R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

“Grandmother, I don’t feel so well.”

She sniffed. “No doubt your poor temperament. I must say I’m not surprised. Well, take to your bed, then. I’ll send someone up with a special tonic. You’re to drink it all up. A nap wouldn’t do you any harm either. You keep appalling hours for a child.”

It was difficult not to gloat at how easily she’d stepped into my plan. I walked out of the room (quite meekly, I might add) and headed for my bedroom. Who should be lurking on the landing by my room but Beadles.

“Miss isn’t feeling well?” His voice sounded polite enough, but you could tell he was sneering underneath it all.

“No, Beadles. I think I must have eaten some of that bad fish you always look like you’ve just smelled.”

He frowned in puzzlement, and I used the opportunity to slip into my room with no more interrogations. Once I heard him head downstairs, I quietly locked my door.

I had packed my stowaway bag last night. Grabbing it, I went over to the window and looked down; there was no one about. I opened the window, then dropped my satchel to the ground, where it landed with a surprisingly loud thump.

I froze, waiting to see if the sound had drawn anyone’s attention, but no one came to investigate. I went to the bed and pulled out all the holey woolen stockings I’d pilfered. Last night, while I was supposed to be asleep, I had tied all the stockings together, rather like a long rope. Now if it would only reach all the way down.

I crossed over to the window and slowly lowered it. It stopped about six feet from the ground. It would have to do.

Next, I tied my end of the woolen stocking rope to the leg of the wardrobe, double-checking that the knot was secure. I glanced at the dresser, where the note I’d left for Grandmother Throckmorton was propped against the mirror. Hopefully they wouldn’t come looking for me too soon and I’d have enough of a head start.

Now there was nothing for it but to lower myself down as quickly as possible and hope no one spotted me.

As I sat on the ledge of the windowsill, I found it difficult to actually push off. I reminded myself that the stockings were firmly tied, and it wasn’t really all that far down. Before I completely lost my nerve, I grabbed the rope with both hands and slipped off the ledge.

Dangling precariously, I used my feet to gently push away from the house so I wouldn’t crash into anything. Slowly, with great concentration and quite a few hasty prayers, I lowered myself to the ground.

When I got to the end of the rope, it was much, much farther a drop to the ground than it had seemed from up above. My arms were quivering under the strain of holding my weight for so long, and there was no possible way I could haul myself back up.

I had to let go.

There was a long sickening second where the ground rushed up at me, then I hit it with a bone-jarring thud, my teeth clanking together. I sat stunned for a moment, then scrambled to my feet. I lifted my hand to my chest, checking to make sure the Heart of Egypt was still securely anchored around my neck. It was. Which meant…

I’d done it — I was free!

THE ROSETTA MARU WAS ENORMOUS, nearly as big as the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse. As I stood staring up at the ship, I saw her lifeboats way up on the very top deck. That was my destination.

It wasn’t nearly as difficult to sneak onboard as you’d think. First of all, the docks are absolute bedlam and it’s all anyone can do to keep track of themselves, let alone anybody else. I was in luck because there were several families traveling. I attached myself to the largest, noisiest one. I think there were seven children, maybe six. It was hard to tell. I trailed at their coattails as they followed their parents up the ramp. As soon as we’d cleared the boarding area, I scooted off to find myself a lifeboat.

And the ship had lifts — lifts! How grand was that? I made my way to one and punched the button to open the door.

The lift attendant did a bit of a double take, but I did my Lady Throckmorton bit, which worked. He took me to the uppermost deck. I waited till the lift’s door had closed, then began working my way forward until I reached the railing.

The entire city of London spread out before me like an enormous map. I stopped to watch all the people moving about, as tiny as ants. The salty breeze picked up, sending a spray of drizzle smack into my face. I looked up at the sky, where clouds like big purple bruises were rolling together. I needed to find cover. And quickly.

I hurried to the lifeboats, giving a small squeak of dismay when I realized they were all up high, like cradles hanging out over the railing. How on earth was I to get up there?

Like a monkey, that’s how. And I’d never be able to lug my bag up there. I’d have to find somewhere to stash it down here on the deck where no one would find it.

Well, getting into the lifeboat without taking an unplanned swim was quite a challenge, but I made it, safe and sound. It was a little colder than I thought it would be, but I decided to ignore the chill air and pretend I was quite cozy. It helped to think of it as a little cave I’d built for myself, like Henry and I used to do when we were younger. Thinking of Henry made me feel surprisingly lonely, so I pushed that thought aside. (I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.)

SLEEPING IN A LIFEBOAT is a beastly experience, I must say. They are surprisingly less comfortable than sarcophagi. Odd, you’d think wood would be softer than stone.

And one blanket was barely enough to keep me warm. I had intended to wad up my extra coat and use it as a pillow, but I had to keep it on during the night so I didn’t freeze. It’s very difficult to move when one is wearing two coats, let alone an Egyptian amulet. (It chafes!) Also, did you know ocean liner motors are very loud? And they vibrate.

In addition to being cold and hungry and bored out of my mind, there was far too much time to think. My mind had been playing over this solemn task I’d set for myself (or Wigmere set for me, I can’t quite remember if I volunteered or he volunteered me) like a cat worrying a mouse. I mean really, the more I think about it the more I think it’s a bit much to expect me to save the nation.

It was very difficult to stay hidden in a lifeboat all day. I was all cold and cramped and grubby, but I could hear people wandering about on deck, laughing and talking and having a grand time.

Oh, the conversations! These intriguing bits of “Did you see what that woman did last night at dinner?” or “Has that man no shame?” Just when my curiosity got piqued, they wandered too far out of range and I couldn’t hear another word.

And why on earth didn’t I think to bring something besides jam sandwiches? I am quite sick of them and can’t help but wonder if a person can die from eating too many. That is, if they don’t freeze to death first.

I don’t know why I ever thought this stowing-away business would be a good idea. I was suffering — and I do mean suffering — from the cold and hunger and sleep deprivation. And what would I get when it was all finished? I’d get to take on von Braggenschnott and his lot while trying to put an ancient artifact back where no one can ever find it again. Not to mention that I was trying to outwit Amenemhab, one of the Egyptian New Kingdom’s most brilliant military minds. Honestly. What kind of fool would even attempt such a thing?