Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

by R. L. LaFevers

  "Well, instead of storming through here like an army of invading Mongols, why don't you come have a look at this and tell me what you think?"

  I had been inching toward the far door, but his words brought me to an abrupt halt. "You want to know what I think?" I asked, uncertain I'd heard correctly.

  "Yes." Father turned back to his worktable. "Your mother and I are having a devil of a time with these hieroglyphs and you seem to be able to read them as if they were no more than slightly sloppy handwriting."

  He'd noticed! I grew a bit lightheaded at the novelty of it all.

  "We talked about asking Weems," Mother added as she put her hand on my shoulder to gently propel me toward the table. "But since the mummy incident I don't trust his discretion."

  I couldn't blame her for that. "I'd be happy to help, Mum."

  Behind me, Henry wandered over to wait by a large shelf against the wall.

  My curiosity piqued, I cozied up to the worktable to have a look. It was a rubbing from the tomb walls of Thutmose III, and the thin parchment took up the entire table. "Here, let me get you a stool so you can see it all." Father dragged a crate closer and I climbed up. There. Now I could make out the whole thing. I frowned and began to translate.

  "'Hail Thutmose, commander of all Egypt. Hail Mantu, god of war, who smiles down upon us. Hail Apep, Serpent of Chaos, whom Mantu wrestles into submission.'"

  "Wait a minute..." I said. I felt Father watching me closely as I reread the script. "Since when does Mantu wrestle with the Serpent of Chaos?" I asked.

  "Precisely! Your mother and I were wondering the very same thing. Keep reading."

  "'We call upon Mantu, O Bringer of Chaos, to aid us in setting our enemies before you, that you might visit your chaos and destruction upon them.'"

  Shocked, I turned to stare at Father. "Is he saying they fight their enemies as a way of appeasing Apep? One massive sacrifice, if you will?"

  "That was what we made of it, although we thought perhaps we'd translated something wrong."

  Just then, there was a loud clap of thunder that had us all jumping out of our boots. Worried about Henry, who was afraid of thunderstorms, I turned to check on him. He stood stock-still, holding a set of ivory clappers in his hand. He stared at them in awe.

  "Was it supposed to rain today?" Father asked as he hurried over to the window. He looked outside. "Odd, there's not a thundercloud in sight."

  I ignored the window and looked over at Henry, who was carefully setting the ivory clappers back on the shelf. He shoved his hands into his pockets as if they'd been burned, and then he headed for the far door. "I'll just wait for you out here, Theo."

  "Very well, Henry. I won't be long."

  "So, what do you think?" Father asked, returning from the window.

  "Well, it is only a rubbing," I pointed out. "So it's a bit harder to tell. If we had the actual wall in front of us, I imagine the hieroglyphs would be much clear—"

  My words were cut off by a rapid yipping coming from Statuary Hall. Fagenbush had found the mask.

  "Was that a dog?" Mum speared me with a probing look.

  "I don't think so," I said.

  Yip-yip-yap! It was closer now, as if Fagenbush were headed toward the workroom.

  "Well," I said brightly. "If that's all you needed from me, I'd best catch up to Henry."

  "Yes, yes, that's all for now." Father had turned back to the rubbing and was poring over the glyphs once again. "Henrietta, do have a look at this peculiar glyph."

  I was dying to have a look too but decided it was more important that I be gone when Fagenbush arrived, so I scurried toward the far door that led to the side stairway. I found Henry sitting on the top step, waiting for me. "Did it work?" he asked.

  "It appears so."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  With a Bark-Bark Here

  THE NEXT MORNING, when we arrived at the museum, there was a note from Fagenbush explaining that he was ill and unable to come to work. Weems was furious and stomped around muttering about poor work habits. Perfect—not only was Fagenbush out of my way, he was in trouble too! Now I just had to steer clear of Stilton and ditch Henry, and I'd be home free. I resorted to the one thing guaranteed to send Henry running.

  "Research?" he whined. "Why d'you have to do more beastly research? I thought you'd finished with that already."

  "Hardly, Henry. Research is a never-ending task. And for something as old and revered as the tablet, I've only scratched the surface."

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and mumbled something about having to look for his marbles, then hightailed it down the hall. Quickly, before anyone else could waylay me, I grabbed my coat and slipped outside to hail a hansom. Thank goodness Wigmere had seen fit to give me a small expense allowance to cover cab fare. It made getting to him that much easier.

  Even though I'd visited Somerset House a few times now, it never failed to impress me with its grandeur. As I climbed out of the cab, I squared my shoulders, straightened my skirt, and lifted my chin, trying to look as if I belonged there.

  I nodded at the doorman, who recognized me and waved me in. I was halfway up the first set of stairs when I heard a calamitous thumping coming my way. Seconds later, Sticky Will appeared, pelting toward me. "'Ello, miss!" he said, not slowing down one whit.

  "Will?"

  "Can't talk now," he said and disappeared down the steps.

  Another thumping, this one much heavier, came at me. I looked up to find Boythorpe, Wigmere's annoying secretary, galloping after Will, his face red with fury. He barely spared me a glance, but I saw that he had a dark black ring of what seemed to be shoe polish around his right ear. Will must be up to his practical jokes again. I sighed and briefly considered intervening, then realized this presented a perfect opportunity to get to Wigmere without having to go through Boythorpe. I hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to Wigmere's office and knocked.

  "Come in," his deep voice called out.

  I opened the door and stepped inside, a heavy, hushed feeling falling over me.

  He looked up from the enormous pile of papers on his desk, and an alarmed expression appeared on his face. "Has something gone wrong?"

  "Oh, no, sir! I didn't mean to startle you. It's just, if you aren't too busy, I have a couple of pressing questions."

  He tossed a wry look at his desk. "I'm always too busy," he said. "But of course if something urgent has come up, you have my undivided attention."

  All of a sudden, I felt uncertain. Were my questions about the Emerald Tablet urgent enough to interrupt him? I had no way to tell. Only Wigmere would know that.

  Or perhaps Fagenbush, a guilty little voice reminded me.

  Nervous now, I perched on the edge of one of the chairs facing his desk.

  "What is so urgent that it brings you out of the safety of the museum?" he asked.

  "Well, sir, it's about the Emerald Tablet." Was it just my imagination or had his gaze become the slightest bit frosty? "But also about a strange man who used to work for the Antiquities Service in Egypt," I rushed to add. Then I told him all I knew about Awi Bubu, his uncanny knowledge of the Heart of Egypt, and his claim that the tablet belonged to him and should be returned immediately. "Do you really think it contains a formula to turn metal into gold?" I asked at the end.

  Wigmere stroked his mustache and looked thoughtful. "I doubt it, no. But what really matters is that people believe that it does. It is that belief that makes the tablet important to them."

  "The inscriptions are in Chaldean cuneiform, sir. Do you have someone here who can decipher it?"

  "George Peebles could, if he were here, but I'm afraid he's on assignment now, looking into a shipment of questionable artifacts from the Temple of Osiris at Abydos. He will be tied up for some time."

  "Oh." My hopes fell. "What would you like me to do with it in the meantime? It is attracting rather a lot of interest."

  He waved his hand in the air. "I've got more important things to worry abou
t than charlatans and deranged occultists. Do your parents have a safe? Could you store it there until Peebles can have a look?"

  "Yes, but don't you wonder how the magician knew so much about what happened?"

  "It is odd, I'll grant you."

  I scooted even farther forward on my chair, encouraged by this. "Do you think it means there might be a leak of some sort?"

  "No, I don't. Didn't you say two other people besides yourself knew of the tablet? Your brother and Limburger, was it?"

  "You mean Stilton, sir."

  "Right, Stilton. It's much more likely that one of them told someone about the Emerald Tablet."

  "But that wouldn't explain how Awi Bubu knew that the Heart of Egypt had been returned to the Valley of the Kings. Only the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers and I knew that."

  "And the Serpents of Chaos," he reminded me.

  "Oh," I said, sitting back in my chair. "Do you think this Awi Bubu is a member of the Chaos organization?"

  "No. I don't. They don't tend to show their hand the way he did. I believe he's just an opportunistic charlatan drawn to the lure of overtly magical relics—not unlike Trawley and his Order of the Black Sun."

  "Sir," I began slowly. "Speaking of Chaos, there's something I need to ask of you."

  He raised one of his bushy white eyebrows at me. "Yes?"

  "It's regarding Admiral Sopcoate. I'd like permission to tell my grandmother about his traitorous activities—"

  "No!"

  I leaned forward in my chair. "But she's about to make a horrendous mistake! She's talked the admiralty into letting her hold a memorial service for Sopcoate. She would be horrified if she ever realized she'd planned such a thing for someone who committed treason against his country."

  Wigmere gave an emphatic shake of his head. "If the admiralty gave her permission, they must have decided it was a worthwhile cover. I'm afraid you must honor your original promise to me and not breathe a word to anyone. Not even her."

  My shoulders slumped in defeat. If Grandmother found out that I had withheld this information from her...

  "Now," Wigmere said briskly, "have you had any luck in locating any other artifacts that Munk may have acquired when he purchased the staff?"

  "No, sir, I haven't. I've been totally waylaid by the discovery of the Emerald Tablet."

  Wigmere frowned. "I think Munk's cache is a much higher priority than a piece of occult memorabilia. It's an alchemical wild-goose chase, something far too many men have spent centuries looking for. It's a quest pursued by charlatans and fools."

  "But Stilton seemed to think—"

  Wigmere waved aside my argument with one gnarled hand. "Many scholars do not even believe there was such a thing, or at least, not anything handed down from Thoth. Emeralds weren't even mined in Egypt until the Alexandrian period, well past any time that Thoth himself would have actually lived, if indeed he did live. And what few emeralds were found in Egypt were small ones. Nothing indicates that emeralds large enough to carve a tablet upon exist anywhere in the area. No, I'd really prefer you spend your energies looking for the rest of Munk's artifacts. I don't want to risk another object of such great power slipping through undetected."

  "But that's the thing, sir. It's all a horrid jumble down there. There aren't exactly tags on items announcing which lots they were bought in. And the staff wasn't cursed, exactly. It was just powerful when activated. But for the purposes of long storage or hiding, it had been deactivated. I have to assume any other artifacts of that nature will be dormant or deactivated as well."

  "Which would make them devilishly hard to recognize."

  "Precisely!"

  "I wonder if there isn't some common thread or element that could be used to identify the Munk artifacts. Say, the artwork or the time period. If the Egyptians truly believed these belonged to the gods, then it seems likely they would need to be from the Old Kingdom. Something made in the Middle or New Kingdom couldn't possibly be old enough to have belonged to any god who might have walked the earth."

  "Excellent point, sir." And one I had already thought of. "However, not all artifacts are clearly from one period. Yes, it is evident in certain artwork and pictorial depictions, but since so much of that has worn away or faded, it's not always helpful."

  "Hmm. I wonder if we shouldn't have someone else down there. Someone with just a touch more experience."

  I did not like the sound of this at all. Not one bit. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea, sir. How would we explain someone new to my parents?"

  "I was thinking of Fagenbush."

  I bolted forward, and only the firmest resolve kept me from shouting no!

  "He's already in place and on-site," Wigmere continued. "It seems as if it would be an easy thing to get him assigned to those artifacts."

  "Easy for whom, sir? As far as my father knows, I've finished that up. Weems, the First Assistant Curator, is very busy directing Fagenbush's duties with the new exhibit and would be quite put out to have him just up and switch. Honestly, it simply wouldn't work."

  Wigmere studied me with his piercing blue gaze. "And this has nothing to do with the personal animosity you've shown him? Even after he saved your life?"

  I fought the urge to squirm in my chair. "No, sir. While it's true we're not the best of chums, that has nothing to do with why I think this wouldn't work." Well, not much, anyway.

  "Theodosia. You have taken quite a lot of responsibility on yourself, even though you are nothing but a child. I have added further to that by bringing you into my confidence and allowing you to help us when it was expedient."

  Odd. I thought I'd been allowing him to help me.

  "One of the things I don't expect you to understand yet is that one must learn to be a team player. I realize that, as a girl, one without access to other girls of your age or to sports, you haven't been exposed to teams much. But they are an important tool. One of the signs of maturity and responsibility is being able to work well with others. Even those we don't like."

  A hot wave of mortification washed over me. "It's one thing not to like someone, sir, but quite another not to trust them," I blurted out. Wigmere simply looked disappointed in me.

  "I've told you, Theodosia. He's been checked out thor oughly. I have no doubts as to his trustworthiness, but perhaps you are too young to understand."

  A heavy silence began to grow as I struggled to think of a way to defend myself. I was relieved when the door burst open, grateful for any interruption.

  Except this one. Clive Fagenbush stood in the doorway, looking furious.

  Wigmere was outraged. "Fagenbush! What is the meaning of this?"

  Fagenbush shut the door behind him and strode toward me in a menacing fashion. He stopped when he reached my chair, towering over me. He lifted a finger and pointed, nearly poking me in the nose.

  "This—yip-yip—girl has put a curse on me. Twice."

  I shot to my feet, swerving abruptly to avoid colliding with his finger. "I have not!"

  Fagenbush opened his mouth to argue but let loose with a long yipping bark instead. He sounded extraordinarily like a jackal.

  "What is going on here?" Wigmere asked as he stared in puzzlement at Fagenbush.

  The Second Assistant Curator took a deep breath and tried again. "Your youngest—yip-yap—member of the Brotherhood—arf!—has seen fit to put a curse—yip-yip-yip—on me."

  I whirled around to face Wigmere. "I have not! I haven't the faintest idea how to curse someone. All my research revolves around curse removal. Besides, it's not my fault the museum is loaded with cursed artifacts."

  "She's got a point, Clive. Why do you think she's involved?"

  I waited. Would he admit he'd been following me around, using me to determine which artifacts should be examined rather than doing his own research?

  "Because, sir, I found her lurking near the artifacts in question."

  "Maybe I just happened to identify them before you did. And maybe I was able to examine them
without getting cursed. I can't help it if you're incompetent at detecting curses. All that proves is that I shouldn't have to report to you."

  "Enough!" Wigmere exploded. "I will not have my agents—even my junior agents—squabbling like children."

  "One of them is a child, sir," Fagenbush pointed out, and I have to say I admired his bravery. I would not have risked more of Wigmere's temper.

  "But you are not. I expect the two of you to work together for the good of the organization. If you can't do that, perhaps I'll have to assign someone else to the Museum of Legends and Antiquities."

  I was tempted to point out that since my parents worked there, I couldn't very well be assigned somewhere else, but I refrained.

  "Now, work together or I'll find others who can. You're both dismissed."

  ***

  As the first step of Fagenbush and I working cooperatively together, Wigmere insisted we share a carriage back to the museum. It was a long awkward ride, let me tell you. Fagenbush stared out his window and I stared out mine. Neither of us broke the thick tense silence, except for the low growls and small yips that emerged occasionally from Fagenbush, but as those were involuntary, they didn't really count. After a particularly long string of yaps, Fagenbush looked so distressed that I took pity on him. "It should only last for another day or two. It's not permanent, you know."

  He whipped his gaze from the window and glared at me. I shrank back against the seat. "It happened to me once too," I explained. Of course, I'd been much younger then, only eight, and my parents had merely thought I was playing a game. It's much easier to get away with barking when one is a child, I'll grant you that. However, my reassurance did nothing to lessen the look of loathing in Fagenbush's eyes. "Why do you hate me so?" I blurted out, surprising us both. I'd had no intention of asking any such thing.

  "Because—yip-yap—you have set my career back ten years with your meddling and interference, that's why." He stopped talking for a moment, overcome with another round of barking.

  "How?"

  "How? Every time I manage to locate a cursed artifact, I discover that you've been at it already, either decursing it or nullifying it or removing it. I can't prove my worth if you've left nothing for me to do." He looked faintly surprised to have said so much without interruption. Perhaps the curse was already beginning to wear off.