R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

I was so absorbed in trying to learn all that I could from the steles, I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Dusk was falling and the room began to grow dark. Just as I decided I’d better turn up the gaslights, I heard a squeak on the stair.

I froze.

It was the kind of slow, quiet squeak that lets you know that the person doing the squeaking doesn’t wish to be heard.

Frantic, I looked around for some kind of weapon. My eyes fell on the ritual dagger that Mum had brought back. I snatched it up in my hand and tiptoed over to hide behind the wall at the base of the stairs.

As I waited, I tried to take shallow little breaths that couldn’t be heard. I pinned my eyes to the base of the stairs, where the intruder would first appear. A shadow rose up on the wall of the staircase, looming tall and black. My heart kicked into a gallop. I raised the dagger.

The shadow stepped off the stairs and into the room. “What are you doing here?” I asked, shoving the dagger behind my back.

Lord Wigmere looked a bit surprised, then rather sheepish. “Looking for you, of course.”

“Well, why were you sneaking?”

He puffed up at that. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was just walking quietly.”

I sniffed, then returned to the steles I’d been studying, laying the dagger on the worktable. I tapped my toe, impatient for Wigmere to leave. I still hadn’t forgiven him his suspicions about Mother.

Wigmere limped farther into the room. “Still angry, are you?”

“I’m afraid I have nothing to say to you,” I told him, then strode over to the crates of shabtis.

“Theodosia, look at it this way. I oversee hundreds of museums here in Britain, scores of them in London alone. I can’t afford to play favorites, to tell myself that surely nice Mr. or Mrs. So-and-So isn’t capable of wrongdoing — I would be negligent in my duties if I did. It would be like you refusing to believe there was a curse on an artifact because the artifact was so pretty.”

Well, that little black statue of Bastet had been very charming. “Yes, but you can’t possibly think I’m going to believe something like that about my own mother.”

Wigmere studied me for a moment, pulling on his mustache. “Very well. Pax. I won’t insist you see your mother in that light, if you agree that I have a moral obligation to do so. No matter how extraordinary she or her daughter might be.” He held his hand out.

I stared at it a moment. He had called pax, after all. And I suppose he was only doing his job. And, since I had every intention of proving him wrong, I suppose I could afford to be gracious. Although, I’d like to know when this gracious stuff becomes fun, because really, it’s rather dull if you ask me.

“Oh, all right,” I said, putting my hand in his. He had called me extraordinary.

His whole face brightened in a smile.

“Besides,” I continued. “I’m telling you. The insider is—”

“Your father?” Wigmere asked.

“No!” Just as I started to get worked up, I saw his mustache twitch. “Ha ha. Very funny.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder.

Wigmere frowned. “Have you had any luck with your parents?”

“No, but I will. I’ve only just gotten started on them. They’ll be off to Cairo in a matter of weeks. Just you wait and see,” I said, hoping it was true.

“Well, the whole reason I came here is,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I have something for you.”

He fiddled around a bit, then pulled out a small velvet pouch and handed it to me.

“For me?”

He nodded. I opened it and pulled out a tiny wedjat eye hanging on a thin, golden chain.

“Oh, my,” I said, staring at the gold as it spun round in my hand. It was heavily weighted with good magic and protection. I’d never seen any amulet ooze as much protective power as this one.

“Wear it, Theodosia. At all times. Hide it under your collar if you must, but do not take it off. Ever. It is old, very old. It is rumored to have been fashioned by the god Horus himself, and given to the very first Egyptian king as a sign of the god’s favor.”

I stared from the artifact back up to Wigmere. “But, the gods are only myths! Aren’t they?”

Wigmere put his hands in his pockets and turned to look out the window.

“That’s what conventional archaeology says. And what the Brotherhood used to think. But now, after decades and decades of research, and seeing the magic and power that have been wrought into some of these artifacts, we aren’t so sure.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No. That can’t be. It simply can’t.”

Wigmere turned away from the window and looked back at me. He seemed to realize what effect his words had, then shrugged. “As I say, no one knows for certain. All is lost in the shroud of time.” He looked out the window again. “That reminds me. I hope you’ll be glad to learn that we located that sticky-fingered friend of yours, and I’ve decided to hire him as an errand boy for the Society.”

“You mean Will?”

“Yes. It will keep him out of trouble, and you never know when we might have need of his particular, er, talents.”

What a perfect place for him! “I shall feel much better knowing he’s working for you.”

“Well, my dear,” Wigmere said, fidgeting with his cane. “I must be going. You take care of yourself. I have every confidence that you will succeed.” He put his hand out for me to shake, but surprising us both, I threw my arms around him and gave him an enormous hug.

Taken aback, he stood awkwardly for a moment, then gave me a few pats on the head. “There now, dear girl. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”

I stepped back. “Thank you for coming today. And thank you for this,” I said, holding out the wedjat eye. “I’m sure it will come in handy.”

“I’ve no doubt,” he muttered under his breath.

HURRAY! VICTORY! This morning at breakfast Mother and Father announced they would be leaving for Cairo aboard the Rosetta Maru the day after next — both of them! Father is furious that the British Museum would even think of stealing another find out from under his nose. He considers it a personal affront, one he’s intending to address himself. He petitioned the Museum of Legends and Antiquities board of directors for special permission to go to Cairo with Mother. And they granted it! Apparently, they aren’t too keen on the British Museum getting the best of them, either.

But despite my best efforts to convince them to take me along, my parents had the gall to say I wasn’t to go. I was too young. Egyptian archaeological expeditions were no place for an eleven-year-old girl. Piffle! And a cavernous old museum is?

Then they had the further gall to say they needed me to watch over the museum for them. But they said it in that annoying tone of voice that lets you know they just want you to think you’re being useful.

Then, the coup de grâce (that’s French for “killing blow”). They announced I was to stay with Grandmother Throckmorton while they were away. Not very likely!

And I’d like to know how I’m to keep an eye on the museum when I’m stuck under Grandmother Throckmorton’s nose?

Well, I have no choice now. I am bound for Cairo as a stowaway. I just have to work out a plan. Of course, having Father along will complicate things considerably, but I will manage.

And isn’t the Rosetta Maru a wonderful name? Doesn’t it sound like all sorts of adventures and wildly mysterious things could happen aboard a ship with a name like that? Knowing I was going to be smack in the middle of them sent a delicious thrill down my spine.