Theodosia - The Serpents of Chaos

by R. L. LaFevers

  The tomb of Thutmose III was the very last in the valley. There was a single guard on duty. He recognized Nabir, and they exchanged a few words in Egyptian, then he let us pass. Nabir led me to the farthest corner, then stopped at a small cave. He darted inside, then reappeared a moment later carrying a long ladder.

  This did not look promising.

  He carried the ladder to a fold in the rocky wall. When I looked up, I could see a small opening in the face of the mountain, some ten or fifteen meters up.

  Nabir set the ladder at the base of the wall and leaned it against the mountainside. It was just long enough. Barely. It was obviously meant to bridge a grownup-size gap between the ladder and the opening. Not an eleven-year-old-size one. I sighed.

  Nabir motioned me over to the ladder.

  “Give me an hour or two,” I told him. “I’ll be ready to leave then.”

  Nabir nodded. “Two hours. Nabir wait here.”

  “Good.” I took a steadying breath, placed one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, and began to climb.

  Even with Nabir holding on to the thing, it was a rickety, wobbly climb, and I kept reminding myself to not look down.

  Halfway up the ladder I realized Nabir would have a lovely view of my knickers. Blushing furiously at the thought, I glanced down, relieved to find his eyes politely averted.

  A good man, our Nabir.

  I finally reached the rung that was second from the top, then hesitated. Once I stepped up onto that top rung, there would be nothing to hang on to except the mountain itself.

  I eyed the distance from the top rung to the small ledge above. I thought I could reach it. Hopefully.

  Taking another steadying breath, I placed a foot on the top rung. My stomach gave a sickening lurch as the whole ladder gave a nasty wobble and my fingers bit painfully into the rocky scree. I reached up until I grasped the outcropping ledge. Relief poured through me, until I remembered the scorpions in our room at Shepheard’s. This hot dry wasteland was much more to their liking.

  Cobras and asps, too.

  It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one’s hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.

  Gritting my teeth, I brought my other arm up so that I could hoist myself onto the ledge. I pulled upward with my arms and felt the soles of my boots leave the security of the ladder. My feet scrabbled for purchase, trying to gain an additional boost up.

  I strained and pulled, wishing mightily that I had stronger arm muscles. (I made a note to myself to take up boxing when I returned to London, or possibly arm wrestling with Henry.)

  With a long, sharp scrape across my midsection, I finally managed to haul myself up onto the ledge. I lay on my stomach, my feet still hanging out into thin air, panting and letting my weak, trembling arms recover.

  “Is miss all right?” Nabir called up.

  I quickly scooted away from the edge and turned around so he could see my face (instead of my knickers; I made another note to myself: trousers would be nice). “Yes, Nabir. I’m fine. Thank you.” I held up two fingers. “Two hours.”

  Nabir smiled, toddled over to a bit of shade, and made himself comfortable.

  ***

  When I stood at the mouth of the cavern, a strange prickling sensation ran over me, and every hair on my body stood on end. The air was so thick with ka and heka, I was half afraid I would choke on it.

  The daylight barely penetrated the darkness of the shaft, so I stopped long enough to pull a torch out of my pack and light it. There was an ancient, crumbling stairway leading downward, and I could only hope I wouldn’t slip and break my neck.

  Stepping onto the first stair, I tested it to see if it would hold my weight. When it didn’t collapse, I held my pitiful light up to the walls and proceeded cautiously.

  Figures in bas relief danced in the flickering light thrown off by my torch, but I couldn’t make out what they were. I dragged my gaze away and pushed onward, promising myself that once I had returned the Heart of Egypt, I would study these more closely.

  I reached the first corridor (where the walls were covered with more stunning carvings), which led to a second set of crumbling stairs, also leading downward. At the end of the second stairs was a deep shaft. I stared into the yawning blackness at my feet. Why on earth was it here? Did it have some earthly purpose, such as diverting water in case of flooding? Or was there a ritual magic purpose, such as catching falling spirits, perhaps?

  Luckily, Mother’s workers had fashioned a plank bridge to cross the chasm. I went forward, placing each foot very carefully, horribly aware of the great darkness gaping beneath me.

  Once safely across, I found myself in a larger chamber. I took another step, then tripped over a pile of something long and thin—bones, was my immediate thought. I cringed at the incredible racket they made, and the phrase “loud enough to wake the dead” came painfully to mind.

  I swung the light around, relieved to discover it was only a pile of torches. Well done, Mum! Of course she would leave some means of lighting her way.

  I quickly lit another torch and saw that Mother’s team had rigged holders in the walls. I placed one of the lit torches in it, then lit enough to fill all the holders scattered around the chamber.

  It’s amazing what a little light can do for one’s morale.

  Most of the chamber walls were covered with carvings. The east wall was covered with hieroglyphs. It looked to be the complete text of The Egyptian Book of the Dead. The next wall showed Thutmose III being taken by the hand by Anubis. In Anubis’s other hand was … the Was scepter! Hesitant, I reached out with my hand and ran my finger over Anubis, marveling that nearly four thousand years ago, some ancient Egyptian worker had cut this image into the stone.

  Enough! I scolded myself. I was never going to get the Heart of Egypt to its final resting place and restore the fate of Britain at this rate.

  Resolute, I crossed over to the doorway that loomed darkly on the far wall. Holding the torch firmly in my hand and shoving back a sense of trepidation, I crossed the threshold.

  A whispering noise rushed by me, as if a thousand ancient voices in long-forgotten tongues fluttered past my ears, invoking gods and curses and blessings. The thickness of the magic and power swarming around gave me goosebumps.

  As I made my way down the stairs, the ancient magic was so powerful it felt like swimming against a current. The thousand voices rose slightly and moaned, whether in warning or resignation I couldn’t be sure. I found myself whispering back, “Don’t worry. I’ve come to return something that belongs to you.”

  The whispering quieted a bit and the resistance in the air around me grew weaker. Fascinating!

  I squared my shoulders and came off the last step into an even larger chamber, gasping at the sheer force and weight of the magic in the room. It pressed down heavily on me, so much so that I feared my knees would buckle. How could Mum and her team bear this? It was like trying to breathe under water.

  I ignored the sensation as best I could and held my torch up high. The burial chamber of Thutmose III glowed eerily around me. An enormous red sarcophagus sat on the other side of the chamber.

  Wouldn’t it be lovely if all I had to do was lay the Heart of Egypt in the sarcophagus and be on my merry way? But of course that wouldn’t work. The first person to come in here after me would find it and the wretched curse would begin all over again.

  I walked past an image of Osiris waiting patiently while Anubis weighed Thutmoses’s heart—the Devourer sat with his wide, gaping crocodile jaws, hoping for a nice snack—and moved on to the eastern annex, the one that led toward Mum’s most recent discovery: the Minister of War’s tomb.

  The air in this corridor was even worse. The magic that hung in the air was different; heavier, blacker, smelling slightly of sulfur. I ignored the feeling of a whole battalion of icy-footed beetles storming down my spine. Luckily there was a fresh supply of torches in this chamber, so I lit a few and set them in the holde
rs on the walls.

  I could see that Mum had barely touched the surface of Amenemhab’s cache. Piles and piles of artifacts were scattered on the ground. Only the most rudimentary sorting had begun. At first glance, I saw nothing that looked remotely like the Was scepter. But there was loads of stuff to look through. It could take hours.

  Hours I didn’t have.

  Hoping the paintings on the wall might tell me something about the Heart of Egypt and what I had to do to put it back, I turned my attention to them, then stepped back with a gasp.

  These walls were covered with war scenes, grisly and terrifying. Thutmose III stood out, towering over his enemies, his feet crushing their heads, his spear piercing their breasts. Slain bodies lay at his feet, detached heads all in a nearby pile. The tomb artists had given themselves over to a garish job with the red paint. It spilled everywhere on the walls, as if the artisans had truly wanted to indicate the bloody nature of Thutmose’s reign.

  As I studied the carvings, I heard a shuffle of feet on the sandstone steps. I froze. “Nabir? Is that you?”

  There was no answer. It was possible that the noise was just the tomb shifting and settling. But if that was the case, why were all the fine hairs at the back of my neck standing straight up?

  I glanced wildly around the burial chamber, looking for a hiding place that wouldn’t end up being my tomb.

  Not the altar. The cupboard underneath it would hold me, but would most likely be the first place they looked. (Plus, that’s usually where the Canopic jars were kept, and I really didn’t want to hide next to Amenemhab’s entrails. My nerves were skittish enough.)

  I thrust the torch into one of the holders on the wall and hurried over to wedge myself into a small space between two large statues of Anubis. No sooner had I ducked out of sight than a footstep crunched on the gritty floor of the chamber itself.

  Then I heard something that confirmed my worst fears.

  “Come out, come out wherever you are, little girl,” a singsongy voice called out in a thick German accent.

  Von Braggenschnott! Or one of his henchmen.

  Hearing that dreadful voice in such a twisted version of a nursery game made me want to stick my fingers in my ears and start humming. Instead, I grasped my amulet in my hand and tossed out as many prayers as I could think of to anyone who was listening.

  What on earth was I going to do? I’m only an eleven-year-old girl, not a secret agent! Even if I am rather cleverer than most, I do still have some limitations. And I think I’d just run smack into one.

  Unwelcome Company

  I HEARD ANOTHER STEP COME INTO THE CHAMBER, then another. Three of them! How was I to get by three of them? And how did they get past Nabir?

  A hideous thought struck me. Had they harmed Nabir? Guilt rose up in my throat and I almost retched. I had cajoled and pleaded with him to bring me here. If he was hurt, it would be my fault.

  Von Braggenschnott started up his little song again. “Come out, come out wherever you are. You have something that doesn’t belong to you and I want it back.”

  The footsteps echoed loudly in the silent chamber as the others fanned out and began searching for me. There was a scrape of something heavy as they dragged things around, trying to peer into every nook and cranny.

  I shrank back against the walls. As my moist palms pressed into the rough wall behind me, a piece of magic lore from Ancient Egyptian Magical Thought and Procedures by Cyril Profundicus popped into my head. Ancient Egyptians believed that dust scraped off the carvings in tombs had magical properties. If ever I needed an extra magical advantage, it was now.

  Using my fingernails, I began scraping at the rough sandstone, trying to collect some dust.

  I kept my attention on the searchers and ignored the jagged ripping of my nails against the wall. The sandstone was soft with age and it didn’t take long before I had a small amount of dust in each of my hands. I carefully transferred all the dust into my right hand, then thrust it into my pocket and hoped the ancient Egyptians hadn’t been pulling old Profundicus’s leg.

  Von Braggenschnott barked out an order in German and there was a low, rumbled reply.

  Perhaps they were only guessing that I had the Heart of Egypt. There was no way they could be absolutely sure. Perhaps I could bluff my way out.

  “There really is no point in hiding, fräulein,” von Braggenschnott continued. “There are three of us and only one of you. You will not get away, and you only risk making us angry.” His voice rose up harshly on the last word.

  I glanced around furiously, looking for something other than dust to defend myself with. I stared at the altar, practically willing something to appear. But the only thing there was a collection of small wax and clay figures. I started to turn away, then remembered something from Nectanebus. Hoping against hope, I picked up one of the figures. Bits of hair stuck out of the wax along with a piece of ancient papyrus with writing on it. Yes—an execration figure! (The Egyptian version of voodoo dolls.) With luck, I could tap into their magic and use them to smite my enemies. Or at least slow them down.

  Shadows loomed on the walls as the men drew closer. They were unnervingly quiet as they steadily worked their way to my spot.

  I quickly began to carve new symbols into the wax with one of my jagged fingernails. I carved the symbol to invoke power, then another symbol for smiting my enemies. Then I paused. This part was tricky because I had to guess the men’s names correctly or the magic would be useless. I was almost positive the one doing all the talking was von Braggenschnott, and nearly as sure one of the men was Tetley. But I needed to be certain.

  “I am getting tired of these games,” von Braggenschnott called out. “If you don’t cooperate with us, I will have my men seal you up in a sarcophagus until you learn some manners.”

  I took a deep breath. “Ha! I spit on your threats,” I called out. “I’m not afraid of a sarcophagus. Honestly, I’ve slept in those things before and there’s nothing to them.”

  “Perhaps.” Von Braggenschnott chuckled, a truly horrid sound. “But I’m guessing there wasn’t a mummy in yours. And there is in the one I have in mind.”

  My heart began racing in my chest and my palms grew clammy. To be shut up in a sarcophagus with a mummy? My knees nearly gave out at the thought. “You’re bluffing! Mother didn’t find any mummies here!”

  “Tcht! Surely you don’t think this is the only excavation we pay attention to? No. We keep our eyes on all of them. However,” he said, his voice quite menacing, “if you really make me angry, we shall pull your brains out through your nose like the ancients used to do. Only you shall be alive to witness it firsthand, yah? Won’t that be an interesting thing for someone as curious as you?”

  I gulped. There was a sound just off to my left. I looked up to see one of the men leaning over the Anubis statue, grinning at me. It was Tetley! Well, now I had one name I was sure of.

  Playing for an extra moment or two, I duck-walked around one of the Anubis statues to the far side of the funerary chariot leaning up against the wall. As I carved Tetley’s name into the wax figure, I began whispering the execration rites. Just as I finished the final hieroglyph, Tetley’s ugly head reappeared, so close I could have reached out and tweaked his nose.

  There was only one escape route open to me now. I would be out in plain sight, but at least I would have room to maneuver on either side and wouldn’t be caught like a rat in a trap.

  I shoved to my feet and made a mad dash to the back wall.

  ***

  The tomb fell deathly silent as all three of them turned to watch me.

  I stood with the tomb wall firm against my back, the execration figure hidden along the side of my skirts, glaring at my pursuers. I recognized von Braggenschnott immediately. And Tetley. And—I gasped. “You!”

  “Yes, me,” Nigel Bollingsworth said. “Who did you think, Theo?”

  Finally, I found my voice. “I-I was sure Clive Fagenbush was the traitor!”A deep wave of relief s
wept over me. At least it wasn’t Mother.

  Nigel laughed. “Fagenbush. I knew he’d come in handy. No, I’m afraid he’s not the traitor, merely a convenient diversion. Which is why I encouraged your father to hire him. He is so perfectly suspicious-looking that I knew all eyes would be turned to him if anything ever went wrong.”

  “But why are you working for the Germans?” I asked. “You’re British!”

  A slow, twisted smile drew across his face. “Haven’t you worked it out yet in that clever head of yours, Theo? I’m not working for the Germans. I’m working for the Serpents of Chaos.”

  “The forces of chaos have risen once more,” I whispered.

  “Ach,” von Braggenschnott interrupted. “So you know of our little group.”

  “I’ve heard of it. Once. From the man you tried to murder in the churchyard.”

  “Clumsy business, that. Normally we make no such mistakes.”

  “It seems to me you’ve made several over the last few weeks,” I replied.

  Von Braggenschnott shook his finger at me. “You are in no position to throw insults at us, fräulein. In fact, a little groveling might do you some good.”

  I stretched myself to my full height, lifted my chin in the air, and pulled off my best Grandmother Throckmorton look. “I will never grovel.”

  Von Braggenschnott narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. “You will regret your insolence.”

  Playing madly for more time, I asked, “Why are the Serpents of Chaos working for Germany? Surely Britain could pay you just as much.”

  Von Braggenschnott laughed, a wicked, grating sound that made me flinch. “But don’t you see? We aren’t working for Germany. We are letting Germany work for us. Right now it suits us to go along with Kaiser Wilhelm. His enormous ego and grand ideas for his country are perfect for our purposes.”