R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

“Aye. Attached himself at Queen Street.”

“Is he the same one who followed me from the train station?”

“Nah. That was me first thought, too. But it weren’t.”

“Well, who is he then?” I asked, turning to see if I could spot him.

“Don’t look! ’E’ll know yer on to ’im. Who knows what ’e’ll do then?”

I clutched Will’s arm. “We mustn’t let the man up in front of us get out of sight. I think he’s stolen something valuable from the museum. I have to find out what he’s doing with it.”

“Blimey, miss. This is just like one of them penny dreadfuls.” He sounded very cheerful about it. “Let’s go.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered, acting for all the world as if he were merely out for a morning stroll.

I tried to seem as casual, but it is terribly difficult to saunter when you know you’re being followed by someone.

What little sense of adventure there had been in the beginning was gone now and it felt like grim dogging of duty. Then it occurred to me — we were a team! Just like a group of archaeologists on a dig or exploration. A small warmth lodged itself in my chest and my steps felt somehow lighter. We walked for about two more blocks before Tetley suddenly picked up his pace and made a quick, unexpected dash into a small alley just off Parker Street.

Behind us, we heard the footsteps of the person on our trail break into a run. I whipped my head around. Was he going to make his move on us now that Tetley was out of sight?

I saw Will glance around, looking for a hiding place. The dreary building nearby, with its even drearier inhabitants, didn’t look as if it’d offer us much protection.

In no time the footsteps were upon us. I took a deep breath, put on my fiercest scowl, and braced myself.

But the man barreled past us. He wasn’t following us at all. He was following Tetley!

And if that was the case, the pursuer most likely knew about the wretched Heart of Egypt. Bother. Why not just announce it in the Times for goodness’ sake?

In silent agreement, the three of us inched our way into the alley. All sorts of filth mixed with the rainwater and ran over the cobbles. The brick walls were black with grime and crumbling with damp. The alley looked more like a cross between a sewer and a rubbish bin than anything else.

It was also a dead end. Tetley’s path was blocked by a brick wall.

His pursuer drew closer and pulled a long black club out of his coat.

Tetley turned just in time to see the stick come down upon his head.

“He coshed the blighter!” Will said, sounding suspiciously cheerful about the whole thing.

Tetley crumpled like a falling soufflé, folding his body into a puddle on the ground. My hand flew to my mouth as I vowed not to scream. Was he dead? Or just unconscious? I couldn’t tell. But it was obvious this fellow was playing for keeps!

The attacker (tall and very dashing, really, in a villainous sort of way) quickly knelt down and began searching Tetley’s pockets. He found something in the upper coat pocket, which he took out and put in his own. He felt for Tetley’s pulse, then stood up, adjusted his coat, straightened his hat, and turned back toward the street.

We jerked back out of sight. My mind was racing. Poor Tetley! Had I just witnessed a murder? Should I abandon the Heart of Egypt and go for help? I was at a loss for what to do. Luckily, Will took command.

“You two wait by the chip shop on the corner. I’ll go this way and wait fer ’im down by the brewery. That way, whichever way ’e goes, we’ll have ’im covered.”

My indecision lifted when I heard a groan from the alleyway. Hopefully, if Tetley was well enough to groan, he was well enough to wait for help until Henry and I had retrieved the Heart of Egypt.

But before Will could get into position, the attacker quickly emerged from the alley and headed down Drury Lane toward the river. We all followed.

This time we hadn’t even managed a whole block before we heard the sound of footsteps behind us. Honestly! Doesn’t anyone in London have anything better to do than follow other people around?

Will caught my eye and jerked his head slightly up the street. I gave a tiny nod to let him know I’d heard the footsteps, too. He held up three fingers. Three pursuers.

And this time, of course, we couldn’t count on the fellow we were following for any sort of help at all.

At Russell Street the man in front of us seemed to realize he was being followed (although I doubt he realized he was being followed by half of London!). He switched directions and moved away from the river, walking at such a furious clip that we had to trot like horses to keep up with him.

Of course, the pursuers were no idiots and quickly increased their pace until the whole lot of us were galloping down the street.

And nobody seemed to give a fig. On my side of Oxford Street, people would have at least stared, or shouted out a “Hey there!” But not on this side of Oxford Street. Here they shuffled quickly out of the way and stood back to watch the show.

The man ahead of us now seemed rather desperate to lose his pack of followers. He twisted and turned, taking side streets and back alleys, but we all doggedly stuck to his trail. We finally emerged along the back side of Covent Garden. The man tore around to the east side of the gardens, expertly dodging the straggling carts left over from the morning’s market.

We emerged at the west end of the gardens into the courtyard of St. Paul’s Church. Of course — he was going to seek sanctuary inside the church! Brilliant!

His other pursuers soon realized this as well. They oozed toward the stranger in front of us, moving with a lethal grace that reminded me of Isis when she was hunting mice. They fanned out, cutting off the victim before he could reach the church door. The three of us ducked behind one of the large columns to watch, hoping to stay out of sight.

The man who’d attacked Tetley drew out his truncheon and crouched in a fighting stance. Outnumbered, he struck first, taking the attackers by surprise. The surprise lasted only a moment before they swarmed him, fists flying.

Cornered now, he fought like a madman, swinging his bludgeon like a sword, using his elbows and kicking, but in the end, there were just too many of them. Two of the men finally grabbed his arms, and one of the others strode up to him, placed his arm around the man’s neck as if he were hugging him, then jabbed him in the gut. As the assailant pulled away, the stranger collapsed to the ground. There was a vicious-looking knife in the other man’s hand, covered in blood.

“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.