R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

Clive Fagenbush!

Before I could sort out this puzzle, there was another squeak of the floorboards outside the workroom door. With a hiss of indrawn breath, Fagenbush snatched his empty hand back, then stepped around the shelves and flattened himself against the wall so that he was hidden from sight.

He now faced directly toward me. I scrunched down as small as I could in the crate and wished I were invisible.

The new intruder fumbled loudly with the doorknob, not even trying to be quiet. A quick, sure step came into the workroom, accompanied by a tuneless whistle.

I slumped in relief. It was only Father, on one of his midnight ramblings. He turned up the gas and flooded the workroom in soft yellow light.

Wondering if Father could see him, I glanced over at Fagenbush’s hiding spot, only to find he’d disappeared.

I craned my neck, trying to see where he had gone, but he was nowhere in sight. Then I glimpsed a flutter of movement near the door as he slipped out of the workroom. Bother! He’d got clean away. But at least he hadn’t conked Father over the head or discovered my whereabouts.

As I crouched in the crate, I realized I needed to come up with a plan to get my hands on that statue before someone else did. I considered taking it back to my room, but I couldn’t bear the thought of those loathsome curses anywhere near me as I slept. I finally settled on hiding it that night, then returning it first thing in the morning while Father was having breakfast.

It took ages for Father to find whatever it was he was looking for, but he finally left, turning out the lights and closing the door behind him. I waited a few minutes more to let him get safely out of the way. Once my eyes readjusted to the darkness, I climbed out of the crate and went over to the shelf. Using the rag, I lifted the statuette and placed it in the crate where I’d been hiding. I tossed some packing material over it, then grabbed my oil lamp, now uselessly dark, and made my way to the door. I peeked out into the exhibit room.

The museum seemed unusually restless. The creaks and groans had grown louder and more frequent. With my hand clutched firmly around all three amulets, I raced back through the display rooms. I felt disgruntled dead things rustle as I passed, the shadows growing longer as they reached out toward me. I put on an extra burst of speed.

Now do you see why I loathe the museum at night?

“THEODOSIA ELIZABETH THROCKMORTON!”

“Hm. What?” I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Father was standing in the doorway, a ferocious scowl on his face.

“Not the sarcophagus again!” he said.

Oops. I usually try to be up and about before he is for this very reason. But when he spends the entire night in scholarly pursuit and never goes to bed, well, it’s rather impossible. “Really, Father. I’m not hurting it a bit and it is the best way to keep out the drafts.” (It was also the safest place for avoiding all the curses that swirled about the museum at night, but I could just imagine what he’d say if I told him that .)

“Yes, but it’s a priceless artifact—”

“That is sitting alone in a closet because there’s no room for it in the exhibits. Truly Father, I’m very careful. Besides, where else would you like me to sleep when I’m forced to stay here all night?”

He had the good grace to wince slightly at this. “In an armchair, maybe, or curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace in the staff sitting room. Anywhere but in a blasted sarcophagus!”

Yes, but there was no protection in those places. I simply didn’t trust the power of amulets alone at night against all the black magic and troublesome spirits. Of course, I couldn’t tell him that, either.

“But Father, I’m sure Men’naat wouldn’t mind.”

“Who on earth…”

“The young priestess this sarcophagus belonged to,” I explained. “She was from the temple of Taweret, an Egyptian goddess and protector of children. Just think how much easier I am to protect in here!”

He sighed in exasperation, then closed the door. I could have pressed my point a bit more, but I didn’t want to risk reminding him that I really should be sleeping at school, where all the other girls my age were. I did my best to avoid that topic at all costs.

I crawled over the high stone side of the sarcophagus, which took up half of my room. Well, it was more of a closet, really. But no one else ever used it, so I had it all to myself. There was just enough space for a small writing desk and an even smaller battered old washstand that Flimp, the watchman, had found for me. He’d also pounded a few nails into the wall so I had a place to hang my frocks and pinafores.

As I splashed cold water on my face, I realized I had slept through my best chance for sneaking into Father’s workroom unnoticed. I really needed to get my hands on that statuette. And soon. I looked at my watch. Mother was due back in five hours and fifty-seven minutes and she was bound to have loads of new artifacts with her. It was very likely we’d have scads of new, unknown magic swirling around the museum before long. I pulled my gloves firmly into place, then stepped out to face the day.

My next opportunity came when Father left his workroom in search of a cup of tea. I usually brought it to him around this time every morning but I hadn’t that day, hoping he would eventually give up and go in search of one himself. It worked.

I peeked inside the workroom. Other than artifacts from every civilization known to man spread out on the worktables in various states of disrepair, it appeared empty. I was halfway to the crate when an obnoxious voice behind me stopped me in my tracks.

“Where is it?”

I turned. Clive Fagenbush stood just to the side of the door — almost as if he’d been waiting for me. “Where is what?” I asked.

“The statue.” His eyes shifted from my face to the roll of papyrus I held in my hand. He strode forward and snatched the papyrus from me.

Just as I opened my mouth to protest, a familiar voice called out, “I say, Fagenbush. What’s all this about? Give Theo back her papyrus.” Scowling, Nigel Bollingsworth stepped into the room.

Have I mentioned how much I adore Nigel Bollingsworth? In fact, I think I shall marry him when I grow up, although I haven’t told him yet. (Father said I mustn’t. In fact, when I told Father, what he said was, “What makes you so sure anyone is going to want to marry you, Miss Busybody?”)

“I thought she had something that didn’t belong to her,” Fagenbush muttered.

“Well, you can see that she doesn’t. Now go and make the lower exhibits ready for the visit from the Hedgewick School for Wayward Boys, scheduled for this morning. I want everything securely fastened down. You remember the last time they were here.”

Fagenbush curled his lip in disgust and shoved the roll of papyrus back into my hands, then turned on his heel and left.

“Are you all right, Theo?” Nigel asked.

“Yes, Mr. Bollingsworth.” I looked up at him and let my eyes fill with gratitude. “Thank you ever so much.” I rubbed my wrist so he would know just how horrible Fagenbush had been. In truth, it did ache a little.

He beamed at me. “Very good, then. Carry on.” And with that, he, too, left the room.

With no time to waste, I snatched the statue from the crate, hid it in the papyrus roll, and headed down to the reading room on the first floor. I kept a cautious eye out for Fagenbush the whole way, but he appeared to have scuttled back under his rock.