Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

by R. L. LaFevers

  He snatched the ledger from me, then thumbed through the pages, reading what I'd written. "Well, it looks complete, anyway."

  "It is complete. I am very thorough." And you would do well to remember that, I thought. "Now, since you have what you need, perhaps you should get back to work."

  He leaned forward and I was enveloped in a small cloud of pickled-onion-and-boiled-cabbage fumes. "Watch yourself, Theo" was all he said. Then he snapped the ledger closed and began climbing the stairs. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Henry.

  "What a beast!" Henry said. I winced, sure that Fagenbush hadn't made it to the top of the stairs yet.

  My suspicions were confirmed when the entire basement suddenly went black. I froze as Fagenbush's soft laughter floated down the stairway, followed by the click of the door closing. I waited to see if he would lock it, but no. He seemed satisfied to simply turn off the gaslights and leave us to fumble about in the dark.

  "I say, why is Fagenbush so mean?" Henry asked.

  I sighed. "I don't know, Henry. Perhaps he doesn't think he should have to work with a young girl? Whatever the reason, it is most tiresome. I honestly don't trust him a bit."

  "Can't say that I blame you. You know, it's not as dark in here as I thought it would be," he added.

  "You're right." A faint sickly green light kept the room from being pitch-black. We quickly found the source of the light. It came from the shelf. From the Emerald Tablet under the wooden shield, to be precise.

  "Is it supposed to glow like that?" Henry sounded a bit awed.

  "Maybe. If it's as powerful as Stilton was telling us."

  "Does it mean something, do you think?"

  "That's what I intend to find out."

  "How?"

  I turned to look at him. "Research," I announced. "Piles and piles of it."

  Henry groaned, then moped his way up the stairs. I started to follow, pausing when I thought I saw a small patch of shadow dribble down from the ceiling behind the mummies. I blinked to clear my eyes, and when I looked again, it was gone. Clearly, the strange light was playing tricks with my vision.

  Thinking of green light reminded me that I'd yet to conduct a Second Level Test on the Emerald Tablet. I quickly slipped a few wax bits from my pocket onto the shelf next to it. It wouldn't hurt to find out if it was cursed before we handled it much more. Then, because I realized I'd been distracted from my mass Second Level Test the day before, I took another moment and scattered more than a dozen wax blobs throughout the catacombs. It really was time to get a handle on the curses down here.

  "Are you coming or what?" Henry shouted down the stairs at me.

  "I'm right behind you," I called back.

  CHAPTER NINE

  All Roads Lead to ... Chaldea

  "ARE YOU DONE YET?" Henry asked for the third time even though we'd been in the reading room less than ten minutes.

  "No, Henry. I'm not done. I'm just getting started." The truth was, I hadn't even cracked open a book yet, just managed to pull them from the shelves. Honestly. Did he think I could absorb the words through my hands? "This will take a while, so you might as well get comfortable."

  He sighed, then trudged over to an open space on the floor, sat down, and pulled some marbles from his pocket. Satisfied that he would entertain himself for at least five minutes, I returned to my books.

  Since Stilton had said the tablet was revered by those who studied alchemy and the occult, the best place to begin my research was with the grimoires, the ancient books alchemists and magicians of old had used to record their experiments and working knowledge of magic. One in particular, written by Silvus Moribundus, seemed like a good place to start. Much of his information came from Nectanebo II's head priest and magician. The problem was, the book was written in Latin in an old-fashioned script and there were a number of handwritten notes scribbled in the margins, all of which made it painfully slow to translate. Research is not for the easily discouraged.

  I thumbed through the old, worn pages looking for the words Tabula Smaragdina and felt victorious when I actually found them.

  Moribundus wrote that the tablet had been handed down from Hermes Trismegistus, who was thought to be a combination of the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Thoth. Many considered the two gods to be one and the same, and hence the book was credited with being the source of all Western occult knowledge and lore.

  Perhaps Stilton was correct and the tablet was simply a record of the failed recipes for turning lead into gold.

  "Now are you done?" Henry's voice at my shoulder made me jump.

  "No," I said, rather more crossly than I intended.

  "All right, already, you don't have to bite my head off."

  I took a deep breath and tried to hold on to my patience. "I'm sorry, Henry, but being startled makes me a bit grumpy." He looked so bored and miserable that I took pity on him. "I have an idea. Why don't you go spy on Fagenbush? See what he's up to this morning. find out if he tries to go down into the catacombs again, that sort of thing."

  Henry's face brightened. "Truly? You'd let me do that?" Then his face fell. "This isn't like the pinching thing, is it, where you're setting me up to take the punishment?"

  I felt my cheeks pinken slightly at this reminder of my unfair behavior. "No, Henry. It's nothing like that. I truly think it's a good idea to know what one's adversaries are up to. I don't know how angry people will be if you get caught, so just be good enough at it that you don't get caught."

  "Prime!" he said, then headed for the door. "When should I report back?"

  I checked my watch. "After luncheon, perhaps? That way if Fagenbush meets anyone for lunch, you'll be there to see it." Henry looked positively thrilled at this possibility and hurried out. I settled back into my grimoire, determined to make some headway.

  Moribundus called the tabula the bible of all alchemical knowledge. It had formed the basis for generations of alchemical experiments and magical theories, which confirmed that Stilton did indeed know what he was talking about. Moribundus also claimed that the tablet had been inscribed by the god Thoth himself. If that were the case, then the tablet could be much more valuable—and dangerous—than Stilton, or Moribundus, knew. It would have been much easier to believe this claim if the symbols on the tablet had been Egyptian hieroglyphs, but they weren't. They were distinctly different.

  Frustrated by that puzzle, I continued reading. Moribundus went on to say that the tablet, along with the Book of Thoth, a thirty-six-volume work that contained the entire Egyptian philosophy and magical doctrines, had been stored in the Alexandria Library and destroyed in the great fire. I sighed in disappointment. It's hard to describe just how much ancient knowledge was lost in that wretched fire.

  But wait a moment! If the Emerald Tablet had been lost in the fire, then it couldn't be hidden in our basement! Hoping for more clues, I turned the page. There was yet another handwritten note in the margin, this one in a different hand. It is rumored that some of these books survived the fire and were secreted away in the nearby desert, where they are carefully hidden and only initiates of the wedjadeen can know their location.

  Most interesting. Unfortunately, I was a bit unsure as to what a wedjadeen was, so I had no hope of learning the location. There was a sound at the door. "Henry," I said, without looking up. "It's not even lunchtime yet."

  "Actually," said Stilton, clearing his throat. "It's not Henry, and it is, in fact, lunchtime."

  "Oh, sorry, Stilton. I lost track of time."

  "You always do, Miss Theodosia, when you're researching something. Find anything on the Emerald Tablet?"

  I winced as he said the name out loud. "Shh! No, not yet. But I don't want everyone to know that I've found it, either."

  "Of course!"

  "What can I do for you, Stilton?"

  His left hand twitched convulsively as he came fully into the room. "Actually, miss, I was wondering if you could tell me what all the excitement was about this morning. I'm afraid
I missed it."

  I leaned back in my chair, glad of the break. "A vagrant broke into the museum and spent the night in the broom closet," I explained.

  "But what was that I heard about him being Egyptian? Quite a coincidence, that."

  "True," I said, not sure how much I should tell him. He did work for Trawley, after all.

  A rapid tic began in Stilton's left cheek and continued until he finally bit down to get it to stop. "Was that the Egyptian fellow you were outside talking to this morning?"

  "Who told you that?" I asked sharply.

  "N-no one, Miss Theo. I happened to arrive just then and saw you."

  "Oh. Yes, well. He was one and the same."

  "Odd, that you and he would have something to talk about."

  I narrowed my eyes. Why was Stilton pumping me for information? "Not so odd," I said. "It turns out he used to work for the Antiquities Service in Cairo. Mum invited him back to visit tomorrow. I was merely curious as to his duties there."

  Stilton leaned forward, practically quivering in anticipation. "And that's all you talked about?"

  "Why, yes, Stilton. What else would we talk about?"

  "N-nothing. I was just curious."

  Tired of his crypticness, I rubbed my eyes and changed the subject. "Stilton, you seem to know quite a lot about this Emerald Tablet. How do you think people are aware of it if it's been hidden inside a false stele all these years?"

  "It was housed in the Alexandria Library for some time and was one of the most copied documents of its day."

  "But how was it deciphered? I didn't recognize the glyphs on it, did you?"

  "Ah!" Stilton's face lit up. "That's because they're Chaldean cuneiform, miss, not Egyptian."

  "Chaldean?"

  "From Chaldea, what the Greeks called Babylonia. More specifically, from the eleventh dynasty of Babylonia, during the sixth century B.C."

  "But if the tablet was fashioned by Thoth, or even Hermes Trismegistus, why would they use Chaldean script rather than Egyptian?"

  "That's an excellent question, Miss Theo. Our current translations of the tablet were all taken from medieval Latin or Arabic copies of the original."

  "Does anyone even know how to read Chaldean?" I asked.

  "A handful of scholars," Stilton said. "But they only managed to decipher the cuneiform a few decades ago, so no one who is actually able to read the cuneiform has ever seen the original inscription on the tablet."

  "Which would make it quite valuable from a scholarly standpoint," I said thoughtfully.

  "There are many who feel the reason the formula never worked was that there was an incorrect translation. Who knows what a true, accurate translation would produce?" His eyes gleamed, as if he were imagining piles of gold.

  "Stilton," I began, then stopped when Henry called out, "Theo!"

  Stilton bade me a quick goodbye as Henry appeared. Honestly. There were as many comings and goings here as there were at Charing Cross Station! When Stilton was gone, Henry began hopping about as if he were going to burst.

  "What? What is it, Henry?"

  "You're right, Theo! Fagenbush is definitely up to something."

  "Really?" What luck to have finally caught him at it. "What exactly did you observe?"

  "Well, he was restless and nervous. Kept jumping out of his chair then standing and pacing for a while."

  "Oh." My excitement left me. Those actions were more in keeping with sand in the knickers rather than with traitorous activity. However, I told Henry he'd done a good job so as not to discourage him early on. I glanced at the clock ticking on the wall. "Goodness! It's nearly time to meet Will."

  "We're meeting Will?" Henry perked up considerably at this announcement.

  "Yes, we arranged to meet in the park today." Of course, we'd arranged that before Wigmere's rebuke. Even so, I couldn't leave him hanging. I needed to explain what had happened.

  Henry hurried over to the area where he'd been waiting for me to finish up my research and began hunting around on the floor.

  "What are you doing? We need to go."

  "I want to take my marbles to the park with me, but they're not here. Where'd you put them?"

  "Me? I didn't put them anywhere. I never touched them."

  "But I left them here," he insisted.

  "Maybe you just thought you did." Then, before he could continue to argue, I said, "I'm leaving right this minute. Are you coming or not?"

  He stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and kicked at the floor. "I'm coming."

  CHAPTER TEN

  A Walk in the Park

  LUCKILY FOR US, it was one of those rare spring days when the weather was lovely. We could even see the sky for a change, which was a rarity. As we walked to the park, I tried to assemble my thoughts so I could send a coherent message to Wigmere. It was difficult, however, because Henry kept skipping along and asking questions such as "Do you think Will is going to remember me?" (Of course, Henry), "Do you think he'd teach me how to pick pockets?" (I sincerely hope not, Henry), and so on, so by the time we reached the park, I still had no idea of the actual message I would send.

  Because of the nice weather, there was a small crowd and quite a lot of boys running around. Excellent. That should keep Henry entertained.

  I searched the crowd, not sure what—if any—disguise Will would be wearing. There was one chimney sweep, but he was too small and too young. Besides, his hair was bright red. Just then, an older boy headed our way. I immediately recognized Will's bright blue eyes under the brim of his slightly grimy cap.

  "'Ello, miss!"

  "Will! You made it. Did you have any trouble getting here?"

  "Nah, simple it was."

  "Good. You remember my brother, Henry?"

  "Course I do! 'Ow could I forget them whirligigs 'e came up with last time?"

  Henry positively beamed. Will could not have said anything that would have pleased him more. Glancing around, I couldn't help but notice that all the other children had stopped their playing and were watching us. I lowered my voice. "We seem to have a bit of an audience," I said.

  Will gave me a queer look. "Them's no audience, miss. Them's me brothers."

  "All"—I made a quick count—"six of them?"

  "Aye. You know Snuffles and Ratsy already." Indeed I did know Snuffles, but I'd never seen him without his enormous bowler hat on. And Ratsy I'd seen only in the dim light of the Alcazar Theater or covered in coal dust on board the Dreadnought.

  "Ratsy's easy to remember because 'e kind of looks like a rat, don't 'e, miss?"

  I had to admit, Ratsy's face was small and pinched and he had a rather long nose. However, even though Will had said it first, I thought it impolite to agree, so I simply pointed to the small chimney sweep who was trying to climb a tree. "Who's that?"

  "Oh, that's Sparky, miss. There's no work for 'im today, so 'e's wif us."

  "Is that why he's named Sparky? Because he works with chimneys?"

  "Oh no, miss. 'E's named Sparky because 'e's right fond o' fire. Can light one using just about anything too."

  "Fascinating," I said.

  "Then that little blighter over there by the big bush is Pincher."

  "Does he pinch then?" I asked, feeling somewhat leery after my experience with Miss Sharpe, one of my former governesses.

  "Only wallets, miss. 'E's nearly as good as I am," Will said with a great deal of pride.

  "What is he doing to that shrub?" I asked.

  Will turned to have a look. "Oh, 'e's practicing. Seeing if 'e can pinch a leaf off wifout 'aving the other branches quiver. It's 'arder than it looks."

  "So I would think," I said faintly.

  "Then the two young'uns are Soggers and the Gob. Me mam isn't feeling well today so she gave 'em to me to take care of."

  "Soggers? The Gob?" Honestly. Didn't anyone in his family have a real name?

  Will leaned forward and in a stage whisper said, "Soggers still wets 'imself at night, miss, and the Gob, well, ther
e 'e goes, see?" The toddler had picked up what looked to be an old cigar stub and was bringing it toward his mouth. "No, Gob! Put it down," Will shouted, then grabbed the stub from the toddler, who promptly began to cry. Will stuffed the cigar stub into his pocket—"There's a few good puffs left on this one," he explained—then picked up the wailing child and began jiggling the unhappy Gob on his hip. "So, miss, you got a message fer me to get to Wigmere?" His eyes shone with anticipation.

  "I'm afraid there's been a change of plans. Wigmere's reminded me that I'm not to use you for messages anymore."

  Will looked crestfallen. "Yer not going to use Fagenbush, are you?"

  "No, no. If I can't send messages through you, I'll just deliver them myself."

  Horrified, Will said, "No, you can't, miss! That neighbor'ood isn't safe for the likes of you. Besides"—a determined look settled over his face—"if that old goat finks I'm not trustworthy enough to deliver 'is messages, well, I'll show 'im. I can be just as reliable as any of 'is other agents."

  "Wigmere won't be happy with us."

  Will snorted, and the Gob stopped crying, fascinated by the sound his brother had just made. "I ain't afraid, miss."

  "Very well. If you're sure."

  "I'm sure." He turned and hollered across the park. "Sparky! Get over 'ere and take the Gob, will you?"

  The redheaded boy leaped off the tree and jogged over to us. Will handed the Gob to him. "'Ush up, Gobby," Sparky said, then turned to Henry. "You going to stay and listen to them jaw or d'you want to come wif us?"

  Henry looked at me. "Go on," I told him. "You already know what I'm going to tell Will."

  A broad smile split his face. "Is it true you can make anything burn?" he asked as he followed Sparky to the far end of the park.

  I rolled my eyes and tried not to think of what new skills Henry might learn.

  "So, miss, what 'ave ye got?"

  "Well, I think I've found another special artifact, sort of like the Staff of Osiris."

  Will's eyebrows flew up. "One that can raise the dead?"

  "No, no. At least, not that I know of. But one that seems more powerful than normal. Tell Wigmere I think I've found the Emerald Tablet—"