I shook my head and couldn’t seem to stop shaking it. “No,” I said, backing away. “No! No! No! You’ve got it all wrong! What about you? You all specialize in artifacts infested with black magic. Maybe you’ve all gone bad and are just trying to trick me!”
There they went, exchanging those glances again. “Stop that!” I fairly shouted.
Stokes spoke this time, his voice gentle, as if he were trying to calm a horse. “We wear protection. At all times. It’s ingrained into our very skin. And we take … precautions several times a month.”
“Let me see this ingrained protection,” I demanded. It sounded like a cock and bull story to me.
“May I, sir?”
Wigmere nodded his head. “Yes. Of course. Show her.”
Moving carefully, as if it hurt his wound, he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. I gasped. Sitting just below the base of his throat was a wedjat eye. I leaned in for a closer look. “What did you use to draw it with?”
“It’s not drawn on. It’s a tattoo. It won’t ever come off.”
I studied the symbol. It made perfect sense. The base of the throat is very vulnerable to evil magic. That’s why the ancient Egyptians wore their amulets around their necks.
As Stokes buttoned his collar, Wigmere leaned forward, as if an idea had just occurred to him. “Does your mother wear protection, Theodosia? Or your father, for that matter?”
“No,” I said, miserable. “I’ve tried and tried to get them to. I’ve even made them amulets, hoping that they’d wear them just to humor me, but they don’t.” I stiffened my spine. “But that still doesn’t mean they’ve gone bad!” How could the only adult I’d found that I could trust be so completely and utterly wrong?
“Perhaps,” Wigmere conceded. He didn’t look convinced. “But it’s a chance we can’t take. Surely you can see that.”
“I can see nothing of the kind,” I spat. I stared out at the deserted room with all the empty desks and chaotic papers. How dare he suggest such a thing about Mother? I don’t care if it was his job to protect all of Britain; there was no reason to cast Mum’s reputation in such an ugly light. How could I convince them? How could I make them see how very wrong they were?
But of course—Fagenbush! If it was an inside job, it had to be him. He had been acting strangely since the moment the statue of Bastet arrived, sneaking around in the middle of the night, spying on me when he thought I had it. He had to be the inside man!
Feeling very smug, I turned to Wigmere. “You’ve got it all wrong. Yes, there is a mole, but it’s not my mother. It’s the Second Assistant Curator, Clive Fagenbush,” I announced, feeling triumphant.
Wigmere shook his head sadly. “No, it’s not Fagenbush. We’ve checked him out thoroughly. He’s not the one.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“We have our ways,” Stokes said mysteriously.
“Well, your ways are wrong. Fagenbush is up to something. I’ve known that for weeks.”
“Maybe so,” conceded Wigmere. “But he’s had nothing to do with the Heart of Egypt.”
I folded my arms and glared at him. “Very well, then. Let’s say my mother is in on this whole thing. Why on earth would she take me with her back to Egypt then? Surely she’d guess that something was up? If she’s in on it and all.”
“Well, I must say, I haven’t much hope that your parents will do it. But it’s our best shot. If she won’t take you back, then I’ll just have to go and hope that I don’t botch it too badly.”
“So if my mother does take me to Egypt, that will prove she’s innocent, right? Then you’ll realize what a stupid, idiotic theory you’ve cooked up?”
Wigmere fingered his mustache. “It will go a long way in her favor, I will say that,” he finally conceded.
“Very well, then. We will be leaving for Egypt. Within a fortnight, no less. And you can bet your wedjat eye my mother had nothing, nothing to do with any of this.” My whole body shook with outrage.
Wigmere took a step toward me, his face creased in worry. “I’m sorry to have upset you, my dear. But it’s what we do here. It’s why there’s a Brotherhood—to ferret out exactly this sort of thing.”
“I don’t know, sir,” Stokes said. “Maybe it’s asking too much.”
Wigmere studied me. “Is it too much to ask, Theodosia? If the burden is too great, we’ll certainly understand.”
Too disgusted to answer, I snatched the Heart of Egypt off the table, grabbed my waterproof from the back of the chair, and ran out the door.
I was so angry my footsteps nearly cracked the pavement as I strode home. I ignored the cold rain as it fell in fat little drops that practically sizzled when they touched me.
But my steps slowed as my mind began whirring. Mother did know von Braggenschnott. She’d even said he helped her get the Heart of Egypt out of the country.
Which proved nothing! Only that he wanted a British citizen to bring the curses back to British soil.
Even so, Mother hadn’t seemed very concerned when I’d pointed out the man following her at the station. That was nothing new, though—grownups never listen to a word I say. Just remembering the look on her face when she discovered the Heart of Egypt was missing should erase all doubts.
However, she always had been a wonderful actress. It was one of the ways she managed Father so well … In horror, I realized that Wigmere had got to me. Even I was beginning to suspect my own mother!
To Egypt We Must Go
WHEN I RETURNED TO THE MUSEUM, the first thing I did was search out Fagenbush. It was high time we had a talk. I marched straight down to Receiving, certain he’d be sniffing around the newest artifacts.
Nigel and Stilton stopped what they were doing and stared at me.
“Is something wrong, Theodosia?” Nigel asked after an awkward pause.
I tossed my hair over my shoulder and tried to look casual. “I was just looking for Fagenbush. Have you seen him?”
“H-he was h-here just a moment ago,” Stilton said, his left eye twitching the whole time. “I think he went down to the reading room.”
“Thank you. I’ll look for him there.” Before either of them could say another word, I hurried back up the stairs.
And ran smack into Fagenbush.
The weasel had been lurking at the top of the stairway! He stepped out of the shadows as I reached the top stair, startling me so badly I nearly lost my balance. If he hadn’t reached out and grabbed my shoulders, I would have tumbled back down the stairs.
He leaned toward me. “What did you do to it?” he asked. The stench of pickled onions made my nostrils quiver, as if they were looking for escape.
I jerked away from his grip, freeing my shoulders. “To what?” I was supposed to be grilling him, not the other way around.
“What did you do to the Bastet statue?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you ruined it. You did something to it and it’s not … the same.”
So he had known about the curse! And had been planning to use it for his own evil ends. I was right. There was a mole in our museum, and it wasn’t Mother!
The best defense is a good offense, or that’s what Father says when he’s getting ready to face the museum’s board of directors. I squared my shoulders. “And what did you do with the Heart of Egypt?” I asked.
A puzzled look came over his horrid face. “What are you talking about?”
Suddenly I realized I had no idea whether or not Mother and Father had told the other curators the Heart of Egypt was even missing. Maybe that part was still a secret. Well, time to bluff it out. “You know exactly what I mean.”
He shoved his face right in front of mine. “What do you think I did with it?”
We stood there nose to nose, fists clenched, neither one of us willing to budge an inch.
A voice from the stairway made us both jump. “I say, you two. What’s going on now?” Nigel had just come up the stairs and was staring at us as if
we’d just been let out of the zoo.
Fagenbush’s eyes slid over to Nigel, then back to me. “Theodosia and I were just discussing some of the newest artifacts, that’s all.”
“Really? Then why do you look like you’re ready to come to blows?” Nigel asked.
Fagenbush blinked, then began to stutter.
Oh, honestly. He was going to get us both in trouble. “We just had a disagreement over provenance,” I explained.
Fagenbush whipped his head around to look at me.
“You’re arguing over where the artifacts came from?” Nigel asked, incredulous. He looked down his nose at Fagenbush. “I don’t think the museum’s paying you to get into shouting matches with little girls, Clive. Now move along.”
Fagenbush muttered something under his breath before quickly leaving. I would need to be on my toes from now on. Now that I knew about the traitor, I couldn’t let him wreak any more havoc.
No sooner had Nigel gone back downstairs (after raising an eyebrow at me) than Henry appeared at my side. “Did you give it to them?” he asked. “What did they say?”
I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a dark corner of the foyer.
“Ow!” he said. “That hurts.”
“Sorry, but you’re talking too loud. You’re going to get us both in trouble.” I was stalling. What should I tell him? That Wigmere had ordered me to return the Heart of Egypt? But then Henry would fuss and whine and moan and insist on going with us to Cairo, which would almost certainly ruin all of our chances. “Yes, I gave it to them,” I finally said, which wasn’t exactly a lie.
Henry’s face lit up. “Was he impressed? Did he congratulate us? Did you tell him of the part I played?”
He looked so hopeful, it broke my heart that Wigmere hadn’t said anything nice. “Yes! Very impressed. I told him of the part both you and Will played and he said your distraction was sheer genius.”
Henry folded his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “I should say.”
Having appeased Henry, I scuttled off to my closet to try and think of a plan to get Mother back to Egypt in a hurry. This was not going to be easy. And if Henry ever found out about my deception, he’d never trust me again.
I lifted my chin. That’s all right. He’d only just begun to trust me. So it only meant we’d go back to being the way we were. I just wish it didn’t feel so awful…
***
That night at dinner I kept glancing up at Mum, trying to see if I could sense any whiff of corrosion. Trouble was, it had been ages since she’d been home and of course she’d changed, but I didn’t know if it had anything to do with becoming a traitor or not.
“Theodosia! Why do you keep staring at your mother like that?” Dad snapped.
Startled, I dropped my fork onto my plate, launching a small volley of peas onto the white tablecloth. Father had been in a horrid mood ever since we’d lost the Heart of Egypt. Which made all these secrets that much more painful. But the truth wouldn’t make him any happier.
Father stabbed at his mutton so hard it nearly cracked the plate.
“Are you all right, Theodosia dear? You look a bit pale,” Mother said.
If she shouldered the same burdens I did, she’d be pale, too. Pale! That was it! She’d just given me my first opening. “Well, I do feel a bit pale,” I said. “I feel like I need a rest somewhere warm and dry.” There. I’d dropped my first hint.
“I’ll get you some chamomile tea before bed,” Mum offered. “That will help you rest.”
I hate chamomile tea.
I turned my attention back to my plate and cut my mutton up into tiny pieces, hoping I would fool Mum into thinking I’d eaten some. My worries rather squelched my appetite. Even though I had worked out that Clive Fagenbush was the mole, I couldn’t help but wonder how to convince Wigmere of Mother’s innocence. What would it take to prove it to him? What if I couldn’t? Would Mum go to jail? Be found guilty of treason? Would anyone even care that it wasn’t her, but the corrosive power of the black magic she came into contact with every day?
Except, I reminded myself, it wasn’t her. Wigmere had got it all wrong.
After what seemed like hours, Father finally pushed his plate away and sighed in contentment.
Now it was time for my next move. “Mum, when do you think you’ll be going back to Egypt?”
“Good heavens, Theodosia!” Father said. “She’s only just got back.”
I shrugged. “I’m just curious. Trying to plan out my year, you know, that sort of thing.”
“Plan out your year? Good grief.” Father didn’t seem to think my year needed planning out. Henry just looked at me, clearly puzzled.
“Not for a while, surely,” Mother said gently.
“But aren’t you eager to get back? See what else was in Amenemhab’s tomb? I mean, who knows what other marvelous finds might be hiding there? Doesn’t that sort of thing get under your skin? Make you itch to get back to it?”
Father stared at me with his mouth open, and Mother frowned slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean, Theodosia. Of course, any sort of intellectual discovery is invigorating, but you make it sound like more of an … obsession or something.”
Maybe I’d poured it on a bit thick, but I was trying to see if I could detect any hint of the traitorous behavior Wig-mere had been talking about. “But aren’t the winter months the best time of year to go to Egypt? Isn’t the weather milder then?” I asked.
My parents exchanged glances. “Yes,” Mum said. “Now is probably the best time to be there. But it’s the time when Henry is out of school, and the museum board has its annual meeting. There are many commitments here in London right now.”
Convincing them was going to be harder than I thought.
Shabtis on the March
WHEN I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, I felt wretched. Not only had I not talked my parents into returning to Egypt, but I’d dreamed of those revolting little shabtis again. Only this time, one of them was chewing on my ankle. Terrifyingly enough, when I opened my eyes, the sensation didn’t go away.
Had the shabtis come to life? I sat bolt upright, only to find that it was just Isis. And she wasn’t gnawing on my ankle, but curled up in a warm furry ball, knitting at my feet with her claws. Gently. Which meant … the Demon Isis was gone!
I reached down and rubbed her tummy, then scratched behind her ears. And then, I heard my favorite sound in the world.
Isis purred.
And purred and purred. It was like a motor that wouldn’t turn off.
The mud bath had worked! oh how I wanted to stay there all day snuggling with my cat, but I had far too much work to do. Beginning with those filthy shabtis.
I gave Isis one last belly rub, and she gave me one last affectionate swipe with her paw.
Before I tackled the shabtis, I wanted to be sure I was adequately protected. First on my list of things to do was to make more amulets. I’d given one to Stokes and another to Danver. I was running low. Of course, I hadn’t realized that both men had their own specially ingrained protection. Although, come to think of it, fat lot of good that had done Stokes. Or Danver. Can’t use a tattoo as a tourniquet.
When I reached my study, I dragged the old carpetbag out of the cupboard and pulled Eggbert Archimedes’ The Power of Amulets: A Lost Art off the shelf and got to work.
The trick with amulets is figuring out exactly which ingredients are needed to protect you against which types of curses. Providing you know what type of curse it is. If you don’t, then you must resort to general protection, which isn’t quite as powerful. So, while it might seem like an excess to have seven amulets, it’s not. All you have to do is remember Danver and his unfortunate experience to know that.
I decided to regenerate the heart amulet I’d used on Stokes. It worked very well on physical injuries and the way things were going, I had an uneasy feeling there might be more of those.
I carefully scraped all the old wax and linen off the heart-shaped p
ebble, then rinsed it with purifying water. I cut a new piece of white linen and, using a special ink I’d made out of myrrh, I drew a wedjat eye in the center, then drew a snake around that. The viciousness of the snake would repel danger, and the eye would invoke wholeness and health.
I rummaged through my kit until I found a small sliver of malachite, a green, semiprecious stone used by the ancient Egyptians to invoke regeneration and healthy life. (You’d be surprised how many artifacts, in spite of our best efforts, crumble and disintegrate when handled. When that happens, I scramble to collect the tiny bits and slivers that no one else bothers with. They come in very handy at times like this.)
I placed the sliver of malachite in the center of the wedjat eye and carefully folded the linen over it until it was a tiny little wad. Next, I lit a candle stub and let the wax drip all over the linen to seal it. While the wax was still warm, I pressed it onto the pebble.
While that was cooling, I grabbed a length of gold-colored wire—to invoke the power of the sun god—out of my bag and began twisting that into the shape of an ankh. Ankhs are the Egyptian symbol for life and wearing one is thought to lengthen one’s life. I looped a thin cord through the top of it, then slipped it over my head.
Then as one last means of protection, I took four white threads (purity), four green threads (life and regeneration), four yellow threads (representative of the sun, which was eternal and imperishable), and four red threads (fiery protective power of the Eye of Ra) and plaited them together. I tied it off in a knot, then added six more knots (to form a barrier through which hostile forces cannot pass). It would make a lovely bracelet. Perhaps I could even talk Mother into wearing it.
Now properly armed, I put my supplies away and hurried toward the short-term storage down by the loading dock.
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