Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus Page 3

  "You put more faith in the workings of the Cairo Antiquities Service than I do, Henrietta. I doubt we'll get help from that quarter."

  "But it was our discovery..." Mum muttered, then fell silent.

  The good news was that they hadn't noticed I was gone. The bad news was, well, they hadn't even missed me. Their lack of attention used to bother me, but I'd learned to accept it as something of a blessing. It allowed me to take care of business without having to answer all sorts of awkward questions.

  And there was quite a lot of business to take care of.

  There were at least two curses, possibly three, down in Receiving. I had to get them removed before the new exhibit opened. We couldn't risk cursing untold numbers of museum visitors. It would be bad for business!

  Having located my parents, I went to my own little room in the museum. It was actually more like a rather large closet, but it made me feel better to think of it as a room. once there, I slipped out of my coat and put on a pinafore, then tugged off my dress gloves and replaced them with a pair of sturdier ones. Next I checked to be sure all three amulets were still safely around my neck. Satisfied that I was as protected as could be, I fetched my curse-removing kit from the cupboard and made my way to Receiving.

  Luckily, it was Sunday, so neither Dolge nor Sweeny, the museum's two hired hands, were about and I had the entire receiving area to myself. I quickly got to work.

  There had been a shocking number of cursed artifacts among the antiquities Mum had brought back with her a few short months ago. I didn't remember ever seeing so many in one batch.

  The first object on my list was a basketful of black rocks carved to look like grain. I had discovered this curse by accident one day when I'd gone into the staff room to fix myself a jam sandwich and had found the loaf of bread full of bugs. When I looked closely, I saw that they weren't ordinary bugs but teensy-tiny scarab beetles. I followed the thin trail of them all the way back to the staging area. Honestly! It was hard enough to get any food around here with my parents as preoccupied as they were with their work; I did not need curses mucking up what little food there was.

  This particular curse had required oodles of research, and I had found only one similar curse listed in T. R. Nectanebus's Hidden Egypt: Magic, Alchemy, and the Occult. I'd had to adjust the recipe to suit my needs.

  I set my carpetbag down and rifled through my supplies until I found my mortar and pestle, a jar of honey, a small sack of dirt, and a pillbox Grandmother had tossed in the rubbish bin. The primary ingredient of the recipe was honey, because one of the principles in Egyptian magic is that demons abhor things that we humans love, such as sweets. It was a common method of driving demonic spirits and black magic away, using sweets.

  I poured the honey into the mortar, then added the measure of dirt. There was a tickling sensation at the back of my neck, as if someone had blown on it. I whirled around. "Who's there?" My voice wavered as the fine hairs at my nape still tingled.

  Even though there was no one in sight, I was certain I was being watched. I peered into the shadowy corners of the room, but nothing moved.

  With my shoulder blades itching, I held my nose and opened the pillbox. Nectanebus's recipe called for swallow droppings, but I hadn't been able to find any of those. However, there was a large flock of pigeons that often roosted near the museum, so I'd scraped their droppings into the pillbox. (Yet another reason it is so important to wear heavy-duty gloves when conducting magic!)

  Using a bit of stick, I scraped all the droppings into the mortar, then ground everything together with the pestle. Last, I took a piece of bread and crumbled it into the honey-and-dropping mixture. Nectanebus claimed that using the honey, bread crumbs, and dung together would redirect the cursed miniature scarabs from the bread to the dung. one could only hope.

  I dumped the grain-shaped rocks out onto the table and smeared the mixture in the bottom of the basket, as instructed. Then I put all the grain back in the basket, and that was that. I had only to wait for three days, and the curse would be permanently removed. Either that or Receiving would stink to high heaven.

  I felt a chill on my shoulders and turned around again, thinking Mum or Dad had wandered down to check on me. But there was still no one there, and no open door to account for a draft. Uneasy, I quickly carried the grain basket to where it had been and then put the empty jars and bags back into the satchel, pausing when I heard a faint rustling sound.

  I strained to hear better. It had come from the northwest corner of the room. I peered up into the shadows. Something dark lurked up there. It rustled again, and in one sweeping movement I knocked the rest of the supplies off the worktable and into my bag.

  As I headed toward the door, the rustling grew louder. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the shadow detach itself from the ceiling and begin oozing in my direction.

  I picked up my pace and fled. Clearly, I had more work to do.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Arcane Order of the Black Sun Calls a Meeting

  MY PARENTS NEVER DID REALIZE I'd been gone, and Monday morning arrived without incident. Well, except for being rushed through my breakfast, as Father wanted to get to the museum bright and early. We were in the process of preparing our newest exhibit—Thutmose III: The Napoleon of Ancient Egypt—and my parents were eager to get started. They were certain this would be an important exhibit for the Museum of Legends and Antiquities; it might even put us on the same footing as the British Museum.

  Father called a staff meeting first thing.

  "Very well," he said, clapping his hands together awkwardly to get everyone's attention. Father was brilliant but not at his best when directing people. "Two weeks," he said. "That's how much time we have to finish putting this exhibit together, the finest exhibit of the decade, I might add. The board has allowed us to close for two weeks so we may devote our full attention to this matter, so let's make the most of it, shall we? Weems?"

  The priggish first Assistant Curator pranced forward, his feeble little mustache twitching as he said, "Yes, sir?"

  Vicary Weems is the sort of grownup who believes children should not be seen and not heard. At all. He also dresses rather above his station, always wearing loud patterned vests that make my eyes ache and—of all the ridiculous things—spats. I don't care if King Edward himself wears them, they are still ridiculous looking, like bibs for one's feet.

  "You have the floor plans I gave you for the new display cases, correct?"

  Weems patted the pocket of his scarlet and gold vest. "Right here, sir."

  "Good. You'll direct Dolge and Sweeny with the placement of the cases." He paused a moment, then turned to Dolge. "They have been delivered, haven't they?"

  "Aye, sir."

  "Fagenbush?" Father continued.

  The loathsome Second Assistant Curator stepped for ward, bringing a small cloud of boiled-cabbage-and-pickled-onion fumes with him. His thick black eyebrows were drawn together in a V. Whatever did Lord Wigmere see in him?

  "We'll need you up in the workroom so you can start packing the artifacts for transport down here."

  Fagenbush nodded.

  "Stilton?"

  My favorite curator, Edgar Stilton, sprang to attention, a faint tic beginning in his left cheek. "Right here, sir."

  Father consulted his list. "Let's see, you're to..."

  "I'm to visit the draper this morning and approve the material for the display backing," Stilton said, then blinked rapidly, as if surprised by his own boldness.

  "Oh, that's right. Very well, then. I guess that's it. Any questions? Let's get to it." The others began to trickle away, and he turned to me. "Theodosia?"

  "Yes, Father?"

  "How's that inventory coming along down in long-term storage?"

  "Nearly done," I said cheerfully, waving my ledger book.

  "Excellent." He turned to go, but I stopped him.

  "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to assist you and Mother with the upcoming exhibit?"
<
br />   "Not right at the moment, no. perhaps later..."

  I sighed. "Very well." It was beastly unfair, if you asked me, especially since it had been my discovery of the annex to Thutmose III's tomb that had given them this idea for the exhibit in the first place. It seemed as if I should at least be able to help. However, I am sad to say, that I have found there to be little justice in the world.

  Feeling somewhat sorry for myself, I cast one last longing glance at all the commotion going on in the foyer then, re-signed to my fate, headed for the catacombs.

  Of course, they weren't really catacombs, merely long-term storage space for the museum, but it felt as creepy as catacombs. I clutched the three amulets around my neck and reached for the door.

  A shadow loomed in front of me and I jumped. "Stilton!" I said, rather louder than I'd intended. "What are you doing here? You gave me quite a start."

  The entire left side of the Third Assistant Curator's body twitched as he held his finger to his lips. "Shh." His eyes were bright, his cheeks slightly flushed.

  "What is it?" I whispered.

  "The grand master wants to see you."

  My sense of victory at having evaded him yesterday evaporated. "Now?"

  "Yes, miss. He's called a meeting of the Black Sun. Everyone will be there."

  That was Stilton's one glaring fault. He belonged to the Arcane Order of the Black Sun. "Well, I'm very busy. I'm afraid it's not a good time."

  Stilton blinked twice and looked apologetic. "Everyone's preoccupied with the exhibit just now, Miss Theo. And you're supposed to be down in the long-term storage. No one will miss you for hours."

  Well, he had that part right. I'd be lucky if they remembered me when it was time to go home. "But what about you? Aren't you supposed to be visiting the draper's?"

  Stilton looked a bit smug. "I took care of that on my way home last night."

  "Oh. But I already gave Trawley his magical favor. What does he want with me now?"

  A hatchet-faced man stepped out of the hallway behind Stilton. "I thought you said she was coming?"

  Stilton flinched at the sound of Basil Whiting's voice. Sent reinforcements, had they? This didn't look good.

  "S-she is. In just a moment," Stilton said. "Aren't you, Miss Theo?" His weak tea-colored eyes pleaded with me.

  Since Trawley had sent his second in command as backup, it was clear I had no choice. "Of course, Stilton. I'd love to." If he caught my sarcasm, he made no sign.

  "Very well, miss. This way." He motioned toward the east entrance. With a sigh, I headed down the corridor. "I thought you scorpions were supposed to serve me," I muttered, feeling quite put out.

  "We're to see to your safety, miss," Whiting said, falling into step behind me.

  "Yes, but that's not quite the same thing, is it?"

  He looked over my head at Stilton as if to say You deal with her. Stilton shrugged. Or twitched. I couldn't be sure which.

  Once we were outside, he opened the carriage door for me, then followed me inside it. Much to my relief, Whiting joined Ned Gerton up on the driver's box. Stilton cleared his throat and held up a black silk blindfold.

  I stared at it with distaste. "Is that really necessary?"

  "The supreme master says so, miss. I'm just following orders."

  "Like nice little sheep," I murmured.

  "What was that?" he asked, a startled look on his face.

  "I think I'll have a nice little sleep. On the ride over," I added. "Do wake me when we're there." I wedged myself in the farthest corner, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. There. Stilton would have to manhandle me to get that wretched blindfold on. Let's see if he would go that far.

  I waited, nerves on edge, but after a long tense moment, I heard him sigh and settle back into his seat. Excellent.

  Fifteen minutes later, I felt the carriage draw to a stop. "please, miss," Stilton whispered. "You must let me put the blindfold on now or we'll both be in trouble."

  I opened my eyes. "Very well." I had, after all, won a small victory. It would be easy to allow him to save face.

  He slipped the blindfold on and tied it very gently, making sure not to get my hair tangled up in the knot. "Do you have sisters, Stilton?"

  "Why, yes, miss. How'd you know?" There was a touch of awe in his voice, as if he thought I'd divined it somehow. I hated to lose that advantage by explaining that only a man with sisters would be so good at dealing with hair, so I simply said, "Just a lucky hunch."

  There was a low whistle from outside the carriage. "All right then, the coast is clear," Stilton said. I heard him open the door; he took my hand and carefully led me down the steps. We shuffled along until he told me to stop. He knocked out the signal on the door, which opened immediately. "'E's waiting in the chamber. Right impatient, 'e is. Wants to know wot took you so long."

  "The girl resisted at first," Basil Whiting said from just behind us.

  "I thought Tefen here said he could control 'er," the unidentified porter said.

  "I can." Stilton sounded a bit testy as he guided me through the doorway.

  Once again I was led down a dark and twisting corridor before we came to a stop. The silk was removed from my eyes and I found myself in the familiar dark chamber, lit only with black candles in sconces against the wall. Half a dozen cloaked, hooded figures knelt before me. Only Aloysius Trawley remained standing, his eyes glittering, black and wild in the dim light. It was quite unsettling really, having a half-dozen grown men in hoods watching you while you have no idea who they are.

  "You're late," he said to Stilton.

  "There was some trouble getting away, I'm afraid."

  Trawley turned his crazed eyes on me. "I thought you said you could handle her."

  "I can." Stilton's gaze shifted to Whiting, as if daring him to contradict. "It's just that Throckmorton called an unexpected staff meeting, so we were running late."

  Accepting this excuse, Trawley jerked his head toward the kneeling men. "Go ahead and join the others. We've had to start without you."

  Stilton and Whiting took their places on the floor, and Trawley turned back to me.

  "Welcome, O Light Giver of Heaven."

  Oh, for goodness sake. Not that again. "Mr. Trawley," I said, forgoing his favored title of supreme master. "Why have I been brought here against my will?"

  "Against your will, O Maker of Morning? Have you no wish to see your loyal servants? It has been over two weeks since we last spoke. I thought you had agreed to share your wisdom and magic with us. With you as Isis, and me as Osiris, we will usher in the new age of Horus."

  Age of Horus? What did he mean by that? Horus was the son of Isis and Osiris, and the slayer of Set, but I'd never heard of an age of Horus before. The man was clearly a lunatic. "No. I agreed to do you one magic favor, which I've done."

  "Are you referring to your prophecy, by chance? The one that hasn't yet come true?" His voice grew annoyed as he spoke.

  He was going to hold me responsible for that, was he? "Surely you realize I can only repeat what the gods tell me. I have no power as to whether or not it comes to pass."

  He took a step closer, his wild eyes growing angry. "Is that really so? The Queen of all Gods, who can raise the dead and give men vile curses and command the jackal Anubis, cannot order a prophecy to come to pass?"

  I shot a hot glance Stilton's way. Someone had been reporting my activities back to Trawley. As if understanding my accusation, Stilton gave a quick, tiny shake of his head. I returned my attention to the fuming man in front of me. "First of all, as I told you last time, I am not the queen of all gods. I'm simply a girl who's learned to remove curses. That's all."

  Trawley glowered at me. "How then did you raise the mouse back to life?"

  "He was just stunned," I lied.

  "And how then did you cause the man at the docks to be covered in boils? And don't deny it. One of the scorpions heard him lay the blame at your feet."

  Who had been tattling? "It wasn't me.
He simply managed to get a hold of a cursed object and that's what caused the boils."

  Trawley took another step closer and I resisted the urge to back up. "If you are not the Queen of the Gods, why then does the jackal Anubis do your bidding?"

  No choice but to just bluff this one out. "Jackal? What jackal?"

  Trawley jerked his head, and Basil Whiting stepped forward, the flickering light glancing off his razor-sharp cheekbones.

  "Please tell the Rosy Light of Morning what you saw down on the Prince Albert Docks two weeks ago," Trawley ordered.

  "I was in position, keeping an eye on the man she'd cursed, who was cooling his heels in the river. After about half an hour, a commotion broke out on the deck of the boat they was on—"

  "Ship," I corrected.

  Startled, Whiting stared at me. "What?"

  "It's a ship, not a boat," I explained.

  "Quiet!" Trawley ordered. Then to Whiting, he said, "Continue."

  "A jackal appeared, carrying a long stick or cane of some kind in his mouth. I decided to follow, and he led me back to her museum, where he went inside through a broken window. I tried to go in too, but the watchman stopped me and said the museum was closed."

  This was not good. Not good at all. I had so hoped no one had seen Anubis as he ran through London. Or at least, no one who could connect him with me. "Er...," I fumbled.

  "Sir?" Stilton interrupted gently.

  Trawley turned on him. "What?"

  Stilton tugged at the cloak around his neck. "We really do have only a short time."

  Trawley stared at Stilton intently, as if trying to bend the younger man's will to his own, then finally looked away. "If time is short," he said, "let's begin the ceremony."

  I was so relieved by this reprieve that I didn't even mind that I was stuck spending the next half-hour watching a number of grown men wander around in ancient Egyptian dress and wave flowering branches in the air. They looked beyond ridiculous. Their chanting was equally nonsensical, blathering on about the fruits of the great mysteries and whatnot. At the very end, they all laid their flowering staffs at my feet and then Trawley cast himself upon them.