Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris-Theo 2 (19 page)

***

The carriage pulled up in front of the museum and dropped me off. I waved goodbye to Stilton—or Tefen, as he insisted I call him when we were alone—and wondered how on earth I was going to face him in the morning. Did he have any idea how silly he and his fellow Black Sunners appeared?

Oh well. Best to think about that later. I had plenty on my plate for the rest of the evening—such as trying to come up with an explanation that would satisfy Mother and Father as to where I'd been for the past few hours.

All was quiet when I let myself into the museum, with no one wandering about calling my name. That was a good sign, at least.

I tiptoed down the hall to the foyer, which was also empty and quiet. My stomach growled, reminding me I was famished. I hadn't eaten since noon that day. I suppose it's a miracle I'm not stunted in my growth.

As I made my way to the sitting room, I rummaged around for a good excuse. Perhaps I'd just tell them that Miss Sharpe and I had gone out. But where? Where on earth would a governess have taken her student this late at night? Still no excuse at hand, I stopped outside the family room and listened. I didn't hear anything. No Mum humming, no Father regaling her with his most recent research news. Nothing. I sniffed. I didn't smell anything, either, which meant they'd not brought any dinner back with them.

I went into the sitting room and made myself two jam sandwiches, then began eating them in an appalling rush. There was so much to be
done.

Halfway through my meal (although I wasn't sure two jam sandwiches properly qualified as a meal), I saw a crumpled newspaper tossed up against the hearth. Curious, I went and picked it up, brought it back to the table, and smoothed it out so I could read it.

LONDON PEPPERED WITH GOLD THEFTS

A number of thefts were reported last night, all claiming varying amounts of gold field been taken from the premises. From White Chapel to Hyde Park, people are missing their gold. As Cyrus Bentwillow told this reporter, "That gold was all I got. I bought it to protect me family from the mummies prowlin' the streets, and some blighter went an' stole it from me! What's this world coming to, I'd like: to know."

Now I knew why the paper had been discarded. Father hated reading about the mummy situation!

Thinking of my father had me wondering if my parents had made it back yet. What if the horrid board of directors had had them hauled off to jail?

I shoved the last bite of sandwich into my mouth and hurried upstairs to the workroom on the third floor. Relief
trickled through me as I heard the sound of Mother and Father talking.

"They're idiots, that's what the problem is," Father was saying. "None of them has the slightest interest in true history or scholarship. It's all a hobby to them. A game."

"Yes, it is," Mother agreed. "They clearly have no idea what's involved or why you wouldn't be hungering after their wretched mummies. Just how many times do you have to tell them that we already have so many, you've forbidden me to bring any more home?"

Father grunted. "Far too many."

"Hopefully this will be the end of it. I shudder to think what this has done to my chances with the Royal Archaeological Society."

"Well, if those mummies show up here one more time, Henrietta, I won't be held accountable for my actions."

That was easy for him to say now, I thought. He wasn't locked up tight in a jail cell as Inspector Turnbull had threatened. Which only confirmed the fact that I had lots to do in very little time in order to make sure Turnbull wouldn't have any reason to lock him up.

"Did you know Weems was a friend of Lord Chudleigh's when you hired him?" Mum asked.

"Gad, no," Father exclaimed. "That reference wouldn't have cut the mustard with me."

"Chudleigh seems to think very highly of him." I could tell by Mother's voice that she was reluctant to point that out.

"Chudleigh also thought very highly of his fake mummy."

"True," Mum said. "But still, I rather loathe the idea of Weems keeping Chudleigh apprised of our every move and decision. Especially under such trying circumstances."

Weems was an insufferable prig! With his intention of running the entire museum, the more trouble Father was in, the better things looked for Weems. Well, we'd have to see about that.

I listened for a few moments longer, disappointed when it became clear they'd never even realized I was gone. But this served my purpose perfectly, I assured myself. It was silly to feel put out that they didn't notice I was missing.

I made my way back past the Egyptian exhibit to the stairs, my mind churning. Now that the Serpents of Chaos had the staff and the orb, they would have the power to call all the mummies. Even if the mummies weren't gathered at our museum, Turnbull would still most likely suspect Father, not to mention we'd lose our entire collection. Which meant I had to find a way to protect our mummies from the powerful call of the staff.

Of course, the real trick was to figure out what on earth Chaos planned to do with a hundred mummies, but first things first.

My initial stop was the reading room. I needed to read over Archimedes's
The Power of Amulets: A Lost Art.

When I arrived, who should I find there but Clive Fagenbush. And he was studying the back corner of the shelves, the very ones where I'd found all my information on mummies and Osiris.

I tried to retreat down the hall until he was done, but the old floor squeaked and gave me away. I winced as Fagenbush whirled around. "What are you doing here?" He scowled.

"Finishing up an essay for Miss Sharpe. What are you doing here?"

His scowl grew even deeper. "Researching something for one of the collections, of course. It is my job, if you recall."

"Yes, very well. Carry on."

But before I could leave, Fagenbush called out, "Wait! This section is missing quite a large number of books. You wouldn't happen to know where they are, would you?" he asked.

"No. But there are quite a lot of other curators around. Perhaps one of them was a little quicker in his duties and beat you to it."

Fagenbush's eyes narrowed at the insult. "Perhaps you've squirreled them away in your little
office,
" he snarled.

"Oh, no. Those are just some books in Latin that Miss Sharpe wanted me to translate. Surely you don't need to practice your Latin, do you?"

I was half afraid he was going to barge in there and search my office, but my father being Head Curator must have held him back. "Very well," he said at last. Then he picked up the three books he had set aside. As he passed me, I craned my head, trying to get a look at the titles he was carrying, but he managed to cover them with his arm. Because I'd done that a hundred times myself, I knew he was doing it on purpose. The rat.

Clearly he was up to something. I wished I could have understood why Wigmere was so certain Fagenbush wasn't behind any of this. I would have to ask him again, next time I saw him.

But for now, I had some research to do. Wigmere had said that they'd found mention of the staff in old medieval grimoires. We had a few of those around here. Perhaps I should start with them.

I headed straight for the farthest, darkest corner of the reading room, where the oldest and most forgotten texts were jumbled together. These tended to be the ones Father and the other curators took the least seriously, but I found them invaluable.

There were a number of grimoires there:
Opus Majus
by Dr. Mirabilis,
The Black Pullet
by Johannes Faust (yes,
that
Faust!),
An Occult Philosophy
by Henreich Cornelius Agrippa, and
De Umbris Ideaum
by Bruno. But none of them touched on any magic of the pharaohs or ancient Egypt.

I picked up the last book. It was extremely old and bound in black leather that had faded and cracked with age. The pages were brittle and covered in a spidery Latin script.

Even though I'm much better at translating Greek and hieroglyphs than I am at Latin, I managed to muddle through the introduction. The author was Silvus Moribundus, a medieval occultist who was translating an ancient Egyptian papyrus written by Nectanebo II's head priest and magician, Sephotep. The name brought me up cold.

Sep was the name of the god of chaos. And the suffix
hotep
meant "pleased." So if a priest was named Sephotep, then it wasn't good. Not at all. It meant he was very adept at creating chaos. A small shiver of apprehension ran through me. The only good thing was that if anyone would have the answers as to what would make mummies walk in this world again, it would surely be the god of chaos.

My fingers tingled in anticipation. This book could well possess secrets not found anywhere else! What on earth had it been doing stuffed in a forgotten corner?

However, I had more urgent business to attend to right then. I slipped the grimoire inside Miss Sharpe's copy of Virgil and got to my amulet research.

***

Nearly an hour later, I pushed the volume away with a sigh of disgust. There had been nothing in there on how to protect mummies against the Staff of Osiris. I guess this made sense, now that I thought about it, as none of the books even acknowledged the staff's existence.

Even more disturbing, all of the normal amulets of general protection could actually end up making things worse! The healing eye of Horus, for example, could very well end up healing the mummies, and what if it "healed" them back to life? Disastrous!

And my other trusty favorite, the ankh, was just as useless in this instance. It was the Egyptian symbol for life, and I most assuredly did not want these mummies any more lively.

This meant I would have to improvise, and that was always a tricky business. In the end, I decided the best course was to use a simple Blood of Isis amulet for each of our mummies. Whoever possessed the amulet was said to be protected by Isis from all other magical influence.

However, the Blood of Isis amulet required a red stone,
either carnelian or jasper. Even red glass would do in a pinch. But could I find enough for all the mummies? Thirteen on display, plus seven in the catacombs. That made twenty—well, twenty-one counting Tetley.

I quickly jotted down the recipe, then dashed to my closet to check my supplies. I knew I had some carnelian and jasper in my curse-removal kit, as well as a length of gold wire.

Unfortunately, there were distressingly few bits of red stone in there: nine tiny pieces of carnelian and only four pieces of red jasper. Which meant I'd have to hunt something up for the other eight amulets. In the middle of the night, no less.

Honestly! I deserved a fancy medal like the one Admiral Sopcoate wore pinned to his chest.

The best selection of stones was bound to be up in the workroom on the third floor. Unfortunately, so were Mother and Father, who would ask all sorts of awkward questions. That left short-term storage down by Receiving. Hardening my resolve and trying very hard not to think of Nigel Bollingsworth skulking through the museum in the dark, I stood up.

Isis, who'd been wrapped around my ankles, meowed in protest. Remembering her excellent stint at guard duty the night before, I whispered, "Is there anyone else out there?
Care to check for me?" Although really, what was the point? It wasn't as though cats ever did anything you asked them to.

But Isis blinked her golden eyes at me, then sauntered out into the hallway. Brilliant! I followed cautiously as she led me down the hall toward the stairs.

When we reached the short-term storage area, I turned up the gaslights, the familiar hiss of gas filling up the eerie silence.

While Isis began prowling around the corners looking for mice, I went over to the old, battered Canopic jar on the shelf where I stored stray bits. There were two more pieces of jasper in there. Excellent. That made fifteen—only six more red stones and I'd have enough.

I crossed over to the worktable, wondering if anything from Amenemhab's tomb would work. There was a lovely spread-wing pectoral amulet, but it was in good condition, and as badly as I needed those red stones, I wasn't going to destroy a perfectly good artifact.

I knelt down to examine a crate under the worktable and began picking through the contents. An old silver mirror, an eye-makeup palette, six little scarabs (none of them red), and a flint-bladed knife. Then, far in the bottom corner, I found something.

It was an elaborate falcon-headed collar made up of rows and rows of cylindrical faience beads. Red faience beads, to be exact. But many of them were loose. Usually things in these crates were items that were of a low priority, either too broken or damaged or unimportant to be worked on until the rest of the dig's artifacts had been prepared for exhibit. Which meant I could most likely borrow six of the beads to make the Blood of Isis amulets, then return them once the Staff of Osiris had been ... what? Returned? Located? Well, I could return the beads later.

I worked the loose beads free from the setting, then slipped them into my pocket. Just then Isis meowed, and I heard a squeak on the stairs. I froze as a beam of torch light flashed on the wall. "Hello? Who's down here?"

It was Flimp!

"It's just me! I was looking for Isis!" I reached down and picked her up for emphasis. She began purring and rubbing her head against my arm.

"Oh, sorry, miss. Gave me a scare, you did, what with all the strange goings-on lately."

"I'm sorry, Flimp. I didn't mean to."

"You'd best scamper back up to the sitting room and wait for your parents. Until the police find out who's behind all this recent mischief, you shouldn't be wandering around alone so late."

"Excellent point, Flimp! Thank you. I'm coming up right now." Holding Isis firmly in my arms, I scurried up the stairs, not liking one bit Flimp's reminder about how unsafe the museum was at the moment. As if battling the normal everyday
mut
and
akhu
weren't enough, now I had evildoers to contend with as well!

Back in my carrel, I quickly settled down to make the amulets. I had no idea how long it would take Chaos to activate the staff and start using it, but I was guessing not long.