His look of disbelief told me what he thought of that excuse. Fagenbush managed to be more aware of my clandestine activities than anyone else, so he had good reason to be suspicious. He set the crate down and came over to where I stood. He confirmed we were alone, then lowered his voice. "Do you have a message for me to give to Wigmere?"
"Nope. Not a thing." I stepped around the crate to make my way to the family withdrawing room, but he moved to cut me off.
"You're supposed to report to Wigmere every day. Through me," he pointed out, his long nose quivering in frustration. "Have you come across anything else of note down in long-term storage? Anything else that Augustus Munk might have had hidden there?"
"Nothing more," I said. "You can tell Wigmere I'm still looking."
"Since you're not having any luck, perhaps someone with more experience ought to have a look. You might be missing something."
I arched an eyebrow, like I'd seen Mum do. "Wigmere seems to trust me with the task."
His lip curled in disdain. "Not everyone is as easily fooled by you as he is. Besides, if you're so very trustworthy, why did you sneak out today?"
Keeping tabs on me now, was he? "I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Wigmere has made you my business. And in spite of what I think of you, I have no intention of failing in my duties." Fagenbush sharpened his gaze, and I resisted a shudder. "I will have your reports for Wigmere. I will not let an eleven-year-old girl derail my career with the Brotherhood. Do you understand me? You can make this easy on us both, or you can make it quite difficult."
"We'll have to see about that," I muttered.
He recoiled in surprise. "What did you say?"
"I said, Have you seen my cat? I can't seem to find her this morning."
Before he could say anything further, an imperious voice came from the nearby hallway.
"But where is the gel?"
Grandmother! While I was rarely glad of her visits, I had to admit that today she'd timed it perfectly. Fagenbush shot me a dark look, then scuttled back up the stairs to retrieve another crate.
Grandmother's voice continued. "She's usually always underfoot, and now when I have need of her, she can't be found. How very contrary of her."
A horrible thought occurred to me. What if she had another one of those beastly governesses in tow? Just as I was considering hiding, she barreled into the room with Father trailing behind her. He looked quite put out.
"I don't know where she is, Mother, but perhaps next time if you'd let us know ahead that you planned to visit, we could be sure she was here to greet you."
Grandmother paused and surveyed the mess around her. "Really, Alistair. Is this any way to run a museum? It's a pigsty. It's bad enough you chose to work; the least you could do is keep your museum tidy."
"We're preparing a new exhibit, Mother. And we're closed for preparations, so no one will have to see the mess. Except for those who drop by unannounced," he said pointedly.
&
nbsp; "Theodosia! There you are," Grandmother said, sailing toward me. "Where have you been, child? We've nearly turned this place upside down looking for you. It was most inconsiderate of you to disappear."
I opened my eyes wide and tried to look innocent. "I've been in the basement all day, cataloging the items down there."
"Really?" Father frowned. "That was the first place I looked."
"Well," I demurred. "I did have to come upstairs to use the facilities. Perhaps you just missed me?"
Grandmother thumped her cane. "Do not be vulgar."
"What would you prefer I call it, Grandmother? The water closet?"
"I would prefer you didn't call it anything at all. It's not spoken of in polite company. Now, Sopcoate seemed rather fond of you. I thought perhaps you'd have some ideas."
Oh no! I did not want to discuss Admiral Sopcoate with Grandmother Throckmorton! She'd been rather sweet on him, which, as disgusting as it was, wasn't nearly so bad as him turning out to be an agent of Chaos. She thought he'd died a hero's death when really he'd simply escaped with his fellow Serpents of Chaos. "Ideas for what?" I asked cautiously.
Father clapped his hands together. "Well, now that you've found her, I think I'll be off to the workroom."
Honestly. He was such a coward sometimes!
Grandmother waved him away. "Very well. I'll see myself out once Theodosia and I have finished. Come, gel. I don't want to stand in this mess. Let's go to the withdrawing room. I only have a few minutes before I must leave for the admiralty."
Thank heaven for small favors, I thought as I meekly followed her into the room our family used as a refuge from museum business.
"Sit down," she said, taking a seat on the small red-velvet settee.
I perched myself on the edge of a chair. It doesn't do to get too comfortable around Grandmother.
"So." She glanced at me briefly, then turned to study the clock on the mantel. "There's been no more word on Admiral Sopcoate."
"I'm very sorry, Grandmother," I murmured.
"Yes, well. It can't be helped. However, I've decided that something must be done to commemorate his courage and patriotism." She speared me with a gaze. "It's the least we can do, don't you think?"
"Er, yes, Grandmother."
She gave a small satisfied nod, pleased that, for once, she and I were in accord. If only she knew! But I'd been forbidden to tell her. Not to mention, I wasn't certain how she'd take the news. She was a devout Conservative and it might do her in if she realized she'd been consorting with an enemy, however unknowingly. "What did you have in mind?"
She stood up and went over to the fireplace. "Something grand, I should think. With lots of pomp and ceremony. A big brass band and dress uniforms. Maybe even a forty-one-gun salute. It seems appropriate for a hero such as Sopcoate."
"But Grandmother..."I had to step carefully here. "There are many heroes who don't receive a forty-one-gun salute, aren't there? Otherwise, we'd hear the guns going off constantly. I imagine there must be regulations for who gets that sort of fanfare, don't you think?"
She scowled at me. "You sound just like the admiralty."
"I beg your pardon?"
She sighed and turned back to the fireplace. "The admiralty has finally agreed to allow me to hold a memorial service for Sopcoate. However, they stopped short of letting me use Westminster Abbey or have his coffin paraded through London on a gun carriage. They were strangely reluctant to honor him in the proper manner, which made me just that much more determined. I will not have him snubbed or forgotten."
How Grandmother had managed to convince the admiralty to allow a memorial service, I'd never know. I could only assume it was approved by someone who wasn't cleared to know the true reason for Sopcoate's disappearance. Since I had vowed to be tactful, all I said was "Perhaps it had less to do with his status as a hero and more to do with the fact that there isn't a body?"
"Either way, it is unforgivable. Now, I have selected a mahogany coffin, lined with a tufted mattress made of silk. I decided Sopcoate would not want ruffles. I've ordered an inscribed brass plate and brass handles, and, for the pall, I've chosen silk, not velvet, since it is nearly spring. Don't you agree?"
It seemed pointless to mention—yet again—that there was no body to put in this fancy coffin, so I merely nodded my head.
"I've also hired a carriage with six horses. They tried to talk me into only four, but I think Sopcoate deserves at least six. I've also arranged for black crepe scarves, black gloves, and black hatbands to be distributed to all those attending the service. Oh, and black ostrich plumes as well. I do think they add so much dignity to a funeral, don't you?"
"Actually, Grandmother, I've never been to a funeral," I pointed out.
She turned around to face me. "But of course! You weren't even born yet when my dear husband passed on." She paused for a moment, dreamy-eyed. "Now that was a funeral." Grandmother clucked her tongue. "If you've never attended a funeral before, you'll need to be fitted for proper mourning clothes."
"Mourning clothes?"
"Of course. You cannot attend in anything but unrelieved black." She thumped her cane. "I'll be back in a day or two with a seamstress so we can get you fitted." Before she could elaborate, the sound of the front door crashing against the wall made us both jump.
"What on earth—" Grandmother began.
"Is anybody in this moldy old place?"
I leaped to my feet. "Henry?" Horrified, I ran to the front door. There my brother stood, hands on his hips, glaring into the foyer.
"I say, what's all that racket?" Father appeared on the top step.
"It's Henry, Father," I told him. "He's home for Easter holidays."
"I would have been here loads sooner," Henry said, fixing his glare on me, "if someone hadn't neglected to come fetch me. Which reminds me. I need cab fare to pay for the hansom."
Father came down the stairs in a hurry. "Why didn't you tell us, Theodosia? We would have gone to pick him up ourselves."
I squelched a bubble of irritation. While it was true that I was usually the one to remember such things, it didn't seem fair that I should get in trouble when I forgot.
The cabby stuck his head in the door. "Where's me blunt, mate? You said someone 'ere would pay me. You'd best not be messin' wif ol' Bert here."
"I'm not," Henry said, then turned to me. "I need cab fare," he repeated.
"Well, I certainly don't have it," I told him. "Father? We need to pay for Henry's cab."
"A young child taking a cab, all by himself?" Grandmother sounded scandalized. She had followed me into the foyer and now stood in the doorway looking down her long nose at us.
Father stepped outside to pay the cabby. As Grandmother made a path through the crates and artifacts in our direction, Henry sidled up to me. "I had thought things were different between us, but I can see that I was wrong. You're still up to your old ways."
"No, Henry. Honestly. I just simply forgot—"
"You? Miss Know-it-all? Forget? Ha. You've always threatened to forget to remind Mum and Dad, but why this time?"
"No, really. I did. You see—" How was I to explain it to him? Where to even begin?
"See? It's like I said. You forgot."
I hate it when Henry is right. I especially hate it when he is right and I am wrong. The truth is, I would not have remembered even if Grandmother hadn't been waiting. Or even if the wretched scorpions hadn't ambushed me.
Before we could continue our conversation, Grandmother reached us and began fussing over Henry, who lapped it up like Isis with a bowl of cream. At least now I could make my escape.
I edged toward one of the pillars, hoping to slip out of sight unnoticed. I wanted to head for the reading room and research the oracle ritual Awi Bubu and Trawley had used. Maybe there were clues that might explain how both Ratsy and I had managed to have the same prediction.
I had nearly made it to the hall when I had to hop out of the way as Vicary Weems strode by. He held his nose so
high in the air he didn't even realize he'd nearly bowled me over. Beast. I waited to see what he was up to.
Father had returned, and Weems pranced toward him, throwing a glance at Henry as if he were something nasty my cat had dragged in. Weems cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir?"
Father, who had just managed to get Grandmother out the door, looked annoyed. "What is it, Weems?"
He cleared his throat again and tried to look as if what he was about to say pained him. However, the relish in his eyes belied that. "We've had a note from Lord Chudleigh, sir. He reminds us that the board of directors is still waiting for the museum's inventory, which was due Friday."
After the recent fiasco with all of London's mummies ending up on our doorstep and suspicion landing, however briefly, on Father, the museum directors had decided they wanted a detailed inventory of all our artifacts, something that hadn't been done in years—if ever. Presumably, the board members wanted a head count in case one of our artifacts decided to wander off. They completely missed the point that all the other artifacts had migrated here.
Father sighed and stabbed his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Yes, Weems. But as you can see, I'm a little busy at the moment trying to get this new exhibit ready for the opening."
"Yes, sir. I understand. But the opening is two weeks away, while the inventory was due three days ago. I find that it is all a question of managing one's time proper—"
"Thank you, Weems," Father interrupted, not sounding the least bit thankful. "I'll have it to him directly."
Weems quivered in righteous indignation as he gave a crisp "Very well, sir," then high-stepped it out of there. Honestly, how does he not trip over his own feet like that?
"Theodosia?"
Oops. "Yes, Father?"
"Have you finished inventorying the basement yet?"
"Almost done, Father. Just one more shelf, really."
"Well then, get to it. I need it by the end of business today so I can get it to Chudleigh first thing in the morning."
"Yes, Father." Assigning me to inventory the basement had been a combination treat/punishment. (Yes, only my father would try to combine those two!) It was also an attempt to keep me occupied, since Grandmother had been unsuccessful in finding a governess who'd stick.
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