R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

“Well, they’re hieroglyphs. But they move and swim, like a swarm of bees looking for someone to sting, and they give off a buzzing feeling.” I paused. “Haven’t you ever seen them? In the moonlight like that?”

“No.” Wigmere shook his head and looked a bit sad about it. “So the hieroglyphs tell you the nature of the curse?”

“No. They actually are the curse. As written on the object by whoever cursed it in the first place.”

Wigmere leaned back in his chair, studying me as if I were a particularly interesting artifact he’d just stumbled upon. “Remarkable. And when did you first discover you had this unusual talent?”

“Unusual, sir? But isn’t that how you do it?”

“No. I’m afraid not. Our ways are much more mundane and laborious. Indeed, it would save us all a great deal of time and trouble if we had your gift.”

For some reason I couldn’t explain, this made me a bit queasy. “Well, I’ve had it since I was very young.” Then I explained to him how I’d discovered research and used that to arm myself. “That’s how I learned about the different tests and found the different recipes for removing the curses.”

“Recipes?”

“Well, yes. Aren’t they rather like recipes? You follow the steps using the right ingredients, only instead of a cake or a leg of mutton you end up with an uncursed object.”

“Well, it’s not quite that simple for most people.” Abruptly, Wigmere turned his chair around to a large cupboard built into the wall behind his desk. He pulled a key from his trousers and unlocked one of the doors, then took out a long, black stone box. He turned back around and placed it in front of me. His eyes fixed on me the whole time, he carefully lifted the lid.

Inside there was an ornately carved, long thin statue of the most hideous gaping serpent I had ever seen. It had jagged scales and enormous fangs, and the eyes were two small bits of red carnelian. It felt old, older almost than time itself. I raised my eyes from the artifact and saw Wigmere watching me intensely.

“Well, it’s as ugly as sin,” I said when I realized he was waiting for me to speak. “And one of the most vile representations of the Serpent of Chaos I’ve ever seen. But there’s no curse on it, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Wigmere fingered his chin and looked thoughtfully from the serpent back to me. He turned back to the cupboard and pulled another box from the shelves. This one was of light gray soapstone, and carved with many hieroglyphs and symbols, some I’d never seen before.

He placed the box on the desk in front of me and removed the top. As soon as the lid was off, the skin on my back lifted from my spine and felt like it was trying to run out of the room.

I stared down at the small, carved hippopotamus that looked as harmless as a child’s toy. It wasn’t. I could sense ill luck and abominable curses writhing on its surface. I shuddered, then reached for the lid and plunked it back on the box. “Seth. In one of his more innocent forms.” Not that anything about the god of chaos and destruction could be called truly innocent. “Heavily cursed. Feels like death-and-destruction stuff, but I’m not sure.”

A slightly triumphant look crossed Wigmere’s face. “But I thought you said you could see the curse on the object itself?”

I sighed. “But only in the moonlight.” How disappointing. I suppose it is too much to ask that an adult, especially one as grand as Wigmere, pay attention to everything someone my age has to say.

His mustache twitched, a response I was beginning to recognize. “You were listening! This was just a test! To see if I was telling the truth!”

Wigmere looked a bit sheepish. “Well, you can hardly blame me. Your talents are truly remarkable. Never seen anything like them.”

Pride warred with dismay. While I fancied being unique, I wasn’t sure how I felt about being the only one with this particular skill. That was too uncomfortably close to being off one’s nut. “Well, how do you tell, then?”

“By studying the origins and history of the piece. Sometimes we get hunches, but never a shiver down my back that nearly shakes me out of my chair. It’s a lot of guesswork, actually.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Lord Wigmere continued. “It must be some inborn trait, some intuition or talent you possess. Like being able to ride a horse well or being good at playing the piano.”

“But then, wouldn’t my parents be able to see the curses? Or Henry?”

“Henry doesn’t see them, then?”

“No.”

Wigmere shrugged. “Well, I’m just hazarding guesses here. This is something I’ve never run into before. Although I do know that some people’s natures are simply more open to magic than others’.” He paused for a moment, his eyes focused just past my head.

“What?” I asked.

“I was just remembering something. From when I was a boy.”

I scooted forward to the edge of my seat. “What?”

“It was my first trip to the British Museum. I remember being fascinated by the Egyptology room. As an adult, I’ve always thought that’s when my career decision was made, but now I’m remembering it wasn’t so much the artifacts, although those were very interesting.”

He paused again. I wanted to get up and shake him. “Yes?” I prompted.

“But now I remember having a distinct case of the willies the whole time. I remember wondering why the place was so blasted cold. My parents finally bundled me out of there, I was shivering so badly.”

“And now you’re wondering if you weren’t reacting to the exhibits the same way I do to cursed objects?”

“Exactly. As if it were an ability one has as a child, but loses as an adult.”

Well that was rubbish. I had no intention of losing this ability when I turned into a grownup. “But wait,” I said. “What about all the people who wrote the books on Egyptian magic in the first place? They weren’t children.”

Wigmere reached up and began stroking his mustache. “No. That’s true enough. But those books were also written centuries after the fact. Those authors most likely never experienced any of the magic firsthand. They were just copying from the ancient Egyptian texts.”

“Well, what about the ancient Egyptians, then? They weren’t all children.”

“No, but they lived in much closer contact with their gods than we do. However,” Wigmere said, turning away from the past. “None of this conjecture will help us today. It is very possible, Miss Theodosia, that we will need to tap in to your talent from time to time.”

“I would be honored to help in any way I can, Lord Wigmere. But who is we ?”

“We, my dear girl, are the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers. A group of men, a society if you will—”

Just then a quiet knock at the door brought Wigmere instantly to his feet. Honestly. The comings and goings here were far worse than at Charing Cross Station! “Excuse me,” he said, then limped over to the door, opened it, and spoke in hushed tones.

“Are you up to taking a short walk down to Level Six?” he asked. “Stokes has regained consciousness and is asking for me. I thought perhaps you’d like to see him yourself so he can thank you.”

I jumped to my feet. Of course I was dying to see Level Six, but all I said was “If you’d like.”

WE WALKED DOWN THE HALL until we came to a small narrow door marked PRIVATE, NO ENTRY. Wigmere ignored the sign and stepped inside, with me close on his heels.