Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

by R. L. LaFevers

  "All right," I said, my voice suddenly solemn as the weight of what we were about to do settled on my shoulders. "This is serious business. Poor Tetley's eternal soul may be at risk." Not to mention Henry's. "So listen carefully to my instructions and do precisely as I tell you. First, the anointing with the sacred oils."

  I turned to the tray where I'd set out all the oils I'd collected from home. In some ancient ceremonies, the priests had used their finger, while in other time periods, they used a piece of wood carved to look like a finger. I didn't have one of those, and I was highly reluctant to use my own finger, so instead I was using Cook's pastry brush. With the boys standing around in a semicircle looking appropriately serious, I began.

  "I anoint thee, Osiris—"

  "I thought his name was Tetley," Henry said.

  "It is," I hissed at him. "But the ancient Egyptians always identified the deceased with Osiris so as to invoke his powers. Now be quiet." I cleared my throat. "I anoint thee, Osiris, with these sacred oils given to us by Ra in order that you may be purified and sweet smelling when you reach the Hall of Judgment." With that, I placed a smudge of lavender on his head. Next, I dipped the pastry brush into the cedar oil and touched the area over his heart. "That your heart may be pure and strong." I anointed his elbows and hands with the rose geranium oil. "That your limbs can fight off the demon hordes of the underworld who block your way." I dabbed Macassar oil on his ears. "So that your ears may be open to sound." Cod-liver oil went on his feet (as far away from his nose as possible!), so that they would carry him the entire length of his journey. And so on, until, at last, I once again smeared the top of his head, this time with the eucalyptus oil.

  "Hey," Snuffles said with a loud sniff. "I can breathe!"

  Will nudged him. "Shh."

  "Osiris has now received the sacred oils, which shall bless him and make him whole again on his journey to join Ra." I set the brush down and took a deep breath.

  "Now what?" Ratsy asked.

  "Actually," I whispered, "next there was usually a sacrifice of some sort of animal, but I've decided to skip that part."

  "I should think so," Henry said.

  At that precise moment, there was a small thud off to my right. We all startled and looked toward the sound. There stood my cat, Isis, holding a dead mouse in her mouth. As we watched, she walked toward us as calmly as you please and laid the poor rodent at the head of the coffin.

  Dumbfounded, I could only stare at her.

  "'Ow'd you train her to do that, miss?" Will's voice was tinged with awe.

  "I didn't!"

  "Is it time for the feast yet?" Snuffles asked hopefully.

  "Almost," I said. But before I could resume, there was a sound of clattering, like ... like claws on a marble floor.

  I looked up at the door just as the jackal came bounding in. He trotted past our small circle, and the boys drew back with a collective "Oh!"

  Panic shot through me; I looked to see where Isis was, wondering what the jackal would do when he saw her.

  But oddly enough, he never even glanced in her direction. He click-clacked his way over to the head of Tetley's coffin, sat on his haunches, then looked at me as if to say, You may continue.

  Well, he was the god of mummification and an important funerary deity.

  With one last nervous glance in his direction, I resumed the ceremony by picking up a small iron adze and gently touching Tetley's eyes and mouth four times. "Osiris, I restore to you your sight and your speech so that you may defeat the demons in the underworld as you travel to be with Ra." Next I picked up the small bag of carnelian chips and repeated the gesture and the spell. I wasn't one hundred percent certain what the carnelian was supposed to do, but since it had been included in most of the accounts of the ceremony, I thought it must be important. "May the power of Ra shine down upon you; may the restorative powers of Osiris be at your fingertips and speed you on your journey. May your ka and ba be united again." As I said those last words, I touched the bag of carnelian to Tetley's chest, just over his heart. The air shimmered, and my spine tingled.

  "What's that?" Will asked.

  "You felt it too?"

  He nodded as his gaze darted nervously around the room.

  Just then, there was a faint sighing sound from Tetley. I swallowed the scream that rose in my throat and took a step back. His mouth was open and his chest was expanding, as if he were drawing in a huge breath. Faint tendrils of something—mist? life force? mut?—began to rise up from my poor brother like steam from a boiling kettle. He squeaked and went still, his arms frozen at his sides, his eyes wide.

  "Is it supposed to do this?" Ratsy asked.

  "I'm not sure," I confessed, my heart beating so wildly I could scarce get the words out.

  The mist that had been hanging over Henry now undulated in Tetley's direction. Slowly the spirit began to ooze down into the coffin. Just as I started to breathe a sigh of relief, it paused, hovered for a long moment as if reconsidering, then began to ooze back up and move in Henry's direction again.

  Had it changed its mind? Did it not want to go to the afterlife any longer?

  Even as my poor mind scrambled for some solution to this problem, the jackal made his move. With a low growl in his throat, he bared his sharp teeth and raised his hackles. We all took a step back.

  As the jackal advanced, the mut mist maneuvered itself so that it was behind my brother, using him as a shield! The jackal ignored that and lunged to Henry's right side, snapping at the mist behind him. The mist scooted out and quickly began seeping back into the coffin, the jackal snapping and growling at it the whole way. The mist gathered just above Tetley in one large mass, then rushed into the mummified body until the last wisp of it was gone.

  Tetley gave one last sigh, then fell still.

  The jackal went over to the coffin and sniffed. Apparently satisfied, he gave one sharp bark and wag of his tail, then took off back the way he had come.

  Trying to hide how shaken I was, I looked around at the others. Their faces were all pale and wide-eyed.

  "Blimey, mate! Look at that." Sparky pointed at Henry.

  My brother was rigid with shock, and his hair had turned white. Not all of it, but his cowlick was now white. Blimey indeed.

  "Henry," I said rather sharply, since I was nearly out of my mind with fear. Jerkily, his head swung around to look at me. "Are you all right?" I asked, more gently this time.

  "I-I think so," he said, but his voice sounded a bit hollow and far away.

  "Can we eat now?" Snuffles asked.

  "Er, no. Just one more thing: May the food we are about to eat bless your body and give it strength in the afterlife. Amen."

  "Now?" Snuffles said.

  "Now," I said.

  As Will and his brothers fell upon the picnic basket, I hurried over to Henry's side. I felt his forehead, which seemed the right temperature. He slapped my hand away, which was a good sign, but the faraway look in his eyes wasn't. I leaned in closer and whispered, "Henry? Are you sure you're okay?"

  He turned his head in the direction of my voice and nodded.

  "Do you want to come have something to eat?" I asked.

  He shook his head no, and I took advantage of his stunned state to administer a firm warning. "I told you you needed to be careful about the magic around here. I'd actually hoped you'd never have occasion to believe me, that you'd stay blissfully ignorant. I'm sorry this had to happen."

  "'S okay," he said, then frowned. "What exactly did happen?"

  I looked into his eyes and saw the fear and unease lurking there. "Nothing much. The smell of the oils just made you lightheaded, that's all."

  He stared at me a moment, then nodded and went to sit with the other boys.

  I felt sick about this, even worse than I'd felt when Isis had been struck by a curse. I could only hope it would have no lasting effects.

  Just as we were packing up the last of the funereal feast, Stilton came looking for me. "Miss Theo?" he a
sked, looking surprised to see so many of us.

  "Oh, hullo, Stilton," I said. "Thank you so much for your help. We're done, so you can take the, er, coffin back now."

  That's when he saw the mummy formerly known as Tetley in the coffin. Slowly he advanced on it, a strange look on his face. He glanced from Tetley, to me, then back to Tetley. "You're seeing that he gets a Christian burial, aren't you, miss?"

  "Yes, Stilton. It's the least we can do for him."

  A resolved look appeared on Stilton's face as he quietly closed the coffin. "That's right decent of you, miss. I'll take him back now."

  ***

  Before I'd even ventured down to breakfast the next morning, I heard Mother shriek, "Henry! Your hair!"

  I yanked my frock over my head and ran downstairs to the dining room. Henry stood behind his chair as Mother stared at him in concern. Father was talking, and he didn't sound too happy. "What on earth have you done, young man?"

  Being called young anything always boded ill.

  "I-I," Henry stammered and then threw me a pleading look. That, at least, was a good sign. It meant he wasn't going to hang me out to dry.

  "He got lemon juice in it," I said as I stepped into the room. "After you left the kitchen yesterday, Mum, we began playing at being ... alchemists. And, as alchemists, we pretended we were creating a formula that would turn lead into gold."

  "And what was in this alchemical formula of yours?" Father asked.

  "Lemon juice. And vinegar. And a bunch of other things I can't remember," I said. "Maybe oils. I think we used some of the oils from the pantry." It seemed smart to add that last bit, just in case anyone ever noticed that all the various oils in the house had been moved. The truth was, by the time we got home last night, it was so late and I was so tired, I couldn't remember where I'd gotten which sacred oil.

  Father's mustache twitched, and I couldn't tell if it was in frustration or in amusement. "I guess we should just be grateful your hair didn't turn white. Or fall out." He turned a stern eye on Henry. "I hope you've learned your lesson about meddling in unsupervised scientific experiments."

  Henry hung his head. "Yes, sir."

  "Very good. Now, let's enjoy this wonderful Easter breakfast Cook has prepared for us."

  Other than that incident, Easter Sunday was lovely. We all got dressed up in our best finery, Mum and I wore our Easter bonnets, and we went to church. Being inside a church feels a lot like being inside a museum; the air feels heavier, more important somehow, as if the weight of all that spiritual worship were somehow physical. Henry fidgeted a bit until I gave him a piece of wax I found in one of my dress pockets. He played with that until the service was over.

  After church we had a special luncheon. Mum had even invited Uncle Andrew, which was a wonderful balance to Grandmother Throckmorton, who showed up in her black mourning clothes, a beady-eyed crow to the rest of us cheerful spring bluebirds. I did my best to ignore her and re minded myself that she had no idea the man she was mourning was neither dead nor a hero.

  After we ate, we collected the baskets we had decorated and hunted for the eggs Mum had hidden. It would have been an absolutely perfect day if not for the small lump of dread and nerves sitting in my stomach. Although I was thrilled to have Henry back to normal—if a bit peaked and subdued—I was terrified that it might all go to pieces at the funeral if our ruse was discovered. Polite society had been most put out when they'd found a fake mummy at one of their receptions; I could only imagine how they'd react if they came across one at a solemn occasion like a memorial service.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sopcoate's Memorial Service

  THE CHURCH GRANDMOTHER HAD FOUND was very grand, even if it wasn't Westminster Abbey. It had enormously high ceilings with stained glass windows that cast pools of green, red, and gold light down on everyone. Rows of columns lined the aisles of the church, and organ music filled the empty spaces high above.

  To my great relief, the casket was already in place up near the altar. Henry and I exchanged a glance, his lock of white hair a comforting reminder of why I'd had to do what I'd done.

  For Grandmother's sake, I was pleased to see that the church was nearly full. There were many men in naval uni forms, including a number of rough-looking sailors in the very back. The crowd fell silent as a long, sorrowful note came from the organ, and the service began.

  The reverend talked about ashes to ashes, dust to dust (which doesn't make much sense when you're speaking of someone who'd been lost at sea), and the bombazine of my mourning dress itched horribly. The black gloves I'd been handed by the page were far too big and made my hands look large and misshapen. I tried to tug them tighter. Next to me, Henry fidgeted, but I said nothing as I was half certain that tugging at one's gloves and sleeves also qualified as fidgeting. Then I caught Father looking at me out of the corner of his eye and did my best to hold absolutely still.

  Just as the reverend got to the part about leaving all our worldly desires behind, I had the distinct sensation that I was being watched. Moving slowly so as not to attract Father's attention, I turned to look behind me. The sea of faces were all staring intently at the minister.

  "Quit fidgeting," Father hissed.

  I pulled my gaze from the back of the church and stared dutifully forward, vowing to at least look as if I were paying attention, if not for Sopcoate's sake, then for Grandmother's. I occupied myself by coming up with a plan just in case anyone opened the casket or noticed how heavy it was.

  Just when I'd decided that a fainting spell would be the only way to halt a disaster, the fine hairs at the nape of my neck stirred again. I reached up and rubbed them, hoping it was just the stiff, wretched fabric of my collar. But no. The sensation increased until my shoulders positively itched with it. Someone was definitely watching me. I could feel their ka focused on me, and I did not like it one bit.

  However, I dared not risk turning around again. First, it would call too much attention to myself and alert whoever it was that I was onto him. Second, Father was watching me again.

  When at last the service was nearly over, Grandmother stood up and held out her hand to Father. He took her arm and escorted her up to the coffin. She paused with her hand lingering over the casket, and my heart leaped into my throat. Would she open it?

  Her fingers touched the casket, and then she picked up a spray of lilies and laid it over the top. She bent her head as the minister said a final prayer.

  My knees went weak. We'd done it! The funeral was over and no one had discovered our secret. I closed my eyes, said one last quick prayer for Mr. Tetley's soul, and wished him peace. When I opened my eyes again, I found Henry smiling at me. I smiled back, nearly giddy with relief.

  The congregation rose from their seats and began making their way outside. As I walked the length of the cathedral to the open doors, I paid close attention to the crowd, trying to identify whoever had been staring at me so fiercely.

  Once outside, people milled about on the steps, chatting with one another and murmuring kind thoughts about Admiral Sopcoate, who didn't deserve a single one of them. As they all mingled, I continued to search the faces as unobtrusively as possible.

  Mother and Father were deep in conversation with Grandmother and someone from the admiralty. Henry had planted himself at the far side of the church steps, taken a tin soldier out of his pocket, and was quietly playing with it. He still looked pale, I thought, as if he were just getting over a long illness.

  I'd had no luck identifying the person who'd been staring at me, and I was considering joining Henry on the cathedral steps when I caught a furtive movement out of the corner of my eye.

  An old sailor with white hair and beard looked away quickly, as if he didn't want me to know he'd been watching me. Why would he be watching me?

  He glanced in my direction again and our eyes met briefly. He had a patch over one eye and there was something almost familiar about him. Although, truthfully, it was very difficult to tell sailors apart
. In their uniforms and spit and polish, they all looked confusingly alike unless you knew them. Had he served on the Dreadnought, by chance? Had I met him there?

  He turned and began limping away as if hurrying somewhere important.

  I decided to follow the sailor to the corner, just to be sure he wasn't up to no good.

  I'd taken no more than two steps when a wave of sensation, like a hundred beetles marching along my spine, swept over me. The sensation was so strong that if I'd been at the museum, I'd have immediately conducted a Second Level Test. Could the sailor have a cursed artifact on him?

  I glanced at all the unprotected people gathered near the church then quickly hurried to the street corner. I turned onto the side street, but there was no one in sight. No old sailor, no cursed artifact. Just as I began to leave, a bulky shape stepped out of a recess in a wall and said, "Gotcha!"

  I started and then stared in puzzlement at the old sailor, who was tucking an amulet back into a box. As soon as he shut the lid, the beetle sensation along my back stopped. He smiled at me through his salty white beard. "I knew that would get your attention."

  At my blank look, he added, "Curiosity did kill the cat, you know."

  May I just say that it is not a good sign when someone begins a conversation that way?

  "What's the matter, don't you recognize me, Theo?"

  How did he know my name? His voice was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I shook my head. "No, I'm afraid I don't. Have we met—oh!"

  The sailor lifted the eye patch and I found myself staring into the face of Admiral Sopcoate. "You!" I breathed, shocked to the very core of my being.