R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

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?”

Did he mean the curses? How would he know about them? Unless there were other strange goings-on that I didn’t know about…

Luckily, I was saved from answering by another knock on the door. Then a tea tray was brought in.

The fellow set it down on a small table and left the room.

Wigmere waved at the tray. “Please help yourself to refreshment.”

“May I pour for you, sir?”

“No, thank you. I will just write a quick note while you have yours, if you don’t mind.”

I didn’t mind a bit and poured myself a cup of tea, adding plenty of milk and sugar. There were some delicious-looking cucumber sandwiches and Banbury cakes on the tray, which made me aware of how violently hungry I was.

I munched my sandwiches as quietly as possible and sipped tea to the sound of Lord Wigmere’s pen scratching across the paper on his desk. His office was grand. Just the sort of office I intend to have when I am grown up and no longer have to settle for an old closet. It was lush, with thick curtains and an elegant carpet, comfortable chairs, and wonderful artifacts on display.

Finally, Lord Wigmere got up, grabbed his cane again, and limped to the door. He stuck his head out and called for Boythorpe, who appeared so quickly I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been trying to listen in.

“See that Dr. Fallowfield gets this immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lord Wigmere closed the door and returned to his desk. I was just considering whether or not he’d notice if I had a fourth sandwich when he said, “Now. You were going to tell me about the strange goings-on at that museum of yours.”

Bother. I had so hoped he would be sidetracked from this question. “What sorts of goings-on do you mean, sir?”

He gave me a reproachful look. “I expected something rather more truthful from you, my girl.”

My cheeks burned at his admonishment, but once again I was saved from answering by a knock on the door. A look of severe annoyance passed over Wigmere’s face. “Come in.”

It was Thornleigh, and beside him a very wide-eyed Henry.

“Henry!” I said, jumping up from my seat and nearly toppling the tea tray. “Are you all right?”

“’Course I am. Not a milksop,” he muttered, his cheeks turning pink.

I turned to Thornleigh. “How is the, uh, your associate? Is he…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “dead.” There was too much finality to it.

Thornleigh glanced at Wigmere, looking for permission to speak. Wigmere nodded. “Stokes is alive, but barely.” Thornleigh lifted his hand, my amulet dangling from one of his fingers. “We found this on him, sir. Placed directly over his heart.”

Wigmere lifted an eyebrow at me. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get it?” he asked.

“I made it, sir.”

“And how do you come to know so very much about protective amulets, I wonder?”

Thornleigh cleared his throat. “This lad” — he gestured to Henry—“used his head and applied a pressure bandage to Stokes’s ribs to slow down the blood loss.”

Henry shrugged, red-faced at the unexpected attention. “Learned it at school,” he said.

“Was there any sign of another boy?” Wigmere asked. “The one who followed the attackers?”

“No, sir. But we’ll have Dodson head right back to the church and wait for him once we get Stokes settled on Level Six.”

“Excellent.”

“Excuse me, sir,” I said.

“Yes?”

“How will you recognize him?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, sir, you’ve never seen Will before. How will you know it’s him? I should probably go with Mr. Dodson so I can identify him.” And so I could avoid any further interrogation by the sharp-eyed Lord Wigmere.

“Hm, yes. I see your point.” He speared Henry with a keen look. “What do you say, young man. Are you up to the task? Can you return with Dodson and point out this Will to him?”

“Be happy to, sir. Let me just grab a sandwich or two and I’ll be on my way.”

Lord Wigmere turned back to me with a meaningful look. “You and I still have things we must discuss,” he said.

Bother.

“MY DEAR GIRL. THIS IS NOT A GAME. Very serious things are afoot here in Britain and it appears you are involved. Your mother’s and father’s reputations are well known. Many of the items your mother brings into the country have rather… remarkable properties. I need to know how many other artifacts with these same properties reside in your museum.”

My earlier caution forgotten, I jumped out of my chair and took a step toward the desk. “You know about the spells?”

He came to full attention at the word “spells,” and for one horrible moment I thought I’d made a hideous blunder.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I know about the spells. Why don’t you tell me what you know about them?”

“Well, you’re the first person I’ve met who actually knows they exist. Besides me, I mean. Mother and Father never sense them, but I can usually tell the first time I lay eyes on an artifact. It feels like icy-footed beetles are crawling down my back. Is that how you know they’re there, too?”

Lord Wigmere’s mustache twitched slightly. “Ah, no. We have other ways of telling if the objects are bespelled.”

“Wax? That’s my Second Level Test.”

Wigmere sat back and folded his arms. “Tell me about this Second Level Test.”

“Well, when I’ve determined the artifact might be cursed I place a small circle of wax bits—”

“Where do you get this wax?”

“I save up the ends of candles and such. Anyway, I place a little circle of wax bits around the object. I check it a few hours later and if the wax is a dirty gray or black, I know I was right and the object is cursed.”

“Have you ever been wrong? Has the wax ever stayed white?”

“Never.”

“Fascinating,” he said under his breath. Then he asked, “Do you conduct any other tests?”

“Well, yes. If it passes the wax test I then do a Level Three Test. The Moonlight Test.”

Wigmere raised his eyebrows, and I rushed my words because when you say them out loud they sound foolish. “I have to check the artifacts at night. When moonlight shines on them, I can… I can see the curses swimming around on the object.”

Wigmere’s eyes burned with interest. “Really? What do they look like?”