Theodosia - The Serpents of Chaos Page 9

  “Blimey,” Will whispered.

  “Blimey, indeed,” said Henry, his eyes big and round.

  I elbowed him in the ribs. These men were truly evil. We would be lucky to get out of this with our lives, never mind the Heart of Egypt.

  “Shhst,” Will hissed. “They’re searching him like he did the other bloke.”

  Quickly and efficiently, they emptied the fallen man’s pockets of everything they found, including whatever it was he had taken off Tetley (and I was betting it was the Heart of Egypt by their excited voices). One of the men—the one who’d stabbed him—pocketed this find and shouted triumphantly.

  “That’s German!” said Will.

  He was right. I turned to look at him. “How do you know that?”

  “Ain’t I good enough to know German when I ‘ears it?” he asked, sniffing.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Of course you are! I just meant where have you heard it before?”

  “At one of them political rallies, that’s where.”

  Ignoring Will’s fit of pique, I turned my attention back to the men, who had stepped away from the body and were having a quick, hurried conversation in low voices. Then, one man at a time, they left the churchyard, each going in a different direction.

  I was torn. We needed to check on the injured fellow. But I also needed to keep my eye on the Heart of Egypt. And at some point we had to get back to Tetley.

  I turned to Will. “Can you follow the one who nabbed the package out of that man’s coat?”

  Will nodded.

  “Don’t do anything! Just follow him and find out where he goes. And for goodness’ sake, be careful.”

  Will gave a quick nod. “Right-o. If I can get close enough, I might be able to pinch it right out of his pocket.”

  I grabbed his arm and gave it a little shake. His eyes widened in surprise. “Do not tangle with these men. They just stabbed a man in cold blood in the middle of a church square. I hate to think what they could do to you.”

  “Why, thank ye, miss. That’s right kind o’ you to care. But this is my territory. I’ll be fine.”

  He got to his feet, still crouching low, and slipped away. Henry jumped up and tried to follow. I grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him back down. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going to follow the German. With Will.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Will’s a professional and can take care of himself. You’ll just get into trouble. Besides, we need to see if we can help this fellow.”

  Henry muttered something about a bunch of tommyrot.

  “Look,” I whispered. “This is much more dangerous than merely following someone! He’s a known attacker and basher of heads! He could still be alive and dangerous.”

  Henry perked up at that and followed me as I eased out of our hiding place.

  We made our way over to the fallen man. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest, I feared it was going to leap out and run and hide in the church.

  I’ve never been anywhere near a dead person before. Not even a dead thing. Well, except for the mummies and such, but they’ve been dead for such a long time they don’t really count.

  It was eerily quiet. No sounds of traffic or noise from the surrounding streets, as if the very stillness of death itself lay over the spot.

  “It’s jolly creepy, isn’t it?” Henry whispered.

  “Don’t be such a little beast,” I whispered back. I don’t know why we were whispering, but it seemed the right thing to do in the presence of Death.

  I saw the man’s legs first, sticking out from behind the side of the building. I put my hand out to slow Henry down so he wouldn’t tromp right over them. Slowly, I inched around, following the long black legs up to the man’s body. He was so still, and his face was deathly white, as if all the blood had drained from it.

  And so much blood! His entire waistcoat was dark red and there was a small puddle gathering off to his left. I strained to see if he was still breathing, but his chest didn’t seem to be rising and falling. Not a good sign.

  Gingerly, I knelt down as close to the body as I dared. I leaned forward, staring at the whiskers of his mustache. Were they moving at all?

  I turned to Henry. “He’s not breath—”

  Hard, strong fingers clamped down on my elbow. I nearly shrieked, but ground my teeth together so no sound would escape. I scrabbled as far away from the man as I could, which wasn’t very far, since he had attached himself to my arm like a limpet.

  Henry was just putting his arms around me to help pull me away when the man croaked out a single word. “Help.”

  It was very feeble, but it was a word. And if he could speak, he wasn’t dead. Which meant we had to help him. I let out a breath and forced myself to scoot closer in case he said anything else.

  “Henry, I think we passed a police station on Bow Street. Do you think you can go back there and fetch some help?”

  “Aren’t you afraid they’ll think we did him in?”

  “That’s rather wishful thinking. We’re children. Children don’t go around stabbing strangers.”

  The man’s hand tugged on my sleeve, pulling me closer. “No p’lice,” he managed to get out.

  “But you’re bleeding buckets all over the ground! We’ve got to get you some help.”

  “Som set hoo,” he said.

  Botheration! Now he was speaking a foreign language. Didn’t anyone speak the Queen’s English anymore? “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  The man licked his lips and tried again. “Somerset House. Help there.”

  “Somerset House?” Henry said.

  “Yes. It’s down a few blocks near the river,” I explained.

  “I know where it is!” Henry said. “But what kind of help will be there? I think it’s very suspicious he doesn’t want the police. How do we know he isn’t leading us into a trap?”

  “Why would he do that if we’re trying to help him? Besides, if he gets patched up, he might be able to tell us how he found out about the you-know-what and why he coshed Tetley on the head to get it.”

  “You’re daft if you think he’s going to tell you that. He’s got ‘secret’ written all over him.”

  I turned back to the man as he tugged on my sleeve again.

  “Thir’ floor. Antique’ S’ciety.” The man stopped talking and I thought perhaps he had fainted, or worse. Then he spoke again, only this time I had to practically put my ear on his mouth to hear.

  “Wigmere. Only Wigmere.” He clutched my sleeve and fought desperately to get the words out. “Tell him”—he drew one last shuddering breath—”forces of chaos…” Then his words dribbled to a stop.

  Somerset House

  THE MAN WAS SO PALE AND STILL, I was afraid he wouldn’t survive long enough for us to bring help. If only we had some medicine or bandages. Something that could help him hang on.

  But of course—my amulets!

  I reached up and lifted my small heart amulet out from under my collar and pulled it over my head.

  “What are you doing?” Henry asked.

  “Trying to save him,” I said, carefully laying the amulet directly over his heart.

  “By giving him a silly-looking necklace?”

  “Oh, do shut up. Make sure this stays right where it is. Don’t let him accidentally knock it off.”

  “But what is it?” Henry insisted.

  “How can you spend half your life in a museum and not know what that is?” I asked, thoroughly exasperated. “It’s an amulet. It will protect his life force until I return with help.”

  I frowned down at the injured man. He needed more than just spiritual help. I quickly stepped out of one of my petticoats. (How lucky I’d put two on that morning for extra warmth!)

  “Here,” I said, thrusting the petticoat at Henry.

  He recoiled. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Make bandages, you ninny!”

  Reluctantly, he reached
out and clasped the petticoat gingerly between two fingers.

  I gave him a disgusted look, then headed out of the churchyard. But as irritating as he was, I did not envy Henry having to keep watch over a nearly dead man.

  I ran back through the narrow streets until I finally emerged on the Strand. There, directly across from me, stood Somerset House. It was large and imposing—nearly the size of a palace—with a thousand windows facing the street. Not wanting to call attention to myself, I slowed to a walk in order to cross the enormous courtyard. At the entrance, the doorman raised an eyebrow at me (I’m quite sure I looked horribly grubby) and asked my business.

  I straightened my spine and tilted my chin, giving him my best imitation of Grandmother Throckmorton’s haughty stare. “I’m here to see Wigmere with the Antique Society on the third floor.”

  “You mean the Antiquaries Society?”

  “Er, yes. That.” The man blinked once, then pointed me in the direction of the stairs. Perhaps having an over-grand relative comes in handy sometimes.

  I went up the stairs, drawing a number of curious glances from the men who had business there at Somerset House (there didn’t seem to be any women about). When I reached the third floor, I saw a large brass sign announcing the Antiquaries Society. Almost there.

  A young, rather prim-looking gentleman with wire spectacles stepped out of his office. “May I help you?” he asked in that tone of voice that lets you know he has no intention of helping, he’s just trying to shame you into stopping whatever it is that you’re doing.

  Once again I assumed my best Grandmother Throckmorton stare, the one where she looks down her nose. (Things end up going a bit fuzzy and double sometimes, but it is a very effective look.) “I am here to see Wigmere, if you please.” Which, of course, did not mean please at all, but rather, if you get out of my blasted way.

  The young man’s mouth pinched. “Have you an appointment with Lord Wigmere?” he asked, knowing full well I didn’t.

  Oops. Hadn’t realized the fellow was a lord. “No. I’m afraid something rather sudden has come up. I’ve an important message for him.”

  “Best give it to me and I’ll pass it along.”

  I shook my head. “I was told to give it only to Lord Wigmere.”

  The man was decidedly put off that I should know something he didn’t. “Well, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

  How was I going to get past this interfering watchdog? “How about if I write him a note, you take it to him, and then he can decide if he wants to see me or not.”

  The fellow sighed. “You know, we are very busy here. We don’t have time for children’s games.”

  “Excuse me, sir”—I let the slightest bit of contempt into my voice on the “sir”—”but I have no more time to waste on games than you do. This is a matter of gravest importance. Life and death, actually. Will you get me a piece of paper or should I try another office?”

  That stopped him cold. His mouth tightened and he withdrew into his office and returned with a piece of paper, which he handed to me.

  I looked up at him in annoyance. “What shall I write on it with? Blood?”

  He looked appalled at that suggestion and went back to his office, returning with the most abused stub of a pencil I had ever seen. Ignoring the intended slight, I placed the paper against the wall and wrote my note.

  Dear Lord Wigmere,

  Man dying. ZMUst see you at once.

  Sincerely,

  Theodosia Elizabeth Throckmorton.

  I carefully folded the paper twice, then began to hand over the note. The man’s eyes were fastened on it like a bloodhound on point, his eyes gleaming.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “But may I have an envelope, please?”

  He looked as if he’d like to box my ears. Instead, he marched back into his office, then came out to shove an envelope at me.

  I carefully placed the note in the envelope, praying that all these horrid delays wouldn’t end up costing the injured man his life. I sealed it quite thoroughly so as to keep the man from peeking, then handed him the note. He took it (grabbed it, actually) and stormed off down the hall, walking so stiffly that I had to wonder if he had a steel rod attached to his spine.

  Not wanting to go through this again, I kept a careful eye out as to which office door he knocked on. He entered, then quickly returned, his mouth all puckered up as if he’d been forced to take Gladwell’s Health and Liver Tonic.

  “He will see you, miss.” He put a rather sarcastic emphasis on the “miss,” which I decided to ignore because, after all, I was in. When we finally arrived at Wigmere’s door, the annoying little man gave a single knock before opening it. “Miss Throckmorton to see you, sir.” I stepped inside the room and he closed the door behind me.

  Lord Wigmere sat at his desk, his head bent over something he was writing. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said without looking up.

  Cool as a cucumber, he was. If someone had written me a note announcing that a person was dying, I would have paid attention to them straight away.

  He was also old, older than Father, with a shock of white hair and a luxurious white mustache. He had an intriguing gold and lapis ring on the third finger of his right hand. It was beveled, and had small hieroglyphs carved in it. It reminded me of one of Ramses II’s rings I’d seen in the British Museum.

  “Now, Miss Throckmorton,” he said, making me jump. “What’s all this about a man dying?”

  I looked up to meet his gaze and found myself staring into eyes that were as blue as the ocean and nearly twice as deep. His face was deeply wrinkled and he looked as if he carried the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

  “One of your men sent me, sir. I don’t know his name as he was stabbed in the ribs and found it difficult to speak. But he did say to tell you something about forces and chaos.”

  Wigmere snapped to attention.

  “Where did this happen?” he barked.

  “In St. Paul’s churchyard. My brother Henry is staying with him until you send someone.”

  Wigmere shoved to his feet and grabbed the cane that was leaning against his desk. He made his way to the door, flung it open, and called out, “Boythorpe!”

  I heard steps hurrying down the hall and the annoying guard dog of a man appeared in front of Wigmere. (Although, I could almost forgive him his horrid personality, what with having a name like Boythorpe and all.) “Get me Thornleigh, right away. And Dodson and Bramfield too.” He started to turn back into the room and his eyes fell on me. “And bring Miss Throckmorton some refreshment, Boythorpe. She looks like she needs it.”

  Wigmere thumped his way back over to the desk and sat down. “Now, Miss Throckmorton. If you would be so good as to start at the beginning.”

  “Please call me Theodosia. Everyone does.”

  He nodded his head.

  What should I tell him? I had no idea who’s side he was on. Or even how many sides there were, come to think of it. How trustworthy could he be if one of his fellows had attacked a man and stolen a precious artifact?

  “Ah,” Wigmere said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re no doubt wondering if you can trust me.”

  “Well, something like that. Your friend did bash someone over the head and take something that didn’t belong to him.”

  Wigmere stilled. “The Heart of Egypt? Did Stokes get it?”

  “The Heart of Egypt! What do you know about it? And yes, Stokes got it, but the men who attacked him stole it.”

  “I can assure you that my man Stokes was only trying to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Now why don’t you tell me what you know about it?”

  I was loath to give away the museum’s secrets or worse yet, have Wigmere think I was starkers. But I looked into his great, heavy eyes, stern with justice and strength, and found myself spilling the whole story.

  When I had finished telling him of Snowthorpe’s visit to our museum that morning and the discovery that the Heart of Egypt was missi
ng, there was a knock on the door. Without waiting, three gentlemen stepped in. Wigmere made the introductions. “Dodson, Thornleigh, Bramfield, this is Theodosia Throckmorton and she has come to tell us that Stokes is down, badly injured, perhaps dead, in the churchyard at St. Paul’s. Her brother Henry is with him. You are to go and fetch them both at once and bring them back here. Dodson, you and Bramfield take Stokes down to Level Six when you return. I’ll have a doctor waiting. Thornleigh, escort Master Throckmorton to my office when you get back.”

  All three men took their instructions with no questions and left immediately.

  “You may continue, Miss Theodosia.” Wigmere said it in a very kind voice, but there was iron in there as well. You knew if you didn’t do something the first time he asked, he would make you do it anyhow.

  I explained how Henry, Sticky Will, and I had followed Tetley because he was the last possible connection to the Heart of Egypt. I told him how Stokes had then come on the scene. Wigmere’s eyebrows raised higher and higher the longer I talked, until they finally disappeared into his hair. “You say Stokes killed this fellow Tetley?”

  “Well, he did bash him rather hard, sir,” I explained.

  “I doubt the blow was lethal, Miss Theodosia. Our operatives have been trained to disable and disarm rather than kill.”

  “Oh.” This made me feel rather better about helping Stokes, I must say.

  “Well, all three of you have been very brave and very clever,” Wigmere said at last.

  I cannot tell you how good this felt to hear. Every other grownup I know calls me a silly little girl or accuses me of having too much imagination, but not Wigmere. And he seemed the sort of fellow who ought to know.

  “Has anything of this sort happened before?” he asked.

  “What? People stealing artifacts from our museum?”

  Wigmere leaned forward. “There have been strange goings-on, haven’t there?”