Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris-Theo 2 (7 page)

"Biggs!" Inspector Turnbull barked out.

"Yes sir?" The constable in charge hurried over.

"You said there was a night watchman. Fetch him."

"Of course, sir." The constable disappeared down the hallway while the rest of us waited in silence. Or tried to, anyway.

"Hsst!"

I whirled around, wondering what on earth could be making that sound.

"Hsst!" came again, only this time I detected it was coming from behind one of the marble pillars. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to
me, I sidled toward the column—cautiously, mind you, as I had no idea who (or what) was hissing at me.

As I drew closer, a hand snaked out and grabbed me. The grimy hand sported an even grimier fingerless glove, but I bit back my surprised scream as I recognized the blue eyes dancing above a dirty button nose.

Sticky Will.

"W
HAT ARE YOU DOING HERE
?" I hissed back at him. Instead of answering, Sticky Will pulled me behind the pillar, out of view of the others.

With one last glance toward the foyer, he tugged his cap. "Ol' Wiggy sent me."

"You mean Lord Wigmere?"

"Aye. 'E wonts to talk to you." He grabbed my arm again and began pulling me down the south hallway.

"You don't have to drag me! I would like to see Wigmere as much as he'd like to see me, you know."

Will dropped my arm. "Right, then. This way. 'E's waiting just outside."

When we reached the east entrance, my heart jerked against my ribs. It was unlocked. Was this how the mummies had gotten in?

Will saw me eyeing the lock. "Couldn't come in the front, miss. Not with all them coppers in there," he added apologetically.

"You picked the lock?"

Will shuffled his feet and had the grace to blush a little. "Aye."

I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice. "Could you teach me how to do that?"

Will drew back in surprise. "Ye mean ye aren't mad at me?"

"Goodness, no! As you said, Wigmere and I must talk. And you were on official business." My head reeled with the potential forbidden knowledge I'd have access to if I could pick locks.

"Come on, miss. We shouldn't keep him waiting too long."

"Right. But you will teach me? About the locks, I mean?"

"Sure. Now come on."

The air was cold and brisk, and since it was still early yet, there was little traffic out on the street. A tall, rather greasy-looking man in a tattered undertaker's coat and battered top hat was buying a pie from a pie seller's cart. Farther down,
an urchin loitered in a doorway. But other than that, no one was about, which was perfect.

The Brotherhood's carriage lurked on the far side of the street, it's hulking form a deep, shiny black unmarked by any crest or insignia. I glanced once more around me, then hurried across to the carriage. When we reached it, Will rapped smartly on the door, then opened it.

The head of the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers sat back against the cushion, his hands resting on his cane. The lines on his face seemed deeper this morning, and his eyes were serious. Here was someone who was very good at taking charge and knew just what to do about predicaments. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Theodosia," he said, motioning me inside. As I clambered up into the carriage and settled onto the plush velvet seat, he said to Will, "Keep an eye out. If anyone from the museum or police shows up, give two quick raps, then a hard knock."

Wigmere turned his attention fully to me. "We received some news last night that I thought you ought to know. Plus, with this morning's unpleasantness all over the newspapers, it seemed a visit was in order."

"oh, thank you, sir! This morning has been a bit dicey. Do you know who piled all those mummies up in our foyer?"

"Well, no. Not exactly. But we do have confirmation that the Serpents of Chaos are back in London, just as we feared. In fact, I'd lay odds that someone from the Serpents of Chaos has had contact with Chudleigh and even planted the idea for a mummy unwrapping in his thick head—in order to ensure Tetley was discovered." He still looked disgusted at the spectacle we'd been forced to witness.

"You mean to let us know we haven't seen the last of them?"

Wigmere's solemn blue eyes met mine. "Yes. To let us know we may have won the first battle, but not the war. As a warning to show us what happens to those who displease them."

I gulped. The truth was, I displeased them very much. "I had
so
hoped that was the end of them." In fact, one of my favorite daydreams was imagining von Braggenschnott still stuck fast to the wall in Thutmose III's tomb, yelling for help for the past three months, even though I knew it wasn't very realistic.

"With Tetley's body showing up so publicly two nights ago, I can't help but feel the Serpents of Chaos must have something to do with this morning's mummy situation. It's too great a coincidence, although I can't quite figure out what their game is. Not yet."

"But it doesn't make any sense! Why would they bring all of London's mummies to our museum?" A thought occurred to me—a horrid, vile thought. "You don't think all the mummies are cursed, like the Heart of Egypt was, and now those curses will fall on our heads?"

Wigmere scowled. "Did they feel cursed?"

"At least one is. Or if it's not cursed, it's
akhu
is hovering nearby and most unhappy at being disturbed."

"I suppose that's unavoidable with so many mummies being moved. Can you handle it?" he asked.

I sat up straighter. "Yes. Of course."

"Very well. We will be working on this from our end, my dear. As soon as we have any word of what's going on, either Will or myself will get a message to you."

"Is there anything you can do to help Father with this horrid misunderstanding about the mummies? They seem to think he's trying to steal them."

Wigmere shook his head. "I'm sorry. All the Brotherhood's movements must remain shrouded in secrecy. We can't risk making our presence known."

My heart sank. How was Father going to get out of this mess?

"I'm sure as more becomes known over the next day or two, your father's name will be cleared. Meanwhile, I suggest
you read all the texts you can get your hands on regarding mummies and Osiris."

Of course! As god of the Underworld, Osiris ruled over the dead. And mummies were most definitely dead.

"Anubis, too, since he was god of mummification," Wigmere continued. "We'll comb our archives for anything that might explain what could cause all these mummies to be on the move. Hopefully one of us will find a clue as to what Chaos is up to."

"Very well, sir."

Wigmere gave a bracing nod. "Keep your spirits up. We've defeated the Serpents of Chaos before—we can do it again."

"Thank you, sir." However, last time we hadn't been dealing with the forces of the Underworld, which put a rather new spin on it.

Wigmere rapped on the carriage door and Will opened it so quickly that I couldn't help but wonder if he'd been eavesdropping. "She's ready to go back," Wigmere said. "Is the coast clear?"

Will shifted his eyes to the left, then the right. "I reckon so."

Wigmere winked at me, but it was lacking it's normal enthusiasm. "We'll use Will here to keep in touch."

I nodded, then hopped out of the carriage and followed Will as he scurried across the street, his eyes darting everywhere. When we reached the museum, he stepped partway into a hedge before opening the door and fairly shoving me inside. Surely he was overdoing this whole lookout bit? Before I could bring it to his attention, he disappeared down the street and I was alone in the museum's hallway.

***

Everyone was most likely still in the foyer, talking to the police. Hopefully, no one would have noticed my absence. I locked the door, then stepped farther into the hallway—

Directly into Clive Fagenbush! And I do mean directly. I bounced off him like an Indian rubber ball, nearly losing my balance and landing on my bum in the process.

"Watch where you're going," he snarled, then brushed off his suit, as if I had dirtied it somehow.

"How was I to know you'd be skulking around down here?" I said, mirroring his gesture by brushing off my pinafore.

"I wasn't skulking. I've come to show Constable Biggs here the east entrance, as he asked me to." That was when I noticed that he did indeed have the constable with him. "What are
you
doing here?" Fagenbush asked suspiciously.

"I ... came to see if the door had been tampered with." I turned to the constable. "But it hasn't been. It was locked up tight when I found it."

Before either of them could question me further, I hurried down the hall.

Once I reached the foyer, the familiar sensation of beetles marching down my spine overtook me for a moment. How could I have forgotten? I had work to do.

But as I looked around, I saw that I was nearly too late. Strangers—a small army of them—were swarming everywhere. Unfamiliar porters and workmen toiled side by side with Dolge and Sweeny, lugging the mummies down to Receiving, where I assumed carts were ready to return them to their owners. Weems was trying to direct traffic but just kept getting in the way.

There were a couple of other men, too, although they were younger and dressed in suits. One was talking to Stilton and writing things down on a pad, while another was trying to set up some photography equipment. More policemen, perhaps? I inched closer to overhear their conversation.

"Oh, yes," Stilton was saying. "Tales of mummy curses have been around for ages."

The stranger scribbled something furiously on his notepad. "Yes, go on. What are some of the most common effects of these?"

"Well, there are stories of people dying or having serious accidents, or horrible misfortunes befalling them after they'd disturbed a mummy."

The man stopped writing and looked up at Stilton. "What exactly do you mean by 'disturb'?"

Stilton's left shoulder jerked. "Move it from it's rightful resting place. Or any resting place, I suppose. Or open the seal on it's tomb..."

The fellow began scribbling again. "What can people do to protect themselves?"

"Well, not handle mummies, for one ... and gold is supposed to be a powerful form of protection...."

I was surprised at how well versed Stilton was in such mythology. I had thought him mostly a clerk.

"Gold?" the man echoed.

"Yes, gold represents the fierce power of the sun god Ra, which is said to drive the mummy away."

"Where on earth have you been?" Vicary Weems snarled.

I jerked as if I'd been burned, then realized he wasn't speaking to me. He was talking to Fagenbush. My enjoyment in watching Fagenbush squirm under Weems's questioning was distracted by a grunt off to my left. Dolge had just wrapped his burly arms around one of the mummies. Oh dear! He and Sweeny might come into contact with that vile curse.

I shoved a hand into the pocket of my pinafore and sauntered over to the mummies, as if wanting another look. When I got close enough to Dolge, I tripped and grabbed on
to him for support—but of course it was actually so I could slip one of my extra wedjat eyes into his pocket.

"Watch it there, miss," he said. "I'd hate for you to bump up against one o' these mummies and get a curse." He winked, clearly thinking it a fine joke.

If only he knew...

I moved away to find Sweeny. He wasn't quite as good-natured as Dolge, so I'd have to be a little more clever with him.

While I was still puzzling over how to approach Sweeny, the man with the photographic equipment called out, "Over here, gents!" There was a loud
pop!
and a blinding flash, then Sweeny yelled out, "Ruddy 'ell! I can't see!"

At the same moment, Inspector Turnbull saw the photographer and began bellowing at the top of his lungs. "What's that reporter doing in here? Get him out! Out!"

I rushed to Sweeny's side while he was still batting the dancing dots away from his vision and patted his arm. "Don't worry. Your sight will come back in just a second." I slipped a wedjat eye into the pocket of his coveralls. "If you close your eyes, it makes the dots go away faster."

By this time two constables had reached the reporter and photographer and were none too gently escorting them out the front door. Weems rushed over to Stilton, clearly appalled. "Were you speaking with that ... that
reporter?
I've a mind to give you a formal reprimand."

Oh, honestly. What did he call this—an
in
formal reprimand?

"I-I thought he was with the police. I had no idea he was—"

"Just get the mummies back where they belong," Weems scoffed. "I'll deal with you later."

As Stilton ran after Sweeny and another porter, a loud bellow erupted from the back of the museum, followed by a rapid thumping.

After a moment of startled silence, we all raced toward the sound, Turnbull in the lead, trailed closely by Father and myself. That is, until Vicary Weems pushed past me and nearly sent me careening into the wall. Beast.

When we reached the loading area, we found a bald porter lying on the ground, grimacing in pain, his leg twisted at a horrid angle. Dolge was struggling to balance the mummy they'd been carrying between them. Stilton trundled down the stairs to help.

"He tripped," Dolge explained.

"Broken leg, it looks like," Turnbull announced.

"Someone pushed me," the man gasped. "I didn't trip down no ruddy stairs. I was pushed."
"Who could have pushed you?" Turnbull asked, looking around. "We all arrived after your fall. There was no one else here."

The man set his jaw. "I don't know, but I
was
pushed. I
felt
it."

Turnbull reached up and scratched his head. "Very well. Let's get this man a doctor. Biggs! You and your men go find anyone else here who wasn't in the foyer with the rest of us. We'll want them for questioning."

But of course, I knew they'd find no one. Or no corporeal body, anyway. No. I was very much afraid that the push had been of a supernatural variety.