Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

by R. L. LaFevers

  He held a scroll in one hand and an old journal bound with leather straps in the other. It was all I could do to keep from snatching them away as he shuffled over to his desk.

  He set the book down, then began to unroll the parchment, his gnarled, liver-spotted hands trembling slightly.

  I scooted forward in my chair.

  His eyes scanned the parchment until he finally said, "Aha!"

  "Did you find it?" I asked, unable to keep silent a moment longer.

  He planted his finger on the parchment so hard I was afraid he'd poke a hole in it. Then he began to read. "'The Emerald Tablet, fashioned by Thoth, whom the Greeks call Hermes Trismegistus...'" He continued to read from the scroll, but there was nothing to add to what I'd learned in my own research. My shoulders slumped in disappointment.

  When he'd finished reading, he looked over at me expectantly. "Thank you," I said brightly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

  Without much hope, I watched him struggle to unbuckle the straps on the book. "Now, this is a diary written by one of Napoleon's men during his occupation of Egypt," Thelonius said. He began turning the pages so slowly I wanted to scream.

  "Here!" He cackled in glee. "Knew I could find it. This man came upon one of his fellow soldiers who'd gone missing for a fortnight. He was wandering alone in the desert, half dead from exposure and babbling something about the wedjadeen."

  The light flickered. Clearly, that was a word of some power and importance and was not to be uttered lightly.

  "I have read about them someplace else," Thelonius said, "but the text isn't on the shelf where it should be. It must have been misplaced. I'll look for it, if you'd like."

  "Thank you, you've been an enormous help."

  ***

  Once safely back at our museum, I made straight for the family sitting room. I'd had nothing to eat since that morning, and I was starving. Hopefully there was at least a crust of bread left and a bit of jam, something to hold me over till supper.

  I burst into the room and startled Henry, who dropped the spoon he'd held in his hand. He was hunched over the table, the jar of jam in front of him, and he'd been spooning out the very last drop.

  My heart sank all the way down to the bottom of my hollow stomach. "Henry!" Disappointment made my voice quite sharp, I'm afraid.

  He picked up the spoon and shifted his gaze to me. "What?"

  "That's disgusting, eating the jam straight out of the jar." Never mind that I would have done the same myself at this point, I was that hungry.

  Henry shrugged. "There was nothing else to eat and I was starving." He returned his attention to the nearly empty jam jar and began scraping out the last little bit at the bottom. He was hunched over his work, as if it were the most important task in the world, and his movements were a bit furtive.

  Just as I readied myself to explain about the book, I noticed a faint shadow of some kind hovering close to his shoulder. He finished the last lick of jam, then pushed away from the table. He stood and carried the empty jar over to the dustbin, and the faint shadow of darkness at his shoulder followed him.

  My entire body went cold. "Henry, is that a smudge of dirt there on your shoulder?"

  Henry looked down at his shoulder and brushed at it. "No. I don't see anything."

  When he'd brushed, the dark spot hadn't budged. Which meant it was a shadow. Which meant Tetley's mut had gotten to Henry before I had gotten to it.

  I had to lay that poor mummified man to rest. As soon as possible. There was no time to lose in putting my burial plan for Tetley into action. My hunger forgotten, I went to make the necessary preparations. First stop, Stilton's office.

  I found him just packing up to leave for the day. I rapped lightly at his open door. He glanced up at me briefly, then returned to neatly stacking the last of his papers. "Hello, Miss Theo." Was he reluctant to meet my eye? Or merely feeling a bit awkward, as I was, from our last conversation?

  "Hullo, Stilton. Do you have a moment?"

  He stopped what he was doing and focused his full attention on me. "Is everything all right, Miss Theo?"

  "Yes. I just need to ask a favor, actually."

  "Have a seat," he said, nodding at one of the chairs.

  "Thank you." I sat down and took a moment to smooth my skirts and try to decide how best to present my request. "I have a bit of a problem I need help with."

  "Of course, Miss Theo. I told you I'd do anything I could to make it up to you." His eyebrows were drawn together in an earnest frown.

  "So you did. Well, this is going to sound strange, but I need you to kidnap a coffin."

  His jaw dropped open and one eyebrow began twitching so fiercely I thought it would launch itself clean off his face.

  "But only for a little while," I rushed to add. "You can take it right back in a matter of hours."

  "Am I to know why you need this coffin, miss?"

  "Probably the less you know, the better, don't you think?"

  "I suppose that depends. When did you need me to, um, procure this coffin for you? And was there a specific coffin you had in mind, or would any old coffin do?"

  "Oh, no. It's a very specific coffin. And I need it by tomorrow night. Here's where you can find it..." And I proceeded to explain.

  ***

  From my earlier research, I had made a small list of items I would need for the ceremony. Luckily, we had most of them here in the museum, although part of me felt I really had to quit treating the Egyptian exhibit as if it were a shop and I was on a shopping expedition. But another part of me simply didn't care. Someone had to tend to all the dark magic roaming around.

  With the museum closed for the upcoming exhibition and everyone else busy in the foyer, I had the Egyptian room to myself. I was able to collect four small brass chafing dishes for incense burners, then I located two of the four vessels I would need for the purification ceremony. I found the other two down in the catacombs. I would also need a small bag of rock chips, red carnelian, to be exact. Hmm. Those would be tough, as I'd used up all my red stones a few weeks ago making Blood of Isis amulets for all the mummies in our museum during the Staff of Osiris crisis.

  The only place I could think of to find carnelian chips was the repair table out in Receiving. We usually had a good supply of semiprecious stones and other odds and ends that the curators used to repair things that came in broken or damaged.

  I paused at the door to Receiving, remembering my earlier encounter with the mut that lurked here. It could have been the one that had now attached itself to Henry, or it could have been a completely different one. Best to be on my guard.

  I stepped inside the room, and my eyes searched all the corners of the ceiling. There was nothing there, which meant the shadow was most likely upstairs, attached to Henry like a limpet.

  I hurried to the worktable and located a dozen small pieces of carnelian. It would just have to be enough. Shoving those into my pocket, I headed for the reading room.

  There were two more vital ingredients to the ceremony. I needed seven sacred oils, which I would have to scrounge up from our pantry at home. I also needed an Egyptian Book of the Dead—a collection of spells and incantations that guided Egyptian souls through the trials and tribulations of the netherworld. Without them, the ba might be waylaid or defeated on its journey and never reach the Egyptian underworld, or what they called Duat.

  I wanted to bury Tetley, but my conscience wouldn't allow me to bury the museum's only copy of the Book of the Dead with him, so I'd have to write out some of the more important spells on a piece of paper. That would take at least half the night, I was certain, which meant I'd have to take the papyrus home with me.

  Bother. I hated homework.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Tisket, a Tasket, a Please-Forgive-Me Basket

  I HAD SO MUCH TO DO ON SATURDAY THAT, for the first time ever, I was hoping Mum would forget her promise to help me and Henry dye Easter eggs. It had sounded like a lot of fun a week ago, but now, w
ith the Emerald Tablet and mut hauntings, I was simply too busy for something as frivolous as Easter eggs.

  Not to mention I'd been up half the night writing down spells from The Egyptian Book of the Dead.

  Henry continued acting strangely when he came down for breakfast. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes unnaturally bright as he surveyed the sideboard. He helped himself to a bowl of porridge, a plateful of scrambled eggs, a second plate piled high with bacon and kippers, and a dozen slices of toast drenched in butter and jam.

  He stolidly plowed through his meal, uttering nary a word of greeting or a whisper of conversation. My parents and I finished our meager-by-comparison breakfasts and then simply sat back to watch. When he had finally finished and licked the last remnant of jam from his fingers, Father looked at Mother in vague alarm. "Is he ill, or growing, do you think?"

  "Growing," Mother said firmly, although the look she cast at Henry was a bit doubtful, and when she got up from the table, she rather casually felt his forehead.

  When Father left for work, Mother promised to join him shortly then shooed Cook out of the kitchen, donned an apron, and rolled up her sleeves. "Let's get started, shall we? I'll put the water to boil. Theo, you get out the dye stuffs, if you please. Henry, go into the pantry and fetch the basket of hard-boiled eggs Cook left for us."

  Mother set four pans with water on the stove while I rummaged around for the dye ingredients. When we had finished setting everything up, I went to join Henry at the kitchen table—where he was steadily eating his way through all the hard-boiled eggs.

  "Henry!"

  He flinched and dropped the egg he'd been cracking. "What?"

  "We're not supposed to eat them! We're decorating them."

  Mother left the stove to come peer at Henry in a worried fashion. "Didn't you get enough to eat for breakfast, dear?"

  He shrugged. "I dunno."

  Honestly! He was like a squirrel storing up nuts for the winter.

  Or the afterlife.

  Suddenly he pushed himself away from the table, stood, and unbuttoned the top button on his trousers. "I don't feel so well," he said with a groan. Then he waddled from the room.

  With Henry gone, Mother and I attacked the remaining eggs with efficient precision. We both had more important things to do, after all. When all the eggs had been put to soak in their pans, Mum left me to watch them while she went to get ready for work.

  That's the hardest part about egg dyeing: waiting for the eggs to absorb enough color. If you take them out too soon, they are too pale. Luckily, I had lots to think about and plan for as I watched them bobbing around in the colored water like little buoys.

  I needed to contact Will. He hadn't shown up at the museum yesterday afternoon, and I was desperate to hear his side of the suspension story.

  Which meant I would have to pay him a visit. I'd been very lucky in the past about being in the general vicinity of where I thought him to be, then having him find me. Perhaps that luck would hold. If not, well, Ratsy had announced their address to the entire Alcazar Theater.

  Besides, we had more eggs than we could ever eat. Either that or Henry would make himself violently ill eating them all. I bet they would make Will an excellent peace offering.

  ***

  An hour later, when Mum had left for the museum and Henry had retired to his room with a cup of peppermint tea for his stomach, I sneaked into the pantry and prepared for my visit.

  I pulled down one of Cook's old shopping baskets from its hook and filled it with a dozen of the colored eggs we had just dyed. It looked quite cheerful, if a bit empty.

  I went back into the pantry and climbed up on a stool, reaching for the place on the top shelf that Henry had shown me, where Cook and Mum hid the sweets. I found a bag of lemon drops, some peppermint sticks, and some leftover ribbon candy from Christmas. There was also another stash of colored eggs, but these were much heavier than the ones I had made with Mum. These were most likely the ones Cook had filled with chocolate. My hand hovered over the bowl. These were Henry's and my most cherished Easter treat, and there were only a dozen of them. However, Henry was clearly going to eat himself into a stupor, given the chance, and I—well, there would be more next year. With a small sigh of regret, I removed seven of the chocolate-filled eggs and put them into the basket.

  Now it looked positively bursting with Easter cheer. I slipped into my coat and let myself out the back door. It would be a long walk, but it seemed like a fitting penance, since I had helped get Will into trouble in the first place.

  ***

  Even beautiful weather and penance did not alter Will's neighborhood. Once I entered the Seven Dials I became distinctly uneasy. The streets and alleys were narrow and filthy, and though there were people about, they weren't doing normal-people things, like shopping or visiting with one another. They just loitered in doorways wrapped in thin coats—or none at all—and looked out at the world with bleak, hopeless eyes. Even the air here seemed heavier, dirtier. Many of the pinched, drawn faces stared hungrily at my basket. I gripped the handle tighter, looked straight ahead, and picked up my pace.

  I had never been to Will's house, but I remembered Ratsy calling out their address during Awi Bubu's magic show. I knew that Will's territory when he'd been a pickpocket was nearby, and I assumed that it would be close to where he lived. As I wandered deeper and deeper into this part of town, I realized that might have been a mistaken assumption.

  I drew close to Nottingham Court, and my steps faltered when I saw the buildings—hovels, really. They were jumbled together and had no street numbers on them. How on earth was I to find Will now? As my heart sank in disappointment, I felt someone grab my elbow. I squealed and clutched the Easter basket with both hands then whirled around to see who was trying to steal it.

  I came face to face with an enormous bowler hat perched on a pair of large pink ears. I let out a sigh of relief. "Snuffles!"

  "'Ello, miss. Wotcha doin' 'ere?" As he spoke, his eyes fixed on the colorful contents of the basket and never wavered.

  "I've come to visit you and your family and bring you an Easter treat. Is Will home?"

  At this happy announcement, Snuffles grew quite enthusiastic. "Sure is, miss. Come on." He grabbed my elbow so I—and the basket—wouldn't get lost and led me to one of the large buildings. With long-practiced efficiency, he stepped between the small groups of people standing listlessly by the front door. Their sharp eyes zeroed in on us in a way that made me most uncomfortable. I quickly followed Snuffles into the building.

  It was dank and damp and smelled of mildew and other much less pleasant things. People were camped out in the hallways. "This way, miss." Snuffles motioned for me to hurry along, which I did, following him up two flights of stairs. He led me past a series of small crooked doors until he came to the last one. He thumped once on the door, called out, "Company!" then opened it and went inside. I stood in the doorway, unsure.

  I heard Will's voice. "'Oo's 'ere, Snuff?"

  "Miss is. You know, the one you work wif."

  Will left whatever he'd been doing and hurried to the door, looking fair flummoxed to see me. "Miss?"

  Something—embarrassment?—flashed in his eyes. He gently but firmly herded me back into the hallway and closed the door behind us. He folded his arms and glowered at me, two faint spots of pink blooming on his cheeks. "Wot are you doin' 'ere?"

  I cleared my throat. "Is it true that you got suspended?"

  "Aye." His face relaxed a bit. "Because o' that fig-in-a-bush bloke."

  "I-I'm sorry. I was certain once Wigmere heard what we had to tell him, he'd understand."

  "'Tweren't your fault, miss. I didn't even get the chance to say a word. That nose Boythorpe walked me down the hallway and when I got to Wiggy's office, that figgenbush fellow was already there. Wiggy asked me if I 'ad a message from you for 'im. I told 'im, yes, and it was an important one. Then the greasy chap said, 'See what I mean, sir?'

  "I turned to 'im and said,
'She couldn't very well give you the message, now could she, since you was 'ere instead of at the museum where you's supposed to be.'

  "Then Wiggy said, 'Enough.' And suspended me. I asked if 'e didn't want to 'ear the important information first, and 'e said no. 'E'd wait until you reported it through the proper channels."

  It sounded almost as if Fagenbush had set a trap and we'd walked right into it. "Oh dear. I'm so sorry. Here," I said, thrusting the apology basket at him.

  He eyed it suspiciously. "We don't need no charity, miss."

  "It's not charity, you dolt. It's an apology gift. People give them to each other all the time." And if they didn't, they should.

  "Well, in that case, for the sake of yer conscience..."

  "Absolutely. And I'm sure your brothers would enjoy it."

  "Aye. That they would." He took the basket, his eyes growing wide as he saw all the goodies inside. Suddenly, I wished I'd packed real food instead of Easter treats. A roast chicken, and potatoes, a loaf of bread, and some butter and jam. Real food was what he and his brothers needed.

  "I'll set things right, Will. I promise. I'll go see Wigmere as soon as I can and explain what happened. Once he sees the seriousness of all that's going on, he'll have no choice but to forgive us both."

  "I 'ope so, miss, because me old gang's been on me like rats on rubbish to come back into the fold."

  His old pickpocket gang, he meant. "Don't worry. We'll have you back working for Wigmere in no time," I said, hoping it was true.

  "Course you will, miss. You'll come up wif somefink."

  I was touched by his faith in me. So few others exhibited the same loyalty. "Thank you for believing in me," I said.

  He looked fairly panicked, as if afraid I might get teary or something. "'Tain't nothin', miss. Besides, working with you is a lot more adventure than being a pickpocket."

  That part was true, at least.

  "In fact, miss, I been thinking." He looked around the hall to make sure no one else was listening, then inched closer. "I've decided, see, that I wants ter join the Brotherhood of them Chosen Kippers."