R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

I scrambled out of bed, then poured cold water from the pitcher into the basin and splashed it on my face, washing the sleep out of my eyes and, hopefully, any clinging memories of my strange dreams. That was another thing that had kept me awake last night. The museum had been positively lively with creaks and groans, as if all the artifacts had decided to throw a party. I couldn’t help wondering if it had something to do with the new collection. Finding out would be my first order of business for the day. (After making sure my parents hadn’t forgotten me!)

Oh, dear. Make that my second order of business. My first and most important task was to locate Isis and try to set her right.

I brushed the wrinkles out of my frock as best I could, frustrated at having to wear the same one two days in a row. Honestly, it made me feel only one step up from a street urchin. I slipped my cleanest pinafore off its nail and shrugged into it. Lastly, I buttoned up my gloves, then headed round to the sitting room, hoping for a sign of my parents, or at the very least, a bit of leftover pasties. But no such luck. No parents and no leftovers. I used the last bit of jam to make a quick sandwich. As I ate, the sound of Father’s voice drifted down the stairs from his workroom. The tightness in my chest disappeared. They hadn’t left me behind.

On my way to the reading room, I decided to stop and pay Edgar Stilton, the Third Assistant Curator, a visit.

In spite of being named after a cheese, Stilton is a very handy chap to have about. He is a simple man, but intelligent and honest and, for some reason, he’s like a lightning rod for the unrest in the museum. Whenever I have any doubts, I have only to pay Edgar a visit to get a reading on the museum’s current temperament. Since Stilton is the most junior curator, he tends to arrive at work earlier than the others as he has three higher-ups he needs to impress. (Although, he really shouldn’t worry about Father; he simply doesn’t notice that sort of thing.)

When I reached the second floor, Stilton’s door was open. His office wasn’t much bigger than my closet, which was most likely another reason I felt a sort of kinship with him. His desk was stacked high with papers and scrolls and bills of lading. Even with the gaslight turned up high, the room was dim and dark feeling. I popped my head in. “Good morning.”

He startled badly, nearly knocking his teacup to the floor. Not a good sign.

“Oh, Miss Throckmorton, hullo.” He righted his cup and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the spilled tea off his hand.

“Theo,” I said as I came fully into the office and sat down across from him. “Have you heard about Mother’s new findings?” I asked, not because I was particularly interested, but because I needed to watch him for a few minutes in order to get an accurate reading.

“Yes, Bollingsworth told me a little about it on his way out last night. Smashing find.” His left shoulder twitched ever so slightly.

“Yes, isn’t it? And she brought me a rubbing of some of the tablets they’d found. It makes for interesting reading.”

“I should say,” Stilton said, a tic beginning just under his right eye.

Just then, the bell sounded from the receiving dock, and Stilton jerked as if he’d been burnt. He cleared his throat. “Delivery’s here.”

“Lovely,” I said. That meant another of Mother’s trunks had arrived. Hopefully everyone would be distracted by the new artifacts and I could spend the morning researching a cure for Isis. “I think I’ll go help them unpack.”

I bid poor Stilton goodbye and left him jerking and twitching like an insect at the end of a pin as I hurried toward the reading room. When I reached it, whom should I see but Clive Fagenbush unlocking the door. His expression darkened when he saw me. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

I smiled sweetly at him and resolved to locate a key of my own. “I had planned to work on my studies.”

“I don’t think so,” he sneered. “Your father told me to tell you that he wants your help in Receiving.”

Bother. How many times I had longed for Father to ask for my help, and the one time he did, I had something vitally important to do. Wasn’t that the way of it? Very well. I would just have to slip away at the earliest opportunity.

When I reached the receiving area, my parents were up to their elbows in shabtis. Hundreds and hundreds of them. And every beastly one was carrying a curse.

It took ages to unpack them. Mum and Dad were thrilled because having an entire army of shabtis would make an impressive exhibit. I thought it was tedious, especially since the curses made my eyes water and my stomach queasy. I kept glancing at the clock, wishing Henry’s train would hurry up and get here.

Which just shows you how bored I was. No doubt by tomorrow I’d be wishing Henry’s train would take him back to school.

Finally the shabtis were unpacked and Mother and Father became so absorbed in cataloging them that I managed to slip away.

It was time to un-demonize my poor beloved cat.

I’d thought about it quite a lot as I unpacked the shabtis. The first thing I would try was belling the cat, only not with a bell, but an amulet. I hoped that if Isis was wearing some protection, the curse’s effect would diminish.

But first I had to make the wretched thing.

I went back up to the reading room and pulled out the copy of Erasmus Bramwell’s Funerary Magic, Mummies, and Curses. I carried it into my small study and pored over it from front to back. For the first time ever, research failed me. Bramwell hadn’t a single idea. He wrote quite a lot on how to mummify a cat (something quite a lot of ancient Egyptians used to do) and how to properly mourn a cat (one must shave off one’s eyebrows) but nothing on how to exorcise a cat. Which meant I was on my own. No ancient books or scholars from centuries gone by to guide me through this one. I’d have to make something up and hope it worked.

I needed to find a way to use Isis’s own regenerative powers (cats do have nine lives, you know) to throw off the curse and grow back her original personality. I had to purify her and offer her protection against the powers of evil that coursed through her small furry body. Plus, I had to try to remind her of what her true nature was. A tall order.

I searched through my carpetbag (which I had forgotten to put away the day before. Very careless of me!) and was able to find all the ingredients I needed. I have recorded them below, for posterity, as Father always says.

THEODOSIA THROCKMORTON’S RECIPE

FOR UNDEMONIZING YOUR CAT

I small square of white linen

I stick of willow Wood, burned at the tip

I small baby tooth from when cat in question Was a kitten (Luckily, I had one of those!)

I small fishbone (to stimulate her senses and remind her of her true nature)

I thimbleful of dried Nepeta cararia, commonly known as catnip (to stimulate her senses even more)

I drop of blood (the spellmaker’s, not the cats)

I vessel of pure water

I hippopotamus tusk carved with magic symbols and used in magic ceremonies during the Middle Egyptian Dynasty period (borrowed from the Museum of Legends and antiquities Egyptian ZMagic collection #736)

26 threads—12 white (for purity), 8 green (for the power of growth), 6 red(for rebirth — Isis neededto be rebirthedin a hurry!)

The first thing I did was strip off my gloves. They would be much too clumsy for the fine work required in making the amulet. Next I drew a wedjat eye in the middle of the linen square with the burned end of the willow stick. This would give poor Isis the healing power of Horus and the protection of the fearsome goddess Eye of Ra.