R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

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.

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.