Theodosia and the Last Pharaoh (The Theodosia Series)

by R. L. LaFevers

  When I finally reached the altar, I paused a moment, letting the weight of the ages press down upon me. As reverently as possible, I removed from my pocket the small scroll that Awi Bubu had given me and laid it as an offering on the stone altar just as he had instructed. I said a little prayer, entreating whoever was listening to let the wedjadeen know I came in peace and in an effort to return what was rightfully theirs.

  I felt a sense of well-being come over me. I was doing the right thing, returning the tablet and the sacred knowledge to the people who had guarded it for centuries. A faint breeze picked up and fluttered through my hair. I remembered Awi Bubu's insistence that even Shu, the god of air, had ears to hear us. Perhaps even now he took my message to the Eyes of Horus.

  My hand slipped inside my pocket and searched for the sliver of brick. As my fingers closed around the rough surface, I listened carefully, wondering if the Babel stone would allow me to make out the words of an actual god.

  The faint whooshing of the wind grew louder, and I fancied it almost sounded like a whispering voice. I closed my eyes and concentrated even harder, trying to make out the words. The rustling of the wind rose, then fell, grew louder, then softened, sounding remarkably like a far-off conversation. But alas, not one with words I could understand.

  With a sigh of disappointment, I turned and began making my way back through the columns, my steps already feeling lighter. I was so close to handing off this suffocating burden and being able to get on with my life. Not to mention all the discoveries that were practically begging me to find them. As Mother said, I did seem to have a talent for that sort of thing. Just think of how much progress I could make if I wasn't constantly being pulled in another, decidedly dangerous direction!

  There was a scrape along the dusty stone floor of the temple. The sort of scrape a footstep might make.

  My gaze flew to the shadows among the small army of colonnades. Nothing. No, wait. There. A flutter of movement behind one of the Ramses statues. As my eyes zeroed in on it, the shadow came forward and formed itself into the shape of a very old wizened little man.

  He was hardly any taller than I was. His head was large and bald. Except for being thinner and more shriveled, he could have been Awi Bubu's twin brother.

  But probably most astonishing, he wore the robes of an ancient Egyptian sem priest—a white linen tunic draped over one shoulder, embellished by a leopard skin. "Hello?" I said.

  "Greetings," he said in heavily accented English. "How may I help you?"

  I glanced back at my little offering on the altar. That had been fast. "I am looking for the Eyes of Horus. I have business to conduct with them."

  The priest's eyebrows rose. "Who may I say is looking for them?"

  "My name's Theodosia. Awi Bubu sent me."

  At the sound of the magician's name, the priest stilled. "Indeed. If that is the case, we must send for them." He lifted two fingers to his lips and gave a short, piercing whistle. Within seconds, a dark shape appeared overhead in the sky. A falcon! It dipped low, flying in our direction and coming to land on the priest's outstretched arm. The priest whispered something to the falcon, who watched me with fiercely intelligent eyes. When the priest finished talking, he threw his arm up, launching the bird back into the sky. In silence, we watched the bird fly away.

  "Now what?" I asked.

  "Now we wait," he said.

  "You mean they'll come right away?"

  He nodded, lowered himself to the ground in front of one of the colonnades, and sat down. Not knowing quite what else was expected of me, I did the same.

  After a while (half an hour, according to Quillings's watch), I heard the sound of hoofbeats in the distance. The priest smiled at me. "And here they are," he said.

  Minutes later, three men strode into the courtyard. They wore long, flowing black robes and head cloths secured with green and gold cords. "You have called us, Baruti?"

  "I did not call you, Khalfani. It is she who has left an offering for you." The priest pointed in my direction.

  Khalfani spun on his heel and speared me with a fierce, dark gaze that reminded me of the falcon's. A wave of power bumped up against me, far stronger than anything Awi Bubu had ever tried to exert over me. When I steeled myself against it, Khalfani narrowed his eyes and strode over to the altar. He retrieved my note and read it in silence. When he was done, he looked up at me, his face giving none of his thoughts away. "How did you know how to summon us?"

  "Awi Bubu told me."

  A moment's stunned silence was followed by everyone talking at once. As unobtrusively as possible, I slipped my hand into my pocket and touched the sliver of Babel stone.

  "Is Awi Bubu here?"

  "Why did he not come himself?"

  "What do you know of He Who Is Dead to Us?" This last was said in English and directed at me.

  "He Who Is Dead ... oh! You mean Awi Bubu?" Honestly! You'd think none of them had ever made a mistake. "I know he is very sorry for whatever it is he did. And it is he who sent me because I have something he thought you'd want rather badly. In fact, what I have is so important that he hoped returning it to you would earn him his way back into your good graces."

  Another eruption, this time accompanied by outrage.

  Finally, the priest hushed everyone. "Perhaps we should see what the girl has brought us before we judge and condemn Awi Bubu yet again."

  I swallowed. "I have brought the Emerald Tablet to return to you."

  Khalfani stepped forward, his eyes searching me for signs of the tablet. "Where is it? You do not have this thing on you."

  "No," I admitted. "I needed to be certain I could reach you before I started lugging it all over town. It isn't the sort of thing one ought to leave lying out in the open."

  "How do we know you are speaking the truth?"

  "What possible reason would I have for lying?" I countered.

  The man looked down at the note in his hand. "He says also that you carry with you a sign of good faith."

  "I do. Here." I thrust the soiled, tattered reticule in his direction. "Proof that I mean what I say."

  We eyed each other suspiciously, and then Khalfani stepped forward and took the reticule from me. He returned to his men, who crowded around to watch. When he opened the purse, he drew back in surprise. "The Orb of Ra!" They began speaking to one another in soft whispers.

  The leader shifted his attention back to me. "How did you come by it?" he asked.

  I stared at the shiny gold artifact, glinting in the afternoon sun. If these wedjadeen were anything like Awi Bubu, they could smell a lie at twenty paces. Best stick with the truth, but the absolute minimum of the truth. "It was in my parents' museum," I confessed.

  The man to Khalfani's right spoke, still in Arabic. The leader nodded, then repeated the question to me. "Did you find the orb alone?"

  I shifted slightly on my feet. "No," I admitted. "I found it with a staff. The Staff of Osiris."

  That got their full attention. "Where is the staff, then?" the leader asked, taking a step toward me.

  Honestly! Did he think I was hiding it under my skirt? "I left it in London. With the Brotherhoo—er, a very wise man. He felt it was too risky to keep them together. Especially when traveling."

  The wedjadeen nodded. "He was right to think so. No man should ever wield that kind of power."

  Oh good. Something we agreed upon at last.

  Khalfani's hand tightened around the orb. "Even so, it belongs to us. It should be returned as well."

  "I'm sure he'll get right on that, sir." No wonder Awi Bubu ran away from these people. They were impossible to deal with.

  "Why did this wise man of yours not bring it himself? What manner of coward is he that he hides behind a child's skirts?"

  That did it. I put my hands on my hips and glared at them. "I thought you were supposed to be the Eyes of Horus, not some schoolyard bullies. Wig—the wise man didn't come himself because Awi Bubu told us that if a grown man approached you, you wou
ld most likely kill him on sight. He thought I, at least, would have a chance of being allowed to speak."

  The look on the leader's face let me know I had scored a direct hit.

  "Plus, he has a bad leg and can't get around well." The truth. "But more important, it was my task to complete; I had promised Awi Bubu on his deathbed that I would do this thing. And he promised you would not harm me."

  The old priest's brows knit together in concern. "Awi Bubu is dead, then?"

  "No. He lives. But he has been badly injured and his injuries are not healing well. That is why he was not able to come himself." I glared at the man who had asked that original question.

  This caused a small flurry of rapid Arabic. Even holding the chip of Babel, I could barely make out what they were saying.

  "...just take the orb and be done."

  "Why not just take this orb, silence her, then retrieve the other treasure from its hiding place?"

  "No, I say let us honor Awi Bubu's wishes, at least at first. We can always change our minds later."

  At last the leader motioned for the others to be quiet. "The orb has been used. How did you know how to use it?"

  He could tell that by looking at it? "It was Awi Bubu who used it, against some very evil men. That's when he was horribly injured—while saving my life. So I owed him, you see, and when he thought he was dying, he made me promise to return this to you." The Egyptian magician could just as easily have left me in the hands of the Serpents of Chaos, but he hadn't and so had set this whole chain of events in motion.

  "Very well," Khalfani said at last. "We will accept this orb as a gesture of good faith and will wait for you to bring the tablet to us. How quickly can you get back here?"

  "It won't be today!" I protested.

  "Tomorrow at sunrise, then." His will bumped into mine again, trying to ensure I would do exactly what he wanted.

  It didn't work. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to get away? My mother knows nothing about this and I'd like to keep it that way. I had to pretend I was ill just so she would allow me to stay home today."

  Khalfani shrugged. "Pretend you are sick again."

  I nearly stomped my foot in frustration. "Have you ever had a mother? Because if you had, you'd know that if you're sick for more than a day, they expect a fever, or spots, or throwing up. They need proof. And while I am good at pretending, I am not that good."

  After a long moment during which he had a very odd look on his face, he finally asked, "When can you get away again?"

  "I could probably do it the day after tomorrow. I'll most likely be out in the sun all day and can then tell her I'm suffering from the heat."

  "Weak Inglaize," one of them muttered.

  "I am faking, remember?"

  "Enough! We will return the day after tomorrow. What time is good for you?" Khalfani inquired mockingly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Deir el-Bahri

  THE GOOD NEWS WAS that I made it home before Mother and Nabir with fifteen minutes to spare. The bad news was that Mother fussed over me a bit, wanting to be sure I was feeling better. And of course I was, since I had never been sick. Consequently, I made a special effort to slump and drag my feet. I also tried to look appropriately mopey. It was a tricky balance, however, because while I wanted to show that I had been sick, I also needed to demonstrate I was well enough to return to the dig tomorrow. Especially once I'd learned they planned on scouting out the area near Deir el-Bahri and Hatshepsut's temple. She couldn't honestly expect me to stay home while they pursued my ideas, could she?

  Besides, I would have to play sick again the following day in order to meet the wedjadeen and hand off the Emerald Tablet. I didn't think I could stand to miss three days of archaeological discovery.

  ***

  Morning's first light saw us on our way to the hills of western Thebes. I don't know about the others, but I had an entire swarm of butterflies in my stomach. What if I was proved right? How magnificent would it be to have two discoveries under my belt before I was even twelve?

  Of course, I could also be proved wrong, which would be most embarrassing. Not wanting to think about that possibility, I turned my attention back to the red ocher hills rising up before us. They were said to be sacred to Hathor, the goddess of love, music, and motherhood. If so, surely she must be pleased with the monument Hatshepsut had built there. It was an architectural marvel, the temple and landscape fused together by the skill of the ancient builders so that they became one. It completely dwarfed the older temple of Mentuhotep II, which shared the valley with it.

  Mother leaned over on her donkey. "Naville has done a magnificent job restoring the mortuary temple, hasn't he?"

  I didn't know who Naville was, but the mortuary temple was certainly in excellent shape.

  "Ja," Jadwiga agreed. "He is so meticulous, it seems hard to believe he would have missed an entire temple."

  Mother raised her chin a bit. "People miss things all the time."

  "Plus, the ancient Egyptians thought children brought good luck," Gunter Rumpf added. "Perhaps your daughter will bring us the same." He smiled at me, clearly a gesture he'd not had much practice with. Even so, I appreciated the effort and smiled back.

  As we drew closer to the temple, Mother glanced around for any signs of other archaeologists. "Now, remember," she said. "If anyone else shows up, we're just here to see the sights and have a picnic."

  "Do you British always bring your picks and shovels with you on your picnics?" Jadwiga asked in his woebegone voice.

  Mother ignored him and turned her attention to the incredible edifice before us. A long ascending ramp led up to a series of broad, raised terraces, built into the actual cliff one atop another like a fancy cake. A series of columns supported each level. Hatshepsut's temple was enormous. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it full of people: priests and officials, commoners come to make offerings to the mortuary cult of Hatshepsut. I also tried to determine if there was any heka emanating from the monument. It had been built to glorify the pharaoh Hatshepsut and connect her to her "father," the god Amun. His presence was heavy here, as was Hathor's. But there was no sense of the dark forces of magic or curses swirling nearby. Or at least none that could be felt from where we stood. "Can we go inside?" I asked Mother.

  "Er, not today," she said.

  So much for sightseeing!

  "Let's tie up the donkeys over here." Mother led us to a spot in between the two temples, a place that was partially hidden by the southwest corner of the temple terrace. I glanced back the way we'd come. Our mounts would be hidden from any passersby.

  While the men organized the equipment we'd need, I lifted the wicker basket from the back of my donkey and set it on the ground. Mother thought I was being peculiar again, insisting on bringing Isis, and perhaps I was, although not in the way she thought. This peculiarity had a very specific purpose. I had almost lost the Emerald Tablet two days ago; I didn't dare take any more such risks now, not when I was scheduled to hand it off tomorrow.

  After looking to be certain everyone else was busy, I opened the lid. "Come out, Isis. No one is watching." As sleek and silent as death itself, Isis crept out of the basket. "Make yourself at home," I told her. With a quick flick of her tail, she slunk off and quickly lost herself among the shadows of the rocks. I breathed a little easier. It never hurt to have access to her excellent cat senses.

  I went to join Mother, who kept looking nervously over her shoulder. "You did get permission to be here," I asked, keeping my voice low, "didn't you?"

  She got very busy unloading her tools from her donkey. "There was no one to ask, really. Weigall was out in the field, and when his assistant kindly explained Naville wasn't going to be working here this season, I decided surely no one would mind if we had a quick look around."

  Honestly! I'd never seen this side of my mother before. I had no idea she was so ruthless. This could end up being a problem, especially if we did find something. It would be so dishe
artening to have one's first major discovery be disputed.

  "Now, Theo," Mother said. "What exactly did that translation say again?"

  She was just trying to distract me. I knew she had memorized it, just like I had. "For Thutmose sits in no one's shadow. He alone is most beloved of the gods and sits above the right shoulder of his forebears.

  "Which would be right about ... there." I pointed to an enormous pile of rubble and scree.

  "There?" Mother frowned.

  "Well, it is between the two temples, so any temple Thutmose III had built would be staring down at Hatshepsut, and he would in effect be above her," I explained.

  "Ja, but it looks like all the excavators in the valley have dumped their unwanted debris until they created a mountain of junk," Jadwiga pointed out.

  "True," I said, my enthusiasm waning somewhat.

  "Well, that's why we brought shovels, isn't it?" Rumpf asked, handing one to Jadwiga and Nabir. "The sooner we start, the sooner we'll know." And with that, he strode over to the tower of rocky debris and began digging.

  The rest of us followed, albeit less zealously.

  We dug—and dug—our shovels making nothing but a small dent in the enormous pile. In fact, we dug the entire morning. I quickly realized that doing excavation of this sort is far less satisfying than just stumbling onto a hidden annex.

  Just past noon, we took a short break for a quick lunch. Everyone else took a seat in the shade from an outcrop of the third terrace of Hatshepsut's temple. I, however, looked for a place to sit a small ways away. All this digging was discouraging enough that I was afraid I'd catch a case of Jadwiga's doldrums if I sat too close to him. He was so downcast that his poor mustache nearly drooped to the ground. Although I had to admit I would be, too, if I did very much of this and never found anything.