"Stop that!" I yelled.
The sensation disappeared. Awi Bubu turned away from me and began rolling up the chart in front of him. "Very well. It is as I said. The Emerald Tablet has very little power itself. Its true value is that it is a map, a series of directions that lead to a cache of Egyptian artifacts of untold value. Artifacts few even dream exist."
"What sort of artifacts?" I asked, but I had a sinking feeling I knew what was coming.
"Artifacts that have been wielded by the gods and goddesses of Egypt themselves. Artifacts that still hold the power of those gods, destructive power that man was never meant to control, power over life and death," he said.
My knees suddenly felt weak and I backed up to the lone chair against the wall and sat down. "How many of these artifacts of the gods are there?" I asked.
"We do not know. Some have been lost through the ages, but there are still many that exist."
"Reginald Mayhew," I muttered, thinking of the British undercover agent Wigmere had mentioned a few weeks ago.
Awi Bubu sprang forward, looking as if he wanted to shake me. "What do you know of Mayhew?"
Shocked, I reared back. "What do you know of Mayhew?"
"I know that he laid claim to some things that did not belong to him and that he had no right to touch."
"I heard he got them from a Frenchman," I said without thinking, and then the penny dropped.
Thelonius Munk had mentioned a Frenchman wandering in the desert, babbling about the wedjadeen. And when we'd been researching the staff, Wigmere had discussed a small group of dedicated men who'd smuggled the artifacts out of the Alexandria Library. Could it be? I glanced at Awi Bubu sharply. "Are you one of the wedjadeen?"
Before I finished uttering the word, Awi Bubu sprang across the room, clamped one hand over my mouth, and made a snatching gesture with the other, as if he were plucking the word from the air itself. The sound of running footsteps sounded in the hall outside, and Kimosiri burst in, panting heavily and looking very afraid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Boythorpe's Revenge
AWI BUBU PRESSED HIS WIZENED FACE so close to mine our noses were almost touching. I could see small beads of perspiration on his upper lip. "Never, never utter that word out loud. Do you understand me?"
Stunned, I blinked rapidly and said through his fingers, "Yes," which came out rather like a croak.
"Come all the way in and close the door," Awi Bubu instructed Kimosiri as he stepped away from me. "Have you never wondered why my faithful assistant does not speak, Little Miss?"
Before I had a chance to admit the question had crossed my mind, Awi Bubu continued. "He too uttered that word once. And they cut out his tongue."
Kimosiri opened his mouth and shoved it in my direction. I bit back a scream as I stared into his tongueless mouth.
"Now you must go," Awi Bubu said, herding me toward the door. "Others may be here for you soon."
"For me?"
"For the person who has dared to utter that word. I cannot keep you safe just yet, so you must go."
"But who are they?" I asked, thoroughly confused and more than a little alarmed.
"Quickly! There is no time. I will explain the rest tomorrow when I pay your mother a visit. Kimosiri, follow her until she reaches the museum, then return at once."
The larger man hesitated.
"I will be fine," Awi Bubu assured him. "I can make the necessary explanations to the others should they show up. Besides, they will not harm me. I do not think."
Before I had time to ask any more questions, Kimosiri escorted me out of Awi Bubu's dressing room, down the hall, and out the rear door. He was a bit taken aback to find Will waiting for me.
"Miss!" Will's eyes lit up with relief when he spotted me, then he frowned as he saw Kimosiri looming behind. "Everything okay?"
"Yes, it's fine," I reassured him. Then I turned to Awi Bubu's hulking assistant. "As you can see, I already have an escort. You can go back to Awi Bubu."
He didn't budge, just stood there and eyed me suspiciously.
"Go. Back. To. Your. Master," I intoned, trying Awi Bubu's mesmerism trick on him.
The hulking brute merely raised a mocking eyebrow at me. Bother. That meant there was more to it than just the vocal inflection. I tried a different tack this time. "Truthfully," I said, "Will can see me safely home. If those others come, it's best if you're here to help your master."
Kimosiri shifted uneasily on his feet, then looked over his shoulder toward the theater.
"Go on," I encouraged him. "You know that's where your primary duty lies. Go."
Something that looked very much like relief spread across his face. He folded his hands in front of his body, gave a short bow, then went inside the theater.
***
Once we were alone on the sidewalk, Will turned to me. "Where to now, miss?"
"Somerset House," I said. "There is no longer any doubt. I simply must get in to see Wigmere."
Will's eyebrows disappeared up into his scalp. "Somerset 'ouse, miss? Are ye sure about that? 'Cause I'm not sure that's the best place for me, if'n you know what I mean."
I glanced at him distractedly. "You're right. It's probably best you wait outside, out of sight of the windows."
Will's shoulders slumped ever so slightly with relief.
We were quiet on the walk to Somerset House. There were so many things Wigmere needed to know! He had to be made aware that Chaos was after the tablet, and this new information that Awi Bubu had provided, that the tablet was in fact a map to a cache of artifacts containing untold destructive force—well, wasn't that the exact sort of thing the Brotherhood kept an eye on?
Not to mention the Brotherhood would likely want to know about something called the wedjadeen, whatever it turned out to be.
When we reached Somerset House, Will took up position on the side of the building, and I crossed the enormous empty courtyard on my own. The doorman waved me in, and I proceeded up the stairs. I tried to put my thoughts in some order so I wouldn't burst in on Wigmere and sound frantic and hysterical. It seemed especially important to be on my very best behavior with him right now.
I paused at the landing of the third floor. I'd really hoped to avoid Boythorpe; I simply didn't have the reserves neces sary to spar with him. I squared my shoulders and darted past Boythorpe's door, praying he wouldn't see me.
No such luck.
He was up and out of his office in two seconds flat. "Excuse me!" he said in a smug, officious voice. "You can't go down there."
"Oh, it's all right," I said, ducking around him. "Wigmere's expecting me." Or he would have been if he'd had half an idea of how much I had to tell him.
Boythorpe flung himself in front of me, both arms opened wide to block my way. "He is most certainly not expecting you. I have, in fact, been given very specific instructions regarding you and your visits."
My stomach sank. "You have?"
"Yes. I have been ordered to tell you to leave at once and report anything you have to say to Wigmere through Mr. Fagenbush, your proper contact. You will be made to use the correct channels, or else."
"Whose orders are these?" I asked, the full impact of what he'd said crashing over me. I was not to have access to Wigmere any longer?
Boythorpe drew himself up importantly. "They come from someone much higher than you. Now, please leave or I will have to call someone to escort you out."
Escort me out! Like a common thief or vagrant? "There's no need," I told him, trying to keep my voice steady and cheerful. "I'm leaving."
***
Will was more put out by my reception than he had been by his own suspension. "What is that 'ay-brained prig thinking of, cutting you off from Wigmere?" he demanded. "'Oo does 'e think 'e is?" He paused a moment. "I know! I'll go in and create a diversion, then you can sneak past 'im, miss. It'll be just like old times."
I just shook my head, too distraught even to speak. I tried to tell myself I was upset at having
to manage all this without Wigmere, but the truth was, Boythorpe's orders to refuse me entrance cut deep.
The walk back to the museum seemed to take forever, the heavy, leaden sky perfectly mirroring my mood. Once there, I found I simply didn't have the energy to tackle any research or curses, or even to see Henry. I most certainly wasn't up to seeing my parents; I was afraid I would blurt out questions about my birth. What had they been keeping from me all these years?
Where was I born, if not in Britain? Or, worse, had I been born in Britain but under a different name? Was I an orphan, perhaps, whom Mother and Father had taken pity on? What if I wasn't really from this family? That would explain so much! Why Grandmother disapproved of me; why I had these unusual talents that no one else seemed to possess.
As much as I'd longed for answers to those questions, I'd never imagined these answers.
Isis, sensing my mood, appeared at my ankles and followed me to my closet, where she curled up in my lap and kept me company until it was time to go home.
***
At dinner that night, I found my eyes going back to Mother time and again, studying her face, trying to see any similarities between her features and mine. Finally Father got so exasperated he said, "Good heavens, Theodosia, stop scrutinizing your mother as if she were a particularly troublesome translation."
"Sorry, Father," I muttered, turning my attention to the mutton on my plate. To make matters even worse, we were having boiled mutton for dinner, my absolutely least favorite.
"Alistair," Mum said reproachfully. Then to me she said, "Is there anything wrong, darling? Something we need to talk about?"
Here was an opening I could use. "Actually, yes, Mother. I was wondering if you could tell me about the day I was born?"
There was a clank as Father dropped his fork and Mother gasped, her cheeks growing pink. After a surprised minute, she frowned. "Theodosia, that is most inappropriate to bring up at the dinner table. Surely a girl of your age knows that."
My face turned bright red in embarrassment. Indeed, I hadn't known that. In fact, Mother never made a fuss about propriety or being vulgar or any of those sorts of things. That was one of the reasons she annoyed Grandmother so.
And even through my extreme embarrassment, I could tell that her overreaction meant she was hiding something. A something so terrible it couldn't be discussed at the dinner table.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Frown Not on Humble Birth
THE NEXT MORNING, I thought seriously about staying home. In fact, the only thing that got me out of bed was the driving need to find another opportunity to talk to Mother about where I was born.
As I washed my face, I searched for signs of Mother in my features. I would even settle for Father's plainer looks. But while Mother had lovely rich chestnut hair that curled gracefully into a topknot with charming little tendrils escaping, my hair was straighter than a poker and the most nondescript color ever invented. Once in a while, when the sun shone brightly, I thought I could detect a straw-colored glimmer or two, but since the sun never shines in London, what good did that do me? And it wouldn't curl, no matter how long we left the curling iron on it. My hair burned before it curled!
My eyes weren't the least bit Mum-like either. Instead of being rich chocolate brown like hers, my eyes had some of every color in them, which sounded good but actually was a lot like greenish mud. Henry and Father had blue eyes, so I'd always thought Mother's brown and Father's blue had simply gotten mixed up in me. But with Awi Bubu's revelations still ringing in my ears, I realized that might not be the case at all.
***
There wasn't an opportunity to get Mother alone all morning. Once we got to the museum, it was even worse. Weems wanted to ask her a question about the placement of the Sekhmet statue, no doubt sucking up to her after his set-down yesterday. Father also remained in the foyer, checking up on how Fagenbush was coming with the assembly of Thutmose III's war chariot. The only one missing from all of this was Stilton, which was just as well since I needed to catch him alone. I still owed him a thank-you for his help Saturday night and I wanted to let him know that the funeral had gone off without a hitch. I had meant to tell him yester day but was so distracted by Sopcoate's unexpected appearance and demands that I'd forgotten.
I made my way down the hall to Stilton's office, surprised to find the door closed. I raised my fist to knock but was stopped by the sound of voices. Who could Stilton be talking to? Everyone else was in the foyer.
"You aren't supposed to be here." I couldn't tell if that was panic or outrage I heard in Stilton's voice.
"You've been ignoring the grand master's summons for days, ever since you missed the meeting Saturday night."
I knew that voice. It belonged to Basil Whiting, Aloysius Trawley's second in command. And why hadn't Stilton warned me that he would be skipping a Black Sun meeting? I had no desire to draw even more of Trawley's ire.
"I haven't been ignoring anybody," Stilton said. "We've been up to our ears in work around here, trying to get ready for the new exhibit. I can't get away without raising suspicion."
"Have you forgotten that you swore an oath of loyalty?"
"N-no. Of c-course not!"
"Loyalty to the grand master comes before even your job," Whiting said.
"Then how does he expect me to eat or put a roof over my head?" Definitely outraged, this time.
"Such mundane matters are not his concern," Whiting said.
Stilton started to speak, but Trawley's second in command talked over him. "No more excuses. The grand master says you need to choose."
"Choose?"
"Yes, choose whom you will serve—him or the girl. And be sure you choose right, or you'll think the Trial of Nephthys was a walk in the park. Master says this is your last warning."
With a start, I realized the conversation was over. The floor creaked as Whiting headed for the door. In an instant, I leaped back to the wall and slipped behind the suit of armor there.
Whiting came out of Stilton's office, checked the corridor, then hurried toward the back entrance. This was a most disturbing development. Clearly, any pretense of cooperation was being cast aside, and it was now open war. The only question now was, Whom would Stilton choose?
***
My heart was still pounding as I slipped out from behind the armor. I needed to talk to Stilton and—
"There you are!"
I whirled around to find Fagenbush glaring at me. "Come into my office," he ordered.
I glanced around to be sure no one would see us, then reluctantly followed him inside. I'd never been invited into his office before, and I wasn't sure I cared much for it. I was surprised to find it much neater than Father's or Stilton's, but it most definitely felt like enemy territory. I held myself stiffly and waited.
After he closed the door, the smell of ox dung became overwhelming. "How do I remove it?" he growled at me.
"Try scraping your boots on the grass—"
"Do not pretend this isn't your doing."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
He ground his teeth and clenched his hands, but changed the subject. "You went to visit Wigmere yesterday."
As it wasn't a question, I didn't bother to answer.
He stepped toward me and I resisted the urge to pinch my nose with my fingers. Whoever would have thought that I would miss the smell of boiled cabbage and pickled onions?
"What message did you have for Wigmere? He's instructed you to give it to me."
I forced myself to turn casually and say, "I was just paying him a social visit. To see if he was planning on attending the exhibit opening. That is all."
"You liar!" Fagenbush snarled at me. "You are jeopardizing my career with your stubbornness."
I whirled on him. "My stubbornness! My stubbornness? Have you shown me one iota of trust or kindness or anything that indicates my trusting you wouldn't be a huge mistake?" Even as I railed at him, my mind raced like a motorcar engine. Who
had told him I'd been to Somerset House? Boythorpe? Or Wigmere himself?
He took a step closer, nearly backing me against the wall. "And where else did you disappear to yesterday afternoon? You were gone much longer than a quick visit to Somerset House warranted. Who else are you associating with? I wonder how Wigmere will feel upon hearing it."
Something in me snapped. I was sick of being watched and observed like some specimen in a jar. I was tired of all these wretched adults thinking I was just playing a game. I raised my finger, pointed it at Fagenbush's chest, and took a step toward him, forcing him to back up a bit. "You want to know what happened yesterday? Fine, I'll tell you. Admiral Sopcoate"—Fagenbush's eyes widened—"yes, that Admiral Sopcoate, showed up at the memorial service, that's what. Furthermore, he demanded I hand over the artifact that everyone keeps telling me is nothing but worthless occult drivel." I cocked my finger back then poked Fagenbush in the chest—hard. "So you take that information to Wigmere and see what he has to say, why don't you."
Then, while he was still sputtering, I strode out of his office and headed for the upstairs workroom. Since I'd gathered a good head of steam, it seemed like a fine time to get Mum alone and ask her about where I was born. Until I did that, I would be able to concentrate on little else.
I found her alone in the workroom, poring over the remaining steles from the dig.
The question I'd been burning to ask her dissolved on my tongue. I glanced at the stele on the table in front of her. "Anything interesting?"
"Oh, yes. Lots."
I waited a moment longer, gathering up my courage, until Mother finally said, "Was there something you needed, dear?"
I tried again. "Mother," I began, my mouth growing dry. The question I was about to ask terrified me. Or maybe it was the possible answer that was so disturbing. I cleared my throat and tried to lighten my tone, as if this were simply a casual conversation and my entire identity didn't hang in the balance. "Was I born at home, like Henry, or was I born in a hospital?"
Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus Page 18
