R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

As we turned the next corner we had to step back sharply in order to avoid being run down by a large lady dressed in violet silk riding a round little donkey. Her dark eyes studied me above her veil, and I nodded my head in greeting.

When she had passed in a jingle of gold bracelets and silver bells, we continued down the street. There seemed to be nothing but carpets everywhere you looked. There were stacks and stacks of them piled higher than my shoulders, some hanging from the walls like curtains, others displayed on tables. And the colors! Every shade imaginable could be found in that street. The shopkeepers sat cross-legged amid their wares, talking among themselves and keeping an eye out for customers.

We turned on to the next street and Nabir grabbed my elbow, trying to get me to hurry past it. I stopped walking and peered down the narrow street to the jumble of stalls. “What’s down here, Nabir?”

“No good. Missy not go down there,” Nabir said firmly.

“But why?” I looked at him and stuck my chin out. If there was something interesting down there, I wanted to see it.

Nabir stepped forward and lowered his voice. “Artifacts for sale. Black market. Missy mother avoid them. Missy should, too.”

A real live black market — but of course I had to explore!

I reached out and patted his arm. “It will be just fine, Nabir. You’ll see.” I headed down the street, knowing Mum’s dragoman would have no choice but to follow. He did, cursing the whole time in very irate Arabic.

The street was crowded, like all the rest, but there were many more Europeans here. Tourists, most likely, all determined to come away from Egypt with some mysterious artifact as a souvenir.

I moved through this street much more slowly than the others. For one thing, with this many Europeans about, I wanted to keep an ear out for Germans. You would think they wouldn’t look much different from the British, but they did. I first noticed it back in the Seven Dials when I’d seen them following Stokes. Their posture was a little more rigid through the shoulders, as if they were marching in a military parade.

I took my time in each shop, examining the bits of pottery and stele fragments. They had an unending supply of these, each one claimed to be a long-lost piece of great value. There was also an enormous number of amulets. My hands positively itched to get ahold of them. There was a fetching little statue of Hathor, and quite a few of Isis, who was very popular. I recognized Osiris and Annubis, Thoth and Bastet. One man was selling an old mummified finger, claiming it had belonged to Ramses III.

As I examined the finger, the shopkeeper motioned to a large round Frenchman standing next to me. The Frenchman stepped closer and the shopkeeper whispered something in his ear. My French is appalling, as I’ve ignored it in favor of hieroglyphics, but I was fairly certain he said something about mummies. Of course! I’d heard that mummies were available on the black market. I inched closer to see if I could overhear.

The shopkeeper motioned the customer back behind a draped doorway. I hesitated, dying to follow. Of course, I’ve seen plenty of mummies, but never (to my knowledge) a black-market one.

Just as I went to step inside, I felt a tug on my sash. “Missy not go back,” Nabir said. “Not safe.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked.

He wouldn’t explain further, but he also wouldn’t let me take a step closer, herding me down to the next shop, which boasted piles and piles of multicolored scarabs. After looking at those for a bit, we headed to the next stall, passing a stone archway as we went. I gave a start when I saw a mummy propped up in the doorway, right out in the open.

I leaned in for a closer look. It was hard to tell how old she was — and it was a she. I could tell that much by the veil that covered the lower half of her face.

Faster than a striking cobra, her long bony hand reached out and grabbed my wrist, drawing me closer. I bit back a scream and tried to pull away, but she was surprisingly strong for a mummy, er, old woman.

Her bright black eyes studied me intently as she said something I couldn’t understand. My hand still clenched in hers, I looked over my shoulder at Nabir. “What’s she saying?”

“She offering to tell missy fortune,” he explained.

“Ask her if she’ll let go of my hand first.”

Nabir translated this and the old woman cackled and let go of my hand. The motion sent the silver bracelets on her arm to jangling.

“Very well. I wouldn’t mind having my fortune told, but tell her I have no money to pay her,” I asked Nabir.

Again he translated, and she replied with something that made him frown.

“What?” I asked. “What?”

“She say she will tell missy fortune for free because missy marked by the gods.”

Her words gave me a sharp thrill, but I couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement.

The fortuneteller shook a small black bag, then dumped the contents out onto the dirt. There were shells and bits of wood and what looked like bones.

She rocked back and forth murmuring as she studied the objects in front of her. She poked at a bone, watched it closely as it rolled over, then her eyes glazed and a rapid string of words began flowing out of her mouth in heavily accented English.

“ Chaos swirls around you. It dogs your heels like a jackal. But the thumbprint of Isis lays glowing on your forehead. Isis will protect you. Look to the ancients for help. They smile down upon you. ” Her eyes widened, then she looked up at Nabir. “They are coming,” she whispered.

At her words, a sliver of icy fear wormed its way into my heart. My senses had been heightened all morning, but I’d assumed it was because I was in the land of antiquity itself. And while I may have occasionally felt I was being watched, whenever I checked, there was no one there. I had thought it was the merchants being as curious about me as I was about them.

I muttered my thanks and backed away from the door. I looked down the street, half afraid I’d see giant serpents undulating toward me.

Instead, there were three men in billowing black robes, with turbans and scarves wrapped around the lower half of their faces, headed our way. They didn’t stop to look at any of the shops, but kept moving relentlessly forward. Something else wasn’t quite right.

It was the way they walked. It wasn’t fluid and graceful like the other natives I’d seen, but stiff rather.

Then I noticed their coloring.

They were fair-skinned.

“Nabir…” I said, beginning to inch away. “She’s not joking.” I turned on my heel and broke into a run, tearing down the street, weaving my way between the stalls and the milling people. Nabir was close behind.

I dodged a heavily laden donkey and just missed tripping over a rolled-up carpet sticking out of a stall. I sorely missed Will. He would have known exactly what to do in this circumstance. “Nabir!” I called out. “Where can we go that is safe?”

“A mosque!” he shouted back.

A vivid picture of Stokes trying to claim sanctuary at St. Paul’s Church came to me. These people didn’t believe in sanctuary. “Something else!” I called back.

I turned onto another street and saw a tramway station. There was a whole mob of people waiting to board. “Over here!”

I ran full tilt into the crowd, annoying several people, but I didn’t slow down until I was smack in the middle of them, hopefully hidden from my pursuers. The crowd pressed forward and I realized that this was a line to get on the electric tram. I looked frantically for Nabir and found him skirting the edge of the crowd. My pursuers reached the tram station and looked around, puzzled. One of them barked out an order and they separated, spreading out.