Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris-Theo 2 (24 page)

I narrowed my eyes. It sounded reasonable enough, but I didn't like to give Fagenbush the benefit of the doubt. I would ask Stilton about it in the morning.

"However," Fagenbush drawled, "it's clear I will be able to find nothing in this mess. It will have to wait until tomorrow."

He came around from behind Stilton's desk. "Coming?" he asked.

"Of course," I said, reaching to turn out the light. I followed him into the hallway, then firmly shut the door. "You might want to go out the front," I suggested innocently.

"And risk getting splattered with pigeon shot by your father? I think not, but good try."

Bother. He'd seen clean through that one, hadn't he?

I
WAS UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
, or perhaps it was more truthful to say I never really fell asleep. I spent the entire night wrestling with all my dilemmas. It was a relief to be able to get up, actually.

I immediately made my way to the foyer. Father was snoring loudly, sprawled up against the far wall and dangerously close to one of the lassos.

Saving that one for last, I checked the corner of the room closest to the entrance. The wax was white, which meant that no foul spirits had been near. Shoving the wax into my pocket, I kicked the rope behind a pedestal holding a bust of Nefertiti. Then I hurried on to the second corner near the
big bay of windows at the front of the museum. The wax there was also still white.

The third corner was clean, too. Bother. I hated to think I'd gone to all that trouble and caught nothing! Cautiously, I approached the corner Father inhabited. Wouldn't it just cork it if his corner happened to be the one the spirit had gravitated to? Which made sense, really, as disgruntled spirits loved to make trouble for the living.

Tiptoeing as quietly as I could, I stepped around Father. The wax was a familiar green-black color, and I caught a whiff of sulfur.

Reaching out, I grasped the end of the rope in my gloved hands, then quickly tied a knot, then another one, then another, until there were seven knots in all. The knots would bind the disgruntled spirit to the rope until I could find a safe repository for it.

As I headed to my carrel, there was a loud knock.

"Hello? It's me, Miss Sharpe," she called out, her voice muffled by the front door.

Bother! Why couldn't she use the side entrance like the rest of the employees?

She knocked again, and Father's snoring was replaced with a sputter. "Wh-what? Who's there?"

"It's only me, Father. Miss Sharpe's here."

He got up off the floor and smoothed his hair down with his hand. "Well, don't just stand there. Let her in."

"That's what I was doing," I told him. Huffing over to the door, I opened it to admit Miss Sharpe, surprised to see a crowd out there again. Hadn't these people anything better to do? I scanned the faces, searching for Will, but didn't see anyone looking even remotely like him.

"Good morning, Theodosia," Miss Sharpe said.

"Good morning, ma'am."

Her gaze fell onto the rope in my hand. "What are you doing with that?"

I shrugged. "Oh, well, I—"

Her mouth flattened in disapproval, and she stuck out her hand. "Give it to me. Fun and games are over. It's time for our lessons."

"But it isn't a game," I protested.

"Theodosia," she warned with a glint in her eye. I recognized that glint. It was the one she got just before she pinched me, and I wasn't wearing my coat. I stared down at the rope in my hand, then back at Miss Sharpe, a rather evil thought occurring to me. "Why, certainly, Miss Sharpe," I said, then held the rope out to her.

She took it from me with a look of triumph, followed by a slight frown as she shivered delicately. "Goodness, it's chilly in here. Let's get to the reading room so we can begin your studies."

***

It was a long, horrible morning with policemen sniffing about in all the nooks and crannies of the museum and Miss Sharpe being her awful pinchy self. Because I was so distracted, I flubbed my lessons four different times and earned a pinch for each mistake.

And what, may you ask, was I so distracted by? The rope, that's what. Miss Sharpe seemed to have grown very attached to it, and as I worked on my lessons, she slapped it threateningly against her palm, like a whip.

"What is the square root of sixteen?"
Slap.

"What is seven thousand two hundred seventy-seven divided by thirty-two?"
Slap.

"What year did Queen Victoria declare India a part of the British Empire?"
Slap.

And on it went. Luckily, she was cold enough that she had decided to keep her gloves on. But even with her hands protected, I was worried about what such prolonged contact with the corrupted rope would do.

Until she pinched me the third time. Then I decided I really didn't care.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, Stilton kept hovering nearby, almost bursting with his report from the night before, but I couldn't get him alone.

I was sure none of the Chosen Keepers had ever been tested as sorely as I.

Around midmorning, the sun finally reached our side of the building.

"It's finally beginning to warm up," Miss Sharpe announced. "Which reminds me, when did your grandmother say we could begin conducting lessons at your home?"

"As soon as you proved you could be consistently punctual," I said sweetly.

Miss Sharpe pressed her lips together and two spots of bright color appeared high on her cheeks. Deciding to ignore me, she draped the rope over the back of a chair and began to tug off her gloves. I held my breath, wondering if she was going to slap them across my face, but she merely laid them onto the table.

When she saw me looking at the rope, a calculating gleam appeared in her eye. Her naked hands closed around the rope and she resumed whacking it against her palm.

The horrid woman! She was doing it only because she could tell the constant slapping was irritating me. Thoroughly distracted now, I kept looking up every couple of minutes or
so until she finally said in exasperation, "What? What are you looking at, you rude child?"

That's when I saw it. A bright red boil had appeared on her forehead. And there was a pinkish spot on her left cheek where another one was beginning to rise up. "Um, I think you have a spot," I said, tapping my cheek.

"What?" Horrified, she let the rope drop to the floor, then reached for her purse and rummaged around until she found a little mirror. Ducking her head to see better, she peered into the mirror, a look of horror on her face. "Excuse me," she muttered. "I have to use the facilities."

As soon as she was out of sight, I grabbed the rope and stuffed it behind one of the bookcases until I could deal with it later.

"Miss Theo?"

At Edgar Stilton's voice I jumped away from the bookcase, hoping he hadn't seen me stash the rope. "Stilton!"

"Tefen," he corrected.

"Tefen," I repeated. "We have to hurry because I don't know how long Miss Sharpe will be gone. What did you find out?"

Stilton came fully into the room, rubbing his hands. "Well, Befen, Petet, Mestafet, and I followed the mummy—"

"Tetley. His name is Tetley."

"Oh. Right. We followed Tetley down to the docks."

"The docks!" I echoed stupidly. This was odd. Last time Chaos had been in London, they'd been housed at Carleton Terrace. "Go on."

"Unfortunately, the mumm—er, Tetley—was seen by rather a lot of people. He created quite a panic whenever he was spotted."

"I should think so," I muttered. "Which dock?"

"The East India docks," Stilton said. "There was a small, rundown tavern there, and the mummy went right up to it and smacked into the door. A rough voice called out, 'Here's another one, mates!' There was a burst of laughter, and then a man opened the door, grabbed Tetley by the waist, tossed him over his shoulder, and pulled him into the tavern."

There was a moment of silence as I digested all this. "What was the name of the tavern?"

"The Salty Dog." Stilton wrung his hands. "I hope we did right, Miss Theo. We talked about following the mummy in, but by the sound of their laughter there were quite a lot of them, and rough, too. You hadn't said anything about confronting dockworkers, only to follow the mummy. Although what a bunch of dockworkers want with a mummy is beyond me."

"No. You did exactly right, Stilton. Thank you. And the others—thank them for me. I'll take it from here."

A look of concern crossed Stilton's face. "But not without
our help, right, Miss Theo? You wouldn't wander down there by yourself, now, would you?"

"I'll be sure to let you know when I need your services again." That seemed to appease him.

"Oh, one more thing," he said. "That young urchin that hangs around here, the one you're always slipping out to talk to?"

My cheeks burned. Had I been so very obvious? And if Stilton had noticed it, who else had? "Yes?"

"Well, he was down there, too. At the docks. He was hiding behind a barrel, watching the tavern." A look of reproach shone in Stilton's eyes. "I do hope you didn't send him to check up on us."

"No, no! Of course not," I reassured him. "It was just a coincidence, that's all. He and I didn't have a chance to coordinate our activities yesterday."

Looking greatly relieved, Stilton nodded. "Also," he said, "the grand master wanted to know if he could collect his magic favor today."

Already? "Oh, Stilton! I'm so busy today, with all the police and Miss Sharpe—I don't see how I can get away."

"Very well, Miss Theo. I'm sure the grand master can wait." Then Stilton stepped out into the hall. I heard a muffled
oomph,
followed by a sharp "Watch where you're going!" Then Miss Sharpe hurried into the room and slammed the door shut, practically catching Stilton's nose as he tried to catch a glimpse of her.

I gasped. Her entire face was covered in festering boils. More were popping up, even as I watched. "Miss Sharpe," I breathed. Oh dear. I had known handling that rope hadn't been a good idea.

Miss Sharpe rushed over to get her things. Keeping her face averted, she shrugged into her coat. As she reached for her purse, I saw that the backs of her hands were covered with boils, too.

"I must leave. Immediately. Explain to your parents that I've taken ill." She opened the door and nearly ran into Stilton again. "Don't look at me!" she screeched, and then, ducking her face, she ran down the hall toward the side entrance.

I am sorry to say, I couldn't quite muster up all the sympathy I should have for Miss Sharpe. Perhaps I'd feel more charitable toward her once the bruises from her pinching faded.

***

Before I had time to react to this latest development, a bellow came from somewhere in the museum.
What now?
Stilton and I exchanged a glance, then dashed toward the sound of the shout.

Apparently everyone else in the museum had the same idea. Like migrating geese we all made our way to the Egyptian exhibit, where the noise had come from. Three constables and Inspector Turnbull were deep in conversation. There was an empty spot on the wall of mummies. How odd.

Turnbull stopped talking to his men and turned to me. "Where is your father?"

I pulled my eyes away from the empty space. "He's somewhere around here. Did you check his workroom?"

Turnbull jerked his head at one of the constables, who took off toward the workroom. As we waited, I casually drifted to where the New Kingdom mummy Ikudidy had been.

"Careful, miss. Don't get too close to the crime scene."

"I won't," I said as Isis slithered between my ankles toward the row of mummies. She batted at something on the floor, and I peered closer. It was a small homemade Blood of Isis amulet. Undoubtedly the one I'd placed on Ikudidy only three nights before.

Had it fallen off? Or had someone removed it?

The constable returned, escorting Father with Mother trailing behind them looking worried. At the sight of Father, Turnbull swelled up like a self-important rooster. "You want to explain what happened to this mummy, Throckmorton?"

Father gaped at the empty spot. "I have no idea! The
mummy thieves must have broken in last night—" I could see him trying to work out how an intruder had gotten past him and his shotgun.

"And taken just the one mummy?" Turnbull scoffed. "When they've cleaned out every museum in London? I don't think so, Throckmorton."

"Well then, what
do
you think?" Father snapped back, annoyed.

"I think your greed exceeds your common sense. You were tempted to fence just one more, and now I've caught you red-handed."

"Red-handed at what? All you have is one more missing mummy!"

"Yes, but we caught a fence trying to sell off gold that is linked to one of the recent break-ins. We think you've taken the mummies in order to create a panic so people will take their gold from their vaults as protection. Once the gold is out of the bank, it is much easier to steal. And we think you're doing this in partnership with the Grim Nipper.

"Throckmorton, I place you under arrest!"

T
HE ENTIRE ROOM GASPED
at Turnbull's announcement, and then everyone started to speak at once. "Surely you're mistaken," Mother said, her eyes shadowed with worry.

"I say, if I had any idea of the goings-on around here, I never would have taken this job," Weems muttered somewhere behind me.

Thinking fast, I stepped forward. "Excuse me, Inspector?"

"What now?" Turnbull crossed his arms in front of him and nodded, clearly humoring me.

"What about Nigel Bollingsworth?"

"Bollingsworth, Bollingsworth," he muttered. He pulled
out a small notebook and thumbed through it. "The ex–First Assistant Curator?"

"That's the one. Have you managed to track him down? Find him for questioning? He did just disappear with no explanation four months ago. Right after the Heart of Egypt went missing."

Mother's hand flew to her throat. "She's right," she said. "Bollingsworth did disappear right after we discovered the theft of the Heart of Egypt."