R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

As we walked among the Egyptian statuary on our way to the exhibit room, I could detect nothing out of the ordinary. I paused at the door leading into the exhibit and closed my eyes. Again, I sensed nothing.

“What are we looking for?” Henry asked. “And how are you going to find it with your eyes closed?”

“Henry,” I asked, opening my eyes and watching him closely. “Do any of these exhibits ever give you the willies or make you uneasy?”

“Uneasy how?”

“Like make your skin crawl—”

“No. Never. How about you?”

“No. Never.”

“Then why do you ask?” He thought for a moment. “Is that what’s wrong with you? Are you frightened of these stuffy old exhibits?”

“No! But you hate being in the museum, so I thought perhaps it made you uneasy.”

“I’m no coward!”

Drat. I’d so hoped he felt some of the same sensations I did, but just didn’t know how to say so. Bringing Henry along was already proving to be a bad idea. “Look, I’m just trying to detect what is off with the museum. Something feels wrong somehow. As if someone were here while we were away, or one of the exhibits had been tampered with, something of that nature.”

“You’re off your nut,” he said. “Forget about school, Father needs to send you directly to Bedlam.”

I whirled around and scowled at him. “Take that back! Right now! Take it back, I say!”

Stunned, he just stared at me.

I clenched my fists and took a step toward him. “I’m warning you, Henry. I’m deadly serious. Take that back now or I’ll—”

“All right already! I take it back. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

I glared at him. “You’re not helping.” I turned away from him and stepped fully into the Egyptian Funerary Magic room. It was morning, so the presence of the long-dead spirits was subdued. Maybe that was it. Were they too subdued?

I gave one last look around the room. Everything here seemed perfectly normal. Well, as normal as the Egyptian exhibits ever got.

We left the room and headed toward the armory. Occasionally a bespelled sword found its way into the museum. Maybe I’d missed one and the sensation was coming from there.

Henry and I walked among the tall glass display cases that held spears, swords, and battle axes from every historical battle ever fought. Or so it seemed. It didn’t take long before Henry became completely absorbed in all the weaponry in the room and I was able to conduct my examination without any interruptions. As I walked among the full-size suits of armor posted around the room like so many silent guards, I felt nothing. No sign of what was wrong with the museum and no sign of Isis either.

Fighting off a feeling of discouragement, I chewed my bottom lip and tried to think what to do next.

But of course! Our next stop would be Edgar Stilton’s office. If something were truly off, he would be feeling it as well. It was early and he was likely the only assistant curator who had made it in so far.

When I tapped on his door, Stilton called, “Come in,” his voice cracking horribly on the “in” part, which caused him to turn bright red.

“Good morning, Stilton,” I said.

“Hullo, Theo. And Henry! Welcome home from school.” He let loose with a whopping big sneeze, then fumbled for his handkerchief.

“Thanks,” said Henry, stepping back a pace or two.

“Have you got a cold, Stilton?” I asked.

He dabbed his honker with his handkerchief. “No,” he said. “It only just started this morning when I got here. Must be the dust or something.”

Aha! I knew it. Something unusual was afoot!

We said our goodbyes and then, reluctantly, I headed for the short-term storage area downstairs, where we had unloaded Mum’s discovery last week. Wanting to avoid the nasty swarm of curses the artifacts were carrying, I’d put it off as long as possible.

“What’s down here?” Henry asked, nearly treading on my heels.

“Mum’s latest discoveries. You’ll like this one, Henry. It’s got loads of weapons.”

His face brightened at this news and he stopped dragging his feet.

There was no one in short-term storage when we arrived, so I parked Henry in front of a box of evil-looking shabtis and set to work.

The sense of malevolence coming from the cursed artifacts was exactly the same as before Christmas, so I ignored them and began examining the contents of the other crates to see if anything was missing. The steles were there, and the revolting ceremonial dagger. I rifled through another crate and found a pile of scarabs that had a distinctly malicious feel to them, but it wasn’t strong enough to account for the whole museum being off.

Four new crates sat nearby, but they hadn’t even been opened yet. When I looked up from the boxes, I saw Henry had taken a dozen shabtis out of their crate and had set them up along the floor as if they were tin soldiers.

“Henry,” I hissed. “They’re not toys! They’re four-thousand-year-old artifacts. Now put them back.” I glanced down at the clay figures. With my heart beating faster, I slowly picked one up.

“Hey! You just ruined my troop formation!” Henry protested.

Ignoring him, I studied the figure in my hand. It had changed. The features were sharper, clearer. The expressions more harsh.

But no. That was impossible, surely. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Was the uneasy sensation I had coming from these shabtis?

I waited a second and felt… nothing. No. Whatever strange things were going on with these clay soldiers, it wasn’t what I had sensed when I came in this morning. Although, that now meant there were two things I had to investigate.

“Okay, Henry,” I said as I put the shabti back in the crate. “Put those away. Our next stop is the catacombs.”

“Oh, give off,” Henry said uneasily. “They aren’t really catacombs.”

“If you say so,” I said, heading for the door.

“They’re not,” he insisted, hurrying to catch up to me. “It’s just a bunch of old stuff down in the basement. Stuff Dad’s not using.”

Henry was right. They aren’t really catacombs, but long-term storage for things we’re not currently using in the exhibits. But they are very creepy. All sorts of dead things, mummies and coffins and ancient skeletons of who-knows-what lurking twenty feet underground. Sounds like catacombs to me.

I opened the door, shuddering as a thick blast of icy cold stale air hit me. It smelled dank and musty and…”Okay. Nothing’s been disturbed down there.” I turned around and bumped smack into Henry, who was trying to peer over my shoulder down into the depths of the stairway.

“How can you tell?” he wanted to know.

“I just can, that’s all.” I could tell by the feel of the air, dank and heavy, with no fresh eddies or swirls cutting through its depths for months. The whole place had the feel of a sleeping beast that hadn’t been disturbed in ages.

I didn’t want to be the first one to do so. And certainly not without more protection than I had on me at the moment.

“Tea,” I announced, putting as much cheer into my voice as possible.

“There’s no tea down there,” Henry said, still peering into the dark passageway.

“Of course there’s not.” I shut the door, narrowly missing his nose. “But it’s time to take Mother and Father their tea,” I said firmly.

Henry shrugged and followed along, saying he hoped I’d make him some as well.

And they say he has no imagination!

As I started the midmorning tea, I wondered if all the unsettledness in the museum could be Isis. Setting out the mugs, I shook my head. That’s not what it felt like. It felt more sinister than that. Although, Isis was quite sinister enough, come to think of it.