Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris Page 4

  Then she sniffed again. "Do I smell wet dog?"

  "Wet dog?" I repeated. Bother. Wet jackal, yes, but wet dog, no. "Perhaps it's Miss Sneath's coat?" I nodded toward the brown woolen coat that had been laid on the back of a chair.

  "Certainly not!" Miss Sneath said, scandalized.

  Even so, I gave her my best curtsy and brightest smile. In spite of what grownups think, I do try to get off on the right foot. Most of the time. "How do you do, Miss Sneath? What sorts of things shall you be teaching me?"

  "First," she said, with a rigid set to her jaw, "I shall teach you to mind your place and manners. Then I shall teach you the sorts of things a young English lady should know, not the frippery your grandmother tells me you've been studying."

  Showing admirable restraint, I narrowly kept from pointing out that Mother and Father might take exception to their life's work being referred to as frippery.

  Miss Sneath set her small brown satchel on the table, then

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  pulled out a thick book and a ruler. She placed the ruler on the table in front of her, then shifted in her seat. There was no chair for me, so I remained standing. "One of the first things I do with any new pupil is test her existing knowledge so I can see how much catching up we must do." She opened her book.

  "How many continents are there?" she barked, making me jump.

  "Six," I barked back. "Seven if you count North America and South America as two separate continents."

  She rapped her ruler on the table. "No impertinence will be tolerated!"

  "I'm sorry, Miss Sneath. I wasn't trying to be impertinent. Only thorough."

  "How many oceans are there?"

  "Five."

  "What is the capital of Burma?"

  "I'm not sure. I do know the capitals of the ancient Babylonian, Assyrian, and Egyptian empires, however."

  "Those were not the question. What year did--"

  "Wait! Aren't you going to tell me the capital of Burma so I'll know it next time?"

  "Of course not! You'll need to look it up yourself. That is how you learn."

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  This was highly suspicious. "Do you know what the capital of Burma is?"

  The ruler cracked down on the table again. "Impertinence!"

  Grandmother was no doubt pleased with all this ruler slapping, whereas I found it quite tiresome. "Would you like me to share the answer with you once I find it?" I offered.

  "I don't need you to tell me the answer." Miss Sneath pressed her lips together so tightly, they almost disappeared.

  "Now then," she said after a long moment. "What year did Charles I dissolve Parliament, and how long was it before it met again?"

  "Er, I'm not sure ... but I know that the current Kaiser Wilhelm is Queen Victoria's grandson and King Edward's nephew." Which you'd think would make them just that much friendlier to each other, but apparently not.

  The ruler cracked down on the table yet again. "That's not what I asked."

  "Well, I know that, but don't you think it's more important to understand today's relationships in politics rather than those of two hundred years ago?"

  Miss Sneath turned to Grandmother. "Not only is this girl markedly ignorant, but she's impudent."

  Grandmother shifted in her chair. "I did warn you."

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  "So you did." Miss Sneath looked down at her book. "What is seven times eight?"

  Ooh! I love multiplication tables. "Fifty-six." Miss Sneath scowled. "Nine times nine?"

  "Eighty-one!"

  Her scowl deepened. "Eleven times eleven!" It felt as if she were pelting me with small, hard pebbles. "One hundred and twenty-one!"

  She began furiously turning the pages in her book. "What are the four principal sources of heat?" she barked out.

  "Well, there's the sun, of course. That would be one. The gas in lamps. Oh, and electricity!" But that was only three. "What about steam? Is that the fourth?"

  "Wrong," Miss Sneath trilled, sounding triumphant. She looked back down at her book. "The four principles of heat are the sun, electricity, mechanical actions, and chemical actions."

  "Almost had it," I said under my breath. Besides, she had to look at the book. It wasn't as if she knew them by heart, either.

  "Well, there you have it," she announced, obviously enjoying my wrong answers far too much. "This child is woefully ignorant," she told Grandmother Throckmorton. "You have contacted me none too soon."

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  My cheeks grew hot. "Don't you think 'woefully ignorant' is overstating it just a bit? I knew much of what--"

  "Enough! I am a professional, and there is no question your parents have neglected your education horribly."

  "Nonsense!" The word burst from me before I could stop it. "You know all that stuff only because you're reading it from the book! And memorizing isn't the same thing as learning at all!"

  Miss Sneath stood, her chin jutting forward. She opened her mouth to say something, but I rushed ahead. "I know lots of things. I know some of the classics and a little Latin. I know Greek and hieroglyphic writing. And I know all about Egyptology, the New Kingdom, and the Middle Kingdom, although admittedly I'm not as familiar with the Old Kingdom as I should be. And I'm very good at long division."

  "Silence!" Miss Sneath thundered, a bright red spot appearing on either cheek. She turned to Grandmother. "Her lack of a proper environment has ruined her temperament."

  The silence grew thick in the room.

  "Do you know the capital of Burma?"

  We all jumped at Mother's voice. She stood in the doorway with her head held high, indignation snapping in her eyes. I wondered how much she'd heard. Enough, that was for certain.

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  Miss Sneath's eyes slid down to her book, but she'd already turned the page. "One doesn't need to know the answers in order to properly teach," she said stiffly.

  While defiantly glaring at Grandmother, Mother said, "I rather think that in this case one does. The one thing I do insist on is a superior education."

  The two of them had a staring contest for a few tense seconds before Grandmother looked away. "You're dismissed," she told Miss Sneath.

  The governess's mouth opened and closed, but her sense of propriety (or self-preservation) overrode her sense of outrage. She quickly packed her book and her ruler back into her satchel, closed it with a firm snap, then took her leave.

  When she was gone, Grandmother spoke. "While this will be much harder than I originally thought, don't think you've had the last word." I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or Mother. "I will find you a governess, and she will teach you your place."

  Just then, Father poked his head back into the room. "What happened? I just saw the governess go storming out the front door. Henrietta! I thought you'd left."

  "I had," Mother said. "But I forgot the paper I wanted to present to the Royal Archaeological Society."

  And it was a very good thing she had!

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  She hurried over to retrieve her presentation, then quickly departed again.

  When she had left, Grandmother thumped her cane. "You have come very close to creating a monster, Alistair."

  "Oh really, Mother ..."

  I tuned out Grandmother's tirade. (It was the only way to handle them--they were just too upsetting otherwise.) As I let my gaze wander away, it landed on a fellow standing next to Father. I hadn't seen him at first, as he'd been mostly in the hallway, but as Grandmother raged on, he'd sidled into the room. My cheeks grew hot as I realized I was being scolded in front of a complete stranger.

  Especially this prig. He'd scrubbed his face so hard that it shone, and his dark hair was pasted flat on his head. It was a shame he hadn't thought to use the same paste on his ears, as they stuck out rather dreadfully. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. It was probably why he had a small fuzzy caterpillar of a mustache--so people would be sure to realize he had a mouth. I have observed that people with small, tight mouths are rarely friendly or good te
mpered.

  Needless to say, I disliked him instantly. Not because of his ears or even his mouth, but because he stood listening to Grandmother, nodding his head in agreement the whole time. He clearly had the makings of a toady of the first water.

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  By the time Grandmother had finished her lecture and left, Father's own mouth was looking a little thin and there was a slight tic in his jaw.

  "Ahem." The man next to Father cleared his throat.

  "Oh, Weems! I'm sorry. I'd completely forgotten about you. Theodosia, this is our new First Assistant Curator, Vicary Weems. Weems, this is my daughter, Theodosia."

  "How do you do?" I said, bobbing a curtsy.

  Weems sent a curt little nod in my direction, as if he wasn't about to smile at someone who'd just been so thoroughly scolded. A prig, just like I thought.

  There was an awkward silence before Father realized Weems wouldn't be responding. "Yes, well, as you see, we're looking for a governess. Now, let's go meet the other curators, shall we? Theodosia, you have something to do, I believe?"

  "Yes, Father." Honestly, I never would have thought the catacombs would look so appealing!

  ***

  Isis refused to return to long-term storage with me. While she was perfectly willing to brave vile magic, evil curses, and the dangerous, restless dead, she'd clearly drawn the line at dogs and doglike creatures.

  Once again I descended the stairs feeling as though I

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  were venturing into the very pit of the Underworld itself. I couldn't decide if I should have felt safer; surely the worst had happened, with that statue of Anubis? Or perhaps I should have been even more scared, as the statue was just the beginning? That was the rub of Egyptian magic--one never really knew if one was coming or going.

  I paused at the foot of the stairs and eyed the statue of Anubis warily. It didn't move so much as a nostril. Deciding it was safe, I went to the small stool near the shelves, picked up my pencil and notebook, and resumed my cataloging.

  One set alabaster Canopic jars, lids shaped after the Four Sons of Horus, empty, New Kingdom

  One set limestone Canopic jars, human head-shaped lids, empty, New Kingdom

  One set quartzite Canopic jars, lids Four Sons of Horus, empty, Middle Kingdom

  One set basalt Canopic jars, dome-shaped lids, empty, First Dynasty

  One large, lidded ceramic jar, empt --Ew!

  Upon lifting the lid I found myself staring at dozens of dried lizards, all standing on end with their noses pointing up toward the mouth of the jar. Gingerly, I closed my gloved fingers around the nose of one of the lizards and gently pulled the lizard out of the jar. I half expected it to disintegrate

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  at my touch, but it didn't. When I had it out of the jar, I gasped. The lizard had two tails! I put that lizard aside and checked the others in the jar. They all had two tails. What a find! The ancient Egyptians believed that two-tailed lizards-- any malformed creature, really--were full of extra-powerful heka. Many of the instructions for removing curses or making magical potions called for two-tailed lizards. How lovely to have stumbled upon something helpful for a change!

  As I started to catalog the next jar, my elbow caught the end of the staff that I'd so hastily thrust back onto the shelf earlier, and it clattered to the floor. I winced at the noise and looked over my shoulder to see if the disturbance had woken anything up from its dormant state.

  Everything was still and exactly as I'd left it. I paused, noticing Anubis's eyes on me. Had they always been? I couldn't remember. I'd been more worried about his claws and teeth, frankly. I'd have to keep a close watch on him, though.

  I bent over to pick up the staff. What I had originally thought was just crooked turned out to be jointed wooden sections that could be rotated to make the staff straight and long or twisted into unusual shapes, sort of like a puzzle. The jackal head at the end was made of gold and had gaping jaws that looked as if they'd held something at one time.

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  (Hopefully not a cat!) As I smoothed my gloved hand along the staff, straightening out the sections, it took the shape of a serpent. Of course! It must be a weret heku, one of the ancient magician wands!

  The middle joint in the wood was stiff and I had to really bear down to get it to straighten. With one final twist, the bottom half snapped into place, knocking over a Canopic jar in the process.

  I flinched at the loud thud, relieved the jar hadn't shattered. Except... it shouldn't have been that heavy. All the Canopic jars were relatively light because any internal organs in them had dried up and turned to dust ages ago. Even the jar with the dried-up lizards hadn't been heavy.

  So what--exactly--was in this jar? What if the internal organs in it hadn't turned to dust?

  I stared at the jar for a while, working up my nerve. It could hold something wonderful, like the lizards.

  On the other hand, there could be a set of rotting intestines or a putrefied liver lurking inside.

  Bracing myself, I squatted down and tapped the lid away from the jar's opening. I expected something nasty to ooze onto the floor, but instead a small golden ball rolled out.

  The golden surface was completely covered in ancient symbols, many of them looking older than the hieroglyphs I

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  was used to. But wait! There was a jackal head near the top of the sphere. I picked the ball up and peered closely. Running along the middle was a carving of a long staff, very much like the one I'd just found.

  Something niggled at me and I reached for the staff. Could it be? I brought the two together and tried to fit the orb into the head of the staff. It was a tight fit, and I had to work it around some. The jackal's teeth had been designed to keep the ball from falling out, which meant they also made it difficult to get the ball back in.

  With a final soft click, the orb slipped past Anubis's teeth and settled between his gaping jaws. At the very same moment, the gaslights flickered and a whooshing sensation swept through the room.

  A chill ran up my spine, but before I could determine what--if anything--had happened, Father's voice called down the stairway.

  "Theodosia! Come along. It's time to go home."

  I looked down at the staff in my hand, deciding there would be plenty of time to figure it out the next day. Going home sounded lovely. After spending hours in the dusty old room, I felt horribly grubby and absolutely coated with the whiff of black magic. Perhaps I'd put a handful of salt into my bath tonight--just as a sort of purification ritual.

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  Besides, I could hear voices arguing at the top of the stairs. Curious, I set the staff down and made my way up the steps until I reached the landing. I paused when I saw Vicary Weems standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at the other two assistant curators.

  "What happened to it?" Weems was asking. "Greatcoats don't just get up and wander away on their own."

  Uh-oh.

  "Of course they don't," Fagenbush said, his voice full of scorn. "But we are responsible for the collections, not other curators' clothing."

  Weems stiffened at this. "I don't need to remind you that I'm your superior now, and insubordination of any sort will not be tolerated."

  Honestly! Was he by any chance related to Miss Sneath?

  I knew I should have stepped in and explained about the missing coat, but how, exactly? Best I should just put it back tomorrow--hopefully that would satisfy him. "Um, are you sure you brought it with you today?" I asked, stepping from the doorway.

  "I beg your pardon?" Weems asked, staring down at me as if I were something Isis had sicked up.

  "Well, often when I think I've brought my cloak or hat, it turns out I haven't. So perhaps that's what happened to you? You just thought you'd brought it. Besides, it really wasn't

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  that cold out this morning. I'm not sure why you would have needed it."

  His cheeks flushed slightly and I realized I'd scored a direct hit. He hadn't worn it for warmt
h, but rather because he liked the dashing figure he cut while wearing it. I almost snorted but stopped myself in time.

  "M-miss Theodosia has a p-point," Edgar Stilton, the Third Assistant Curator, said. "Especially since overcoats have never gone missing before." Stilton was my favorite curator. Not only was he kind, but he acted as a sort of human lightning rod for all the magic afoot in the museum.

  "Nonsense. It was probably one of the workmen, and if so, you can be sure I shall report him to the authorities."

  "It was not Sweeny or Dolge!" I said hotly. "They've been here for years and nothing's ever gone missing. You probably just left it at home or set it down somewhere you can't remember."

  "You think so," Fagenbush drawled, looking at me strangely.

  Bother. He was too suspicious for his own good. Or for my own good. "Well, it happens sometimes," I said, trying to lighten my voice. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe my parents are waiting for me." And with that, I hurried down the hall.

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  CHAPTER FIVE WHERE'S MY MUMMY?

  ***

  THE NEXT MORNING FOUND ME sitting at the breakfast table trying to hide a yawn. I'd stayed up far too late the night before, making a few extra wedjat eyes to carry with me down to the catacombs. With Chaos returned to London, one could never have too many sources of protection.

  I nudged the beige lump in my bowl, wondering who had ever thought porridge was a good idea, when Father squawked.

  Usually I am the one doing the squawking, so this was a change.

  He stared at the daily paper, his lips moving faintly as he

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