Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris Page 16

  "For you who wear this, the power of Isis shall be the magical protection of your limbs and Horus the son of Isis shall rejoice. The way will be blocked against you, and you shall be protected against any who would do you harm or cause you an abomination. "

  There. That ought to do it. All I needed now were pieces of bast to string them around the mummies' necks. Once again I had to substitute what I had on hand, which was quite a bit of raffia from two summers ago when my best straw bonnet fell apart. (In spite of what Father claimed, I had had no idea that fiddling with the loose end would have caused the entire thing to unravel!)

  Once all twenty-one amulets were strung onto raffia, I placed them in my pocket, careful not to tangle them. Now I just had to put them on the mummies, and my night's work would be done.

  I left the reading room, trying to decide whether to begin with the Egyptian exhibit or down in the catacombs. It seemed best to get the most unpleasant part out of the way first, much like eating one's Brussels sprouts before pudding.

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  As I stepped into the foyer, there was a faint rustling, as if the shadows were sighing. Reminding myself that I had twenty-two Blood of Isis amulets on me, not to mention my normal three, I glanced overhead at the skylights and saw that thick cloud cover had thoroughly hidden the moon. That cinched it. Best to visit the catacombs now while the moonlight was as dormant as possible, lest it wake any spirits. Although it was true that none of the actual moonlight shone in the catacombs, sometimes curses didn't need the light itself, only the power of the moon.

  Isis was still avoiding the catacombs, so I descended the stairs alone, relieved when I didn't hear any restless stirrings. At the foot of the steps, I turned on the gaslight, grateful for even that feeble light.

  The mummies were where I'd left them, which was a good sign. Apparently Chaos hadn't activated the staff. Yet.

  I pulled the first amulet from my pocket and wrapped it around the neck of Rahotep, a powerful Third Dynasty priest, murmuring the spell once again just for good measure. I moved to the next mummy and the next, murmuring the spell each time until I finally came to the last of them.

  Done with the scary part, I went up to the Egyptian exhibit and paused when I came to Statuary Hall. All the shadows looked darker somehow, and the air felt more restless. I

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  was convinced that at least one of the visiting mummies had left their severely disgruntled akhu behind. I was going to have to do a mut sweep and see if I could trap it.

  But that would be for another day. Taking a deep breath, I said a little prayer, then hurried down the hallway, looking neither to the left nor the right. The rustling grew louder, and at the very edges of my vision, I could see shadows detach themselves from corners and begin to follow me.

  I picked up my pace, nearly breaking into a run to get to the exhibit room.

  Not that it was much better. There was creaking and groaning going on in there, too. It was the sort that grownups brushed off as the building settling, but if you listened carefully enough, you could hear the rise and fall of murmured voices in chant, as if beseeching the gods or reciting a prayer--or a curse.

  Well, the sooner I was done, the sooner I could leave. Starting with the New Kingdom mummy of Ipuki, an official during the reign of Seti I, I tied the raffia string around his neck so that the Blood of Isis amulet sat against his throat, then slipped the amulet under the edge of the linen wrappings so it wouldn't be immediately visible. When I was happy with the placement, I moved down to the next mummy, Suten-Ahnu, royal scribe to Sensuret I. And so I

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  worked, trying not to think about what I was doing and moving as quickly as I could.

  The unwrapped mummies were the most difficult to work on, their glassy eyes staring at me from old, dried-up skin, their mouths pulled back into leering grimaces. Don't think about her, don't think about her, I chanted as I strung an amulet around Henuttawy, an Eighteenth Dynasty priestess from the temple of Sekhmet. When I finally got the amulet around her neck, I pulled away quickly and shuddered, hoping if her ba was still hovering about, it wouldn't take offense.

  When I reached Heneu, vizier to Queen Sobekneferu, I caught wind of voices. I paused in my work, trying to hear better.

  Relief spurted through me when I realized it was only my parents, and I returned to my duties. As I placed one of the amulets on Meri-Tawy (royal architect and priest who served the god Ptah), I realized my hand was shaking. Thank goodness he was the last one.

  Exhausted, I hurried back to my closet, hoping to catch a bit of sleep before morning came.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE A TEST OF WILLS

  ***

  FAR TOO EARLY THE NEXT MORNING , I was awakened by a soft rap on my closet door. "Who is it?" I asked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.

  "It's Miss Sharpe, lazybones."

  The sound of Miss Sharpe's voice woke me up as thoroughly as a pitcher of cold water poured over my head. Come to think of it, that might just be what she was planning.

  I hopped out of the sarcophagus and hurried to the wash-stand. "Coming!" I called out. When I heard the door open, I fumbled for a towel and

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  ended up using my extra pinafore in my haste. "Theodosia, why on earth aren't you up yet? Oh my!"

  Miss Sharpe studied my small room with a look of marked distaste. "This will never do," she announced. "Everyone knows that a bedroom should be spacious, dry, and airy. Not some small, dank corner like this." She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "We simply must get you out of this museum before it's too late."

  I wanted to ask, "Too late for what?" but was certain I wouldn't like the answer. Instead, I followed Miss Sharpe to the reading room, where I was forced to begin my lessons without any breakfast. ("No breakfast for lazy girls who can't bestir themselves from their slumber!" were Miss Sharpe's exact words.)

  The only good thing about the morning was that I was able to pretend to be working on translating Virgil's Bucolics while I was really translating Moribundus's grimoire.

  Even with my familiarity with Latin, it was fairly slow going. Moribundus did have a tendency to ramble on and on about ancient secrets accessible to only a learned few. But finally, halfway through the morning, I came across the word baculu --the Latin word for staff. At last he was discussing the Staff of Osiris. Farther on, my eyes caught the word necro.

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  I didn't need my dictionary for that one! I recognized the prefix nec from the words necropolis and necromancer. Necro meant "death." My sense of discovery heightened, I kept going, excitement mounting. To extinguish the flame of eternal life, turn the jackal on his head and let Nun swallow him whole.

  Was he really saying that the staff could be used to kill as well as to resurrect? The idea was so shocking, I was half afraid Miss Sharpe would sense me reading it. I cast a furtive glance her way, but she was still reading about womanly virtue.

  Nun was the Egyptian god of the primordial waters from which all life sprang. Suddenly, I remembered Wigmere's tale of Rameses III using the staff to create a Fog of War that prevailed over his enemies. I flipped back to the page and double-checked my translation.

  Not only was I correct, but Moribundus was giving veiled instructions as well. If one turned the staff upside down and submerged it in water, it could be used to kill.

  And frankly, killing sounded much more up Chaos's alley than resurrecting!

  This wasn't good. Not good at all. Chaos had had the staff for only one day now, but from what I knew of the Serpents of Chaos, it wouldn't take long for them to put it to use.

  I had to get this information to Wigmere.

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  Once again I glanced at Miss Sharpe. How could I get free of her long enough to get a message to Will?

  If she thought I wanted a walk, she'd be certain not to give it to me. Therefore, I had to be rather sneaky. "Excuse me," I said around a yawn.

  "Cover your mouth," Miss Sha
rpe instructed without looking up.

  I refrained from pointing out that I had and if she'd bothered to look, she would have seen it. Instead, using my most pathetic voice, I said, "I'm so sorry, Miss Sharpe, but I'm afraid my head has begun to ache terribly. Could I possibly go lie down?"

  Miss Sharpe laid her book down on the table and studied me. "I think not. No, Little Miss Lazybones does not need extra sleep. What she needs is exercise. I think it's time for a walk. Let's get our wraps, shall we?"

  "If you say so." I tried to look disappointed, but in truth, I was ecstatic. If we went out for a walk, there was a good chance Will would spot us and I could signal to him that I had a message to be delivered.

  Miss Sharpe stood up. "Come along, then."

  I shoved to my feet and followed her to the coat rack.

  "How is that Latin text translation coming?" she asked, putting on her wrap.

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  "Very well, thank you. I should be done in another day or two."

  "Excellent. I can't wait for you to read it to me so I can enjoy the fruits of your labors."

  But of course, I had no intention of sharing Moribundus's treatise on ancient artifacts of power with her. And not just because she would think it was ancient Egypt's version of a penny dreadful--the grimoire was too full of ugly, dangerous magic to even think of uttering aloud.

  When we stepped outside, we were met by a brisk if biting wind. I noticed there were quite a lot of people milling about in the square. It took me a moment to recognize Will, who was masquerading as a chimney sweep, his face half covered in soot. When our eyes met, he doffed his cap.

  To the right of the museum entrance, a wide, stocky man in an ill-fitting morning suit sat on a bench under a beech tree. He looked vaguely familiar, and I finally realized it was Ned Gerton, code name Befen. Loitering in the doorway across the street was Basil Whiting (Mestafet), and Peter Fell (Petet) manned a pie cart.

  Just what I needed--a troop of occultists following me about.

  I glanced back at Will, wondering what he'd make of all the extra gentlemen, as I hadn't had a chance to explain yet

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  about the scorpions, but my pulse quickened at the tall, lean form lurking against a lamppost a few feet behind him. The Grim Nipper!

  "Theodosia? Are we going to walk or loiter?" Miss Sharpe's voice called my attention back to the matter at hand, and together we began to walk toward Cavendish Square. I couldn't help but wonder if Will even knew the Grim Nipper was there. It was clear that drastic action on my part was called for.

  Grateful for the barrier of my heavy woolen coat between my arm and Miss Sharpe's pincher fingers, I took a deep breath, skipped ahead a few paces, then spun around to face Miss Sharpe. Walking backwards allowed me to keep an eye on all the goings-on behind me.

  "What are you doing, Theodosia?" She glanced around, worried that someone would see my odd behavior. "Turn around before you trip and fall."

  "Oh, I won't, Miss Sharpe! This is very good practice for balance, you know. In fact, it was my Grandmother Throckmorton who taught me this trick. You see, if a girl can walk backwards without tripping and stumbling, then she can certainly walk gracefully when doing it in the normal way." The whole time I chattered, my eyes darted behind Miss Sharpe, trying to locate all the players. Gerton had just gotten up

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  from his bench, folded his paper under his arm, and begun sauntering behind us.

  Will had pulled his cap low over his head and put the chimney broom over his shoulder. He walked slowly but purposefully, as if he were on the way to a job.

  "Your grandmother never taught you any such thing," Miss Sharpe said. "Now we must add lying to your list of faults."

  Miss Sharpe may have been a horrid cow, but she was nobody's fool, I'd give her that. "Oh, really she did! She said it was a good way to prepare oneself for ... dancing! That's it! Dancing is quite a lot like walking backwards, isn't it, Miss Sharpe." I paused. "You have been dancing before, haven't you?"

  "Of course I've been dancing. But this ridiculous game of yours will do nothing to prepare you for that."

  The Grim Nipper moved out of the shadows and slunk forward a few paces before scuttling into a doorway, just like a greasy shadow. Will seemed oblivious, but that could have been to keep the Grim Nipper off-guard.

  Another figure appeared, this one quite small and sporting a large bowler. Snuffles was trailing behind the Grim Nipper. Thankfully, someone had Will's back. Although what an undersize eight-year-old could do to fend off the Grim Nipper, I wasn't sure. Perhaps he could sneeze at him.

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  As we neared the park, I noticed the Nipper drawing closer to Will. As I was wondering what Miss Sharpe would do if I called out a warning, the Grim Nipper put on a burst of speed. Just as I opened my mouth to yell (I'd decided to risk Miss Sharpe's curiosity), the Nipper grabbed Will's collar and yanked him into an alley. I squeaked.

  "Theo? Are you all right?" Miss Sharpe asked.

  Then, almost without conscious thought, as if my body had come up with the idea all on its own, I pretended to get my feet all tangled up and tripped. "Ow!" I said, screwing my face up tight and clutching my ankle.

  Miss Sharpe stopped walking, folded her arms across her middle, and pinched her lips in disapproval. "I warned you nothing good would come of walking backwards."

  Honestly! Can no grownup resist saying, "I told you so"? I groaned as if in pain.

  Miss Sharpe looked around, clearly unsure what to do. Finally, she knelt down and gave my ankle a sharp prod.

  "I think I may have sprained it," I said.

  She sniffed. "That is what happens to odd ducks who waddle backwards."

  For a moment I was seized by an overwhelming desire to quack at her. Odd duck, indeed. Instead, I said meekly, "I'm sorry, Miss Sharpe."

  "Do you think you could hobble back to the museum?"

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  I shook my head.

  "I suppose you could lean on me," she suggested with a look that said she'd rather clean chamber pots without her gloves.

  "I don't think so," I rushed to say. "I'm much heavier than I look." The whole point was to get rid of her for a few moments so I could go find out what had happened to Will.

  She glanced around the square. "I can't very well just leave you here."

  "Oh, but you can! Don't forget--my parents let me go out and about on my own as long as I don't cross Oxford Street, and we're nowhere near Oxford Street. Besides," I said, playing my trump card, "it's hardly your fault, what with me being an odd duck and all." I hung my head humbly for good measure.

  "Well, you're right about that part, anyway."

  Would the beastly woman never leave? Will was in danger.

  "Very well. I'll return to the museum and see if I can get one of the servants to bring round a cart."

  "That would probably be best," I agreed. "I'll be right here when you get back," I assured her. But as soon as Miss Sharpe was out of sight, I leaped to my perfectly fine feet and made a mad dash for the alley down which I'd seen Will and the Nipper disappear.

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  Basil Whiting was just nearing the entrance when I reached it. "Stay there!" I hissed at him. I did not need to involve the Black Sunners in Will's problems. Whiting gave a curt nod as I slipped past him.

  At first the narrow brick alley seemed empty, but then halfway toward the far end I saw the Nipper leaning into a doorway with Will pressed up against the door, shaking his head.

  As silently as possible, I made my way toward a large pile of rubbish. I squatted down behind it so I wouldn't be spotted, then strained my ears to listen, but it was hard to hear over the pounding of my heart.

  "You ain't been avoiding me, 'ave you, Willie, me boy?"

  "N-no. Course not. Just been busy, that's all."

  There was a loud, wet sniff somewhere off to my left. Snuffles must be nearby.

  "Busy wif that new job o' yours, eh?" the Grim Nipper said. "Them fancy pa
nts keeping you too busy for your old gig, then?"

  Before Will could answer, the Nipper twisted the bunch of Will's collar he held in his fist, cutting off his reply. "These fancy pants of yours have led me to a right sweet gig now, they 'ave. People are taking their gold out of all their hidey places so as it'll protect 'em against these mummies, see. I'm

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  tellin' you, Willie boy. There's plenty o' work for someone with fingers as light as yours."

  "I-I got a new job, Nip! All the work I can handle."

  "That's too bad, now, Willie, 'cause I'm needing an extra pair of hands to pluck with."

  "Sorry, Nip."

  He shoved Will against the door so hard, I heard the thunk as Will's head connected with the wood. "That's not the answer I was looking for, Willie boy. I'll give you another day or two to think on it. And next time, you won't let me down again or you won't like the consequences."

  Then the Nipper shoved his hands into his pockets and left the alley, walking right by the rubbish heap. I shrank back against the turnip tops and ashes and made myself as small as possible.

  The Nipper was trying to pressure Will into returning to his pickpocketing ways. That's why Will had been wearing disguises and keeping a low profile. He wasn't hiding from the police--he was hiding from the Grim Nipper!

  I stood up, wanting to talk to Will, but he was already at the far end of the alley, making a quick getaway in the opposite direction.

  To make matters worse, just then I heard Miss Sharpe's voice calling, "Theodosia?"