Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

by R. L. LaFevers

  Sticky Will whistled. "Is it made of emeralds, miss?"

  "I'm not sure. If so, it's one enormous emerald. But tell Wig—"

  "Must be worth a fortune then."

  I waved that assessment away. "Its value is in the carvings and its history. They're supposed to convey the alchemical secrets or some such. Wigmere will know. Ask him if he thinks this might belong to the same lot as the staff and what he'd like me to do with it. According to my research, people have been hunting for it for centuries."

  "Very well, miss. You found the Emerald Tablet and want to know what 'e'd like you to do with it."

  "Roughly, yes." I was distracted right then by the smell of smoke. Startled, I saw Sparky, Henry, Snuffles, and the Gob all squatting around a small pile of smoldering rubbish. "Henry! No!" I shouted.

  "It's all right, miss. Sparky knows what 'e's doing," Will assured me.

  "Yes, but Henry doesn't!" I hurried over to the group of boys, reached down, grabbed Henry's arm, and pulled him to his feet.

  "Ow. What'd you go and do that for?"

  "Henry, you can't start fires in the park!"

  "Sparky was just showing me how to—"

  "I don't care, Henry! And you—" I turned to Sparky. "You should know better than to start fires. What kind of example does that set for the Gob here? Plus," I said, eyeing two nannies who were beginning to watch us, "it's a good way to call the wrong sort of attention to yourself."

  Sparky stood up and began stomping on the small fire. "She's about as much fun as a wet blanket," he complained to Will.

  Will reached out and knocked Sparky's cap from his head, exposing more wiry red hair. "'Ush yer mouth now. Sorry, miss," he said to me.

  Just then, one of the nannies—or perhaps she was a governess—rose up from her bench and headed our way. "Oh dear," I said to Will out of the side of my mouth. "Here comes trouble."

  Indeed, she was starched and pressed to within an inch of her life and held herself with a distinctly military bearing. She stopped a few feet away from us, as if she were afraid she'd catch something if she ventured too close. "Excuse me." Her words were clipped and brisk. "I don't believe this park is intended for your use. It is specifically for those who live in Hartford Square. If you do not remove yourselves immediately, I shall go for the constable."

  "We was just leavin' anyway, you old cow," Will said. "Come on, boys," he bellowed, then tipped his cap to me. "Later, miss."

  I watched them go, furious that the woman had been so heartless. Before I could tell her so, she spoke. "I meant all of you," she said, pointing the way to the street.

  Embarrassment, hot and sharp, flooded me. She thought I was an urchin just like Will! Furious, I tried to think of something to say, but Henry grabbed my hand and tugged. "Yeah, we were just going, too, you old bat."

  When we arrived back at the museum, my cheeks were still stinging from the wretched governess at the park. I decided to go to ground for a bit. Henry was starving and went in search of food (Goodluck, I thought to myself). Determined to make my quest for solitude productive, I decided to go see if the results from the Second Level Test had come in yet.

  Luckily, the hallways were empty; all the curators were no doubt busy in the foyer setting up the display cases and making them ready to receive the collection. As I descended the stairs, I couldn't help but wonder what I'd find. Even if the wax bits had turned foul, could I be certain it was the tablet and not a curse from something else close by?

  However, what I did find was even more puzzling than that. The wax that I'd placed right next to the tablet was still white and untainted, even though all the rest of the wax I had scattered throughout the basement was indeed a foul green-black color. How odd. It was almost as if the space around the tablet were the only part of the basement that wasn't cursed. Did that mean it held a protective charm? Or merely that everything else down here was thick with evil magic, and the tablet was the only thing that wasn't? I sighed as my head began to ache. Why couldn't Egyptian magic ever be simple and straightforward?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Five Impossible Things Before Supper

  THE NEXT MORNING when we arrived at the museum I put Henry on sentry duty and went immediately to the reading room. I liked having someone keep an eye on the curators and report on their whereabouts, as it helped cut down on the number of surprise visits I received. Since the tablet had passed the Level-Two Test with flying colors, I was feeling optimistic that it was important most likely only to those who studied occult lore. Of course, to be thorough, I would have to conduct a Level-Three Test, but I needed moonlight for that, and who knew when we'd spend the night at the museum again? That happened much less often when Henry was home.

  After my conversation with Stilton, I wanted to spend some time researching the Chaldeans. According to the book he'd given me, the Chaldeans had ruled Babylonia until it was conquered by the Achaemenid Empire, in 539 B.C.

  The interesting thing was that the Achaemenids had also ruled Egypt for a time. I fetched A History of Ancient Egypt by Sir Bilious Pudge from the shelf. Yes! Here it was! The Persian emperor Cambyses II had taken Egypt in 526 B.C.

  Which meant that the Chaldeans and the Egyptians had both been conquered people under the same ruler. Was that when the Chaldeans became interested in Egyptian gods? Or when the Egyptians decided to use Chaldean cuneiform to make the tablet more difficult to decipher? Nothing united two distinct factions like a common enemy. For example, just look at me and Fagenbush.

  Speaking of which, it had been awfully quiet all morning. I paused in my reading and looked at my watch. Deciding I needed to stretch my legs, I went to check on Henry. I found him nestled next to a suit of armor in an alcove near the foyer. "Excellent cover, Henry! What's your report this morning?"

  He squeezed out of his hiding spot, being quite careful of the armor, I was glad to note.

  "Rather boring, really. Everyone's been working on the exhibit this morning. Well, except for Fagenbush. He's hiding out in his office and keeps squirming and fidgeting as if he had ants in his pants."

  Er, try desert sand, I thought, but all I said was "Excellent work."

  "The stuff you do around here is pretty boring," he complained. "I don't understand how you find it so exciting."

  With luck, he never would. "If you'd rather, you can go play marbles or read in the family room for a while."

  He perked up. "Did you find my marbles then?"

  I winced, regretting bringing up the subject. "No, Henry. I didn't. I'm sorry."

  His face fell. "They were my favorite ones," he said sulkily.

  "I guess you'll just have to read then, won't you?"

  He sighed in frustration and went down the hall. Before I could head back to the reading room, a "Pssst!" emanated from behind one of the pillars. There was only one person I knew who announced his presence in that manner.

  "Will?" I poked my head around the pillar, making him jump.

  "Oy, miss. You startled me."

  "Sorry about that. Have you got a message for me from Wigmere?"

  At the mention of Wigmere's name, Sticky Will scowled. "I 'ave, miss. 'E says we is not to keep sending messages through me. You is to use your other contact. 'E says, 'If you wish to be a part of this organization, you must follow the proper channels.'"

  Oh dear. It was just as I'd feared. "I'm so sorr—"

  "Aren't I good enough to carry messages for 'is Nibs?" Will's fists were clenched, but he looked at me with a question in his eyes. A glimmer of hurt lurked behind all that bluster.

  "Maybe it has less to do with us," I said slowly, feeling my way, "and more to do with Fagenbush? Maybe this is Wigmere's way of getting his training's worth out of him or doing a trial run before sending him out on real missions? He's only a Chosen Keeper in training, after all."

  Will's face cleared and returned to his normal cheerful countenance. "Oy, then. That's all right. So wot are we goin' to do now, miss?"

  "Did he say anythi
ng about the Emerald Tablet?"

  "No, miss."

  Bother. I'd been so hoping he'd have a recommendation. "We'll lie low for a day or two and see what develops," I said at last. After that, we agreed that Will would come around again on Friday morning, and he took his leave.

  And just in time! No sooner had he disappeared down the west hall than Grandmother's voice rang out from the foyer. "Theodosia?"

  As I was rushing forward to greet her, Grandmother spotted me. "There you are, child."

  "Hello, Grandmother," I said, using my best manners.

  Grandmother sniffed. "Took you long enough. It's not as if we have all day, you know." She motioned with her cane to the long-nosed sallow-faced woman trailing behind her. "This is Madame Wilkie, the seamstress who will measure you for your mourning gown."

  Oh no! I'd completely forgotten about the mourning clothes.

  "Come along." Grandmother strode forward, grabbed my arm, and began dragging me toward the family room. "We can't get you fitted out here."

  There are few things I hate more than being measured and fitted for gowns. For one thing, it is beyond tedious, nothing to do but stand there as some sour-lipped missus pokes and prods with her bony fingers, trying to measure every last inch of you. To make matters even worse, you're never allowed any say in the design or fabric of the frock being made. All the really lovely stuff is too loud or too garish or completely unsuitable (whatever that means!).

  Ignoring the tussle between Madame Wilkie and me, Grandmother turned to her favorite subject. "I'm trying to decide if the mourners should wear weeper veils," she said.

  Honestly. Did I look like an undertaker? How was I to know if they should wear veils? Luckily, I was saved from replying when Madame Wilkie looked up from poking me with her vicious pins and said, "Weeper veils haven't been used for quite some time, madam." She spoke with some hesitation, as if not sure Grandmother would welcome her advice.

  She didn't. Grandmother thumped her cane. "That's because people have no notion of how to organize a proper funeral anymore."

  Madame Wilkie blinked at this onslaught, murmured, "Of course, ma'am," and retreated into her work.

  Hoping to distract Grandmother, I asked, "May I see the pattern for the dress you've chosen?"

  She sniffed. "Don't be vain. The dress isn't to make you look good but to show proper respect for the dead."

  Which no doubt meant it would be about as becoming as a turnip sack. I sighed and said, "Yes, ma'am," then jumped as Madame Wilkie poked the measuring tape into my armpit.

  "Hold still now," she admonished. Small beads of perspiration had gathered on her upper lip, and she smelled faintly of currants.

  "But you're tickling," I protested. I glanced up at the clock and wondered how much longer I had to endure this torture. It was nearly two o'clock! Awi Bubu was due any moment. I could only guess how Grandmother would react to seeing someone of his nature calling on Mother. "Are we almost done?" I asked Madame Wilkie.

  "This is the last one." She slipped the tape around my chest, pulled it tight, and noted the measurement, all before I had a chance to so much as blush in embarrassment.

  Then she stepped away. "I have everything that I need, madam."

  "About time." Grandmother sniffed.

  Madame Wilkie looked as if she'd just been forced to swallow worms, but she held her tongue.

  "Very well," I said brightly, trying to herd them to the door. "You probably have to get back to your funeral planning. Which reminds me, Grandmother—is there a date yet for the service?" They were nearly at the door now. Three more steps and they'd be gone and the coast would be clear for Awi Bubu's visit.

  "I've already told you, it's Tuesday. Do be sure and tell your parents. I insist that they be there. If it hadn't been for Sopcoate's intervention, your father might even now be sitting in jail."

  Well, not entirely. I'd had a little something to do with getting him out. "Of course, Grandmother. I'll let them know."

  She opened the front door and let herself out, Madame Wilkie right behind. I sighed in relief as they both headed straight for the carriage, Grandmother's nose held so high in the air she never saw Awi Bubu approaching.

  ***

  Not wanting to arouse the suspicion of the curators working in the foyer—especially Stilton, who had already asked far too many questions about the Egyptian magician—I waited until Awi Bubu knocked on the door before opening it.

  "Hello?" I inquired politely, as if he and I had never met before.

  His glitter-black eyes studied me. "I am Awi Bubu, and I believe I have an appointment with Madame Throckmorton."

  At his announcement, Stilton, who had been in the process of setting the basket filled with grain-shaped stone in place, twitched violently. A clatter echoed all through the room as the miniature stones scattered on the cold marble floor.

  Fagenbush looked up from the pieces of Thutmose Ill's war chariot he was attempting to reassemble. "Well done," he said, causing Stilton to blush beet red all the way to the roots of his hair. Luckily, just then Mother appeared on the top step.

  "Mr. Bubu," she said, sailing forward with a smile of greeting. "I'm so glad you were able to join us today."

  I produced a very quiet snort, one that only Awi Bubu could hear, but it let him know that I was onto him. However, the Egyptian simply ignored me and bowed at Mum. "I am honored to receive such a kind invitation as yours, madam."

  "Come, let us go have our little chat. Theodosia? Would you mind preparing some tea? I lost track of the time and didn't get to it."

  Seething in frustration—how was I to eavesdrop when I had to go for the tea?—I hurried to the staff room and put the kettle on to boil.

  I opened a cupboard and rummaged around until I found a teapot and two cups that were barely chipped at all, and I slammed them on the tea tray. I hurried over to the kettle, which wasn't boiling yet. Could water take any longer to boil? My imagination ran wild with the sorts of information Awi might be revealing to Mother that I was missing. In frustration, I finally decided that the water was close enough to a boil, grabbed the kettle, and poured water over the tea leaves in the teapot. That would have to do. We didn't have any milk or lemon, so I stuck the sugar bowl on the tray and grabbed two teaspoons, and I was done. I snatched the tray by the handles and began carefully making my way to the staff room.

  Only to find that Mum had closed the door. Honestly! I glanced around, but there was no place to set the tray down so I could free up my hands. Finally, in desperation, I knocked with the toe of my boot.

  "Come in," Mother called out.

  Gritting my teeth in embarrassment, I called back, "I can't. My hands are full." There was a low murmur of voices, and then Mum was at the door, apologizing. "I'm so sorry, darling! I forgot that you'd be carrying the tea. Here. Set it down on the table there in front of Mr. Bubu."

  Carefully avoiding Awi's eyes, I set the tray down and tried my hardest not to feel like a scullery maid. However, if I had to play servant in order to stay and hear what they said, then so be it. I lifted the teapot and turned to ask Awi Bubu if he'd like sugar in his tea when Mother appeared at my side. "I'll pour, dear. You've already been helpful enough. You can run along and play now."

  Play! When have I ever played, I'd like to know? My cheeks went hot with embarrassment at being dismissed like a child in front of Awi Bubu, but I ducked my head so Mother wouldn't see my annoyance, bobbed a curtsy, and said, "Yes, ma'am." I walked as slowly as I could in case they started to talk before I left the room.

  They didn't, except to discuss how Awi Bubu would like his tea. Then I closed the door, and their voices were reduced to indistinguishable murmurs. Checking quickly to be sure no one was in the hallway, I hurried into the next room, crossed over to the wall, and put my ear to it, hoping I would be able to hear something.

  "A glass works better."

  I jumped at the voice behind me and turned to find Henry sitting on the couch reading a book. He closed
it and stood up. "Who is it and why are you listening?"

  "It's Mother talking to that strange magician. I wanted to hear what they said."

  Henry nodded, went to the cupboard, and got down two glasses, then came to stand next to me. He handed me one of the glasses and put the open end of the other one to the wall. He leaned close so that his ear rested on the bottom part of the glass. "Go on," he said. "Try it. This is how we stay two steps ahead of the bullies at school."

  Marveling at Henry's previously unknown skills, I put my ear to the glass on the wall, relieved when I could clearly hear Mum's and Awi's voices. "It works," I whispered to Henry.

  "Told you," he whispered back, looking awfully pleased with himself. I ignored his smugness and settled in to listen.

  "...said you worked at the Antiquities Service, Mr. Bubu?"

  "That is so, madam. I trained under Auguste Mariette, then had occasion to work as an aide to Gaston Maspero when he took over."

  "Excellent!" Mum said. "We were hoping you might be able to ... enlighten us on how best to persuade Maspero to grant additional firmins in the Valley of the Kings. He's given one fellow an exclusive commission to dig there and shut the rest of us out. Most frustrating."

  "What does she want vermin for?" Henry whispered.

  "Not vermin, firmins," I told him. "It's when permission is granted to excavate an archaeological site. Now, shh! I can't hear."

  Awi Bubu murmured something sympathetic, then said, "Well, it has been a long time since he and I have worked together," he demurred.

  "Yes, but since you did work for him, surely you have some insight to offer?"

  "Perhaps if madam told me more about the work being done there, I could help devise a request that would carry some weight with Monsieur Maspero?"

  "But of course." There was a pause, then a faint clink as she set down her teacup. "Very well. Back in 1898, when Monsieur Loretti was in charge of the Antiquities Service, we obtained permission to dig in the Valley. My husband and I discovered the tomb of Thutmose III. Unfortunately, as you no doubt know, Loretti took credit for many digs he never even visited."